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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years

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Tom Felton - Risk

A/N - Despite writing this 8 months ago, it hasn’t been uploaded anywhere. I forgot about it until a few days ago, redrafted it, and here we go. With the (not so) recent blow up of Draco-tok and Tom’s increased following, I thought it would be a good time to upload as well, and it has a summer feel to escape the disgracefully bitter winter here in Britain. I do not own the song lyrics used. I do not know Tom, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction and entirely my own.

Warnings - cursing, legal alcohol consumption, mutual pining, 3.4k words of fluff and angst. Nothing further.

Summary - After your break up, one that pained you to the bone, you try to escape and you find yourself taking that one risk you always thought you should, travelling. A simple day out, and the one person you don’t want to see is the one person who can help you with your car troubles. Could he help with your heart troubles too, over a reminiscent dinner perhaps?

RISK, that’s what this is. You’re taking a risk for once in your life, living a new experience and stepping outside of your comfort zone. That's what you’re supposed to do to get over a particularly brutal break up, isn’t it? So here you are, finding yourself again, exploring places you’ve always wanted to go. Current destination: Cape Town, South Africa. A haven.

You came here on a whim. Looking up some cheap prices from when you were in Barcelona, and surprisingly, you got a good direct flight and hotel deal for more than a reasonable price.

Before your break up, you’d never have dreamt of this. You were content with your life of luxury in LA with your boyfriend after dating for a while, but with his insane work schedule and travelling, you just couldn’t reasonably keep up with the relationship. You felt neglected, work and Willow always coming above you, and you couldn’t just be solely financially reliable on him, even if he was a millionaire. So after a long few days of gruelling arguments, you packed your bags and did what he told you to do.

“Live your life the way you couldn’t do with me holding you back.”

He was sorry, so sorry, heartbroken. I can still see his face when he let me go. Too darling to forget or stay mad at. You’ve just got to find the part of yourself that stayed with him, and maybe you’ll find it half way across the globe in between gorgeous beaches and scenic mountains while staying in a luxurious five star hotel.

Your days have been filled with hiking and swimming, spa days and sunbathing, fancy meals and getting drunk under the stars. But even though you’re living the dream, you haven’t quite found yourself yet. Maybe you will with your sightseeing plans for later on.

This afternoon, after you’ve spent the morning hiking, you’re ready for a calm afternoon back at your hotel, a leisurely swim in the pool to cool down and maybe some sunning on the adjoining beach.

You make your way back to the car you hired, a beat up jeep, but it’s a pleasure to drive around the mountains. But as you walk back there, you see someone. No, it can’t be him. It was just someone with the same hairstyle as him. Wearing the same shirt that he used to wear all the time. And wearing the same glasses. It has to be a coincidence, he can’t be here, it’s just your mind playing tricks.

Part of you even wants him to be here, but the correct part of your brain knows that your longing thought us nothing more than wantonly cohorted, made up from missing him and being away from the last place you could call home. So without another thought, you open the door to the car and climb into the driver's seat. You’re suddenly conscious of the way you’re dressed: canvas shorts with a sun top and billowy button down, but even if it is more of a practical outfit, you still look damn good in it, so calm yourself down.

Starting the car is easier said than done, because as soon as you slot the key in and turn it, the engine vibrates for a few seconds and lets out a low grumble, and then it dies. Internally you curse yourself, and you hit the steering wheel a few times to release some steam. This was always Tom’s area of expertise, you never had to deal with car mechanics, but instead of making it a big deal, you give it a go again, only for the engine to crash again.

Footsteps sound outside the car on the gravel and sand, and then a head appears at your rolled down window, followed by a voice you never thought you’d hear again.

“Need some help, Miss?”

You turn your head so quickly that you feel something pull. No no no, he cannot be here on your get away trip.

He smiles at you lopsidedly until realisation dawns on his face. In that moment, his cheeks fall and his red eyes droop. He is definitely high, but high tom is the best tom, all slow and cuddly.

“W-what are you doing here, Y/N?” he asks incredulously, his enunciated British tone raspy and soothing all at once, grounding you.

“Vacation. Um, you?”

You fumble over your words, scrutinised under the piercing blue of his eyes behind his glasses.

“Filming.” he says.

Even after you split up, you’d never expected it to get this awkward if you ever met again. You’re definitely not over him yet, you can tell by the way butterflies flitter inside your stomach just at the sight of his day-old stubble and the tufts of sun kissed hair that poke out from his cap.

“That’s, um, nice,” you respond and offer him a shy smile, “Would you mind, um?”

He nods and moves around to the hood of the car. You watch as he turns his cap around and rolls up his sleeves, revealing his gorgeously tanned and toned forearms. You lose yourself and all inhibitions as he works to find out the problem, his seamless movements and his cute thinking face that crinkles his forehead and scrunches his nose. How he’s always so willing to help in any circumstance and the undying love that he revels in day after day, it’s like basking in eternal joy whenever you’re around Tom because not a single moment is dull. You can’t help but remember the way it felt when he kissed you, the fire that his touch left in its wake, the gentle way he held you through countless nights.

“Sorted, sweet pea.” he says, leaning against your car door with his head against the window frame.

Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. “No one’s called me that since you.”

The words are out before you can stop them, your sad smile unmoving from your face despite being filled with longing, and it just so happens to match his expression exactly.

“I have to film this afternoon, but how about I take you out for dinner? We can just, I don’t know, catch up? It can’t be a coincidence that we’ve bumped into each other.”

You don’t even have to think before the answer is spilling from your lips rather enthusiastically, a definite yes with a vigorous nod. He chuckles, slipping his hand through the window to clasp yours.

“I still have your number, so I’ll text you a time and place, yeah sweet pea? I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, “bye tom.”

You watch as he walks away before starting the car, your thoughts the whole way back to the hotel filled with nothing but Tom and thoughts for the night. Dinner with your ex really is a risk, but maybe, just maybe if he reciprocated your lingering feelings, it’ll pay off.

No matter how much you want to spend the afternoon carelessly swimming and enjoying yourself, taking in the views all around you and revelling in the South African sunlight, you simply can’t. Every moment you close your eyes, Tom’s smile illuminates your thoughts and fills your body with a prickling longing. It’s a bitter feeling that scares you, unnerving you and forcing you to lose all hope for the night ahead. Your phone buzzes on your way to the spa, thinking maybe a hot stone massage will clear your mind, but you quit when you see what he’s written. You haven’t deleted his number from your phone either.

PAPI ♡ : What hotel are you at? I’ll grab you for dinner at 7. Dress fancy, preferably in that nice black dress I love, but you look perfect in everything. T x

That black dress. The same one you haven’t worn since your last night out before the break up. Maybe you will wear it, maybe you won’t. You tap out a reply, signing with a smiley face and no kisses no matter how much you want to press that x like there’s a gravitational pull, but it just doesn’t feel right in the circumstances.

PAPI ♡ : I’ll be there, sweet pea. T x

That might be Tom’s worst habit of them all. Constantly signing his texts with ‘T’ when you obviously know that it’s him. It used to gnaw at you, especially when he’d send particularly needy texts, multiple in a row, and sign them all the same way, but often, it was rather cute. He always was crap with technology.

All the memories come flying back at a terrifying pace, the different texts calling to you from your phone, begging for you to relive the good old days. No, you can’t. You won’t give in to such an insane impulse. It’s bad enough that you agreed to go to dinner with your ex, you can’t let anything cloud your mind to make you more malleable for the night. So to resist temptation, you throw your belongings down on a sun lounger and grasp a cocktail over a nearby bar, downing it briefly before diving head first and breaking the surface of the water. Maybe a swim will distract you until you have to get ready.

Tom spent his whole afternoon messing up lines. Not for a minute could he focus. His lunchtime beer ended up being drunk faster than he’d wanted to, and he hardly ate a thing, for his stomach was filled with butterflies. Whenever anything was said in the script or on set that linked his mind back to you, he went hazy for a solid minute. Every time he’d try to pull himself together, and would fail, remembering how your hands felt when you tied his hair back or undressed him.

Eventually, it was too much.

“CUT!” the director screamed an hour early. “Stop, just stop. Go home, sleep, come back tomorrow. We haven’t got a single decent shot in hours, Felton.”

Tom gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down beneath a feathering of stubble that had made its way down there. Faintly, he nodded and ran a trembling hand through his hair before pulling a cap on. He rolled his sleeves up briefly, wandered to his dressing room, and fell into a chair, his thoughts whirring around his head too fast for him to form a sensical sentence. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you? So, he grabbed his belongings and ran to his car, driving to his hotel to play his sorrows away while awaiting your date.

Once coming in from the pool, you spend a few hours prepping yourself, primping and dressing for the date. You want to look good for Tom, but also for yourself. You always dressed up to feel good about yourself and it was just a bonus that Tom worshipped you, even more when he knew you’d made an extra effort. Curling your hair, dabbing on lipstick, even buckling the straps on your sandals fills your stomach with butterflies and gives you goose bumps all over your skin, already prickling with the blush you received from looking in the mirror. It’s time.

Your walk out to the front of the hotel feels foreign, your ankles wobbling in the heels you decided on, and even as the humid air hits you, you feel a little exposed and chilled. However, any anxiety dissipates when you see Tom walking towards you, a dopey and ever loving smirk on his sun kissed face, crisp chinos with loafers and a billowy button down, loose around the neck. The evening breeze blows the short sleeves up and gives you a peek at the curls of ink that hug his arm in the shape of a dog, the same as how you see the contrast on his ankle between the dark palm trees and his white skin.

You don’t realise you’ve been standing still and tearing apart his every exquisite feature until he’s an inch away from you and his fingers have slipped around your own, holding your hand loosely and keeping you close.

“Hi.” he says, his mouth pulling to a grin.

“Hi.” you return, pacing your fingers with his own more intricately to distract yourself from how crimson your cheeks are.

“Come on,” he picks up his pace back to where he’s parked, “I’ve got a surprise.”

He plays show tunes the whole journey, silly show tunes that put a smile on your face and ones you can’t help but sing along to. He keeps his calloused palm on your knee, brushing some hair behind your ears or sneaking a kiss on your cheeks whenever possible, but the journey isn’t long enough for anything major, nor long enough for you to take apart every piece of hospitality he’s offered you so far. It’s just dinner with an ex, right? Yeah, that is until he pulls up outside a five-star luxury restaurant, complete with a mini ballroom floor and a stage where stands a woman in an evening gown, warbling out in a different language.

“We’re around the back, I have connections.”

His smile is as luminous as the twinkling lights that he’s had arranged in the trees on the back terrace of the restaurant. One table sits with a bottle of wine balanced precariously atop, a single rose in a fluted vase, two wine glasses and sets of cutlery, and with the sun setting and the fairy lights, it’s perfectly ambient. You want to speak, but you can’t find the words. Maybe, if he pulled out all the stops this way, he feels the same as you do.

He pulls your chair out before sitting down himself, pours your glass of rose wine first, and even orders your favourite meal. The amount of times you’ve ordered that very same thing though, it must be ingrained in his mind. Neither of you say a word except for meek thank you’s, and tension fills the air, not ceasing until the waiter delivers a bread platter.

“Oh,” Tom says to the waiter, a little startled, “do you have any crackers? She doesn’t eat bread before meals, or, well, at all.”

The waiter nods and scurries away, but you’re left with a burning blush on your cheeks, anxiously tucking your hair behind your ears.

“You remembered,” you chuckle softly, feeling a little giddy even though its one of your more stupid habits.

“Of course I did, I remember everything about you.”

He reaches over the table and leaves his palm open. You give it a moment of thought before wrapping your fingers around his own, tracing the lines and sun spots. He’s so familiar yet so different, your time apart somehow meeting your shared experiences, the cons outweighing the pros, something causing a barrier.

You engage in small talk while you eat, simple conversations of how you’ve been and what you’ve been up to, only very few anecdotes shared from your past relationship. It feels so natural between the two of you, just the sight of his wispy dark blonde curls is still enough to make your heart flutter, but both of you are holding something back. Nothing changes until you’re half-way through your second bottle of wine, liquid courage making you buzz.

“Do you miss me?” you ask, holding nothing back, taking just one more risk before you close off the Tom chapter of your life for good. “Do you miss us? The way we were? Who we were with each other?”

He doesn’t say a word, only looks at you with heavy blue eyes, pleading.

“Do you miss the way I used to kiss you good morning? The way you’d kiss me goodnight? The good times we had, even the bad. Do you not miss me at all?”

He swallows thickly and takes a heavy swig of wine. He signals to a waiter who clears your dishes, and then he leans on his bare forearms over the table, both of his hands holding yours as he stares into your soul, those mystical ocean eyes boring into your pained soul.

“I miss it all,” he says in his hoarse tone, “I miss you and our life more than you can imagine. If it was up to me, I’d never have let you go, but I couldn’t keep you tied down. So before you leave forever, can we have one nice night and pretend like we aren’t completely fucking broken?”

You see tears in his eyes, threatening to fall down his cheeks at any given moment. You hold his hands tighter, letting your soft fingers dance up his arms, anything to feel the warmth of his skin against you once more.

“I wish I hadn’t left.” you whisper, Hoping that the sound is blown away with the wind, or disguised by the melodious singing from just inside the restaurant, but no. He hears your words as clear as day.

“Then don’t go. Don’t leave me again. Come back and we’ll make it better, I won’t work, we don’t need to, and you can live out all of your goals too. It’s high time that you come back where you belong, by my side. Don’t leave again, Sweet pea. Please.”

You’ve never heard him sound so desperate. He clings to you, kisses your hands, and when you’re too dumbfounded to respond, he gently pulls you up and brings you upright to a flat area of the terrace.

A sweet and familiar melody flows with the wind and the bird song, softly filling your ears from the restaurant, seeping into your own little circle with Tom. He cradles his forearm around your waist, his hand splayed on the small of your back. His other cups the palm of your hand gracefully as you rest your head on his cloth covered shoulder. He still smells the same, that same mix of smoke and beer and firewood as always, the musk of his aftershave lingering on the expanse of his neck, a faint sweat from the sun clinging to his freckles.

As soon as the lyrics start, you bury your head further into Tom’s neck, chest to chest, keeping him close.

‘Come on skinny love just last a year,

Pour a little salt we were never here,’

“Come home with me and let's pretend you never left.” Tom suggests, swaying in time with the music, your body moving in time with his even if you aren’t particularly responsive to what he’s saying. “It’ll be better now. We can make it better.”

You hum against his neck noncommittal, the vibrations sending warmth through his chest. His hands roam your body, the snug fitting of his favourite dress hugging your body all too familiar to him. It’s muscle memory to trace the contours of your body beneath the black poplin, the gaps of lace giving him a peek to your dappled skin, and the slightly lower neckline still driving him crazy. His chinos hold his legs and give the silhouette of his muscles, tensing as he dances meek waltz steps, his body naturally leading the way for yours to follow, his shirt blowing open more as you hold him closer. His warmth is what you need, his body, his heart, all of him.

“I want to come back, we’ll make it work,” you whisper, toppling between your heels in what somehow resembles a slow dance to the music still coursing through your veins and making you alive.

‘In the morning I'll be with you

But it will be a different kind

'Cause I'll be holding all the tickets

And you'll be owning all the fines’

“Let's take the risk, sweet pea.”

His voice is no more than a hoarse whisper, illuminating your mind in places that you forgot, his words making your heart flutter. This is it, you love him and you have to go back with him.

‘Come on skinny love…’

“Maybe, “ you start, “Just maybe, this isn’t skinny love anymore.”

Reaching up on your tiptoes and cupping the back of his neck, gently tugging the hair at the nape, you bring his lips down to yours, finally meeting in a kiss, one that’s been months coming. He brings his palms up to your cheeks, holding and caressing while your eyes are squeezed shut, focussing on the deepening massage of his lips against yours. It’s so welcoming, so warming, so homely. This was definitely a risk worth taking.

#tom felton #draco malfoy #tom felton imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco tok #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy fluff #tom felton smut #tom felton fluff #draco fan fic #thomas felton

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yoonjinkooked · 4 years

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Kitchen Confidential | Jin (3)

banner: @casuallyimagining

PART 1 / PART 2

Pairing: Seokjin / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Enemies to lovers, chef AU

Warnings: slow burn with explicit sex later, cursing

Word Count: 5.447

Summary: After years of annoying the life out of you, your rival, Kim Seokjin, pushes you a step too far and he knows it. As angry and resentful as you are, you don’t realize that something has been brewing under the surface for years. This weekend, that will change.

Earlier this morning, you have decided that the time has come to ask Namjoon for a raise. You work hard, do your job well and make sure that the customers walk out of Bonsai with smiles on their faces and bellies full of good food. Having spent most of the day hopping around on one leg, leaning on either Jungkook or Hoseok, going from one room to another to participate in some stupid team building trust exercises, you were agitated and ready for this weekend to be over.

From the moment you’ve opened your eyes, you were in a sour mood. Ankle still very much in pain, you were already thinking about how the hell you are supposed to survive tomorrow in the kitchen – and if you can’t, could you confidently give the control over to Jungkook? And like that wasn’t enough, Kim Seokjin was everywhere. Very literally, everywhere.

Across the table from you at breakfast, two chairs down from you during the lecture you had to sit through and ever as a member of your scavenger hunt team. A scavenger hunt you’ve participated in by sitting on the floor at “home base” and waited for the rest to return with puzzle pieces. And while you helped the team solve the puzzle, Seokjin was right next to you.

The only form of communication between you were the nods you’ve exchanged at breakfast. Other than that, he didn’t say a word and neither did you. At first you thought he was simply going to ignore you for the rest of the day, something you wouldn’t have any complaints about whatsoever, but soon enough you’ve started noticing how Kim Seokjin spends a surprising amount of time just… looking at you. And not just at times when you speak or have the attention on you anyways, oh no. He’d look at you when you’re silent, when you’re minding your own business and always, always, when he thinks that you’re not noticing it. Every time you’d lift your head up and look his way, he’d suddenly find something else more interesting than you.

Even now, sitting between him and Jungkook, you can feel his stare on you. That on itself would be high key unnerving, but after the conversation you’ve had with Jungkook last night, you can’t help but wonder if he had a point. As crazy as it sounded last night, what if Jungkook was right and Kim Seokjin does actually like you?

Perhaps like is not an appropriate word. Can he like you if he doesn’t even know you? Yeah, he’s known you for years but not you as a person, not you as a friend. Attraction might be a better explanation to the current situation. Is Kim Seokjin attracted to you? That’s a bit doubtful but then again, why wouldn’t he be? And he truly is paying more attention to you now than before. Or maybe you’re just noticing it more now. Just how Jungkook had promised you would.

“Now,” Lucy, the weirdly hyperactive middle aged woman leading today’s exercises claps her hands so loudly, you find yourself jumping in surprise. Shaking your head, you empty it of Kim Seokjin and worries about tomorrow’s service and focus on surviving this current form of torture that you are stuck in. “I know some of you guys are closer than the others. After all, you are two teams in one. But for this next exercise, I want you to completely ignore that. If you are close, perfect, it’s going to be fun and easy. If you’re not, just do your best and try. It’ll all help you in the end, help you in trusting your team more than you did before,” she explains. You nod, still wondering how the hell this can help your team work better and why Namjoon thought it was necessary.

“So,” once again, her hand clapping startles you. “You’ll be in pairs. To keep things simple, it’ll be just down the line of how you guys are sitting,” she smiles and this time, you are very startled. Looking down your left, you saw Jimin and Hoseok, Namjoon and Taehyung, Soobin and… Jungkook. It was a mistake to waddle after Jungkook just because you wanted to stay next to him, in your comfort zone. Now you’re stuck with the man on your right. You’re stuck with Kim Seokjin.

“What exactly are we supposed to do?” Wendy, the hostess from Catnip asks. You see her sitting next to Taehyun and you wonder if the two have ever actually talked to one another before.

“Talk,” you want to roll your eyes when the annoying lady in charge laughs at Wendy. “Just talk. If you go way back, talk about how you met. If you barely know each other, get to know each other. After a while we’ll regroup here and I’ll ask you a couple of questions. I’d suggest you find an empty room or table, maybe go outside and get some fresh air? Let’s say, come back here in an hour? And then we can continue with the exercise.”

An hour of talking with Seokjin. Yes, you’re definitely asking Namjoon for a raise.

“Are you okay with not going far?” you ask Seokjin as you stand up, already wincing at the sharp pain your ankle causes you – if this intensity of pain continues tomorrow, you’re going to have to get it checked by a doctor. “I’d rather not test my leg today.”

“Yeah, sure,” Seokjin agrees immediately, standing up beside you. “Do you need help?” he asks.

You want to say no, you truly do. Knowing that your leg won’t appreciate your pettiness, you nod. “Please,” he immediately offers you his arm, which you cling onto as you start bouncing your way out of the hall, not knowing where exactly you’re heading. “Where should we go?” you ask.

“How about the hotel café?” he suggests as he patiently walks in your speed. “It’s pretty much next door and we can drink some coffee?”

“Sure.”

It’s awkward. Perhaps even more awkward than it would have been if last night’s conversation didn’t take place. Both of you are trying extra hard to be polite and it’s just… unnatural. Throwing around snarky comments and eye rolls is more your area of expertise. Now you’re all polite and he’s the perfect gentlemen, even pulling out your chair for you and insisting on buying coffee. It’s weird and awkward and all kinds of wrong.

“So…” he drags out as you reluctantly make eye contact with him. Is this the first time today that you’ve actually looked at each other? He’s been looking away too quickly for you to catch him this entire day. “We’re supposed to talk about when we met?”

It’s ironic now, extremely ironic. Direct eye contact makes Seokjin look more intimidating than he usually does, at least now when you are alone with him. And that feeling of being slightly intimidated by him is something you can vaguely remember from a period that seems like a lifetime ago.

“Didn’t we drink too much during school to remember that?” you ask, smiling when he laughs because yes, you absolutely did drink too much during school. Every damn weekend there was some party, held by someone from your year and you all took every chance that you’ve had for cheap alcohol and an excuse to not study. “But now that you mention it, I do remember one particular scene from the very first day of school.”

Okay, you’re lying. While you don’t remember much, you didn’t suddenly experience a surge of long lost memories coming back to you. The incident in question is something that you’ve never really forgotten since the day it happened, although you don’t think of it often.

“Oh god, what?” Seokjin looks worried and you laugh, knowing that he knows damn well that it’s bad.

“How do you call a cheese that isn’t yours?” you repeat the exact same words that you heard him saying the first day of school, laughing as you watch the pure horror on his face. It’s easy to laugh at him facing his dark past, although a part of you doesn’t believe that he regrets it, not for one second.

“I can’t believe I said that,” he whines.

“Nachocheese. Nacho fucking cheese,” you finish the joke, laughing so hard you feel your eyes watering. It doesn’t help when he looks at you and sighs, pretending that it’s different now, that this is not something he still does and that he does not have a wide array of similar jokes ready to go at any given moment.

“No wonder you hated my ass,” he chuckles, reaching for his cup of coffee.

“I never hated you,” you frown at him, pausing to sip on your own Americano. “Wow, hotel food is horrible but hotel coffee is decent,” you mumble in amazement, enjoying the taste. “Anyways, I didn’t hate you, not then, not now. Don’t get me wrong, you were a pain in my ass but I can distinctly remember laughing at that nacho cheese joke.”

“Huh, I wonder when I ruined that,” he says jokingly but with the way he looks down at the table, you can’t help but wonder if there’s a part of him that’s dead serious. With the events of last night still fresh in your mind, it’s hard to consider him anything but genuine. And with Jungkook’s words also fresh in your mind, you truly don’t want to have a chance to overthink about Seokjin. Especially not while he’s sitting directly in front of you.

“Probably when you changed the labels on salt and sugar jars when we had to make soufflés for an exam. I’m sure you remember that vividly.”

“No!” he lifts his finger up in warning. “I know it was too far but I also knew you’d be smart enough to taste before using! I knew you weren’t going to fall for it.”

“And yet you did it anyways,” you laugh, shaking your head as you remind yourself to not waste your time trying to find logic in Seokjin’s actions. “You’re so fucking lucky I didn’t fall for it. If I had used salt instead of sugar, I would have flunked and would have kicked your ass,” you tell him and you absolutely mean it. If his sabotage or fake sabotage had worked, you would have murdered him in cold blood, then and there.

“I trusted that the most brilliant chef on our year would taste the ingredients before using them,” he tries to flatter you to save himself and it works. It fucking works, because here you are, laughing.

“You’re such an ass,” you shake your head at him, chuckling at his antics. “But yeah. You did it, I didn’t fall for it, you lived. Do you remember when Jimin did that to Taehyung?”

“Yes,” Seokjin bursts into laughter. “And Taehyung did fall for it but it wasn’t for an exam, was it?”

“Nope, it was just regular class,” you confirm, smiling at the memory. “He was chasing Jimin around the hallways with that big ass whisk that hung on the wall as decoration.”

“What the hell was that whisk there for?” Seokjin’s eyes are wide and he sits up, suddenly… being irritated by a whisk? “It was always there, since day one. Just that one gigantic whisk. No one ever used it, right? It was just… there. What was the purpose of it?”

“Other than almost being used as a murder weapon once, I don’t think it was ever used for anything.”

“Do you remember that one time Jungkook had dropped one of those 10kg bags of flour?”

“Oh god, he dropped it on Hoseok’s foot!” you jump up, suddenly remembering the scene that you didn’t think about in years. You can even recall the sound of pain that had left Hoseok. “And the bag ripped!” tears run down your face as you laugh at yet another idiotic memory of your school days.

“We were cleaning that damn flour all day,” Jin adds and you can clearly remember being on all fours with the rest of your class, laughing and cursing as you wipe the mess your friends made earlier, while someone was playing some random song way too loud.

Wiping away your tears, you take a deep breath, wondering if by the time your hour runs out, you’ll have to reluctantly admit that this exercise wasn’t so shitty after all.

“Can you manage?” Seokjin asks as he lets you lean on him again, on full alert to catch you if you stumble. You confirm with a nod. “Are you sure?” he checks again but you don’t have the time to answer as Lucy, the lady in charge, comes rushing towards the two of you.

“Hi!” She smiles in a way that makes you feel instantly uncomfortable. “Namjoon tells me that the two of you are team leaders in your respective restaurants.”

“Well, not really. We’re the team leaders in the kitchen, not in the restaurants,” Seokjin explains.

“Yeah, we’re not in charge for the front of house teams,” you add, looking around the hall where everyone else had already started to gather. “If you want team leaders, you’d need us, Yoongi and Namjoon as well as Mina and Wendy. We’re all in charge of different tasks.”

“Yeah, but kitchen teamwork is the most important,” Lucy laughs.

“Um, not necessarily,” Seokjin counters her immediately. “Front of house is just as important as-“

“Yes, but Namjoon tells me the two of you don’t exactly get along,” Lucy interrupts him. You shake your head, having just spent an hour down memory lane with Seokjin – Namjoon’s kiss ass, teacher’s pet nature is still showing after all these years. “I think it would set a good example for other pairs if the two of you go first. Are you up for it?” she asks and Seokjin turns to you, shrugging his shoulders.

“Why not?” you would shrug too, if you weren’t too busy clutching onto Seokjin’s arm.

“Perfect, follow me,” she orders the two of you and you follow her, standing behind her as she faces the rest of your co-workers. The entire scene must be comical, seeing as you are still very much hopping and clinging onto Seokjin and neither of you have any idea what’s about to happen. Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you, starting to laugh when you glare at him. Oh, but he doesn’t stop there – while Lucy talks, he wiggles his eyebrows and you don’t need to be a genius to know he’s teasing you for your arm candy. Here you go again, thinking about what he said last night.

“Y/N,” you snap out of your daze when Lucy calls your name. Shit, you weren’t listening. “Go on. Tell us what you admire about Seokjin.”

Oh fucking hell, no wonder why most of your co-workers look like they’re a few seconds away from laughing. Just a few days ago, you wanted to snap his neck, not caring who’d be there to witness it and now you are supposed to talk about him and what you admire most about him. In public. In front of people who have known you, and have more than enough blackmail material, for years.

“Can I just like… get a chair?” you ask awkwardly and thank god, Lucy walks over quickly to drag one to you. Once you’re seated and no longer attached to Seokjin, he does the same and sits his chair next to yours while you wait in awkward silence and pray this moment won’t last long because everyone is watching you and you want to cry. “Okay. I guess it’s not a secret that Seokjin and I aren’t exactly best of friends,” you start, immediately embarrassed by the few snickers coming from your co-workers.

“That’s an understatement,” Jimin mumbles loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You’re a jackass,” you smile at him, ignoring the kiss he blows your way. “Anyways, I know Seokjin and I aren’t always on the same page but when I think of what I admire about him…” you pause, thinking of right words to express your thoughts. “I admire his talent. He is a brilliant chef. Of course, I’m better, don’t get it twisted,” everyone in the room laughs at your remark, even Seokjin. Which is a relief, as much as you hate to admit it. ”I humbly think that I’m better a better chef, but I work hard. And way back when, I studied hard. Seokjin never had to. He’s a natural. I’ve… seen him improvise and create amazing dishes without much effort. Or at least he just knows how to make it look easy. But yeah, I admire his ability. And even though I will deny saying this for the rest of my life, I kind of envy him for it too.”

Everyone laughs and when you find the strength in you to look at him, you notice Seokjin smiling. Something that you’ve never noticed before is how calm and content he looks when he’s smiling. It’s miles away from his roaring laughter, just a simple smile and a nod of his head that tells you he’s thankful for your words. He has a beautiful smile and you’ve never paid attention to it before.

You look away immediately once you realize this, but you make the mistake of looking towards Jungkook. Whatever it is that just happened, he saw it. And you’re pretty sure you’ll get an earful later, judging by the way he questioningly raised his eyebrows at you.

“I might regret being completely honest here, so I’ll pull Y/N’s card and if anyone uses this against me, I’ll deny it,” a chorus of chuckles follows Seokjin’s words. You listen carefully but don’t dare to look at him – staring at your convers seems much more appealing right now. “I admire Y/N’s ability to be one with you guys. The way she gets along with her team is amazing. I know I have an amazing team that has my back always but Hoseok straight up sabotaged his own team yesterday during paintball because he’s that loyal to his actual team. Y/N is the glue that keeps you together, functioning as well as you do. I try to do the same. Not sure if it works but I truly admire that about her.”

You’re not sure if Seokjin knows how much hearing that meant to you. Shame swallows you when you realize you didn’t do half as much to portray him as someone you admire, even though not a single word of what you’ve said was a lie. Knowing that someone, someone who is arguably just as good as you are in the industry that you are in, thinks that you are admirable for the way you lead your team has to be one of the best compliments that you have ever received.

He didn’t praise you in an over the top way and honestly, he didn’t have to. He said the one thing that you actually hoped to hear, from someone, at some point in your career.

Did Seokjin know that? Was it a happy accident or does he actually pay attention enough to know how much your relationship with your team matters to you? Before this weekend team building disaster, you would have laughed at the suggestion that Seokjin had paid enough attention to notices something like that. After everything that has happened since, you’re not so sure. Maybe Seokjin did pay attention, more than you ever have.

There’s a thing that Jungkook does whenever he has something to say, but doesn’t want to say it. He tends to purse his lips, either in annoyance or in a desperate attempt to hold back his laughter. He looks away from the person he wants to say it to and it’s usually followed with his leg bouncing up and down.

The lip thing started while you were still at the hotel parking lot. The leg thing started half a mile ago.

“Whatever it is that you’re holding back, just say it.” you know you sound irritated and he hasn’t even said anything. But knowing him, and sadly, you know him well, whatever it is… it’s going to bother you.

“I’m not holding back anything,” he insists, but he almost breaks out in a chuckle. He is barely holding back. You can tell that it’s coming.

“Say it!” you growl at him.

“Seokjin and Y/N, sitting in a tree,” he starts singing. Yep, you were right. It is bothering you. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes rivalry, then comes flirting, then comes-“

“Oh my god, stop!” you whine. The last thing you want to hear is how he plans on finishing the song. “I knew you were holding something back. There’s nothing happening with Seokjin!”

“I know there isn’t, you’re still in denial,” he laughs, not moving his eyes from the road. “You are now entering Denialtown. Population: Y/N.”

The easiest way to get Jungkook of your case is to simply ignore him. If you play along, he’ll take that as a confirmation and think that he’s right. If you get defensive, he won’t let it go, at least not before this car ride is over. The best thing you could do was ignore him and stare through the window in silence. At least the view is beautiful, with the purple, orange and pinkish sky. You didn’t get any rest over this weekend but at least you got a chance to spend some time outside, much more than you do on your regular weekends. Although a spa weekend would have been better. A spa weekend spent alone.

“I know you’re trying to shut me out,” you hear Jungkook chuckle. “By all means, do that. Still doesn’t change that Seokjin has the hots for you and judging by those exchanged looks between you, you don’t seem to mind.”

You wanted to deny but you kept your mouth shut, knowing how this will play out. Of course you looked at him – it would have been incredibly rude not to, seeing as you spent a good chunk of the day talking with him. What Jungkook is forgetting and you can’t is that you are still very much hurt with the events that preceded this weekend. Sure, Seokjin is acting all nice and yes, he’s not that bad to look at. Also, he did apologize for stealing your recipe but that doesn’t change the fact that he did it. You are still salty about it and whenever that saltiness starts to die down, you’ll remind yourself of it, just like you’re doing now. He can act all friendly and chummy but he straight up harmed your career.

The only reason he was being nice is because he knows what he has done. Perhaps he even fears your possible retaliation. Nice and cute he can be, but if you were not angry to the point of seeing red, this weekend wouldn’t even happen. He wouldn’t have been acting the way he was. You are 100% sure that he would have been his normal, annoying self, if that human part of him wasn’t feeling guilty.

“Do you think you’ll manage tomorrow on your own?” you blatantly change the topic. If he could afford to look away from the road before him, Jungkook would see that you are not amused, not in the least. Your tone must be enough for him to figure it out, because his teasing demeanor stops instantly, his smile turning into a frown. “I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to stand tomorrow. At least not for the whole shift,” you tell him.

It was settled before you left, that Jungkook will take your place. Namjoon insisted that you rest, however long it takes and no matter how much you were fighting him on it, he’s the boss and his word is last. He also had a good point – if you were to strain yourself, it could easily backfire and lead to more pain or a longer paid sick leave. Sure, it hurts less than it did yesterday and tomorrow morning, it’ll probably be better, but you know that Namjoon was right and that you really shouldn’t risk it.

That meant that your kitchen, your precious kitchen and team, will be in Jungkook’s hands tomorrow.

“It’s not the first time that I have to run the kitchen. Don’t you trust me?” Jungkook asks and you instantly feel bad for even asking if he’d be able to do it. You didn’t ask because you have doubts in his ability – you asked because you want to make sure that he’s comfortable.

“I’d trust you with my life, you dumbass,” you tell him and instantly feel your shoulders sag in relief when he starts laughing. “I don’t doubt your ability, I never have. I’m simply asking because before we’ve had time to prepare for you being in charge and me being away. This time it’s pretty sudden and I really don’t feel like pushing you into the fire.”

“I can handle fire just fine,” he reassures you. “And in case I need help, you’re one call away. Just… do your best to take this time to relax, not just rest your leg. Fuck, when’s the last time you’ve had a proper vacation?” he asks.

“Uh… define proper vacation.”

“More than three days off? In a row?” he suggests.

“Never?” you wonder out loud. “Not since I’ve started working full time, at least. I think I took a week off when we worked back at Dino’s?”

“Y/N, you need to take a little break,” Jungkook sounds serious, which suddenly makes you feel guilty because of your own irresponsibility. Looking away from him and focusing on the colorful sky again, you wonder how much your workaholic behavior had affected you without even realizing.

It’s not that you were missing any warning signs: you don’t feel overworked, you don’t hate your job, you do have hobbies you enjoy doing when you’re not working. If trying out new recipes, watching movies and hanging out with friends can count as hobbies. On the surface, it’s all fine and dandy but not taking more than three days off in a row is simply not normal. Being in love with your job and fully dedicated to it does not mean that you can’t be negatively affected by it.

Thinking back on the day of the review… a part of you really wanted to strangle Seokjin, then and there. There’s a whole backstory that almost made violence become your solution but maybe it was something more. Lack of patience, stress… Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you but suddenly taking a few days off doesn’t sound like such a horrible idea.

“You know, maybe asking Namjoon to take this whole week off is what I need to do.”

“That sounds good,” Jungkook agrees immediately. “You can rest your leg, relax, think of recipes for the fall menu… take some time off for yourself. I can handle the kitchen for a week.”

“Of course you can. One fine day when I grow a pair and decide to open my own restaurant, you’re going to be a head chef. Being in charge of everything for a little bit is going to be a good practice for that,” you tell him even though you’re pretty he could do a damn good job, even now.

“And here I thought I was going to be your sous chef forever,” he tells you. You immediately laugh but as you turn to look at him, there is a trace of a pout on his lips. Yeah, he’s joking but it doesn’t seem like this kind of joke sounds good to him. You want to coo at his pouty face.

“Kook. You can’t be my second in command forever,” you tell him, leaning over to tap him on the shoulder. “You’re too good of a chef for that. We’re a great team but keeping you a sous chef forever would be an insult to your talent. I’m not planning on going anywhere for now, so you have plenty of time to get used to the idea. But when I open my own place, Bonsai’s kitchen is yours. Unless you get sick of me first and leave,” you joke. “Or we can be partners and open our own place?”

“Nah,” Jungkook shakes his head so quickly, you almost feel insulted at the speed of his refusal. “You’ll open a place with Seokjin when the two of you get married.”

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes. How lovely, you can no longer even have a touching conversation without him turning it right back to the part where he teases you relentlessly. “You know, I might just speed up to the leaving part and leave your sorry ass in the kitchen alone.”

“I’m just joking!”

You haven’t even realized how much you’ve missed the comfort of your own apartment, not until you closed the front door and leaned on it with your eyes closed. Too much has happened and instead of being a relaxing, team building event, this weekend felt more like two and a half days of pure stress, with a few jokes and a couple of drinks to make it easier.

Waddling your way to the kitchen, you decide to do the one thing that always helps you de-stress: cook.

It doesn’t take you long to pick out the ingredients and get ready for prep. Wash hands, butterfly the chicken breasts, move them to a plate, season them with salt and pepper, wash everything. Use a new chopping board and knife, get the cheese and prosciutto ready. Fill the chicken with cheese, wrap it with prosciutto. Pan on medium heat, oil. Get out the sauce ingredients and gnocchi.

It’s only when you’re opening the bag of gnocchi that you realize what you’re making. Using the ingredients at hand, things you had ready to go, food that needed to be used before going bad, you ended up halfway through the infamous chicken recipe that was reviewed by the critic.

Frowning, you take out another pan. You’re going to roast the damn gnocchi this time. Just a little, to get the outside to a subtle crunch, since the renowned mister food critic preferred them that way. Cooking them to al dente, you throw them into the heated pan, chunk a bunch of fresh rosemary in it and pour a bit of olive oil, waiting for the cast iron to do its trick.

By the time the chicken is done, the gnocchi is too, and with a quick tomato sauce, you’re ready to go. Finishing it off with a dash of balsamic vinegar, because even when you’re at home, you’re still a damn good head chef, you waddle your way to the kitchen island, ignoring the dishes that are now filling up the sink: that’s tomorrow Y/N’s problem.

Scooping a tiny piece of chicken and one tiny gnocco, you dab them in sauce and try it, approaching it as head chef Y/N, not a hungry, regular person Y/N.

Seconds pass as you chew, analyzing every kind of flavor that you get through the bite, all the sweet, salty and savory undertones in that one bite. And the textures, the textures that your original recipe lacked, because you did not pan sear the gnocchi.

“Damn you, Kim Seokjin,” you sigh, stabbing the chicken with your fork rather ferociously. “You really did make it better, didn’t you?”

You wanted to be mad, you really did. Salty, like you were before. And a huge part of you still was. Angry at him for taking the recipe, angry at yourself for not thinking about adding a new layer of texture to the dish before he did… yeah, a part of you was angry. But a different part of you, the one who didn’t want to stab that poor piece of chicken, was thinking of that smile Seokjin makes – that cute, content smile, when he closes his eyes, his lips subtly lift up at the corners and dimples appear.

The bitter taste in your mouth had nothing to do with the dish you’ve just made. It had everything to do with Seokjin and you once again wondering to yourself, how the hell did it get to this?

That’s a question you don’t know how to answer but you’re sure as hell glad Jungkook isn’t here to tease you about it. A girl can only handle so much when she’s wondering if the relationship with her arch nemesis now involves different kinds of… feelings.

#jin smut #bts smut #jin scenario #bts scenario #jin x reader #jin x Y/N #jin au #bts au #jin fanfic #jin fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts writing #glitter-kookiedough #glitter-kookiedough writes #seokjin smut

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twilitty · 3 years

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Moonlit ch.2

This is the second chapter in my new fic Moonlit, it will be posted on Tumblr, ao3, and ffnet. New chapters uploaded every week and a half. Message/comment to be added to my tag list.

3.9k words

previous chapter

big thank you to my beta reader @effervescentlyirrevocable who has given me the absolute best criticism and helped make this chapter so beautiful :)

Bella Swan is introduced to a possible new friend and receives a gift. The doctors new family may not be as well adjusted to small town life as Charlie would like.

Chapter Two

The next morning I wake up to a growl of thunder beating against the inside of my skull. I had a night of thankfully restful sleep for once, only waking up to get a glass of water. My hands are clasped against my chest, fingers knotted in annoyance as I hold back what likely will be a spill of expletives. Why must there always be noise? Why can I not sleep soundly and awake soundly, just once?

I open one eye experimentally, hoping the sun has already arisen and I won’t be missing out on any leftover sleep. My room is shrouded in darkness. The expletives, swear words crude enough to make a priest gag, spill out in a muttered breath and my hands squeeze against each other once more before reaching for my alarm clock. The red numbers blink back at me and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the light before I read the time. Nine in the morning. I look back to the window where my blinds are drawn closed, but still no light, even filtered through the canopy of clouds, peaks at the edges.

The thunder, which had gone quiet after waking me up initially, rolls again for a moment before silencing itself. Only, was it thunder? It sounded heavy, like machinery but with a deeper growl. Was there construction nearby? I didn’t recall any on my few trips up and down the street, and I question why there would need to be any construction anyways. It’s not as if this is a booming neighbourhood with a subdivision being built.

Charlie knocks against my door, quieter than yesterday. “Bella, it’s time to get up.” You’d imagine that with my age being nearly twenty and my status as a legal adult I’d be allowed to choose my own time to wake up. My annoyance dies down quickly when my thoughts bounce back to Phoenix, waking up early each morning to drive Mom into her early morning classes. Nine in the morning really isn’t that early, in fact, it allows me time to get some chores done before class. “Someone has dropped by.”

My lips contort into an annoyed pucker. Who would have stopped by? Mom had warned me before the move that nothing but rumours and nasty mold comes from Forks. Apparently her quick marriage to Charlie, and even quicker pregnancy with me, was enough gossip to fuel conversations for years. I remember a trip to Forks at eight years old, a woman had stopped my mother in the grocery store and asked her over for coffee. “They just want the inside scoop,” Renee had told me afterwards, “Give them anything and they’ll find a way to make it ugly.”

My bare feet brush the ground and a flash of cold spreads up my shins. Apparently, even in spring, the weather is dangerously cold. I tell Charlie I’ll be downstairs in a moment, pulling on a pair of jeans and thermal socks. I was hoping for a relaxing day alone, just me, my sweatpants, and the laptop. I compromise on the socks, regardless of who is downstairs, my toes will not be cold today.

I pull the blinds open, the lawn stretching out beside the house is bathed in shadowy darkness despite the morning hour. The forest that lines our property, secluding us from the neighbours, is eerie and mysterious. The green tones that I initially found alien and too bright are now gone and replaced with navy. I wait a moment, staring into the trees, my thoughts rambling into fairytale imaginations.

My brain conjures an image of a man, tall and insidious, stepping out of the tree line, long claws attached to his fingers and a nasty grin revealing pointed teeth. His shirt is ripped in the front, a long tear reaching from throat to navel and from inside the shirt tufts of hair stick out. No, not hair, fur. He growls menacingly.

I close the blinds quickly and blink against the pictures my brain throws at me.

The landline rings downstairs and startles me, a jolt of anxious adrenaline surging through my cold feet and up into my heart. Maybe one of the reasons I enjoyed Phoenix’s barren, plain landscape was that I would not be subjected to such terrible thoughts. I remember being twelve and watching Scream with my mother, she was on a horror movie kick and had rented a whole stack of DVDs for us to watch. That night when I was tired but my eyes refused to close as I didn’t want to imagine what could be lurking outside my bedroom window. Crawling into my mother’s bed, she ran her warm palm against my forehead and hummed a song until I calmed down.

“Bella,” she had said quietly, the nurturing lilt of her voice expanding my heart, “We live in a desert. You can see for miles and miles and miles, if some bad man was coming we’d see him from forty minutes away.” I giggled quietly into the comforter, our bodies pressed against each other in near sleep and my mother’s hands maneuvering through my hair with expertise.

Now, I look out at the grassy lawn from a crack between the blinds. It resembles the set of a slasher movie, the forest borders it with every possibility my imagination can muster. I can see a man from four seconds away, not forty minutes.

There's a chorus of male laughter from below and I sigh, assuming this is my cue to go downstairs and meet with whoever has stopped in.

Charlie is sitting in the living room, facing me and his back to the television which is decidedly blank. On the couch is a head of glossy, black hair. Beside him is a wheelchair with an older man sitting in it, a mug clasped between dark hands. I curse whatever forces brought these strangers into the house so early, I am not in the mood for interaction. I was hoping for a bowl of oatmeal and a quiet morning.

“Hey!” Charlie braces his hands on his knees and pushes out of the armchair. His face is split in half with a grin. I can’t recall him smiling this large in the past week of my stay. The two men turn, facing me with warm smiles.

One of them is older, perhaps Charlie's age, his mouth creased with smile lines and his eyes wrinkled with sun damage. His skin is a warm russet brown, his eyes deep-set behind pronounced brows and a large smile. Bright white teeth stare back at me as my brain picks over his features, how do I know this man? I know almost immediately that he’s Quileute, from the Reservation to the west of town. I vaguely remember trips to the beach with Charlie and eating hotdogs over fires with some of the children from the area.

“Do you remember me, Bella?” He asks in a deep, commanding tone. His voice transports me back to the beach, collecting colourful rocks with the other kids and being called to dinner. Billy Black. He lives in a small, red house with a large kitchen perfect for gatherings. He’s older than I remember, but my last time being here for any substantial time was nearly four years ago.

“Dad, c’mon,” the boy says with a sarcastic eye roll. He stands from the couch, his height towering mine by a few inches and his broad shoulders slumped forward happily. I wonder how tall he’d be if he stood to his full height. His voice is deep, not as deep as his father’s, but still an indicator of the family resemblance. Where his father is strong and sure, this boy is aloof and casual. Jacob Black. “She hasn’t been back in ages, she probably blocked your nasty attitude out of her memory.”

I bite back a smile, but Billy laughs and shoots Charlie a look that says, kids, am I right? I step forward and extend my hand to Jacob, who takes it gratefully in his own and gives a soft shake. His hand covers mine and is most definitely a few degrees warmer than I am. “Jacob Black, we used to make mud pies together.”

“Best in town,” Charlie adds in from the back of the room. I smile.

“No, no, I remember you guys,” I tell the Blacks. “It just took me a moment.” Charlies sits back down in his chair and motions for me to take a seat.

“Billy and Jake just stopped by,” my father explains. I sit beside Jacob on the couch, a cushion between us. But, even with the provided space and the lack of physical contact, I feel heat come off of him in waves like a radiator. I wonder if he’s sick. “Jake here is a mechanic.” A furious blush settles under the boy's brown skin as his mechanical skills are brought up, this is my first time hearing of his expertise. I remember his sisters being twins, both tall and beautiful with matching smiles. They were almost two years older than me, Jacob had followed closely behind and was only born in the same six months as me. Of course, now that I try to remember, the date falls short in my memory. It’s possible he has a career as a mechanic somewhere on the Reservation, but he mustn’t work in Forks. I hadn’t seen a single mechanics garage in town.

“No, no,” he looks between me and my father with an apologetic smile, “it’s just a hobby. Something for fun.” Billy tsks at his son, shaking his head in a way that makes me believe this conversation has occurred before.

“Hobbies can bring in money, hobbies can turn into jobs,” the older man says with a scolding tone. Jacob just shakes his head crookedly, not responding. Charlie takes this as his cue to interrupt the trajectory of the conversation, and I’m grateful. I haven’t spoken to these men in nearly four years, that last place I want to be is in the middle of a family feud.

“Well, now, there was a reason I brought up Jake’s skills,” Charlie interjects with a wave at the large boy next to me. “Bells, go take a look outside.” My fingers twitch anxiously in my lap at being thrust into the center of the conversation. I was hoping I could slide under the radar here, not end up in the middle of it.

It takes great restraint for me to get up from the couch and not stumble over my ankles in the act, my clumsiness reaches new heights when I’m being watched by a room of people. Even if there are only three people in the room. The window at the end of the room is open, the curtains pulled to the side, and when I reach it my gaze falls on a group of kids biking down the street with a rainbow of helmets. Apparently, the dark sky doesn’t scare them the way it does me.

They pedal quickly, little screams of delight just barely audible through the thick glass of the living room window. They pass the porch and disappear behind a large red truck parked out front of the house. I blink. It’s still there, rounded fenders and shiny door handles, long bed, ancient grill adorning the hood. It’s beautiful. “Is that your truck, Billy?” There’s a chorus of laughter behind me, the men’s baritones mixing and producing a flaming blush starting at my neck and creeping up into my face. I turn to look at them, my stomach clenching as I turn away from the beautiful vehicle. “What?”

“It’s yours, Bella,” Charlie tells me. The breath I was holding leaves my lungs through my gaping mouth, I struggle to close it and take an experimental inhale. “Bella?” I turn and look back out the window, the glorious truck still sits there staring at me from across the dark lawn. I can only imagine how beautiful it is in the sunlight.

“I- it’s mine?” I ask. Another series of laughs echo through and then footsteps come up beside me, Jacob stands looking out the window. “You made it?” I question, looking up at him.

His shoulders shake silently and his lips press together as he tries to compose himself, I’m not sure why he finds my comment so funny but it reignites my blush. “I fixed it up, yeah. But, don’t get too excited. The thing runs at sixty miles max, push her further than that and you’ll be walking home.”

We all go outside quickly, me leading the pack with an excited skip in my step. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall on my face or stumble over my words as I spoke my thoughts aloud. “It’s so pretty, I love it! Jake, I have no idea how you could make it look so perfect.” The truck sits against the curb, its red paint flaking in places around the tires, but even more perfect than I could have imagined.

The sky is a disturbing shade of grey, a fact that irritates me more outside than it did in the house. Why does the weather have to ruin such a perfectly good moment? But I spend the majority of my time on the vehicle, petting its sides carefully like I might damage it. Finally, seemingly having had enough of me quietly admiring the vehicle, Billy tells me to hop in and check it out on the inside.

Jacob produces a set of keys, no automatic locking mechanism, and twists it in the truck's door handle. He holds the door open for me, producing a hand to help me in. I take it gratefully, stepping up into the driver’s seat and letting myself sink into the seat. Jacob closes the door on me, but my thoughts are lost and focused only on how much I love this truck.

“So,” he says after opening the passenger door and climbing up next to me, “You ever driven a truck before?” I shake my head, fingers curving experimentally around the thin steering wheel. I can see myself now: driving down the empty highway, the sun blinding against the dry pavement, window down and hair blowing, radio blaring. It’s exactly what I needed, a way for me to get around without needing to borrow the cruiser (which, yes, is illegal) or have Charlie drive me around.

“I can give you lessons,” Jake offers, fingers clasped in his lap, drumming a tune against the opposite knuckles. “If not that’s cool, but she drives a little funny.” “She?” I ask, eyes leaving the steering wheel momentarily to watch his face. He notices, the serene expression dropping from his face and replaced with a quick upturn of his lips.

“Uh, yeah.” He palms the back of his neck roughly and seems almost apologetic. “I have a thing for cars, y’know, so naming them is kinda part of the deal.” I can barely make out a faint red tinge over his cheeks. “Wait, hold on,” I can’t contain the giggle that slips out but firmly press my lips together before trying again. I can only imagine the toothy smile I’m giving him, a girl all too excited over some old truck. Only, this is the perfect old truck. “What’s her name?”

“Betty,” he responds sheepishly, his hand still massaging the back of his neck. “But if you tell anybody that I’ll have to kill you.”

“That’s okay, Betty is our secret.”

And, just like that, I now have a secret with someone. Does this make us friends? Regardless of whatever it makes us, my heart sings happily from within my chest, excited to think that maybe Forks won’t be as lonesome as it’s been this past week. Maybe Jacob and I will become friends and bond over Betty and I won’t only have Charlie and school and books.

“Well, before you accept her turn the keys,” Jacob instructs. I oblige, setting the keys in the ignition and giving them a gentle twist. A roar of mechanical thunder envelopes us. I nearly leap out of my seat in surprise, the loud rumbling of the engine settling in my ears and blocking out all other noises. Jake says something but I can barely hear him from over the thunderous growl of Betty. I turn the keys back and the truck dies down with one last rumble. “She’s loud,” he says obviously.

“She’s perfect.”

Jacob hands me a spare set of keys after we get out, telling me that he’ll be back the day after tomorrow to give me my first driving lesson in the truck. Charlie was all too excited with that idea, even though I already have my license and know how to drive. In fact, other than illegally borrowing the cruiser with Charlie’s permission, I have never committed an illegal act involving a vehicle. If memory serves me correctly, Charlie has two speeding tickets from his youth.

But, I don’t argue against Jake's offer. In fact, I thank him profusely and promise to pay him for the lessons. “Bella,” he says in an exasperated way, as if we’ve known each other for years and I always say such supposedly outlandish things. “Why would you pay me for something I’m offering to you?”

We’ve stopped in front of the Blacks vehicle, a large brown and beige truck which seems to only be a decade newer than the red one. This isn’t saying much for the brown vehicle as the red one could be from the fifties. Billy is wheeling his way down the driveway with Charlie walking beside him, laughing emphatically at something his friend had said.

“That’s crazy,” I respond with a shake of my head. “That’s like me not paying you for the truck.”

“Yeah, I know.” I take pause at this, the words welling up inside my brain and the meaning lost to me for only a moment. Then, like finally finding the missing puzzle piece under the table, I understand what this means and the picture is clear.

“You- I- This truck isn’t free.” The words stutter out of me, the first two the beginnings of messages I abandoned immediately after starting them. This truck, though old, is not cheap, and neither is Jakes’s skill. I should pay him for labour if nothing else, but I know he doesn’t want to include that in the bill. He doesn't want to send me a bill.

“It’s a gift,” he states simply with a shrug of his wide shoulders. Billy pulls up beside me, slapping away Charlie's hand as he tries to adjust his chair for him.

“Careful, Swan,” the older Black warns with hostility. “I have more muscle in these arms than you do in your entire body. Touch the chair and you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Jacob helps Billy into the passenger seat, folding up the wheelchair and securing it into the truck bed with quick hands. Charlie stands beside me, shooting fiery threats back and forth with his friend until Jacob climbs behind the wheel. “Storm coming through,” Jacob says with a wave towards the dark sky. “If you need any help with anything, tying stuff down or moving let me know.” Charlie thanks him for the offer and I lean in to thank him again for the truck and the lessons. I also assure him that the argument over billing is far from over and that he’ll get an earful the next time we meet.

The rest of the day is spent restlessly. I log into my online classes but my attention is continuously claimed by my truck in front of the house. The sun never shows itself, content with hiding behind the cloud coverage. I’m sitting in the living room when Charlie gets home for dinner, my book discarded on the couch somewhere beside me. I reach for it once I see his cruiser pull into the driveway, deciding it would be better to look busy than to look like I’m obsessing over my new means of transportation.

“Bella?” He calls, the door shutting behind him with a creak. At some point I’ll have to oil all the hinges in the house. It’s that or I go clinically insane from the constant noise.

“Yeah, just in here.”

He comes in bearing a brown bag with the Forks Diner logo written on the side. “I brought dinner, it’ll be on the stove.” I nod and thank him, telling him that we can eat together once he’s down and out of uniform. “Well, actually, I won’t be eating until a bit later.” His moustache twitches irritably and he disappears into the kitchen to drop the food off.

“Are you meeting with Billy?” I ask, knowing this isn’t the case. It must be an issue with work causing him to feel stressed. And when he comes back into the living room from the kitchen I’m able to see the tension holding his shoulders in place. “Did something happen at work?” “It’s nothing to worry about,” he assures me, but his words do anything but. So much for police chief being a boring job. “Just those new kids in town, the doctors children,” he waves a hand in the air as if trying to gather his thoughts. “Kicking up trouble in their first week here, something about racing.”

“Oh.” I pull my knees under me and turn to face him fully, my arms hanging over the back of the couch like a child.

“Anyways, no big deal I’m sure they’re just used to city life or something.” But, my fathers tone indicates that he most definitely does not believe his own words. In Charlie's books a bad apple is always a bad apple, and he’s probably dreading all the other trouble these kids will kick up. “I’ve just gotta go check-in with them, make sure it doesn’t happen again.” His hand moves towards my arm, as if to pat me goodbye but it stutters midair, falling back to his side awkwardly.

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, biting on it as he mutters a goodbye and leaves through the front door without looking at me again. I wonder when this will get any easier.

Renee left Charlie a year into their young marriage, taking me away to live with her in Arizona. She had given me partial reasons over the years for her leaving, talking of them being too young, the weather too wet, how she wanted a life where she could be free from responsibilities. I’m not sure whether it dawned on her that a child constitutes a responsibility, but she took me to every yoga class and rarely left me with a babysitter.

My mother was never too keen on Forks, not that I fault her for it, the weather leaves much to be desired and there’s virtually nothing to do. But, because of her disliking I rarely visited my father, my first extended visit being when I was twelve and stayed the entire summer as Renee travelled with her then-boyfriend. I came back to a scrapbook of kissy photos and pressed leaves from her travels, all I had to show for my trip was a runny nose and a strong distaste for hamburgers. One can only eat so many burgers before the novelty wears off.

taglist: @musingsofvenus @maybesandohnos

#twilight #edward cullen #bella swan #jasper #the twilight saga #carlisle #twilight saga #smeyer #2008 #twilight renaissance #fanfic #jacob/Bella #Bella/Jacob #Jacob x Bella #Bella x Jacob #twilight fanfiction #twilight fanfic #mine

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nafeary · 4 years

Text

“Family Day”

⚬ Pairing/s: Theo/Reader, Vinart undertones

⚬ Characters: The. Entire. Cast

⚬ Word Count: 5,6k

⚬ Warnings: None!

⚬ Event: Theo Route Countdown Party [D-5: Prompt - Theo and Residents] hosted by the one and only @delicateikemenmemes

✧✎ Synopsis: Free days are supposed to be spent in the company of your loved ones, yet they are all busy running around somewhere. On top of that, it had been a busy week, tiring the art dealer considerably. But never fear! His surrogate family is prepared to use every measure to cheer him up... they tried to, at least.

✧✎ A/N: ughhh finally I managed to publish smth once again! School and moving has been very hectic, but I still managed to piece this together in celebration of Theo Week hosted by the most amazing, brilliant, beautiful, stunning, and thirsty hoe @delicateikemenmemes. This is such a self-indulgent piece (I love platonic relationships almost as much as romantic ones) so I hope everyone enjoys this as much as I did~ make sure to drink water y’all!

Gadver...

He had thought nothing of it when King had demanded a walk at stupid’s hour. He had thought nothing of it when that golden retriever had suddenly run off. He had thought nothing of it when he had returned, accompanied by a little, and dare he even say cute, rabbit sitting atop his head.

But as soon as that thing had opened its eyes, one gleaming like gold and the other bathed in blood, Theodorus Van Gogh had wanted nothing but to scream.

The ball of hazel fluff gazed up at him, blinking it’s fatigue away (which was definitely not cute), apparent that it had been sleeping just before his dog had discovered it. Considering that the sun had barely peeked past the horizon, it was way too early for that two-faced klootzak to have visited the mansion... so why the actual fuck was his pet in their garden?

He had already made up his mind to just leave that thing there and to mind his own business, but King’s jovial shuffling and the rabbit’s unabashed manipulation—aka its not cute button eyes shining with mirth—were threatening to melt his iron resolve. Nonetheless, his folded arms remained powerful as he looked down at the two animals, his height only adding to his dominance.

“No, absolutely not. It’s my free day and I won’t entertain your incessant yapping.“ Not even his dog’s judgmental expression could waver his conviction; he took pride in his mental strength and stubbornness, after all.

“No, King.” He once heard a saying that pets always take after the owner’s personality... perhaps there was some truth to it, now that he witnessed his unwavering gaze.

“...No.” Would those two stop looking at him as if he was akin to a monster?

“Godverdomme! Alright! I’ll bring it back to that bastaard!”

As he beckoned King to follow him, Theo swore that he saw the bunny smirk in undeniable schadenfreude when his pet skipped past him in enthusiastic strides.

Truly, like owner, like pet.

When he returned to the mansion, two hours wasted just to cater to his dog and morals, he saw the resident physicist, shuffling rather awkwardly outside the former emperor’s room, obviously in peril. Before he could slip away to mind his own business, King took it onto himself to greet him.

The jolly skipped in big strides toward the slightly build man, who was already awaiting the impact with a horrified grimace, and he would have torn him down had he not shouted, “Volg Rechts, King!”

When the retriever dutifully returned to his side, unapologetically letting his tail run slaloms, he addressed Isaac, “He’s all bark and no bite, you know?”

“That sounds terribly like yourself.” Now, he might have grown used to Arthur’s British slang and accent, but even if the Lincolnshire voice was more than a little unique, he was still pretty damn sure that he heard that right.

Just as he was about to snap, a tuck on his pants made him turn to his orange furred companion, repeatedly nudging his glistening button nose into Isaac’s direction. It almost appeared as if the door was posing as one grande formula with how much it was being stared at by the scientist.

Sighing in resignation, he glanced at King once again, who sported the same guilt tripping expression he had had before. Of course, it didn’t take an Arthur to figure out what the Brit had been tasked with, but that didn’t compel him to his support. Formula weren’t his area of expertise, after all.

...Although, Theo did technically owe him for the fright his dog had given him.

“Want me to wake him up?”

Visibly startled by his stoic tone, Isaac whirled around. “Ah— Theodorus... you don’t have to. I was just...” he trailed off, tilting his head in a habitually manner as he fumbled with the apple-shaped pin in bouts of disquiet.

Grumbling in irritation, he replied in an effort to appeal to the contrarian, “You’re right, I don’t have to.”

He made sure to turn around completely, taking a few steps to show he took the naysayer seriously. And the Brit’s voice rang out not long after. “Wait!”

Theo regarded him once again, smirking slightly at his successful tactic.

“It’s— we were supposed to visit the children early today...” he said, twisting the tips of his coral hair. “But I am not exactly keen on waking him—for obvious reasons.”

“Move aside.” He clasped the shorter man’s shoulder, who spluttered at the impact of his scabrous tone which was not unlike the strikes of a mighty church bell. Nonetheless, a tiny gratitude found its way past his lips, sounding almost amusingly brittle.

Theo couldn’t help but grumble at his notion. “Don’t thank me, I have business with him, anyway.” This wasn’t a complete lie, as Napoleon had requested a favour from him—which he hadn’t voiced so far, however.

Isaac’s torso sagged in relief, dismissing the breath he’d been holding in, yet he was unable to meet the art dealer’s eyes—aware that this was a chore no one was particular fond of. Theo was about to tell him to halt his incessant twiddling; but yet again, he was probably trying distinguish the awkward fog that clung like cobwebs to the air.

Something about the atmosphere surrounding the physicist made him feel... disgustingly soft.

Perhaps he was a lot like Vincent, albeit rather brash, and he couldn’t shake off the urge to ruffle his hair—so he did just that.

“I’ll make sure to tell him to quit his puppy nap in favour of your appointments,” he told him, not particularly caring how Isaac would respond to his uncharacteristic action of affection.

As the door closed behind the Dutch, Isaac was unsure how to feel about the oddly pleasant gesture, but he supposed that it was a lot nicer than Dazai’s and Arthur’s quips.

“...thank you, I suppose.”

“Oy! Napoleon.”

“Napoleon!”

“Wake up, you—“ He managed to keep the ravaging profanities from leaving the confinements of his mind. A different strategy wouldn’t be unwelcomed... before he really went ahead and insulted the Nightmare of Europe.

Sighing for the umpteenth time that day, Theo ripped the blanket off the sleeping emperor, subsequently wrapping it around the source of assault—his hands and head—hoping it would buy him enough time to recoil.

The restriction didn’t seem to faze his flexible attitude; despite the thick cocoon of fabric hindering his hand’s movement, Napoleon somehow still rose to capture his cheeks, pulling him closer in a forceful grip. The kiss might have been interfered with the layer of blanket in between them, but the art dealer still shrank back, face unable to hide his affronted expression.

Of course, this wasn’t his first time—they all had to share this chore after all—but it was the first since entering a relationship with his... hondje. It certainly wasn’t helping that the French man was as skilled of a kisser as he was wonted to be.

“A blanket? That’s a new one,” the aforementioned French man, fully detangled from the blankets, mused, coming to stand in front of him to tilt his head. He couldn’t help the furious blush from colouring his complexion, and Napoleon’s nonchalance—and bare torso—were not helping the matter.

“You seem flustered? Are you—“ Without much warning, his mouth formed a teasing smirk. “I do hope your amoureuse won’t be too upset when she hears about this.”

“Hou je muil!”

There was no creature on earth that could resist Napoleon Bonaparte’s charms; indeed, even his own dog seemed to prefer the former emperor above his own owner.

“Well, thank you for letting us borrow King.” Napoleon’s typically-French adenoidal words broke through the quiet, crouching down to ruffle the golden fur “I’m sure the kids will love him, isn’t that right, bon chien? Oui, t’es un bon chien—”

Once Napoleon had ceased his agitating flirtings, he has asked him whether he could borrow King for the day. He would have asked Arthur, too, but apparently Sebastian had mentioned that Golden Retriever were especially children friendly.

The retriever barked with enthusiasm urging his tail to wag—did he just purr?

As Theo was contemplating the fall of his dog (who was being belly rubbed by Napoleon), he let his gaze drift toward the physicist sporting a rather odd expression, seemingly trapped between trepidation and uncanny interest.

Mayhaps, the perk portrayal awakened the abberant’s trust, longing to step past his walls of comfort.

“No problem, he does seem to like you a lot.” He crosses his arms, smirking slightly at his following act of shrewd scheming. “However, King’s mood does tend to deteriorate quite quickly”—a half lie—“so don’t feel pressured to take him, Isaac. Napoleon can take him for you, after all.”

Considering the fact the Isaac was probably smarter than most of them combined, he was entirely too ignorant and easy to influence, and, determination having turned the valve of unsettling panic tight, he grabbed the leash from his awaiting hand faster than his blossom orbs could perceive the starting position King went into.

“I never said I wouldn’t try to hold him—“ Before he could finish his sentence, King had already ran off, pulling the quiet physicist along; Napoleon laughed heartily before thanking him one last time and hurrying after his companion.

He was just about to push apart the heavy gates when the former emperor jogged up to him once more, halting his tracks. “Theo! It completely forwent my mind to tell you to go to the kitchens. Sebastian asked for you.”

His eyes stretched into slits. “Did he tell you why?”

But the demi vampire was already on his merry way, only turning back to grace him with one of his overly beguiling smirks.

It smelt delicious. Utterly delicious.

While Theo wasn’t planning on eating anything that morning, Napoleon’s instructions pulled him like a magnetic force towards a familiar, albeit original scent wafting from his destination. He heard the exchange of frantic foreign words, confirming his suspicions to the cause of the heavenly scent.

Announcing his entrance, he was immediately greeted by the two Japanese men—and the kitchen in an utter mess. They both sported aprons; while Sebastian proved himself to be ever the skillful butler, his apron more pristine than ever (suspiciously so), Dazai’s was almost fully dressed in pure batter and oil stains. He appeared not unlike the untidy room, which practically shined with all the fat sticking to everything its path.

As unsurprising as it was (he had long since discovered that there was no such thing as a normal day in the mansion), it still perplexed him when wondering what might have rendered him and their surrounding that sullied. “...Just what are the two of you doing?”

“Well, Sebas-chan mentioned that the modern Japanese have a treat called Fluffy Pancakes, so we’ve been trying to figure out the recipe.”

As alluring as his smile was, it was blatantly conspicuous. Sebastian regarded the author’s shtick with scrutiny, his brow twitching as he perceived the chaos. “Dazai-sensei... from what I can recall, you told me I’m not allowed to help you in any way, or to show you the recipe I’ve already created.”

Well, that explained the rather clean condition of his apron, and that of the other man’s and the kitchen’s. Dazai—who was by far not as talentless as certain residents—was nevertheless a walking disaster. His reputation as the mansion’s most haphazard and arbitrary was hardly at risk (especially as his most recent scheme entailed stuffing the entirety of Isaac’s room to the brim with apples).

Nevertheless, after having acquainted the Japanese man, sharing some common interests, Theo had been able to observe that he wasn’t as disastrous as he made himself out to be, but it was simply the way he liked his persona to be portrayed. Namely, running around in an attempt to improve other’s smiles while disregarding his being unable to reach his eyes.

Why he felt the need to act the part of as klutz was beyond him, and it wasn’t his place to pry into someone else’s past.

Some of the batter resting in the pan suddenly grew in size, forming a dangerous dome threatening to explode in seconds.

And it did.

Three hours. It had taken them three hours to clean the entire mess they (read as: Dazai) have fabricated—including the thirty minutes spent on persuading the author to drop his disastrous challenge.

Once they had finished the entire debacle, Sebastian had sent them to table, asking, begging, them to stay put while he made some actual, non-toxic pancakes. It left Theo in the companionship of the simpering klutz whom he just couldn’t seem to figure out. Many of his actions were contradicting, his mannerism a mix of contrasting impulses and reflexes. However, he was more than aware that he was no fool—not completely, at least.

Dazai could read people and situations just as well as he observed paintings.

It was nearly too convenient that Sebastian was busy making pancakes, despite having mentioned that he’d be preparing croissants the other day, when he was in a particularly bad mood after having almost submitted to the devil’s rabbit... especially if he considered that it had been Dazai’s idea and that Napoleon had ushered him there under the guise of their butler’s request (which he hadn’t feigned knowledge of).

He could have further inquired on his suspicions, or pointed out the dubious timing, but it wasn’t his battle to face. If the author did indeed go through all that trouble to hide his intentions, he probably wouldn’t want it to be remarked. For that, Dazai was much too genuine to bask in the attention of gratitude—that much he knew.

Silence reigned between them, yet he didn’t conceive it as cramped. It was akin to the humidity on a summer’s day, leaving him entirely at the mercy of the sun’s moods; in fact, it was a pondering kind of atmosphere that enveloped him, almost surprising Theo that Dazai simply closed his eyes, his everlasting smile brightening the room.

Whether his train of thought pointed toward the truth or not, he supposed that he was thankful either way.

Sebastian then joined them, carrying the two plates of fluffy goodness and an entire pitcher of maple syrup; it was a modest amount, but it should suffice.

Curiosity piqued his mind as the two Japanese clapped their hand together, wondering what their particular customs entailed. He’d noticed some of the more religious residents reciting silent prayers before their meals, but the men before him were the only ones from a more tradition-loving country. Certainly, the knowledge could help him encourage the trust of some possible foreign clients. As such he voiced his queries.

“...you want know of the protocol we perform before we eat?” At his reconfirming nod, the notebook idly resting on the table was quickly snatched by the butler’s hand, almost frantically writing into it. Dazai and Theo briefly looked at one another, knowing what the human butler was up to—most of the inhabitants were pretty much aware of the eccentric diary’s existence, but they preferred not to coexist with the idea of it.

If Sebastian had the tact not to mention their rather unpleasant first life experiences, they could let him entertain the impression of the diary’s stealth.

Chortling at his incessant scribbling, the simpering man eventually answered him, “We usually clasp our hands together and say ‘Itadakimasu’, which roughly translates to ‘I humbly receive’.” As he spoke with his tone laced with honeyed serenity, he reached into his sleeve to fetch a pen, drawing the stunning symbols onto a napkin. ”However, it isn’t meant to solely appreciate the food... we want to thank the farmers and nature for granting us the meal, too. I hope that satiates your inquiry, Theo-kun.”

It was a beautiful concept, for sure, making him wish that le Comte would have collected a larger variety of residents; he always perceived the convictions and perspectives of other cultures to be entirely too refreshing for the busy lifestyle of Europe.

Instead of answering the Japanese, he copied the joint hands of Dazai and Sebastian (who’d by then stashed the peculiar notebook away, smiling at the both of them). “Itadakimasu.”

Once he had thanked Sebastian (and by extension, Dazai) for the passable meal—although he supposed the fluffy clouds of dough melting together with smoky syrup and nutty butter were more than slightly passable—he made his way to his brother’s room, the great meal having boosted his mood through the clouds.

On one hand, he was rather perplexed that he hadn’t come across the hardworking artist yet, but he also had to ask how the commissioned pieces were coming along.

Just as he was about to climb the staircase to his floor, a certain plummy voice resonated within the hallway. “Theo. How has your free day been so far?“

Turning around to meet the owner of the mansion, he drove his hands into his pockets, shrugging slightly. “It’s not quite living up to its expectations, Comte.”

Le Comte simply smiled. “Vincent asked me to relay to you that he is currently out in town.”

While it was off-putting, the lord of the house’s ability to interminably determine the issues plaguing their minds came in handy at times. It saved him the trouble of having to seek him out himself. “Did he tell you why exactly?”

The count’s smile stretched into a wide grin, as if knowing that this particular piece of information would aggravate the business man. “I’m afraid he didn’t, but I do know that it must have been nothing too grim as he seemed quite elated by Arthur’s side.”

It wasn’t surprising to the art dealer that his brother was spending his time with the Casanova. Considering that Vincent did occasionally tag along on their late-night shenanigans, their friendship was purely based on either annoying or calming Theo—and nothing in between.

At least, that’s how he’d preferred it to be. Recently, however, they have taken to spending their time in shared companionship more often than just seldom. It rendered him both utterly perplexed and seething; the most gentle of all beings on earth, and an infamous Casanova, and never the twain shall meet. While the crime novelist was the closest he had ever considered a friend, the thought of his behavior possibly triggering his sensitive brother were plaguing his mind, causing steam to emit from his pierced ear shells as ire within him burned ablaze.

“Would you perhaps mind joining me in organizing Leonardo’s collection of Whiskey?” le Comte interrupted his fuming, his scheme to persuade him shadowed by his polite facade. “I’ve been soliciting for him to at least discard a part of it, but he’s been stubborn with the argument that he is but a stranger when it concerns determining the quality of each, so I deemed it appropriate to bring you alone.”

His chestnut eyebrows furrowed. “And just what makes you assume that I would want to help you out?”

“There will be a considerable amount of whiskey, of course.”

“Do I look like an alcoholic to you?”

“Certainly not, but you do seem rather penurious after the news I’ve given you.”

The Dutch’s cerulean eyes flashed at the count’s insinuation, the temperature dropping several degrees. It wasn’t that hatred obstructed his vision of his sire; in contrast, he was deeply grateful for having tided his way back to his brother, letting them live together, properly this life around. Nonetheless, he had his way with fueling the ire of his residents, especially to those that weren’t gifted when it came to French.

While they’ve all learnt to speak the lovely language at some point, many of them were still obscured by fog when it came to their sire’s rather gaudy vocabulary. Thus, while he might not know the entire meaning behind his words, his expression was a telltale to what fact he was alluding to—and he wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction of assuming right when saying that the delivered news had gotten to him.

“Very well. It better not be disappointing—and I do expect that beast to be gone.” Taking a sharp pivot around to venture down the hall, the ailurophobe could say without doubt that le Comte’s orbs of molten gold had widened in surprise without sparing him a single glance, yet he was unaware of the contented glint shimmering within them.

Theo seemed to always expect the worst of him, and as such, if you were desiring to help the obstinate business man, you had to appease to his expectations without disregarding his obvious acuity. Shakespeare had sent a letter earlier this morning—speaking entire tales of gratitude for returning Puck unscathed—and he had immediately considered the possibility of the savior’s identity (and the darkening mood it might have caused a certain person). And what better way was there to a man’s tranquility than with a shared glass of amity.

Keeping to that scenario, he’d asked his dear old friend prior to ensure his feline‘s absence.

Le Comte stepped alongside the other man, and he could only simper as he was, once again, proven right. He could only hope Leonardo would keep to his end of the bargain.

It happened too frequently that the residents forgot the polymath‘s range of expertises; his aptitude for the arts were often overlooked when he stood alongside Vincent van Gogh, his discoveries neglected when talking about Isaac Newton. Perhaps, being regarded as the jack—no, master—of all trades did not come with solely advantages.

Not like the Italian minded all that.

“Are you going to stare at the painting all day? We have plenty whiskey to consume.” Leonardo was impishly sprawled on the floor, a lazy smile gracing his face as he arranged a stack of books beneath his head.

He had asked the Italian on multiple occasions to allow the display of his artwork; alas, he’d be incessant in waving him off, despite his obvious talent. Pioneering techniques of realism through the means of the revolutionary sfumato method, it was a shame to let his works go unpublished.

Certainly, it pained him to neglect such powerful talent, but he had accepted his obvious wishes long ago.

“I’ve just been wondering why you wanted this particular piece of yours,” he inquired, rolling his eyes at the polymath’s accusing frown, confirming that he wasn’t trying to pawn it off of him.

On the floor, turned onto its side in a haphazard attempt to get it out of the way, lay the Lady with an Ermine in all her youthful glow. Even his first life self had never been able to omit his marvels of this particular artwork.

When he joined Comte, the epitome of elegance completely out of place in the junkyard, at the tea table, Theo heard him say, “You have sent me through quite the tribulation to aquire this piece, yet you’ve never indulged me in your reasoning.”

“Well, you wouldn’t like my reasoning, at any rate.”

Gracefully crossing his leg above the other, the nobleman started pouring the golden drops—not unlike his own inquisitive eyes—into some glasses. “And what made you assume so, old friend?”

“Because I am certain that you do not favour yourself being compared to 16 year old adolescents, “Comte”,” he elaborated after a booming guffaw.

As they argued—ever so politely, in his eyes—Theo couldn’t help regarding their relationship as identical to that of a bickering couple. It reminded him to heavily of those evenings, spent with some vacant residents and alcohol, cackling at the prospect of the mother hen and their resident father acting as if borne for these roles. And perchance, there was more that some truth to their fatuous, going by the intimacy reigning their relationship (a past flame, at least?).

Theo averted his gaze and grumpily snatched the water pipette resting beside the bottle of one of the dozen of bourbons, not wanting to contemplate the romance involving the two men.

Since his most fateful encounter with the time traveling woman, he’d been exposed to ideas and concepts transcending his 19th century mind (Active protests against racism, commercialized public transportation, travelling durations having been reduced to mere hours between continents...).

One particularly controversial idea was much more toilsome for him to come to terms with—the rather incomprehensible topic of same-sex marriage and the general idea of being able to love whoever you want to—but she’d been entirely too understanding of his upbringing, patiently justifying her beliefs.

As open as he was to the concept at that point, the inclination of his brother having feelings for his best friend was no snip to process (he could practically see her crossed arms at his hesitance). He really was not keen on pondering his housemates’ love lives.

Leonardo, seemingly done with their pointless banter, rose to grab one of the prepared whiskeys. “If I remember correctly, this one was gifted to me by my family.” He downed the liquid without hesitation, not even the smallest shudder becoming cognizant. “Tastes just as horrid as them.”

Le Comte truly had a bias toward men with tragic childhoods.

...perhaps Comte wasn’t too far off with his accusation. He did really need that drink.

Mortifyingly enough, after they’ve put him through his eighths trial of whiskey, Theo had been the first one to surrender his tolerance, the two pureblood vampires still being able to converse sans any slight slurs or drawls. Were he on his quotidian bar strolls with Arthur, he’d have regulated his intake significantly more; be that as it may, the myriad of benumbing variations, and the inhuman intuition to know just the right amount of water to add made the whiskey persuasive in its case.

Three of his shirt’s unapologetic buttons had become undone in the overbearing heat the delicious tipple provided, and while stroking King’s luscious fur (when did Napoleon return with him anyway? And since when did he fit in his lap this easily), he overheard bits and pieces of the ongoing conversation.

“I believe it’s safe to assume that we’ve succeeded in relaxing him.” So his assumption was indeed correct. It wasn’t too startling that they’d all go to such lengths to please him; it was a wonted stratagem in their mansion, after all.

“...I’m afraid that won’t be perennial.” There he goes with his irritante French.

He heard some shuffling, followed by a quiet click—as tantalizing as it would have been to investigate these sounds, his eyelids were uncooperative as his lashes weighed them down with the power of a dozen horses.

“Getting the camera was an exceptional idea, it seems.”

“Cara mia proposed the idea to preserve moments like these. I can’t wait to find your vulnera—.” The chuckling brunette was interrupted by the livid Dutch, who had managed to sober up halfway only to full on glare at him. “Hey... you can’t call her that, zakkenwasser!”

A glimpse of the paper le Comte was holding made him stop, the photograph portraying a disturbing scene of himself holding Leonardo’s little demon.

He didn’t dare to check the actual identity of the animal in his lap—which was clearly not King.

Theo may, or may not, have screamed in absolute terror once he’d had the beady slits in his sight, and he couldn’t help but shudder as he saw the onyx fur sticking to every inch of his skin and clothes. He swiftly stripped out of them, deftly wrapping a towel around his waist before approaching the tiled entrance

Leonardo had bellowed in absolute amusement as he stroked the feline’s chin, while his sire could only manage to sent the slightest of reprimands toward the other pureblood, though he was unable to hide his own chuckles from falling from his usually well-mannered lips. He’d, of course, apologised in place of the actual perpetrator, and suggested him to indulge in the streams of the thermae.

As if he needed him to tell him that.

Nonetheless, Theo followed the count’s advice. Reflective droplets, commingled by the steam emanating from the entrance, ran along his tight abdomen where his entire vexation was building up. On one hand, he truly appreciated everyone’s efforts; cheering him up is one hell of a task—that much, he was aware of—but in the end, there were only three people in his life who could truly conjure serenity from the pits of his ire, and those were all busy running errands.

This only fueled his frustration further, and it irritated him more than anything else. Godverdomme! Just why did he have to be so incredibly difficult? Perhaps if he could find release—that thought almost made him choke on his own air. No, he’d let his hondje deal with his problem when neither of them were at risk of being disturbed.

Inhaling and exhaling thrice, he entered the thermae at long last, only to be greeted by two soft voices. Whereas one of them was undeniably French in nature, the nasal, albeit graceful high-pitch, enough to indicate that, the other was an ironic amalgamation of the softest lullaby and the most thunderous of compositions.

Mozart and Jean, the only residents who hadn’t had their attempt at improving (worsening?) his day, were lounging in the water. Theo could have bet his entire collection of artworks, without letting his pinky twitch, that Comte knew exactly that those two were here (considering they were probably the only ones to either consider it more profitable for them not to get involved, or to simply not care).

With an annoyed puff, he lowered himself into the tranquilizing pool, allowing the murky mist to grant him cover to unwrap his towel. As he did so, the musician to his opposite issued a histrionically deep sigh, amethyst orbs narrowing in repulsion as he became cognizant of some minor cat fur still sticking to his skin.

“And here I was hoping that Lackaffe wouldn’t send you here,” the man sneered, brushing some alabaster strands out of his piercing glare.

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Keep it fortissimo, would you?”

Feigning ignorance of Mozart’s comment, he spoke to his quiet companion, “How in the world can you put up with him?”

The French man only shrugged slightly, the motion prompting the lilac bangs to shimmer in the light. “Have you considered asking that Monsieur Doyle?”

He felt a drop slide down the side of his face as he shifted his eyebrow up. “What does he have to do with that.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the composer snarked, superciliousness guiding his lips into a full on smirk. “He’s alluding to the fact that you are just as vexing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me just right.”

“I’d just love to know who shoved that stick up your arse.”

“While it’s relieving to know that you can accommodate enough brain cells to learn foreign phrases, it is less surprising than you turning to these juvenile scatological remarks.”

“Oh, rot op. As if you are in the position to lecture me on my shitty humour.”

“—did you seriously just jet water at me?”

Jean sighed in resignation, wishing his friend could reign his hauteur for once at least; yet, the fracas they caused let the tiniest spark of amusement twinkle in his starless eyes. Despite himself, he did nudge the Austrian in an attempt to quieten him. Mozart, who wholeheartedly disregarded his warning, only continued to smirk, winking as he did so. Without omitting to fire another insult at their frontier, he merely directed Jean’s attention back to the Dutch, stupefying himself as he perceived the witty jocularity flowing through the air in playful currents.

Perhaps Mozart had been planning from the start to abandon their placid laissez-faire attitude. It was obvious they were both thoroughly enjoying their arguing, even if it made Jean want to burn his ears off.

Later that night, aquamarine eyes shone in the moonlight’s rays, revealing a scene of absolute love an affection for the entire canopy of stars to marvel at. His pannenkoek’s arms were wound around himself in a loving embrace, her nimble hands trying their best to cradle his head as he curled into her like a clockwork. Her melodic pulse induced him to ponder the day’s occurrences.

It had left him worn out, the energy of spending some amount of time with almost the entire residency such a rare event that it rendered him as tired as a bear before winter if it did happen.

She had giggled mellifluously at his drowsy babbling (“You really are just a giant teddy bear, aren’t you?”), letting her fingers dance in featherlight strokes down his toned back as she massaged him—partially for him, and partially because she had simply wanted to “feel him up” as she had mentioned.

Natheless, even if they tired him, aggravated him, or even made him want to move to an entirely different planet, their makeshift family was a huge array of multicolored and textured patches, which all came together to form one sui generis artwork.

A scream torn from a certain defenestration-loving bastaard, and multiple curses ranging from German to English later, left him grumbling once again.

As much as he liked their aloof painting, the colours were still fucking obnoxious.

Tag List of the most amazing sweethearts (who better be drinking some water *squints*: @juminly @kisara-16 @sweetlittlemouse @thesirenwashere

#theo route countdown party #ikemen vampire #ikemen vampire scenario #ikemen scenario #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikemen napoleon #ikemen mozart #ikemen leonardo #ikemen arthur #ikemen vincent #ikemen theodorus #ikemen theo #ikemen dazai #ikemen isaac #ikemen shakespeare #ikemen jean #ikemen comte #ikemen le comte #ikemen sebastian

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measurelessdreamer · 4 years

Text

Start And Never Stop II geralt x jaskier

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28620474

For my dear friend and sister I chose @darknessyuu who is always there for me and keeps me sane <333333

Summary: Sometimes there are days when you bind yourself to someone else by Destiny even if you never believed in it. Sometimes there are days when you shout and push away that one person who deserves it the least. And sometimes there are days when you piss off a particularly skilled fae and end up being thrown into the future. Geralt of Rivia has indeed seen it all and fewer things could still surprise him. That is until he wakes up in Beauclair of all places in a bed that strangely feels like his, with a vineyard everyone keeps acting like is his and wedding preparations that Jaskier insists he gives his opinion on for reasons that make Geralt's head hurt and heart shatter at the implications of this whole mess. It shouldn't be like this and no matter how hard he tries he can't figure out why, after everything, it still is.

Additional tags: Time Travel, Post-Episode:S01E06 Rare Species, Fix-it, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Corvo Bianco

Based on this amazing superbat fic

Geralt woke up with a start, head pounding hard. This was definitely the last time he'd taken up a contract that the people refused to give him enough clues on to actually determine what he was facing. Just his damn luck that it had to be a fae, kidnapping people, out of all possible threats he'd learned to recognize. Even better, it was a fae powerful enough to send him only gods knew where before he could reach for any of his swords although he was fully aware that would do nothing to help.

But he supposed he should count himself lucky. He was still alive and still him after all.

His eyes flew over his surroundings. Walls decorated with paintings and trophies, a bed that was undoubtedly the most comfortable thing he'd ever slept on, all of it was pointing toward the bizarre scenario that whoever owned this place had far more money than to just get by. He definitely was no longer in the village where he'd gotten that contract, then. Judging by the sun shining brightly through the windows, he wasn't even in fucking Temeria.

And yet... somehow it didn't exactly seem like he was out of place. It was hard to explain, but after so many decades venturing the Path, never really staying in one place for long, he knew what it was like to feel like a foreigner like he didn't belong. Over the years, he'd learned to mute it, to fully ignore it because it was just everywhere he went. But it wasn't here. He had no idea where he was but still felt like he should know because the place meant something to him. It wasn't exactly home per se, but it came incredibly close to resembling one. Just like Kaer Morhen always would but different.

He let out a huge exhale. It seemed like the fae didn't just teleport him away, she also must have done something to his head.

A gentle knock on the door startled him and made him sit up. Huh. That was odd. Most people would usually opt to pound hard or never bother to do anything else besides barging their way in. This knocking was resolutely different from everything he’d known, though.

"Yes?" he let out on instinct anyway. He didn't know what exactly he'd expected, but a man dressed in colors so bright that would put even some of Jaskier's clothes to shame and with a look that was anything but spiteful and threatening to kick him out at this instant, was definitely not it.

"Are you alright, Sir? I know how you value your privacy, but I was just passing by and I couldn't help overhearing the noise. You were shouting in your sleep, I’m afraid," the man said with an accent Geralt would recognize anywhere. Toussaint? Was that where the vile fae had sent him? Possible, but that still didn't explain the weird vibe he got from the place and why this man he'd never met before was looking at him as if Geralt's presence didn't bother him at all.

"I'm fine," he retorted when he realized he was still supposed to give the man an answer and cursed under his breath, hoping he wouldn't have to address him by name anytime soon lest he wanted to make a total fool of himself. Had he lost some memories along the way? Was that why he couldn't remember what his surroundings meant to him? Or was this merely a dream?

"Did I-" he cleared his throat, trying to sort out the mess his mind was, but the man didn't look put off or annoyed, just attentive and with patience Geralt thought he'd never get to see on anyone's face again after becoming a witcher. It was baffling. "Did I hurt my head recently?"

The man frowned in thought. "Not to my knowledge, Sir. It's been a while since your last injury, but it was of mild nature and had absolutely nothing to do with your head. But you did express you were feeling particularly tired today and decided to rest for a bit, which is how we got here."

"Hm," Geralt said, suppressing a curse. He definitely didn't have any recollection of that or even the slightest bit of idea how much time must have passed ever since he'd met the fae. Months? Years? How much had he actually missed of his life?

"I think I need some air," he pretty much rasped, feeling weaker than ever when he realized that for all he knew Ciri could have grown up or even died already and he didn't remember. Had he and Jaskier ever managed to patch things up? Is he dead now too? They couldn't be, Geralt reasoned, but time was rarely merciful on witchers. Much less when a fae was involved.

"Of course, Sir, I shan't keep you," the man said and stepped away to let Geralt pass. When Geralt did so gingerly as if outside the room awaited him nothing but a lurking monster, of course, the man noticed right away. "Are you sure you're alright, Sir? Shall I call for Master Jaskier?"

And Geralt froze and let out a gasp as the words dawned on him, partly in relief because Jaskier was alive and he was here, and partly in frustration because while it answered a few questions, it did cause another load of them to pop up in his pounding head. But never mind that when he didn't have to contemplate on missing the last moments of Jaskier's life, on missing earning the forgiveness he in no way deserved but yearned for regardless. Jaskier was here, alive and well. Judging by the house the bard apparently owned, he was more than well. And while the thought of seeing him again terrified Geralt more than anything, he found himself incapable of saying no.

The man, it turned out, didn't actually have to do anything because just at that moment they both heard footsteps and Geralt was met with a pair of cornflower blue eyes that were cheerful and full of hope and never failed to see right through him.

"Oh, good, you're awake," Jaskier beamed before going very serious in an instant. "We're in a very dire situation, Geralt. Lives depend on it and I need your honest opinion." The bard came up to him and held out two small rolls of blue cloth that looked identical to Geralt and asked: "Which do you think is better suited for the wedding?"

If Geralt had been of a weaker nature, he might have collapsed right then and there. But sometimes being a witcher did have its merit. At least in some areas anyway. "Aren't they the same?"

Jaskier gasped and pressed one of the rolls against his chest in indignation in such a him way that Geralt couldn't help but smile. "How dare you, witcher? All this talk about your superior senses and then you say these two completely different shades of blue are the same? Can you even see anything?" The tone in his voice was teasing and Geralt basked in hearing it again after months spent contemplating about the mountain and all he'd said, shouted, and wished so desperately he could take back. Jaskier's eyes now shone brightly with affection and happiness, nothing like the raw hurt he'd left in them when his own heart had been roaring under the weight of everything he'd regretted the most. Could it be that he'd managed to make it go away with time? Or was this merely a dream?

"You see what I have to put up with, Barnabas-Basil?" Jaskier asked the man but his smile was still playful as he rolled his eyes. "Maybe you could help us with this."

The man, Barnabas-Basil Geralt remarked for himself, offered a look of total understanding as if he too was wondering from which tree Geralt had managed to fall this time before he replied: "As much as it would please me to help, I'm afraid I might be running short on expertise when it comes to something as intimate and important as someone's wedding."

Jaskier accepted that without any hard feelings and thanked the man anyway before Barnabas-Basil excused himself to go tend to his duties. Jaskier looked deep in thought as his eyes roamed over the fabric in his hands before he gazed back at Geralt. "I know what you're going to say. Go ask Regis. He's already in charge of the wine and helped out in many different ways already, he surely has an answer to this too. And you might be right, but call me old-fashioned, I do actually agree with Barnabas-Basil on this. Other people are just running short on expertise. It's your wedding and your opinion I care about."

Geralt was absentmindedly wondering who the fuck Regis was, when all of a sudden he blurted out: "My wedding?!"

And Jaskier, honest to gods, actually laughed and beamed, completely oblivious that Geralt was quite possibly losing his mind. "I'm sorry, I know I keep saying this, but it's just less surreal telling it’s 'your' wedding. But you're right, it's not just yours. It's ours."

Geralt had only a split second of reminiscing how soft the last word sounded coming from Jaskier's mouth before the bard took a step right into his personal space and placed a chaste kiss on his lips as if it was the most trivial thing and not one of Geralt's deepest desires he'd never managed to believe would actually come true one day. But it happened and it was taking everything in him not to touch his lips as if that would make the sensation stay and engrave it in him for good. What had that damn fae done to him? What had she done to Jaskier? Brainwashed him into thinking that this was what he wanted when it couldn't possibly be further from it?

"Geralt," Jaskier said, frowning and reaching for Geralt's arm, "what's wrong?"

Geralt didn't flinch at the contact, but it was a very close thing and took away all the strength he got left to be able to look this man he'd hurt so much in the eye. "I- I just need some air."

He hurried out of the house, ignoring everyone he passed by even though they were smiling at him, calling him Master Witcher of all things as if the whole situation he was in couldn't get any more ludicrous and stopping only once he reached a tree on a hill overlooking the villa. He sat down, back leaning on the huge trunk and arms left dangling over his knees, and stared aimlessly ahead willing himself to wake up if this was a dream and to get ahold of himself if it wasn't. He'd never seen anything like this, never been fooled to this extent. Could it still be an illusion if his medallion wasn't even humming? On what ground was he supposed to reverse what the fae had done? Was there even a way to reverse it?

"Hey," he heard Jaskier's voice and forced his eyes to focus on the man sitting down on the grass before him and setting the two rolls of blue cloth aside before his eyes went back to Geralt. "This is going to sound weird and insane, but it's not like I made it up so I ask you to bear with me and take my word for it. Because if you don't, no one will. You said something similar to me a while back when we were at the same spot we're right now. But then again, you don't remember that... do you?"

"No," Geralt murmured so wistfully he almost winced.

Jaskier offered a sympathetic smile. "And what's the last thing you remember?"

"Running into a fae somewhere in northern Temeria."

"When was that?"

"In spring."

"And the year?"

"1264," Geralt replied and watched Jaskier gape at him as if he'd just grown a second head. "What?"

"It's the 12th of June. 1275. Your last memories are from eleven years ago."

This time, it was Geralt who openly gaped. Eleven years left out completely blank. Erased. Gone. How...

"Seems like you're one of the few who got to experience traveling through time," Jaskier finished and Geralt stopped breathing at once.

"That's-"

"Bizarre, I know. Believe me, I thought the same thing when you told me."

"I told you?" Geralt asked as if that was the most insane part about the whole thing.

"The future you did. Obviously not in many words because you avoid details like the plague, but you did explain the basics. I may not have known which year you got sucked out of, but I do know this is not permanent. You'll get back to your time before this day ends and it'll be like you never left."

Except he had left, gotten a glimpse of his own future, and discovered what it felt like to be kissed by Jaskier. All that being a result of those eleven years that would be waiting for him once he got back. And as much as it did put his mind at ease that his stay here wasn't permanent, it also reminded him how many things had gone wrong and how many more could still follow. There was no way this was set in stone. And he could ask so many questions, hope that at least half of them got answered, about Ciri, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, Vesemir, why they were in fucking Beauclair of all places, but then he looked at Jaskier and was once again reminded of how everything his actions on the mountain and before had left on Jaskier seemed like it wasn't even there anymore when he knew Jaskier remembered. Geralt had fucked up hard, had been given shit about it continuously by everyone who knew, but none of that had ever come close to actually seeing Jaskier walk away and all the remnants of the dangerous hope he'd been harboring despite knowing better crushing down on him once he'd come back from the mountaintop and found Roach alone with Jaskier and his things long gone.

But now they were here, eleven years later, Jaskier looking at him as if he had nowhere else to be even though Geralt wasn't the one Jaskier had forgiven and found it possible to fall in love with. Instead, he was the one who had sent the bard away. In the harshest way, there was.

Which was why when the next time his mouth opened, the only thing that came out was: "You're here."

"Of course, I'm here," Jaskier said and scowled before his eyes momentarily widened. "Wait. When was the last time you remember seeing me?"

"The mountain."

Jaskier blinked and his whole face turned red. "The mountain? For fuck's sake, Geralt, the last thing you remember of me is that and you still let me kiss you?"

"Not like I knew that was about to happen."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. Gods, I wish the future you would've given me some kind of heads-up so I would actually know how to deal with this. But the horse's arse said no. Leave it to me to make a total fool of myself by kissing the man who wants to have nothing to do with me."

"That's not true," Geralt emphasized. "It’s not how I feel."

"I know that now. It took some time, but... wait. You telling me about this whole mess means that you will remember what happens here, which... You absolute delinquent fool. I can't believe you made me wait for so long before you let me experience for myself what it was like to kiss you while you already knew! You're so lucky most of the wedding preparations are already sorted and paid for or we would be having a completely different conversation right now."

Geralt sighed. Lucky didn't even begin to cover it. All this talk about the future him, weddings, and kissing didn't sound like the world he'd gotten used to through all the hardships that had come with it. It sounded like one of those fairytales he'd stopped believing in the moment he'd realized he would never see his mother again. Where was he supposed to fit in all that?

"You don't believe..." Jaskier trailed off and waved with his hands around, "all of this is real. I know it's a lot to take in. Especially since... here you are, probably still in love with Yennefer, and looking right into your future and seeing... me instead."

"Yennefer has nothing to do with this," Geralt cut him off, not even surprised that most of what usually held him back from speaking his mind had no power here where there was no such thing as consequences since none of this had happened yet. Jaskier could read him perfectly regardless and if this was a way how to give him the truth he rightly deserved after so many rounds of lies littered with indifference, then Geralt was going to give it to him.

"You're saying... that you don't love her like that anymore?" When Geralt nodded, Jaskier let out a soft chuckle. "I guess that makes sense. Even after over three decades, you can still find ways to surprise me."

"The last time I saw you, I hurt you and forced you to leave. So none of this makes any sense to me."

"Knowing you it will take those eleven years for all of it to make sense. But it will take much less for me to forgive you."

Geralt swallowed and looked away. "How?"

"Since when am I someone who gives away the ending before its due time?"

"This isn't one of your tales you sing for money, Jaskier."

"You're right. It's so much more than that because it's our tale that my heart sings for me. It's the most special tale of all and it's worth to see it through to the very end, Geralt."

"I don't even know where to look for you," Geralt said, voice wavering. "Can't you-"

"Give you a hint?" Jaskier asked and sighed. "Believe me, it's taking everything within me not to tell you exactly where I am in your time so you could come and sweep me off my feet because, in spite of everything, that is what I still want you to do. But that's not how it works, Geralt. It works in ballads and tales because they're meant to give people hope, to make them see beyond reality. To imagine and dream. It's why I could never make them accurate the way you want me to. Because that would just defeat the purpose of them."

But Geralt didn't want accurate. Accurate meant realistic and realistic meant hurt. And he hated the irony more than anything. "And this is the tale you decided needed to be accurate?"

"In all its glory," Jaskier said and smiled. "Not all of it was perfect, but looking back at it now, I know it was right."

"What if I change something and prevent this future?"

"You won't."

"You can't know that."

"You're missing the point, witcher. Out of the two of us, I have the memories of how this happened. I'm the only one who knows that," Jaskier claimed and shifted so he was now sitting next to Geralt. "Give me your hand."

"Why?" Geralt asked but gave it anyway.

"So I can read your future to you and for once be able to say that I was right about everything," Jaskier scoffed as if that had been obvious right from the start before he grew serious again and locked their eyes, not wasting even a second to look at Geralt's hand and "read" from it and just holding it between his own. "You are going to find me. It will take a while, but you will. And when you do, just have patience with me and I promise I will have patience with you too."

"You shouldn't."

"And that's supposed to mean something because I'm the epitome of doing what others tell me to do?" Jaskier deadpanned but ended up giggling before swatting him. "Geralt! I'm telling you I am happy. With you. Why are you trying to ruin that?"

"Because I know you also hardly ever do what's good for you."

"True, but this is different. And I'll keep saying it until you believe me. Reaching this point won't be easy for you, but it's worth it. It really is. And you deserve it, Geralt. As for my forgiveness, you just have to start. And never stop."

Geralt didn't need any clarification on what exactly that entailed. In his own heart, he knew where he had done completely wrong by Jaskier, and even if despite all this Jaskier was telling him he wouldn't earn forgiveness in the end, it didn't mean he shouldn't try. Not because this was the future he wanted to have, but simply because he owed so much to the one person who had refused to leave him alone until he himself had given them no other choice. It could never be repaid, but starting and never stopping sounded like he would be on the right track and even if that track turned out to be never-ending, he wouldn't mind one bit.

"This is the part where you say something," Jaskier said, still looking right into his eyes. "Preferably not those grunts that sometimes can barely be called human, but as you know, I'm not particularly picky."

And because Geralt wasn't the epitome of doing what others told him to do either, he leaned in and kissed the bard instead. Jaskier let him and reciprocated just as enthusiastically as he did everything else, carrying it out for as long as their lungs could take, and even when their lips parted, the two of them barely moved, leaving their foreheads pressed against each other in embrace Geralt didn't wish to see end.

"I take it that was meant to be a yes," Jaskier broke the silence with a smile. "Starting and never stopping?"

"Something like that," Geralt agreed and mirrored the smile. Out of the corner of his right eye, he managed to spot the two rolls of blue cloth Jaskier had left behind and relished the irony that he now knew why they were indeed completely different. One was the color of Jaskier's eyes, while the other one was shamefully not.

"Cornflower blue," he said and smiled even wider when Jaskier just gaped at him. "For the wedding."

Jaskier narrowed his eyes in contemplation. "Bold of you to make that decision since we aren't practically engaged."

"You did ask me and I know he will say the same thing."

"That's fair. I wish you didn't have to wait eleven years to see the result, though."

“Hm,” Geralt dismissed, remembering eleven was only a number that normally wouldn’t count for much since time was a fleeting thing anyway. It would never stop just because he wanted it and his prolonged life wasn’t making that truth any easier. If anything, those eleven years would fly by just like the rest and make him feel even more yearning for something no magic or power could grant him. It was something he would always know, but the promise of those eleven years with Jaskier being part of it, of the most special tale of all playing right in front of his eyes, did bring a sense of closure he’d never sought but was glad beyond measure he had now. Those eleven years were yet to pass and even when they did, he would make sure they had countless more.

Nothing that odd when you were a witcher, but when you were a human, the same rules refused to apply. Or did they? "You haven't changed. Even after more than three decades, you still look the same."

"That’s… true," Jaskier admitted awkwardly. "It will be explained in due time too. As much to you as to me. So I’m afraid my lips are sealed."

"And I assume you won't tell me why Beauclair either?"

"It's not like I picked it. That's all on you, though you won't see me complaining. But don't worry, if two higher vampires who wear nothing but dark and gloomy clothes can be happy here, so can an old brooding witcher like you."

"Now that I think about it, I do see some of your hair going grey," Geralt teased and laughed when Jaskier swatted him in retribution. Even if he was meant to disappear from this time right in that moment, there would be no regrets on his end. Jaskier was happy and Geralt could question it all he wanted, but there was no erasing that from his memory now that he'd seen it so openly.

They ended up kissing a few more times after that and when the sun was setting and shining on Jaskier in the angle that was just about right, Geralt admitted that living in Beauclair of all places did have its benefits.

Jaskier didn't stray from his side the whole time. Not even when Geralt asked him to sing something, the bard resolutely said it would have to be without the lute since he had no idea when Geralt was meant to return to his own time and Jaskier didn't wish to miss his last moments here. Geralt remained completely speechless after that, but Jaskier just smiled at him and begin to sing.

Somewhere along the way, when the light was dying out, Geralt felt his eyes closing and the last thing he remembered was the gentle squeeze of his right hand and softly whispered words that would serve as his anchor for the near future awaiting him.

"See you soon, dear heart."

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

He wasn't surprised when he managed to find Jaskier only a few months later. Time had always been a relative concept when it came to the bard and "a while" could mean only a few days just as much as it could mean years. Jaskier was resolute on ignoring him the first few weeks, but Geralt vowed to leave only if Jaskier asked him to. No such thing happened even after a few rounds of shouting he rightfully deserved, though. Geralt started and never stopped. Just like he'd promised.

When it was time to return on the Path and Jaskier said he was coming with, Geralt used proper words to thank him.

That same year, Geralt asked him to come to Kaer Morhen with him for the winter. It took some time for it to truly sink in when the bard said yes.

They shared their first kiss in the library of all places since they were completely alone and the light of the candles illuminated Jaskier so perfectly that Geralt could no longer help it. It only took a few more minutes before Jaskier called him "dear heart" for the very first time. And when he received a handful of comments from both Lambert and Eskel about it the next day, it was with a warm smile that he rolled his eyes at them.

He found out Jaskier was part fae a year later when the bard ended up kidnapped by another fae that seemed far too familiar once Geralt got closer and saw her smirk at him.

"Still kidnapping people, I see," he said.

"Please, they're far too boring for me to stick with them. I stopped right after you."

"Then why did you kidnap him?"

"Because I happen to know he's not completely human."

Words weren't enough to describe how he felt after that even though he'd known Jaskier's mortality wouldn't be a problem for decades to come. Words were rarely enough most of the time, but he used them anyway. Especially, when he knew that Jaskier needed to hear them.

They still had moments of weaknesses when stress took over and they ended up fighting, but throughout it all, they stayed and figured it out. Together.

They headed to the coast to get away for a while and it worked just like Jaskier had said it would.

Geralt eventually lost count of how many times Jaskier made him a chaplet, but he never turned any of them down. Ciri caught up fairly quickly and always made one for Jaskier too so they would match.

It was Jaskier who proposed. If blurting out the idea right after performing for a wedding they happened to attend since it was in the village where they decided to spend the night could count as a proper proposal, that is. No Beauclair or Toussaint in sight, but that had never been a factor in this decision anyway. Geralt said yes in a heartbeat and completely ravished the bard the same night.

Even years after, there were still times Geralt would dream of being back on that mountain, but the place no longer haunted him like it used to. It was merely a reminder of something he wished never to repeat.

And it didn't. Because he'd started. And never stopped.

Those eleven years passed and more followed. The most special tale of all indeed turned out to be worth seeing it through to the very end.

-The End

A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Thank you so much for reading!

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #the witcher #witcher netflix #my fic #my writing #hopefully it's not that bad

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thewalkingdeadimaginings · 5 years

Text

The Extraction

Hi can you do an imagine were the reader has toothache and doesn't want to go to Dr.Carson for an extraction. She doesn't want that Negan hear something about but he will and tries to comfort her. (She is not one of Negans wives because she didn't want to)

Hi guys! I know it has been…an unacceptable amount of time haha! I’ve been away just dealing with some emotional stuff. I wasn’t feeling too motivated to write but I’m back! I was particularly inspired to write this one shot as I chipped my tooth…twice. My tooth chipped because it turns out that I clench my jaw/grind my teeth while I sleep! It was such a tiny chip that my dentist wouldn’t have even noticed it if I hadn’t said anything. For such a tiny chip, it sure did hurt like a bitch. So I spent $180 on a mouth guard and then a few weeks later, I was woken up by a crunching sound. That crunching sound was from my tooth chipping AGAIN. Now, the first time it hurt to chew for a day and then I could chew as normal. This time, the pain lasted for days and now drinking water and breathing in hurt. I got it smoothed down and it felt instantly better so I guess I just needed to smooth it down. If getting the tooth pulled and replaced with a fake tooth wasn’t thousands of dollars, I would’ve just done that because I am DONE with this tooth ahahah. I have also had a tooth pulled before so I feel like I have a bit of an advantage with this one shot 😉 And that is the epic saga with my teeth. Now on to what you came here for! THANKS AS ALWAYS FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND YOUR LOVE <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You lived a privileged life in the sanctuary, probably more privileged than the life you lived before the world ended. Negan had noticed you right away and took you in. And despite rejecting a marriage proposal, he had always been kind to you.

“Y/N, you’ve been making that face all day,” Negan remarked when he saw you wince at the pain in your jaw. Your jaw had been killing you for days but you hadn’t said anything about it, hoping it would just go away on its own, “And you haven’t eaten anything. What’s botherin’ you?”

You shrugged as you continued hanging up the wet laundry on a clothesline, “I’m fine. Just not hungry today.”

“We both know you’re a terrible liar,” Negan retorted, a playful smile spreading on his lips. He approached you, pulling a shirt from your hands and dropping it back in the bucket, soapy water splashing back and hitting your legs.

Stepping away from the bucket, you sighed, “If I go see Dr. Carson, who will finish hanging up this laundry?”

“Me,” Negan said, “I’ll do it.”

“You?” you chuckled, crossing your arms, “You’re gonna hang up the laundry for me? You’re not really…hands on, Negan.”

“Hey now, I can be plenty hands on,” Negan said, “Now, you go on and get yourself checked out with Dr. Carson. And I wanna know everything he said, Y/N.”

Negan’s overprotective nature could be a pain sometimes but you definitely felt the love. But you were terrified of what Dr. Carson would say. The tooth causing you trouble now had always caused you trouble even before the world ended. And without proper dental care that was available before, extraction might be the only option now. Unfortunately, that meant there wasn’t anything available to numb the pain either.

You headed for Dr. Carson’s examination room. He was inside putting away supplies that had just been brought in from the last run a few days ago. The door opened with a light groan and you tapped on it, “Carson? Are you busy?”

“Not at all,” Dr. Carson replied, “Come on in, Y/N. What’s bothering you?”

Dr. Carson sat down in his chair, rolling from the counter to the exam table you were taking a seat on. You were tense, kicking your feet and resisting the urge to hold your aching face, “It’s um…well…this is outside your area of expertise but my tooth has been killing me. It’s always been a problem for me but it’s even worse now.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dr. Carson said. You opened your mouth as wide as you could and Dr. Carson took a look in your mouth. His brows lowered, completely outside his realm but genuinely trying to come up with an answer. He turned your head to the side, shining a flashlight into your mouth. You knew exactly what he was going to say before he even said it but hearing it out loud still filled you with dread, “Y/N, I don’t really know much about dental work but I’m thinking that tooth’s gotta come out. Looks pretty bad. If you don’t, I’m concerned that it’ll affect the rest of your teeth.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” you murmured.

“We should get started then,” Dr. Carson said, “Lie down for me.”

“Actually, I have a million things to do right now,” you said, hopping off the table, “Just some painkillers will do for now. Just so I can get through the day, yeah?”

“Y/N…” Dr. Carson said, “Didn’t you hear what I said? I said if you don’t get that tooth taken out, it’ll hurt the rest of your teeth. Then you’ll have to get multiple taken out.”

“I know, I know,” you grumbled. Somehow leaving the tooth alone and risking even more complications sounded much more appealing. Just the thought of having a tooth ripped out of your head made your heart race. You had to stop for a moment to calm your heartbeat and steady your breathing before you really started to freak out, “I just need a little something to get through the day. We can get rid of the tooth another day, okay? Can we do that?”

“I guess so,” Dr. Carson muttered. He rummaged through the cabinets until he found the painkillers. He handed it to you but grabbed you by the hand before you could walk away, “Don’t put this off, Y/N. You can’t rely on those forever.”

“I promise, just for tonight,” you mumbled as you quickly ran out of the exam room, clutching onto the bottle of pills you’d been given. Instead of going back outside to see Negan, you went into your bedroom to take your painkillers. For a brief moment, you contemplated just taking a handful of pills to ensure the pain would go away but you held back and took the correct dosage.

As you took a drink of water to swallow the painkillers, there was a knock at your door, with Negan’s voice coming from the other side, “Y/N? You in there?”

“Yeah,” you called back, “Come on in.”

Negan opened the door and stepped into the room, “Dwight said he saw you pass by from the infirmary. Was it bad news?”

“Of course not,” you said with a tight smile, “Why would you ask that?”

“I figured it was bad since you didn’t come back outside to tell me what happened,” Negan said, “But Dr. Carson checked you out? Nothing?”

“Nope, nothing,” you replied quickly, “Just a little soreness. He gave me something for the pain. I should just get back to work then, right?”

As you headed for the door, Negan stuck out his hand and pressed it against your shoulder to stop you from getting past him, “Y/N, you’re a terrible liar. You think I don’t notice the swelling in your face? Something’s wrong. Do you realize that or are you just ignoring it?”

You covered your swollen jaw. You knew it hurt but you didn’t know it had gotten so bad that it swelled up, “Well…Dr. Carson wants to pull my tooth out. I can’t do that, not without something to numb my gums. It’s gonna be agonizing and I…I’m freaked out, okay?”

Negan frowned, “Y/N, you have to get this taken care of.”

A combination of the pain in your jaw and the fear brought tears to your eyes as you hung your head, lightly pushing Negan away, “Please, don’t make me do it. I can’t do it. I’m too scared.”

“I can understand that,” Negan said, “I’ll be there with you the entire time. I’ll take care of you, Y/N. I think you know by now that all I wanna do is take care of you. Now come on, let’s get this done.”

Dr. Carson was relieved to see you back. He reassured you that everything would be fine although he couldn’t promise a painless procedure. You laid back in the chair, taking deep breaths while Dr. Carson got his tools ready, sanitizing them the best that he could. He was clearly as nervous as you were but he was handling it well, better than you.

“You’re doing great, Y/N,” Negan said, putting his hand on your shoulder. The warmth of his grip offered you comfort for a moment until Dr. Carson brought his tools back on a tray and set them down by the chair. Negan felt you tense in his hand and he gently squeezed, “Just breathe, Y/N. It’ll be over soon.”

You opened your mouth for Dr. Carson and he turned your head slightly to get a better look at the tooth. He put on some gloves, giving you a smile, “We’ll be out of here in no time, Y/N. Good on you for doing this by the way. I know it’s scary.”

“She’s a trooper, ain’t she?” Negan added.

“Let’s…” you paused to take a breath, your tight chest making even that a challenge, “Let’s just do this please.”

“I’ll try to make this quick,” Dr. Carson replied, “I don’t have an elevator to loosen the tooth unfortunately. Don’t think anyone ever thought we’d need dental equipment. But at least we have forceps.”

He picked up the forceps, his brow wrinkled in concentration as he clamped onto the tooth with them. He wiggled the tooth a little at first. The pain wasn’t bad yet but a tear still rolled down your cheek as he started tugging. You weren’t sure how an “elevator” (whatever that was) was supposed to help with the procedure but you still were wishing you had one right about now as he was pulling without any other assistance. Tensing up would make the pain worse but you couldn’t help yourself. Your entire body went stiff as Dr. Carson pulled harder.

Dr. Carson pulled away for a moment as you started to weep and you sat up, “I’m sorry, Y/N. But we’re making progress.”

The coppery taste of your blood hit your tongue and somehow, that was a relief. You nodded, laying your head back once more, “Come on. Finish it.”

“That’s my girl,” Negan said. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his skin, normally a nice tan from being out in the sun, had gone almost a ghostly white, “Takin’ this like a champ.”

You reached your Negan’s hand as Dr. Carson took the forceps to your tooth again. The tooth was feeling looser, the taste of copper getting a bit stronger. It wasn’t like the movies where your mouth filled with blood. But it definitely felt like there was. You were in absolute agony, squeezing your eyes shut and fighting back groans. There were only two other people in the room with you but it felt so chaotic in your head that it seemed like there were hundreds of people crowded around. Your eyes darted all around the room as the pressure increased, the tooth starting to wiggle even more. Your toes curled as you heard the sound of something tearing inside your head. That finally made a cry fall from your mouth as the tooth was finally ripped from your head. The pressure and pain were instantly relieved as you stared at your tooth in shock. Even Dr. Carson looked stunned holding your bloody tooth in the forceps.

“Holy shit on a shingle,” Negan whispered, “Ripped that right out of your fuckin’ head, Y/N! And you’re hardly breakin’ a sweat.”

You held your mouth open, almost afraid to close it even as blood mixed with spit was slipping down your chin. Dr. Carson set the tooth and forceps aside and hurriedly gathered up gauze and a bottle of water, “Here drink this.”

You took a few sips just to clean some of the blood from your mouth. The fresh wound was throbbing but the worst was now over and since the painkillers were already coursing through you, the pain was dull. Once your mouth was rinsed out, Dr. Carson carefully placed a clean gauze in the space. You were finally able to close your mouth after that.

“You can rest here if you want,” Dr. Carson remarked as he peeled his gloves off his hands. Watching Dr. Carson was almost amusing. It was like his chest was puffed out, proud of a job well done, “But your bed might be more comfortable.”

“I’ll take her back to her room,” Negan said, “Thanks, Carson.”

Negan and Dr. Carson helped you onto your feet even though you were perfectly fine to stand. Negan walked with you all the way back to your bedroom. He wasn’t normally this hands on but you weren’t going to fight it. You stood in the middle of the room as Negan gathered all your pillows and pulled back your blanket. You laid down on the bed and Negan covered your legs with the blanket, smoothing it down a bit, “Comfy?”

“Very,” you said, slightly muffled by the gauze in your mouth, “Thanks for staying with me.”

Negan laughed at the way your voice was coming out and he nodded, “Sorry for laughing. But you’re welcome, Y/N. You were really brave back there.”

“You think so?” you said.

“Total badass,” Negan said, “You know you don’t have to be afraid. Not with me around. I’m always gonna be there for you, do what I can to help you.”

“Not much help this time,” you replied, “Almost pathed out.”

“I know,” Negan said, his cheeks turning pink as he scratched his head, “Very out of character for me, right? I guess it was just because it was you. And…I dunno…you being in pain, vulnerable. Ya know?”

“I get it,” you said, “Feeling much better now. I think I’ll rest now.”

“You do that,” Negan said, “Carson says gargling salt water will help with healing. I’ll try to find you some salt. And get you something to eat a little later.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, feeling the need for sleep tugging at you, “You’re really special to me, Negan. Never met someone as sweet as you. Even though I’ve rejected you before.”

“Not so bad,” Negan said, “To be honest, my relationship with you…it’s more special than my wives. Don’t tell them that though.”

Negan winked and you couldn’t help but laugh. Negan really was wonderful. Your privileged life was all because of him. No one else would’ve done what Negan had just done for you. No one could’ve helped you through the fear like he could. Even just looking at him made your heart squeeze. Perhaps there was a chance for something more, “Your secret’s safe with me, Negan.”

~~~~~~~~

AHHHH DID I ACTUALLY FINISH A ONE SHOT?! IS THIS REAL LIFE?! Haha! Thanks for being so patient and so sweet with me, you guys. I can’t get over how nice you guys are. I was getting notifications from you guys liking old one shots from a while back. At least a year ago and I’m so glad that you’re still enjoying my writing all this time later.

I actually have had a tooth pulled before so I was trying to remember the procedure itself and how I felt during the entire thing. Granted, I got a needle to the gums so I was numb. Still hurt like a bitch. And also embarrassed myself by having a full blown panic attack when my dentist brought out the needle. So…love that for me. Anyways, for ME personally, it sounded like the tooth was tearing or ripping rather than cracking like you hear in movies. So, if that part sounds inaccurate, I was just basing it on what I remember it sounding like in my head.

ANYWAYS, I love you guys! Next up will be a Daryl one shot! Unless y’all want a chapter from one of my stories? 😉 No Regrets perhaps? Or should Don’t Look Back make its return? Or Beauty of a Secret? Hmmmm….

#The Walking Dead #The Walking Dead Imagines #The Walking Dead one shot #The Walking Dead fanfiction #TWD #TWD Imagines #TWD fanfiction #Negan #Negan Imagine #Negan one shot #Negan fanfiction #one shot #imagines #fanfiction

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peterparkrr · 5 years

Text

The Santa Clauses

AO3 Link! Happy Holidays :)

Tony can glean a lot of information from the way Pepper walks into a room. Actually, he can tell a lot about anyone from the way they enter a room, he’s perceptive like that. But, he has years of studying Pepper under his belt, so she’s definitely his area of expertise.

The way that the door to the garage swings open—fast, yet controlled, she doesn’t let it slam into the wall, but it’s a near thing—means that Tony did something Not Good. Not 'slowly dying of palladium poisoning without telling anyone' bad and definitely not 'wielding all six infinity stones in a field full of super-humans' bad, but still, Not Good. Or it could be that someone close to Tony did something Not Good. Either way, it means that he has a mistake to fix.

“Tony,” she starts.

“Pepper,” he replies. “I want you to remember that the holidays are right around the corner, so in the spirit of forgiveness—”

“Oh, hush. You don’t even know what happened.”

That’s good. That means that it wasn’t Tony who made the fatal error.

Pepper leans against one of the tables, arms crossed. “You know I love Nebula and she is welcome here anytime.”

Tony feels his eyebrows raise automatically. Nebula is the offender. That’s a new one. She and Pepper get along just as well as he had speculated that they would. They have a shared love for the practical that Tony’s not sure that he will ever understand.

“What did Ms. Smurfette do?”

Pepper sighs. “She didn’t do anything on purpose.”

Tony peeks out the window of the garage. From what he can see, the house still seems to be intact.

“She was playing outside with Morgan.”

Tony swivels to look out the window on the other side of the garage. Morgan’s toys are scattered about the yard as usual, no sign of extra destruction. Also, no sign of Morgan. Tony’s heart races for a moment, but Pepper wouldn’t be this calm if something like that had happened.

“Morgan insisted on wearing one of her Christmas sweaters today—the one with the sleigh and the reindeer.”

Tony remembers. He’d thought it was a little early for that sort of thing. It’s only the sixth after all. But, they’re trying to foster Morgan’s self-expression.

“Nebula asked her about it. So she gave her an overview on Christmas.”

“Wasn’t Nebula here a few years ago at Christmas?”

“Yes, when Morgan was still a baby,” Pepper says. “Which is why Nebula knows that Santa and his reindeer are just characters.”

Tony’s starting to understand the problem. “And she told Morgan as much.”

“Yes, she did.”

It’s sad. Tony thought Morgan would have at least a few more magical Christmases, but she was always going to figure it out—sooner rather than later. She’s too smart.

“Well, this was bound to happen at some point.”

“Tony, she’s six.”

“My old man told me to quit believing when—I must have been four! Maybe younger.”

“Because that’s the example we’re trying to follow as parents,” Pepper mutters.

Tony laughs, but quickly sobers when he remembers the aftermath of that particular conversation with his dad. He’d been crushed. Even Jarvis couldn’t coax him out of his room the next day.

“Is she upset?”

“It didn’t seem like it. She just went back to playing.”

Tony breathes out a sigh of relief. “We’re in the clear then. No waterworks. That’s impressive.”

Pepper’s head snaps up. “We are not in the clear! Our daughter doesn’t believe in Santa! Christmas is in less than a month!”

“Honey, we can still have a wonderful Christ—”

“This is how it all starts.” Pepper’s head falls into her hands. “First, we lose Santa. Then, there will be no more family dinners because she’s out with friends. Then she’ll graduate and move out. It’s the beginning of the end.”

It seems that they’re spiraling on this previously calm December afternoon. Tony wants Morgan to stay as she is, all wide-eyed wonder for the world, just as much as Pepper does. He’s just not sure if the Santa-thing means the end of all of that. “Don’t you think—”

Pepper points a finger at him. “Fix this, Tony.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you!”

She’s gone before he can say anything else. It’s Tony’s turn to rest his head in his hands.

Tony raps his knuckles on Morgan’s door. “Maguna, anybody home?”

There’s a quick succession of footsteps from inside, then the rustling of sheets.

“No,” she calls, followed by barely stifled laughter.

“Oh, I see.” Tony pushes the door open and steps inside, surveying the child-shaped lump under the comforter. “Then I guess it’s the perfect time to finally take all of her toys to sell. I’ve been trying for years. Look at me now, FRI, it’s finally happening.”

“Stealing from a six-year-old, boss, very impressive.”

“FRIDAY, stop him,” Morgan whispers. “Override code alpha-romeo--”

It’s only the first two letters of one of his override codes, but it's enough to convince him that Morgan has the whole thing. It’s not the first time she’s gotten one, and it won’t be the last either. She’s going to be a nightmare to keep up with as a teenager, Tony can feel it.

“Woah, there.” Tony places two hands on the comforter and yanks it back with a bit of flourish. “When did you discover that one, little miss?”

She covers her face with her hands and shakes her head.

Tony decides to let it go. He’s here for a more urgent reason—a ‘Pepper will never forgive me if I don’t fix this’ reason.

He sits at the foot of the bed. Morgan clambers the rest of the way out from under the covers to sit next to him.

“Mom said that Nebula played with you today. That was nice of her.”

Morgan nods. “She let me take off part of her hand.”

“She—“ Tony trails off, shaking his head. He’s learned not to question what Morgan and earth’s mightiest heroes get up to. Morgan has all of them wrapped around her tiny finger.

“I put it back just right,” she adds.

“Good job.” Tony brushes her hair back so that it’s not flopping over her right eye. “Just be nice, okay? Nebula might not want to be treated like a project all the time.”

“Okay.”

“Did you and her do anything else today? Or—talk about anything else?”

Morgan’s face scrunches up in thought, before smoothing out again. “I told her about Christmas. She said Santa isn’t real.”

Tony knew that, but it still feels like a punch in the gut to hear the words out of Morgan’s mouth. He steels himself for the rest of the conversation.

“Do you believe that?” He keeps his tone as neutral as possible.

“Why would Nebbie lie?”

He hadn’t been prepared for that one. All he can do is hum in response.

“Did she lie?”

Tony purses his lips and looks to the side. He can’t outright lie to Morgan’s face. It’s too much of a betrayal. He should create some sort of telepathic link so he can tell FRIDAY to sound an alarm just from his thoughts. It would help him get out of so many sticky situations.

“It’s a little complicated, Mo.” Tony cringes even as he says it. It’s not his finest save.

She seems to accept it though, nodding sagely. “I’ll figure it out.”

Tony calls Peter.

“Is this a trick question, Mr. Stark? Because when May asks me that, I’m supposed to say yes, because otherwise she gets all sad and then I get sad, too, because—”

Sometimes talking to Peter is like listening to a hamster run around and around on its squeaky wheel. Then the hamster gets off, does a lap around the cage, and hops back on to run in the other direction. It’s exhausting, and grates on his nerves at times, but somehow it’s mostly just endearing.

“I just want your answer, the truth, please.”

There’s a long silence.

“No. I do not believe in Santa.” He whispers it, like it’s some shameful secret. “Unfortunately.”

“Perfect, I need your help.”

Peter doesn’t cry when Tony explains the situation, but it’s a near thing.

“I’m sorry,” he says, as he tries to collect himself. “I thought that we had some Christmas-themed villain to take down. Not this. She’s so young. How did this happen?”

Tony waves his hand in the air. “Long story, Nebula’s fault.”

“This is a disaster,” Peter mumbles. He seems almost as distraught as the time they thought Morgan had been kidnapped. Tony should lock him and Pepper in a room and let them commiserate until all the fretting is out of their systems. “What’s our plan?”

Peter is the plan. “I thought maybe you could talk about Santa like he’s, you know, real. She worships the ground you walk on.”

“Oh man.” Peter grimaces. “I don’t know. That’s a lot of pressure.”

Tony stares at him in disbelief. “Kid, you fought a titan—on an alien planet.”

“There’s so much more at stake here!”

Tony rolls his eyes and then places his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “You’ve got this. I trust you.”

Something in Peter’s face shifts and hardens. He nods once, sharp and final, before spinning toward the door and walking out of the room.

“Oh, you’re going for it, now, right now?”

Peter doesn’t stop, so Tony follows him into the family room where Morgan is criss-cross on the floor surrounded by magnets. She’s moving one around above them so that they spin to align with the poles.

“Hey, Morgan,” Peter says.

She drops the the magnet in her hand and leaps to her feet, sending a bunch of others scattering around the room. Tony tries to catalogue where they go so he can find them later. At least three slide under the couch. One is between the chair and the end table.

Morgan runs at Peter and he lifts her into the air with an ease that Tony can’t help but envy. He tosses her once, and ducks a little so that she falls longer than she thought she would. She squeals as he catches her again.

“I didn’t know you were coming over!” She beams at Peter. Her grin has gained a few gaps in the last month. Pepper has a point about time flying.

“Well, here I am!” Peter tosses Morgan onto the couch and plops down next to her. Tony wanders into the kitchen so that he can still hear without obviously spying.

“Are you excited for Christmas? Have you written your letter to Santa?”

Tony winces. Peter’s going straight in. Subtlety has never been one of his finer skills.

Morgan doesn’t answer right away and Tony has to resist the strong urge to go back and see what’s happening.

“Yeah,” she says slowly. “Have you?”

“Of course! I’m so excited to see what he’s going to bring me.”

“Oh.” Morgan sounds confused.

“I always hear reindeer’s footsteps on my roof on Christmas Eve! Have you ever heard them?”

“Um, I don’t know, maybe?"

It goes on like that for a while, Peter finding more and more creative ways to keep the conversation centered around Santa. Tony puts a stop to it when Peter claims that he saw Father Christmas himself at a beach one summer.

He makes some excuse about May calling and practically drags Peter out of the room.

“I think I really sold it,” Peter says. “Did you hear me?”

“Oh yeah, aces,” Tony deadpans. “Stick with the superhero gig, alright kid?”

After Peter leaves, Morgan follows Tony into the garage. His plan was to work on some of her presents, but he can’t do that with her watching, so he ends up opening old suit plans instead. He spins them around idly, hoping Morgan will get bored and leave.

“Peter believes in Santa, like a lot,” she finally says.

Tony stops and turns to her. Maybe the plan had worked after all.

“You should tell Nebbie not to tell him. I think it would make him really sad.”

Tony nearly smacks his head into the concrete wall. Pepper’s going to kill him.

Tony takes Morgan to lunch—a nice little diner where they won’t be bothered by any reporters.

They get almost matching cheeseburgers, Morgan’s sans pickles. Tony waits until she’s finished about half of hers before launching into his prepared speech.

“Remember when I told you that Santa was complicated?”

Morgan’s nose wrinkles and she places her burger down. “I’ve been trying to figure it out. It should just be a yes or no answer.”

“A lot of things that seem straight-forward aren’t,” Tony replies. “You’ll learn that as you grow up.”

She sits up straighter. “I’m almost seven.”

“That you are, which is why I’m going to explain it a little bit, sound good?”

She nods. Tony takes a deep breath. Belatedly, he realizes that he should have discussed the route he had decided to take with Pepper beforehand. There’s no going back now, with her eyes fixed on him, watching expectantly.

“I like to think of Santa as a metaphor.”

“Those are the ones without ‘like’ or ‘as’.”

Tony smiles. “Exactly. Santa represents being kind and giving.”

Morgan tears her napkin in half. Tony feels like he can see her thinking, trying to predict exactly where he’s going with this.

“We all get a chance to be a Santa, when we’re ready.”

Morgan abandons the strips of paper and meets Tony’s eyes. “How do you know when you’re ready?”

“Well,” Tony says. “As an experienced Santa, I can make that decision.”

Her chin juts out, a little. It’s the same face Pepper makes when she’s preparing to lay out her best argument. Tony feels his lips tug upward.

“You’re a little young, kiddo, but I think you might be ready.”

She wiggles a little in her chair, excitement radiating out of her. “What does a Santa have to do?”

“Well, there are a few rules.” Morgan leans forward. “The first is that you can’t talk to anyone who isn’t a Santa about it.”

“Is mom a Santa?”

“Of course she is.”

Morgan looks relieved. “Good, I can’t keep secrets from mom. She always knows.”

Pepper will love to hear that one. Tony can’t wait to tell her.

“As a first-year Santa, your job is to choose one person to give a gift to. You have to find out what they want without asking them and the most important part is that you can’t tell them it was you.”

“Easy,” Morgan says.

“Do you know who you’re going to pick?”

Morgan nods around a mouthful of burger.

Morgan chooses Peter, of course. She’s an overachiever, so her gift is two-part.

The first part, Tony helps her with. They code a slew of upgrades into a new holiday suit, from the more practical things — the heater needs to be warmer on his hands, sometimes they feel like ice after he patrols, dad — to the festive — would jingle bells give him away to the bad guys? When it’s finished, it’s green where the original was blue, and the spider symbol has a Santa hat. There are also some Christmas fairy lights sewn in for if he’s in a particularly jolly mood.

The second part, Morgan does all by herself. She types up a note, to Peter, from Santa. She doesn’t let Tony read it.

She delivers the suit before Christmas so that Peter can wear it during the holiday season. Tony drops her off at May’s apartment building and waits in the car so she can have a quick escape. She sprints out of the building, gesturing wildly for him to start the car.

When footage of Spidey in Rockefeller Center, with the Christmas lights shining bright, appears on the news, Morgan jumps up and down and plays it on loop.

“I think Peter likes it, mom, dad, look he’s wearing it by the big Christmas tree!”

She pumps a fist in the air as Peter swings in front of the camera once again. He throws up a peace sign and Morgan mirrors it, bouncing on her toes.

Pepper squeezes Tony’s arm. “You did good. Thank you.”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised.”

“Two words,” she says. “Giant bunny.”

“Oh, come on!”

On Christmas morning, Morgan tears through her presents with the same vigor that she brings to most things. The pattern she takes to go through them is systematic, yet the action of opening each is reckless, crumpled up balls of paper flying in all directions.

There are toys and books and gadgets. Most notable is the present that Pepper and Tony poured most of their time into — a robot that Pepper had sketched out and Tony had built. The pieces are disassembled, in a box. There’s a tool kit so that Morgan can put it together herself, and a paint set so that she can decorate it.

She runs over after she opens that one, wrapping her arms around both of them, as far as they will reach.

“You guys are the best Santas,” she whispers. She squeezes one final time and bounds back to the box, prying it open and dumping its contents on the floor.

Pepper leans her head on Tony’s shoulder and sniffles. Tony’s definitely not crying.

May and Peter are supposed to get to the cabin at 3:00. Tony knows that this means to expect them around 3:30. Morgan starts standing by the window at 2:45.

Tony, Pepper, and even FRIDAY try to coax her back to her toys, but she refuses to move.

“Peter will love the letter,” Tony tells her.

“You haven’t read it!”

“You wouldn’t let me, Mo.”

She sighs. “I should throw it away.”

“No, you worked hard on it. He’ll love it.”

The telltale crunch of tire on gravel nears the house. Morgan gasps and presses her face against the window. Then she runs around Tony to open the front door.

“Santa left a present under our tree for you, Peter,” Morgan blurts as soon as he steps inside.

“Really? Should I get it now?”

Morgan pales. “Um, if you want to.”

Peter heads for the tree and Morgan darts to Pepper’s side, latching onto her arm.

The letter is in a holiday-themed envelope, red with a snowflake border. Morgan had asked Pepper to write Peter’s name in cursive on the front. He picks it up and tears the adhesive, careful not to rip the envelope or the contents.

It takes him a few seconds to read it and then he blinks a couple of times and clears his throat. His eyes dart over to Morgan, then Tony, then finally up to the ceiling.

“Thanks Santa,” he says. “That means a lot.”

Morgan grins. She buries her face into Pepper’s side to hide it.

She goes back to working on her robot on the floor after that. May and Pepper sit on the couch by her, half-watching, half-chatting. Tony and Peter drift into the kitchen.

“What did it say?”

Peter clears his throat again and then passes the letter into Tony’s hands. “You can read it.”

Tony hesitates, but curiosity wins over and he opens the folded paper.

Dear Peter,

Congratulations on being on the nice list. It’s great to finally write to you. You’re one of my favorite children, and that’s saying a lot because I know all the children in the whole world. I heard that you’re a big fan of Santa. I’m honored that Spider-Man thinks so highly of me. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me!

This year, I wanted to write you a letter because you’re one of the most deserving people in the world to hear from Santa Claus. A lot of people were sad when you were gone. People told stories about Spider-Man, but Morgan’s dad told stories about Peter Parker. He missed Peter a lot. He’s a little old to write letters to me, but I’m sure if he did, he would have asked for you back. Morgan thought the same thing, so she added you to her Christmas lists for her dad. That wish finally came true last year.

Morgan originally wanted you back just to make her dad happy, but she got the best big brother out of it too! Keep up the good work! Santa is very proud of you!

Merry Christmas,

Santa

P.S. I hope to see you again at the beach this summer.

Tony folds the paper back in half and slides it across the counter to Peter. He picks it up and places it back in the envelope.

“She did,” Tony says. “She always put 'Peter' on her lists — once she was old enough to write them. Cried like a baby the first time I saw it.

Peter’s finger is running over the outside of the envelope, tracing the lines where the paper meets. Tony feels like he should say more, but he doesn’t know what. Even if he did, anything longer than a few words would probably come out choked and end in tears. This Christmas isn’t for crying. All of the darkest days are over.

“Merry Christmas, Tony,” Peter says.

Tony leans a little to the side to bump Peter’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas, kid.”

#irondad #peter parker #tony stark #morgan stark #pepper potts #irondad fic #irondad fanfic #my stuff

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crqstalite · 4 years

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WIP Wednesday

so i ended up being tagged three times today, by @that-wasnt-so-bad for scrap pile + WIP wednesday, as well as @ljandersen for scrap pile as well. unfortunately i end up being one of the most frugal writers you’ll meet, mostly everything i write ends up somewhere in a story, and i’m either powering through chapters worth of writing in hours or have nothing i haven’t published. but, thankfully i did actually have a piece i’ve been procrastinating on for a while (nearly scrapped it, so i think it counts), so here’s what i have.

pre-ME2, post ME1 shore leave. shenko...sort of. word count: 1808.

"So...Commander. Is this a temporary station or do you live here full time?"

Kodelyn raises an eyebrow at the question, still stretching out a few muscles in her back. Who knew getting Reaper bits rained down on you would have lasting effects? Two weeks later, she wasn't really supposed to be up and running yet, but Chakwas and the other doctors on the Citadel couldn't keep her down for long. No rigorous activity, they said, exasperated with her after only a few days, you'll pull your stitches and you'll be right back here, commander.

She was lucky they didn't send a nurse to live at her apartment for the next few months. Or however long it would be until they'd lay off and she could get back where she belonged -- on the bridge of the Normandy.

But for now, she was on medical leave. And medical leave meant taking it easy. Which she rarely did, without throwing a literal fit. Which also meant living on the Citadel for the time being because she was still on call, technically. Leave it to Anderson to keep her in the loop without her saying a word. She couldn't ask for better friend.

So here she is, walking through the hospital lobby with Lieutenant Alenko and her duffel over her shoulder, knocking into her hip withe every few steps. Why it hadn't been anyone else to retrieve her, she isn't sure. Possibly because he was the last human on her squad after the investigation into Saren. Possibly he came here on his own volition, as he had for a while after she'd been admitted. But that didn't mean she didn't enjoy this particular company. Still, she's uneasy with her eyes trained on him. Not entirely sure what the night just before they landed on Ilos even really meant, what to think about it. Fraternization was one of the many things she could be tried for, should the Alliance decide to press charges for the fact she stole the Normandy . It'd still meant a lot to her, even if she wasn't sure how to acknowledge it.

He'd asked for it not to change anything. She respects that, of course. But at the same time, maybe she wants things to change. After so long pushing people away, maybe she wanted someone to be by her side as more than a friend. He'd be a welcome one.

Then again she was the single worst person to be keeping secrets with. And the part of her that is the model soldier, the one who could be relied on for her integrity, eats away at her for those thoughts alone.

Would it be so bad to be happy?

So for now, she doesn't think about it, "I have -- had an apartment here. So do my siblings. I think I told you my parents still live on Earth?" A nod from him as the doors part for them out to the open area in front of the hospital's ground floor, "Between all my different postings and everything with the 'Reapers', it's easier to have a home here, be in the hub of everything and not have to commute back and forth every couple of months."

"Right, of course," He answers, turning his attention out to the Presidium and where parts still smolder with debris among the once green nature. His tone softens, "Makes plenty of sense. Uh, where did you live, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Further down in the lower wards of Zakera, actually. They tried to shove me up here with all the uptight brass when I earned the Star of Terra, but I wasn't really interested. Siblings live down there, and with C-Sec stretched thin I couldn't really leave them alone. But now?" She waves her hand out over towards the lower courtyard, "Now they managed to force me up here because of leave, and because somehow they knew that my old place got destroyed. Ease of access for the doctors in case something goes wrong. Better for Alliance to keep eyes on me. Apparently becoming the first human spectre and saving the Citadel earns you a few perks, lots of suspicion, but perks nonetheless."

He chuckles in a way that makes her feel oddly at ease. More than she had in months, really, "Think I'd call this way more than just a perk, Commander."

She bites her lip to keep from grinning, before it creeps into her expression anyways. It was so easy to end up in a good mood with him around, should've been illegal, "Maybe. I still think a whole 'luxury apartment' is a little much. Lali says I can see the whole Presidium from the living room window."

"You haven't been up yet?" He asks, surprised while he presses the button to call the elevator, "It is your place isn't it, ma'am?"

"It is. But considering I was in the hospital for 'so long', I just let her move everything in. Seemed a whole lot easier than coming into a cold apartment with boxes everywhere," She shrugs, and winces immediately after as she shifts her elbow back. She can see his hand flex out of the corner of her eye, probably unconsciously because he'd been their field medic during their hunt for Saren. She offers him a smile instead, if not to comfort his worry than to ease her own pain, "Got plans for the rest of the day, Lieutenant?"

"No ma'am. Any reports Councilor Anderson needed from me are done. Less medical leave than it is a glorified shore leave now," He responds, stepping into the elevator after her, "Not that it isn't appreciated."

"Wait," She says, his hand hovering over the control panel as he turns to her. Kodelyn hesitates for a moment, wondering if she was about to make a horrible mistake or overstep the blurry lines they've drawn in the sand, "Would you -- would you want to come up to the apartment? Far as I'm concerned you spent more time in my hospital room than you did actually enjoying the time off. I could...I don't know make lunch?"

"Commander -- Shepard..." She can see the gears turning in his head, working through problem and solutions faster than she can try to figure out what he's thinking about. She'd seen it the few times she'd flirted with him outright on the SR-1.

"I just offered lunch, not my hand in marriage, Alenko," His cheeks flush at the notion while she leans over to hit the button for the part of the Presidium her new-home-away-from-home-that-got-destroyed-when-a-Reaper-attacked-but-apparently-they-don't-exist was on. Trying not to make it obvious that even she was reconsidering her offer, she steamrolls ahead, " 'Course if you're busy or you don't want to come up, I'll understand."

There's a long pause that she wants to fill with anything but silence, yet holds her tongue to keep from rambling before she says something she wouldn't want him hearing. The one time she wants her omni-tool to ping like it always does in the worst of times, it's surprisingly quiet. Thanks a lot, Liara, she thinks, You don't need anything from me now?

"That'd be nice, Shepard," He finally answers, and a weight is lifted off her chest, smiling again. Yet another thought runs through her head as she does pull up her omni-tool and scrolls through the messages from her sister. Had she gone shopping, or was she promising him noodles from down in the Wards?

Was Lali over right now?

She'd never been that out of the loop before, especially with a place she was trusting her security to for the time being. It's definitely unsettling, and shakes her a bit. However, she closes out the orange and white UI, deciding she'd work around any obstacle there was to this idea. The Council had been one of them to Saren, but she'd managed to bring him down. Finding something to eat with the Lieutenant had to be easier than that, "Got a preference?"

"Ordering in, ma'am?" He asks a question to answer her own.

"No, cooking if my sister did her job," He looks at her sideways, furrowing his brow as if disbelieving her statement, "What? You think that's outside my expertise, Alenko?" She asks, gently nudging his shoulder. She really would've done it harder if her own wasn't already sliding out of it's socket, or at least it feels like it. So many loose screws in her body right now, she wasn't even entirely functional.

"Of course not. You're a talented woman, Shepard. I didn't think it extended to the kitchen, is all," He answers, his tone changing to match her's. His expression changes to one of bashfulness, setting something aflame inside her with the compliment, "Not that you shouldn't be capable of anything you put your mind to, ma'am."

"Stop that, you'll make me blush." She says, trying not to reflexively turn from him, her cheeks burning. He returns it with a grin, and she steps out into the cool air of the Presidium.

Apartment ('luxury', she'd never get over that part. Thankfully as soon as she returned to service on the Normandy she could let it collect dust and not think about how much this cost -- let her parents have it) number 630. She gets turned around for a bit in the new, very shiny complex, trying to keep her head down from anyone who might recognize her and attempting to find the home herself. Lieutenant Alenko is a little more starstruck than she is, to where she finds him two hallways down from her new place admiring the view. They stay for a moment, watching skycars fly by. This is the time that Kodelyn finally sees the entirety of the damage that Sovereign had done, and it throws her for a loop. Within the past two weeks, Citadel forces had been able to do quite a bit of cleaning up, but it was still obvious the station had been shaken.

She'd prevented the worst of it. But people had still lost their lives.

And here she was, still here.

There's a beat of silence before she feels his hand grasp her's by her side. She flinches, "You...did all you could, Shepard. There are a lot of people who have their lives because of you."

"Probably. Doesn't keep me from feeling bad though," His hand drops back to his side, to which she frowns but turns away from the window. If that was going to be a problem, she could at least drop the curtain in front of her own foretold windows in her apartment, "Are you still coming in for lunch, or should I leave you out here?"

He follows wordlessly after her while she waves her omni-tool over the key reader on the door. Flashing green, it slides open.

#mass effect #mass effect oc #oc #original character #kodelyn velasquez #f!shenko #wip wednesday

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soldiermanes · 5 years

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Fourth of July

Prompt: Michael helping Alex deal with his PTSD

The first time Michael sees Alex again he’s twenty and the summer heat has reached peak levels. The airstream has been almost unbearable for the past few days, it was already in terrible condition when he bought it off a guy at the Wild Pony, but then the AC went out and now it felt like he was living in a tomb. Even at night, the sun having set hours ago, there’s still a heavy humidity to the air that’s suffocating.

He’s lying, shirtless, on the bed and staring at the dented ceiling when the knock on his door comes.

His body tenses, he hadn’t been expecting visitors.

With a groan, he pulls himself from the bed, grabbing his t-shirt where it’d been discarded on his desk and throwing it on like an afterthought. Even as he walks to the door, he readies himself for what might be on the other side. A drunk from the bar who wanted to finish their fight, government goons in hazmat suits intending to drag him off to some lab, Max with coffee or donuts as a peace offering, ready to lecture him on all the reasons he shouldn’t be doing anything he was doing.

What he doesn’t expect is to open the door, ready to snap at whoever’s decided to bother him this late at night, only to come face to face with Alex Manes. Whatever smart ass greeting he’d had planned dies in his throat at the sight of the man.

“Alex,” he breathes instead, eyes widening ever so slightly.

He looks different, of course he does it’s been three years since they last saw each other. But it’s odd seeing him like this; hair so short it’s almost a buzz cut, dressed in blue jeans and a plaid button up, his signature eyeliner replaced with dark circles and lines in his features that most definitely hadn’t been there when Alex had left him. Three years is apparently all it takes for any remainder of the boy he’d loved to vanish, leaving him with this stranger on his doorstep.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, unable to stop the venom that slips into his voice, even as Alex is looking at him with something akin to need in his wide brown eyes.

He opens his mouth, shoulders raising as he draws in a breath, only no words come out. His hands fidget nervously, and as Michael watches him pick at his sleeves he’s comforted by the familiarity of it; at least one thing hasn’t changed. Then Alex shifts and a glint of metal peaks out just above the collar of his shirt. Dog tags. Right. Alex Manes was the property of the US government now, he obeyed orders like every good pet. His father must be proud.

Alex seems to notice how Michael is staring at the tags. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and pulls at his shirt until they’re hidden from view again.

“I um-. I heard you were living out here,” he finally says, turning back to look at the junkyard, “I wanted to see for myself.”

Michael tries to bite back the smart remark, but it slips through anyway, “yeah, well, my truck wasn’t exactly cutting it anymore. I kind of outgrew the sleeping bag.”

If Alex is hurt by the low blow he doesn’t show it, just turns back to meet Michael’s gaze with a laugh. His teeth flash bright white against the deep tan of his skin and Michael hates the way it makes something come to life inside him. The familiar pull in his gut that Alex was so good at awakening.

If this was three years ago, back when they’d had the whole world laid out open and waiting for them, he would have kissed Alex. He’d be lying if he said that’s not what he wanted to do now, but they’re not kids anymore and there are no happy endings. They’d been great, something wild and untamed, but they’d ran too hot and burnt out too soon, and now all that was left was the emptiness that creeped in alongside the longing.

Alex seems to know this as well as he does, the smile fading from his face, replaced with something sad and broken.

“What do you want, Alex?” Michael says, crossing his arms across his chest and scowling down at the man.

“It’s the fourth of July,” Alex replies simply, like that’s supposed to mean something to Michael, “and I-. I don’t know, I just wanted to see you.”

Something cracks in the façade Alex is hiding behind, a quick flash of fear in his eyes that’s gone as soon as he blinks. But Michael sees it, he sees everything Alex does because he’s never been strong enough to look away and that tears at something inside him until all he can feel is the raw pain that had consumed him so long ago. His hand throbs at the memory, cool winter chill and even colder grey eyes. When Alex looks at him it’s with warm brown that promise safety and reprieve, he’s nothing like his father, and even still it physically hurts for Michael to look at him because all he can see, all he can feel, is the tool shed.

His voice cracks when he speaks again, “go home, Manes.”

He turns, beginning to retreat back into the suffocatingly hot trailer, when Alex’s hand grabs at his wrist and he freezes. The man’s grip is tight, desperation showing in everything he does, even as he takes another step forward, pressing himself close to Michael. They’re close enough that he can feel Alex’s warm breath fan across his cheek, and he’s not sure if the quickening heartbeat he hears is his or not.

“Please,” Alex begs, and that pull in Michael’s gut strengthens, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

And that is familiar.

“Please, Guerin,”

His voice is so small, so achingly similar to that of the seventeen year old who’d clung to Michael on that last night, both of them with tears streaming down their cheeks as Alex apologized profusely, again and again, and Michael begged him not to go. It would be so easy to turn the tables, to be the one to leave Alex this time, but the boy has always had a grip on his heart that couldn’t be explained, even now.

He sighs, deep and heavy, “why are you back?” he asks because there’s a truth here that Alex isn’t admitting. He wouldn’t just show up on Michael’s doorstep because he missed him. He’s here for something, whether it be another piece of Michael’s soul or not, there’s a reason.

“I-,” Alex starts, the lie already forming on his lips.

“I want the truth. Or you can go.”

Alex’s eyes shine with tears, his breathing heavy and trembling with each exhale, “I just need you, please, Guerin.”

“Why?”

“Because I miss you,” the first tear falls, Michael fights down everything in him that wants to wipe it away, “because I’ve only been back for a day and already my father is suffocating me. Because I can’t watch goddamned fireworks anymore without thinking about bombs and bodies and it’s killing me, Guerin. It’s killing me.”

Something snaps then, whatever thin thing it was that was keeping Alex upright as he sags heavily against Michael. He sobs, loud and pain filled, and Michael’s never felt so worried in his life. There’s a lump in his throat that won’t let him breathe and each time Alex cries, with a raw vulnerability that he doesn’t know how to handle, he can feel his chest tighten.

He tries to soothe the boy, holding him tightly, one hand wrapped around his waist, the other cradling the back of his neck. Alex has got his face buried in the crook of Michael’s neck, his tears warm against bare skin and he shakes like he’s about to fall apart; violent tremors that wrack his small frame. Michael’s confused and shocked, completely unequipped to deal with this situation. He could barely console Isobel when she was having a melt down over which decorations to use for a party, so a traumatized soldier was definitely outside his area of expertise.

“I’m sorry,” Alex cries, voice muffled against Michael’s skin, “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t-. I can’t-. It’s too much Guerin, it’s all too much, and I just needed things to be quiet.”

“Okay. It’s okay,” he’s got tears stinging at the corners of his vision now and he blinks them away as his grip tightens on the man. This close, Michael can smell him, the strong scent of cologne and sweat and underneath that vanilla and spice that is so distinctly Alex is makes him ache more. This isn’t a stranger; this is the boy who he’d do anything to defend and he’d failed.

Alex’s body shudders as he collapses further against Michael, “I’m broken. They were just fireworks, and I knew that, but they started going off and I was back there. It’s like I’m stuck. I can’t sleep, can’t eat. I’m not strong enough. My dad was right, I’m weak.”

No, Michael won’t stand for that. He won’t let Jesse win, that’s not an option. He pulls away from Alex, taking the man’s head in his hands and tilting his chin until their eyes meet, “look at me. You are not weak.”

“I am-.”

“You’re not. I swear Alex, you’re not. You’re the bravest person I know, and no war is going to change that,” he speaks with a conviction that’s usually only reserved for his siblings, an unwavering truth to his words that he stands firmly by. He will not let Alex think less of himself, because Jesse is wrong. He’s always been wrong about Alex, the strongest of the Manes’ men, because even when the world tried to harden him into something cruel and unforgiving Alex refused to be anything but good.

“You don’t understand. You’re not there,” Alex says, as more tears track down his cheeks. This time, Michael doesn’t fight the urge to wipe them away with gentle thumbs. The man closes his eyes at the contact, lips parting enough for a trembling breath to escape him.

“You’re right, I’m not. But neither are you, not right now. You’re here. You made it back here, and that makes you stronger than anyone.”

Alex cries again, this time a whimpered thing, and it makes Michael want to hunt down Jesse Manes and destroy him. He can feel the familiar anger course through his veins, the warning of something far more sinister biting at him, and he swallows it down. Alex doesn’t seem to notice the papers, scattered across Michael’s desk behind them, that begin to float as if taking life of their own. He breathes, deep and steady and they fall. Now’s not the time to let his rage for the oldest Manes out. That’s a problem for another day.

As Alex begins to calm down, his breath returning to something resembling normal, he starts to pull away from Michael. The haunted look never leaves his eyes though, expression glazed over as if he’s not really there, but stuck in whatever hell his mind has concocted. Three years ago, they’d been free. They dreamed ideas for the future in the back of Michael’s pickup, curled against each other as they looked at the night sky above them and it was the first time he’d ever really let himself hope.

Things were different now, and Alex had left, taking that budding hope with him. He won’t let himself pretend this is anything other than Alex seeking comfort, because the man will be gone in the morning and the pain in his heart will return. He’s had enough one night stands to understand the arrangement.

Instead he simply says, “you can stay if you want, but the bed’s pretty small.”

Alex smiles, there’s no humor in his features, just an empty twitch of his lips. He nods, “okay.”

Once, Alex Manes had been his. It had been such a brief moment of time that it shouldn’t hold as much impact as it does, but he’d shared a part of himself with the boy that he hadn’t with anyone else. Alex knew some of the darkest parts of him, and in turn he knew Alex’s greatest fears. And just when he’d thought they’d have a future together, that maybe Michael could find a home in the brown haired boy with a smile like heaven and wit to match Michael’s own, Alex had left. He’d run off to a war that spit him out twisted, and Michael knew if he kept returning to fight his father’s battles that the war would demand more each time, but he didn’t say any of this.

He doesn’t beg like he had when he was seventeen, and he thought that if he just kept saying the words that Alex would stay. He knows better now, he knows that once Alex has made up his mind, there’s not a power on earth that could change it. And he knows the fear that sits deep in Alex’s heart, because it had been whispered to him once, in the same summer heat that now permeated every part of the airstream.

“I’m afraid to love something my father could break,” he’d said, even as he’d moved to kiss Michael. He’d been stupid to not realize that that was the beginning of the end.

He was stupid now, for letting Alex stay, and continue to carve a place into his heart.

But all Alex had to do was look at him, with that lost and lonely fear in his eyes, and Michael would feel the need to protect so deeply that it almost suffocated him. Alex must have felt similar, somewhere deep inside, because no matter how far away he ran and how fast, he always seemed to find his way back.

Like magnets, they always seemed to find each other again.

A/N: Will I ever let these boys be happy, probably not. I’d like to think of this as a prequel to Safe Haven, when Michael has no idea how to handle Alex’s PTSD, but after this moment he starts reading articles and journals online so next time Alex shows up at his door, he’s ready.

Prompt from: @taki-nee-chan

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell #roswell new mexico #rnm #fanfic

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tortillaplanet · 4 years

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Realty Stories that Show You How!

Let's begin easing you actually out of the pits. I mean, comfort zone! I'm going to slowly and carefully give you as many little sparks and insights to the not hard ways that ordinary people use real estate to achieve extraordinary outcome. Stories are the best spark plugs. They let you gently observe from a safe, secure and understandable view place. I will write to answer most of the questions that I experience I myself would ask if I was reading everything you are about to read. I want you to know something belonging to the very start of this report and that something is this unique: I care about you and I sincerely mean that. I seriously do want you to move to a new comfort zone, one that can be pleasurable and free from fear. A place where you realize you will have the power to achieve greater things than you currently can see right now. It's possible for you to start being a more powerfully directed purpose-driven individual who is well organized and on track to higher achievement. You are likely to change and grow, slowly and steadily with each page you read. With every thought and understanding you gain, your desire and courage will grow at the same time. Napoleon Hill wrote one of the greatest books of all time. It's referred to as "Think and Grow Rich. " The essence of these book, the secret it reveals time and again is this: you ought to develop a burning desire. Don't put this book downward thinking the previous statement is cliché and that you previously knew that! I am simply leading you to my then point, the next point being is - your hope needs a starting point. So to start developing desire, my technique is you must have a purpose. Why do you want to pursue real estate? I do know what you're thinking: to make money, to have security, that will feel useful and appear successful. Good points. I concur you can have all of that and more if that is what you desire. Currently here is something that comes before any of those things you desire. What's the purpose of all those things? Purpose, purpose, purpose... you need to very first define purpose before you get the things. My purpose, roughly I thought early in my career, was to move up to a nicer house and have my first house become my own first rental property. When I moved up to the next you, I quickly learned as soon as I rented it outside, I was in some way responsible for creating happiness and safety in the life of another person that was of no regards to me. It soon was evident to me how the selections I made in choosing that first property either could help me or hurt me in my quest to achieve the real estate investment business. All of it is cumulative, all you do and how you do it adds up. It compounds its own matters and it either makes your life easier or more difficult. My goal is to give you experiences that you can learn from that will make your life much easier; I am going to show you how. That is my purpose. The arrange that gave me the unknowing courage to take this first steps in real estate was a book labeled "How I Turned $1000 into $3 Million through real estate in my spare time" by William Nickerson. The person was a master storyteller and by osmosis, once reading his book, I found myself gravitating towards the home classified section of my Sunday paper. Eventually I jumped and my life had changed. It was an FHA property foreclosure, a two-bedroom, one-bath home with a built-in, screened-in group, with a Jacuzzi and a built-in sprinkler system. I bought the software for $46, 000 and used the HUD 203K rehab program to fix it up. I spent $16, 000 to update and make repairs. They then gifted me one loan for a total of $62, 000. It took me three months to complete it and Document was in; I had done it! My life changed, I realized, I took the leap. From then on I had confidence. I needed already had my first home but now I did two. Well, I was in the Coast Guard together with wouldn't you know, three months later we moved. Uncle Sam had me out of St. Petersburg, Florida and dropped others in Kodiak, Alaska, for my next tour about duty. Well guess what? I was armed with ambition, courage, confidence and just enough knowledge to be considered threatening, so I bought a duplex as soon as I came on land on Kodiak Island. Now I had three dwellings and additionally my relationships and responsibilities were growing with your new tenants counting on me to provide a clean, purposeful and pleasing environment for them to exist in. It seemed like this: My mother rented my first house in addition to an elderly couple rented the second one and a duplex came with an existing tenant who was a hospital officer, so I was lucky. I was able to ease myself towards the role of landlord without getting burned early into my career. I now had two houses and a duplex in the span of about one year. My brothers and some other sorts of family members took notice and were pretty well dumbfounded. Individuals couldn't figure out how I had, all of a sudden, become a real estate wizard. It all felt good to make that change in so quite short a time. I got that from reading a book! And also my friend is how you are going to do the majority of everything you achieve in real estate, by reading and taking steps closer to duplicating the success of others in a repeatable structure. The key is to understand that you can do it if you read the ideal books and apply the very basic formulas that are passed to you. There lies in: Magic Bullets in Real Estate This is usually a common man or woman's real estate manual. William Nickerson never gave me anything so easy as "Magic Principal points! " So I learned trial by fire and it has also been very gratifying. I've since went on to collect 17 real estate, 23 tenants, 2 real estate licenses in Florida along with Alaska, an assistant appraiser's certificate and over a one hundred dollars books on real estate. I just kept learning and maturing and gaining momentum for the last 13 years. I am however in the Coast Guard, too, and I work at Ak One Realty in my spare time. In two more numerous years, I will be retired at the ripe old age of 42. May sound like a sort of fairytale, doesn't it? Don't let me fool an individual. It's hard work and I'm still not a millionaire, yet I want you to have the truth, so I will be honest along every step of the way. I know why I am an excellent millionaire and here is why. I would periodically sell real estate that was going up in value and paying for itself because of the rent checks. But being in the Coast Guard would most likely dislocate me every four years, so I found ourselves selling out in order to avoid being what is called "an absentee landlord. " This is an important lesson for you. It has prevented me from becoming a millionaire up to this point. The tutorial is: find an area on this planet that you could and will inhabit, and stay close to it. Don't move more than 10 miles from your farm area. The farm area is definitely where all your properties are located. Long distance "land lording" might be tough! It can be done but you lose the ability to control your situation compared to if you were there. I've served my country and even saved people's lives, so for me it has not been in vain. I have no regrets but if you don't have to get away from your area of expertise, don't! The networks you develop and the contacts you build, in the process of "doing" property, are so valuable that when they are no longer at your disposal, it puts you at a serious disadvantage. Not to mention when you step you have to acclimate yourself to an entirely different market, build latest trust-based relationships and start all over again. It's like a treadmill you're going to be running and running, however it gets you nowhere. I had used it to my advantage. I have been forced towards accelerate my abilities to rapidly duplicate my achieving success whenever I am moved, but it is still an uphill combat. My point: Don't move too far from your farm or even your network of bankers, appraisers, carpenters, tradesman, housing, friends, tenants and so on. Once you have the skill you can redundant your success anywhere you go but if you don't have to be... enough said on that! I like to say, "Don't advertise the goose to get the eggs. " What that means is certainly if you need money to buy more property, use equity creases from other property to do it. You will get the same amount of cash or more by using an equity line as if you sold the idea. However , you get to keep the asset and the money! I go deep into this in "Magic Bullets, " so I won't drone on here. Just know you don't have to sell your property to see the cash out of them. So here we are. You know a little about me and you may have picked up a nugget or simply two. Let's find a few more. There once was men who wanted to buy some investment property, so what the guy did was look at growth patterns. You should do this at the same time, by going to your city's planning and zoning department. You will discover growth patterns and you definitely want to buy property that is an acronym in the way of growth. This is how he used what he discovered. He saw that city planners had decided which a new artery (highway) would benefit their city by just creating linkage to another city about 100 miles at a distance, so being a smart investor he only went in as much as a ten mile limit to be able to be close to your partner's investment. Now on average, new growth will radiate out from existing prosperous cities in the direction it is planned for a price of about one mile per year. So our smart individual had a 10 - 12 year plan to hard cash out in about 10 - 12 years. Exactly what he did was buy, I believe, 10 acres connected with commercially zoned property very cheaply because there was basically no demand at the time. He bought it, fenced it in, deal some lights and a gate, and held onto which usually little bugger. Now that new highway was coming this way and the good folks, through their taxes, was paying to have it built. It didn't take long for the heavy equipment to start cutting a swath when it comes to his fenced-in storage facility and when they got shut enough to him, he started renting out a good secure area for everything, from road cones in order to generators to backhoes. You name it - it had been stored there. This more than paid his land down. Now the men and their equipment eventually moved further down the trail but they left a completed highway behind them. And guess what? Low and behold, individuals started driving on it, and then started buying property to set up houses on to get away from the city. Since the new highway seemed to be a straight shot into town, ten miles through was breeze. Well, of course, here comes the herd and everyone is just populating the whole darned area. As well as within ten years, residential housing surrounds Mr. Investor, and will you guess what he's got? Yep, a prime part of commercial property, 10 acres large. So in accordance with her 10-12 year plan, he sells his storage option to make room for the new office/business park complex designed for over $2, 000, 000. That, my friend, is perception, and the sooner you get a clear picture of what it will be that you want to specialize in, the sooner you can retire to the of the islands. How hard was that? Don't tell me it's hard to do it, you can! I'm here to help you. I'm going to give you secrets and techniques no one else dares. Do you ever wonder why people will not tell you the secrets? Of course you already know this but I'm going to tell you anyway. It is because they are operating on a scarcity attitude, as though there won't be any left for them. Or whenever learn something and act on it, you will get ahead and possess a great life. Well, misery loves company and quiet oppression is the rule. Here's a little story that low quality real estate agents won't appreciate either but I'm going to tell that to you anyway. The reason I can tell it is because there are some amazing real estate agents out there who absolutely don't fear what Now i'm about to tell you and would let you know it if they happen to be in my position. Here's the deal: Some agents want to be for instance the Wizard of Oz . They want to create the appearance of selling and transacting real estate as being technical and very legal, a new deep dark mystery. Well, it's not! The truth be told, you possibly can write a contract on a napkin and it would give a presentation in court. I will emphasize here that you write for that napkin along with the terms of your agreement, "The words and phrases set forth on this here napkin are subject to my lawyer's approval. " An attorney will cover you completely for around $750. 00. Prices may vary, however that is an average home contract. There is a lot I am leaving out here but our point is this: If you own property, you can market it anyway you want. "Magic Bullets" will teach you. We will move on. Exposure is the key to finding buyers and owners in real estate. If a property is priced fairly not to mention everyone who is looking for that type of property knows that should be in the availability pool, it will be found and the transaction will probably proceed as advertised. Price it right, advertise the application properly and let the lawyer take care of the details. No fee, just a flat fee. Period. Now that I have that off my personal chest, I will tell you a story about Dan, a 21-year old friend of mine, and his wife and also their new baby. He's a hardworking guy who does an individual's work without complaint and all the other "workers" pick in him for working so hard. Can you believe this? The other guys are so insecure and lazy construct y make fun of a guy who is doing the work of two to three men, mainly of the three who are ridiculing him. Nicely, believe me, this doesn't go unnoticed by me plus I take him under my wing. Dan hopes to buy a house, so I begin the process of saving them years of trial by fire and save your man $25, 000 at no charge. That is because he deserved great help. Anyway, here is the story: I began with the pup by asking him what type of home he thought yet be comfortable with and a price range. He indicated a 3-bedroom for around $100, 000. Knowing what he wanted as well as knowing the area, I was able to take him shopping for the place he was looking for. Now I always go after the "For Selling by Owner" homes first because I know they won't possibly be adding any commission figure into their price, because they will never be paying one. So at 6% of $100, 000 he will get $6, 000 more "house" for his particular precious dollar. I also told him besides the "For Sale by Owner" homes, we would be looking at oddball discount companies that help distressed sellers further spend the their money and property. The mentality of a dealer who uses cheesy companies to help them sell their property is pennywise and pound-foolish. If you're going to use individuals, then get a professional. So off we go. After a day or so, we have found our house. Sure enough, El Cheeso Inc. has a sign on it. The screen doors are actually flapping in the breeze, the weeds are dancing within the lawn, but this house is indeed a 3-bedroom, 2-bath, 1-car garage with a fenced yard and it's selling regarding $110, 000. Well, due to the fact that there is a divorce in progress, and a new girlfriend who doesn't like the place, and El Cheeso Inc. giving no representation, I settle for Dan and he gets it for $99, 000. What's so great about this deal is this very same floor plan in another house was for sale across town, on the same street, for $25, 000 more. The ethical of the story is good things come to those who deserve the item, and that is another key to real estate. You must work very hard so others will take notice of you and enable you to succeed. Here's a beauty for you. This is about being on real estate circles and keeping your eyes and hearing open and often times your "yapper" closed. This is the adventure of Brian and Julie. Here we have two industrious souls. They have been married for 20 years and they have weathered the storms of matrimony. Julie works at a real estate property office as an office manager. No real estate license, however she works at an office that sells plenty of waterfront property. So we are talking about location and staying in the right place at the right time, and below comes a seller in the door of the office documenting she is going to sell her older waterfront home. She is ready to take $180, 000. Julie tells Brian, they look at it and sure enough, this pearl is right on the water. She gets a gem waiting to be polished up, so Brian and Julie sell their condominium and move in. Very well, they aren't making any more waterfront property, so John goes to work polishing this jewel up. Now, they've bought this house under market value in an appreciating market. So about one and a half years later, the property is worth over $350, 000 and still climbing. Most certainly, Brian is no dummy, so he gets to know his / her neighborhood. He strolls, takes walks and notices, one guessed it, a vacant, neglected jewel on an within double lot. He tracks down the elderly lady, who's going to be living with her sister, through the county records office together with buys the house, including the extra lot, for a total for $120, 000. Now Brian can walk to his or her new "jewel" and he starts polishing it. Typically the neighbors start noticing and are amazed at his put up. He has offers of $180, 000, $200, 000 and additionally $60, 000 for just the lot. You name them. Now that the exposure is there, everyone wants a piece of it again. Well, this is what Brian did. He rented his 1st house out, moved into the second one and utilised plans that I gave to him to build a third residential home on the vacant lot, using the equity he accumulated from first house that went up so much. And listed below is how this thing shakes out: $180, 000 intended for his first house and it's value goes up to $365, 000; he picked up the next jewel for $120, 000 and he paid cash using the equity from the first of all house. Now he takes out a new mortgage on the second house for $120, 000 and builds still another. The value at last count was $815, 000 and she owed a grand total $300, 000. That's a 1 / 2 million-dollar profit in 5 years! Now what really does this story tell us? #1 - it says, "work hard"; #2 - keep your eyes open; #3 - use equity lines; #4 - don't sell; #5 - learn how to be a landlord; #6 - be in locales that appreciate; #7 - buy things that are constrained in availability; #8 - know how to research owners in addition to repair property; #9 - get your partner's help (spouse); #10 - use knowledgeable friends to help you see future (I gave him the plans and advised your pet not to sell anything! ). Can you get any more instructions out of this story? I'm sure you can. Just read it once more and think on it. Jot down your ideas and put the crooks to work. Real estate is not that hard, folks! You can do it. Along with a few magic bullets, some spark plugs and a great mentor to show you how, you can do it too! Let me you and me talk for just a minute here, OK! Have you ever long been really good at something and been able to step to come back and see the whole thing for what it is was? You just comprehend exactly how to do it and you can see the end result clearly mentally before you start. It's predictable to you. It's almost second makeup, so you are comfortable doing it. It's almost become unexciting to you; your comfort zone is such that you can do it into your sleep. I've gotten that way with certain types of properties and I see people everyday that are so terrified of taking the first step that they are literally paralyzed. They produce excuses and put it off, and rationalize and live any quiet life of desperation. They don't trust themselves and so of the unknown they can't trust anyone else either. This is a horrible cycle because the longer they wait the more it reinforces their beliefs. I just want to grab them by the back of the shirt, take them to the bank and make them tell the bank, "Pre-qualify me! " Then walk them out the entranceway and show them how to do something that will change their daily life forever, and that is to buy the first property, and then a second. Therefore their fear is gone and they grow to be of service to make sure you everyone who is ready for their assistance. Let me tell you this: When you have finish reading the rest of this report and you read the "Magic Bullets" book, your fears will be subdued and you will want to do something and your life will change. If you cannot succeed with what I am motive on showing you, then something is not right. I feel your desire would be your major obstacle, so in that case, read "Think and Grow Rich" by Napoleon Slope and come back to me then. Let's get back to real estate coaching, shall we? Do you know who the largest commercial real estate operator in the U. S. is? It's McDonalds Corporation. Yes, and on top of that, they also have the most valuable locations for their particular business. The research they do on demographics and website visitors counts is unparalleled! If you were ever going to clear a fast food restaurant, just put it near a McDonalds. You would survive just on the volume of people who flock or maybe pass by the location that McDonalds has already decided meets the critical data to support their restaurant business. Your eating place, if you had good food and service, would grow. Just sell something a little different than McDonalds. That's profiting someone else's expertise in evaluating a location for a certain types of real estate. Now that is a principle and principles are want natural laws. A natural law always works in every issue in its own way. It's like gravity - it all always works! Here on earth, anyway. So in realty it doesn't matter what type it is, whether it's commercial, residential, industrial as well as recreational. Look for signs that serious market studies have already been undertaken by major operators and buy things that can achieve the presence of those concerns. For instance, let's use Place Depot as an example. If Home Depot decides to build at a site, every residential lot within a mile of that brand new center will be bought up as soon as the Home Depot commits to build! Why? Because smart investors know that Home Depot has done the market study and the area will be a prosperous one particular. On top of that, it will provide jobs, it will pay taxes, it may provide materials to actually build the neighborhoods with, and the ones will shop there once their houses are built. An identical goes for Wal-Mart, Lowe's and other smart business concerns. You will or may not have noticed this but take a look the next time you are driving around. Here is what you should see. As you travel into cities from the suburbs, you'll notice donut boutiques, gas stations with convenience coffee centers, bagel shops, along with etcetera, on the side of the road that people travel to on their method into the city to go to work. These are morning activity enterprise centers. Now on your way home, out of the city, you will see places to eat that cater to the evening meal crowd: KFC, Taco Bell, Subway and Pizza Hut. That's because people will not go there for breakfast. They get it on their technique home, outbound from the city at night. If you put the restaurant on the wrong side of the road, you could be at home huge strategical error. Think! Location, location, location as they say, are the 3 most important things in real estate. That is a very true statement. With residential property, that boils down to safeness, security and convenience. So buy homes in decent neighborhoods, cul-de-sacs preferably. No noise or through visitors, no escape routes for thieves, and a private positioning, where kids play in the street without getting run down. Safety = close to hospitals, police and fire protection for the purpose of obvious reasons. Convenience = stores, gas stations, restaurants, enterprises, parks and recreation and access to major highways for you to circulate or evacuate if necessary. You might get a great deal about the piece of properly but if it takes you a half 60 minute block to get a loaf of bread. What kind of resale will which will great deal offer? Another great deal may back up to or possibly face a busy street. That's often a poor decision as well... noise, pollution, the loss of privacy and curb draw are all factors here. The two best types of property to obtain are: 1 . Property that no one else knows is ideal for sale! Why? Because you have no competition. 2 . Property normally wants! You just have to figure out why people don't want to buy. If you can turn that lemon into lemonade through numerous problem solving, that jewel may just shine because you employed the right magic polish. In real estate, you get paid if you solve problems. That is a fact! Here is a golden nugget available for you. If you do this, it will catapult your real estate investment career. That i guarantee you will gain more insight to real estate therefore one thing than just about anything else you could possibly do. The glowing nugget is this: Take a real estate appraisal course. It may fly by, a few weekends and it's over, but the perception and the information you gain from the class is priceless. The software gives you vision, ideas and understanding. You will have an edge through every other investor who has not done it. I had the instructor, who by some stroke of luck, I just was privileged to be taught by. His name is without a doubt Steven V. and he is truly a genius. This guy could create millions if he applied himself to real estate investment though he chooses to teach and give back to others in that way. He could be very comfortable in life and money is a by-product for Steven. When I finished the class, I had appraisers wanting to hire me to go to work. Now I won't want to work as an appraiser. I just want to think including one and that is why I took that four-weekend tutorial. That class taught me more than both of my best real estate licensing courses combined. The reason for that is real estate courses deal with state laws, contracts, regulations and ethics. Value determination focuses on evaluating real estate and that is what you want to learn as an real estate investor. A real estate license can actually hold you back as a result of being a savvy investor and here's why: #1 : You have to announce to every seller that you are an agent. It will be an ethics rule and a disclosure law. Well, currently the seller is on guard for all kinds of reasons so you waste precious time overcoming negative reactions. #2 - When you attend sell your real estate, the same things apply but grow that scenario the fact that if you make large profits regarding property that you sell, people can come after you, saying a person took advantage of them because of your expertise. And they be successful! So you don't need to go to college for 4 years and also don't need a real estate license. What you do need is actually a guy like me to convince you to go to value determination school and read books like the one you have at this time. Then go out and do it, using a lawyer to protect you will every step of the way. Again, here is a good indicate make. Simply weave into every agreement or deliver make the following statement: This entire agreement is subject to my attorney's approval. I can't stress that enough. It is one line of text. That covers it all. It presents time to investigate deals. It protects your interests and even keeps you from getting burned in this business. Right here are a couple more beauties that I use to protect myself and you ought to too. These are used with initial purchase offers: 1 . Ready to pay X amount of dollars or appraised value, any is less. (That says, "I'm only going to spend so much but if the appraisal is lower than what I proposed, than I am going to get it for the lower price. I don't get scorched! ) 2 . Subject to my partner's approval. (My mate was always my wife, and if she didn't like it, the deal was null and void, cancelled, over, kaput, finito. ) Now nothing says my partner wasn't the dog, so if there's no fire hydrant, well the offer could be off. Those are examples of escape clauses that may be abused to the point of being called "weasel clauses. " Do not be a weasel! They give you a short period of time to have the option to order something first with the right to cancel the deal, contingent on something or someone else's decision. I use them to protect personally and to get a little time to do my research on the building. Don't use them to unfairly tie a seller's hands. Possibly be fair and try to move quickly when you do utilize them. What you are doing is creating a short time, zero-cost option to buy real estate. Here is a little trick and I avoid the use of it very often but it can be used in a fair manner i really will give you the nugget. When you write an offer purchasing property, on the top line of the contract is a line the fact that indicates who the buyer is. On that line in a few cases, I will write my name plus the words and / or assigns, like this: Buyers: Dan Auito or assigns The things that word "assigns" does is this: it permits me to sell by assigning my right to buy the place to someone else. Dirty dealers will take advantage of people with who word if they can get away with it. Here's where We'd use it. In real estate, a lot of bargain hunters look for distressed property. You know, the fixer-uppers, the abandoned, condemned, fire-damaged stuff. I go a step further and look for affected sellers such as death, divorce, relocation, but a lot of times My spouse and i don't specialize in that type of property. That's OK if it's a steal and I get it for 40 -- 50% off, I will assign it to someone who does deal in that type of property and make a profit by determining it. I'll always ask the distressed seller should that is a problem and if it is, I will buy it downright, then flip it but it costs more to do that. Therefore I'll explain this to the seller and get their agreement to use it. I don't slip it in about them. You will have a miserable existence if you practice real estate by deceit. Natural law will crush you; play fair! Goal, passion and desire cannot be achieved or acquired by simply deceit. That's a quotable quote. I hope you remember the software. Let's get on with another story. This illustrates a second fine example for you. This story is about a family what person had business interests outside of real estate investing and as a result from the successes of their other businesses they had fairly large sums of money to play real estate like a monopoly adventure. Power can be dangerous in the wrong hands! So listed here we go. This flush with cash family perceives an opportunity to take advantage of an overlooked or left alone markets. That market is the old-fashioned trailer park, or shall we say Mobile Home Park. Anyway, the way almost all mobile home parks came into existence was this: Usually a person of integrity and strong work ethic coupled with a fabulous love for his fellow man would buy a parcel suitable to the placement of mobile homes. As people gone in, he and his wife would welcome individuals and the neighbors would greet them and the community may become established. The private owner would dig his own sewer lines and cut his own roads and scenery the park. Maybe put in the clubhouse complete with an important swimming pool, shuffleboard, pool table and meeting hall. Because time marched on, the residents bonded with each other along with a family-friendly community took root. Well this man in integrity had a problem. Since all of his tenants will be his friends, he is pressured not to raise the lot rent with inflation. So the rents over the years are kept suprisingly low in the park and now this man and his partner are getting old. Perfect timing for our investors to come bumping and offer our private aging park owner a three million dollar price for his 10 acres regarding mobile home lots. This is a once in a lifetime deliver and many park owners cashed out. What people didn't notice was these investors were systematically and methodically the process all over the place and once they cashed out as many mom not to mention pops as they could, they lowered the boom. At this time they the investors had control of many parks from the same areas and they started raising the lot rental prices. You see, they didn't have any emotional ties towards the residents and they didn't live there, so it was an easy business deal: either pay the new higher rent or perhaps move. The residents said, "To hell with you fresh owner, we are moving. " "Well, fine, go ahead, " they said. Now the residents started calling all-around to find another park with low rents but think who owned those? Yep, our investors did, and others lot rents were going up too. So the mom and also pops who didn't sell were full and it would certainly cost on average of about $7, 000 to relocate to a different one park even if they could find a vacancy. The old folks that had it so good for so long were faced with the latest reality and that was that they had no choice and yet to pay up or move, and moving, in many cases, wasn't an option. These investors exploited a complete segment of the current market and made millions and millions in profit and continue to achieve today. It wasn't long after this happened that you began seeing signs saying, "This is a resident owned group. " People eventually got smart and started selecting that little lot that their trailer was placed on and they began paying association dues for the club and security and grounds, maintenance and road fix. The good ole days are nothing but a fond storage. Life goes on but America did not change for the more effective as a result of these types of people. Their only purpose was to help with making money; I believe they will die alone and in anguish as a result of their way of life. So I ask you again, on earth do you be passionate and put your heart into purchasing real estate by investing the way our corporate investors does? I think not. Money is no good when you get it through deceitful ways. I encourage you to work at balancing your own objectives. Lease optioning, flippers... you are walking a fine series. Here's a flip side to communal living. This tale is a happier scenario, so let's have a little happiness here. I once lived in Key West plus I lived off base. Well, I thought When i lived next door to Noah, and it sounded as though the person was building another ark. All summer long, hammers and saws seemed to be making some type of racket, so of course being the neighbor I was, I got to know the person next door. He never went to work and I quizzed him one day, "Don't you have a job and he somewhat grinned and put his hammer down and this will be Mark's story. Mark and his brother were out of your Northeast and they had a 30-room boarding house pertaining to college kids there, at something like $300. 00 a calendar month. That was about $9, 000 a month and they made typically the parents responsible for the rent payments. Mark would commit his time with his family in the Keys for the on the lookout for months that school was in session. His brother was initially a local up North and he took care of your toilets, faucets, doors and windows. Yes, they had their very own animal house hold going on there, but Mark factored in the abuse as well as would spend 2 - 3 months a year, putting your pet house back together while the animals went home just for summer break. Mark only worked three months a year as well as house (ark) that he built next to us was the masterpiece; it was beautiful. He was a master craftsman and he loved his work and spent loads of his time with his family in a wonderful climate. Makes you kind of jealous, doesn't it? Well, don't let it books can do it, too, but you must get started. Mark was basically 45 when I met him. I believe he was twenty five when he got started, so my advice to your account is to get started now!

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viperbranium · 6 years

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I know it's just a tag. But "Shut up viper no one cares" I say to myself YES I DO. We love you. We care. x

aklgjñkjdk this is why i miss this place and all of you so much when life forces me to take a step back from it for a while

anon you’re the sweetest ;^; i promise it’s just a tag, haha! it’s not even me being self-deprecating at this point, but this is still so nice of you and i’m crying, so here, have a super dumb thing

He’s still not used to the attention.

Before the serum he barely got any, the notable exception being bullies in back alleys – which wasn’t something Steve ever wanted to attract… and yet.

Now though, he’s hardly ever alone. Less so on days like these, when they just freed another village from HYDRA goons, and all everyone wants is to celebrate and drink and fuck until they can’t think straight.

Steve’s not opposed to any of that. Far from it, really. But he can’t really get drunk anymore, and as for the mindless fucking with some stranger… yes, it’s pragmatic in these times of war, and Steve’s quite familiar with it, but he likes to at least have a conversation first, and no one here looks sober enough for that anymore.

Which is why he’s been trying to leave the pub for the past 2 hours, only to be stopped every single time.

Apparently, celebrating that Captain America kicked Nazi ass requires that Captain America be present. Who would’ve thought.

Desperate for a breather but accepting the fact that he’s not going to be allowed to leave anytime soon, Steve opts for the restroom. He heads towards the small corridor at the far end of the bar, turns a corner… and walks straight into some guy’s chest.

Reaching out has quickly become conditioned response.

Most of the time Steve’s still not fully used to his new body, and not even that long ago he would’ve been sitting on his ass after bumping into some buff guy like this… but he’s already gotten used to that happening to whoever bumps into him now, what with him being a solid wall of muscle and all, so before he can even think of anything he’s reaching out to steady the guy.

Except this guy in particular doesn’t budge one inch upon colliding with him.

This guy, in fact, must be used to this very same thing happening to him as well, because he also reaches out instinctively to hold Steve in place.

This guy, Steve observes as they’re both left holding each other’s biceps kind of awkwardly, is also insanely attractive.

He’s only slightly shorter than him, and not super muscular, but well-built enough to justify him not stumbling back when Steve walked into him – and it’s not like Steve was about to barge into the restroom, really. He’s got dark hair, a clean-shaven, deliciously dimpled-chin, and a pair of icy-blue eyes so intense they make the hairs on Steve’s neck stand. His jawline is strong and sharp, and Steve has to keep himself from outright licking his lips at the sight of him.

He stares at Steve in confusion for a second, and then something seems to dawn on him. When he smiles, playful and sweet and slightly wicked all at once, it sends a shiver down Steve’s spine.

“Captain America…” the guy says, his voice slightly hoarse and as sinful and tempting as the rest of him. “I wasn’t sure you were real. Before tonight, I mean. Kinda hard to miss you tonight,” he adds, and winks at him.

Steve has to swallow around a lump in his throat to be able to articulate anything at all. His hands have dropped slightly, but they’re still resting on this guy’s forearms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you…” he says awkwardly.

The guy smiles. “Well, ain’t that disappointing,” he says, teasing.

“N-No! I meant just now,” Steve explains, and gestures towards the mirrored end of the corridor. It’s angled in a way that anyone walking towards the restroom should be able to see if someone’s stepping out even before they turn the corner, but Steve was so desperate to get away from all the attention that he somehow hadn’t. He goes on, “I mean, yeah, I haven’t seen you around either, but–”

The man’s soft chuckle thankfully cuts him off. “Don’t worry, I’m just fucking with you,” he says. Steve has to stop himself from licking his lips at the guy’s choice of words. God, he wishes. “I know everyone was keeping you busy. I was actually waiting ‘til they left you alone to come say hi.”

“You should’ve done so anyway,” Steve replies, perhaps a bit too eagerly, but this man’s body language is open and inviting, and, well, Steve can only hope he’s heard the rumors about Captain America and men.

Some of them, Steve’s even started himself. The serum means he rarely gets enough release these days, and he’s never been that great at flirting, so it’s as good a way as any to find out who’d be down for a quick fuck right upon meeting them. Practical and uncomplicated.

Based on the way the guy’s eyes drop to Steve’s lips almost unconsciously, Steve’s willing to bet he probably has heard… and that he’s not entirely opposed.

The guy shrugs. “Figured you were probably a bit overwhelmed. That why you’re running away, right?”

And he’s obviously joking, but Steve still blushes a bit, called out. “Yeah,” he tells him, smiling self-deprecatingly and scratching the back of his neck. “But I love seeing everyone this happy. And,” he adds, letting his gaze roam over the man’s body. Go big or go home. “maybe I wouldn’t be running away if you had dropped by to have a drink with me.”

”That so?” Insanely attractive guy asks, big smirk on his face. Steve takes it as a promising sign. “Well in that case, I guess we should go have that drink. You know, just to keep you company ‘til these guys let you leave. Unless you wanna try fitting that ridiculous chest of yours through the restroom window…” he adds, poking Steve’s pec and biting his lower lip playfully.

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “No, I think I’d rather stick around for a while longer.”

Insanely attractive guy’s name is Bucky, and he’s not only attractive but also funny and quick-witted and charming, and with a certain wild air to him that Steve can’t quite explain but that’s driving him completely crazy.

He’s also been leaning right into his space so Steve could hear him over the noise around them – Steve wasn’t about to mention that he has super hearing –, his breath ghosting over Steve’s skin enticingly with every word, and Steve’s about ready to shove him into some wall and kiss him senseless.

It’s 4 drinks before they’re allowed to leave the pub at last.

Bucky’s thigh has been pressed right against Steve’s for the past 40 minutes, and he smells amazingly and Steve wants him. He can’t even remember the last time he wanted someone this much.

When they step outside and Steve asks Bucky if he wants to come with – being Captain America pays off sometimes: Steve has a whole house for himself –, the guy just licks his lips and nods. Steve has to stop himself from dropping to his knees right there.

The sex is every bit as good as Steve had anticipated.

Bucky’s mouth is on his the moment the door closes behind them, hot and greedy and claiming, and from that moment, he just doesn’t stop kissing him.

He pushes all of Steve’s buttons in a way that clearly shows he knows what he’s doing, but then writhes under Steve’s touch and begs and moans with a neediness that almost clashes with his obvious expertise.

It feels similar to what the serum does to Steve himself, actually. To how it makes him overly sensitive, but also practically insatiable. And oh, Bucky is insatiable.

Since he got the serum, Steve’s never met anyone with enough stamina to match his own – he wasn’t even sure it was humanly possible –, but Bucky comes after just 5 minutes with his cock in Steve’s mouth, and only moment later he’s hard again and fucking Steve’s brains out, and shortly after, as he rides Steve’s dick, he comes for the third time in under half an hour.

And the night is just starting.

In the morning, Steve feels sated in a way he’s never felt before.

His whole body aches, but it’s a pleasant kind of feeling, and he knows it’ll be gone soon enough anyway, as will be the bruises on his neck and chest and the inside of his thighs.

Bucky’s not lying next to him anymore, but Steve was sort of expecting that. This is war, and they’re both men. It would’ve been foolish to expect anything to come out of an encounter such as this one. He briefly laments the fact that there’s not going to be a morning fuck, and buries his face in the pillows to breathe in Bucky’s fading scent as he wraps his fingers around his hardening cock.

Yes, it would’ve been foolish to have any expectations beyond a night of mind-blowing sex, but if every now and then he pleasures himself to the thought of Bucky, well… no one can really blame him.

The future is, overall, not that awful.

Sure, it takes some adjusting, and there’s definitely a lot of areas in which humanity hasn’t made much progress, but there’s also some pretty great things about the 21st Century.

Sex toys, for example. Sex toys are fucking spectacular, especially when you’re Steve Rogers and even the most amazing one-night-stands only help quench maybe 30% of your thirst.

Steve lets out a shaky sigh and squirms a bit, trying to get comfortable on his bike seat and already thinking about grabbing his favorite multi-rotating vibrator as soon as he gets home and shoving it inside him as far as it’ll go. Damn, he really should’ve worn that plug.

He adjusts the rear view mirrors, starts the engine… and he hasn’t even moved it completely out of the parking spot when he bumps into something.

Something that lets out a pained noise and then falls to the floor with a thud. Color drains from Steve’s face as he quickly turns the engine off and gets off to help and make sure that the person’s all right.

“Oh my god,” he exclaims, crouching down next to the guy and helping him untangle from his jacket. “I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t see you, oh god, are you okay?”

The guy grunts a bit as he moves to a sitting position, but seems to be mostly in one piece.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry. No big deal,” he says with a hint of resignation in his voice, like he’s somehow used to this happening. Steve goes to protest and to offer taking him to the nearest ER, when the guy throws his head back and runs his hand through his long hair to brush it of his face.

The name is out of his lips before logic can even tell him it’s not possible. “Bucky!?” he asks, and he knows it can’t be him, but the guy looks up at the name, stares right at Steve, and his questioning look quickly morphs into bewilderment.

“Oh… ” he says, recognizing Steve’s face. “Well, fuck.”

“Say it again,” Steve asks, still not quite believing any of this is possible.

Bucky, sitting on Steve’s couch and sipping at a cup of Steve’s coffee, lets out a tired sigh and says, “I’m a vampire.”

“Okay,” Steve tells him, trying his damnedest not to freak out. “Okay, so I didn’t hear that wrong. How is that even possible?”

Bucky shrugs. “Got turned a few years before the war,” he explains. “It’s not that big a deal anyway, most of what pop culture says about vampires is wrong. Well, except the not aging part, obviously. And the not being reflected in mirrors. ‘S why you ran me over with your bike.”

“I didn’t run you over,” Steve protests, and then cuts himself off because, yeah, not the point. “You are a vampire!” he repeats.

“Yep,” Bucky says. He looks halfway between miffed and amused. “I don’t know why you’re having so much trouble wrapping your head around this, honestly. You’re not exactly normal yourself.”

Steve wants to argue, but Bucky’s got a point. “Okay, fair.”

At least this explains why Bucky is so inhumanly gorgeous. His hair is longer now, and he looks a bit more rugged and is broader everywhere, but he’s still every single bit as breathtaking as he was in 1945.

It also explains why he’s alive, of course, but Steve’s having trouble focusing on anything beyond how fucking good Bucky looks. Bucky sits back against the couch and spreads his legs just a tad, and memories of their night together come rushing right back into Steve’s mind.

Steve, it turns out, still wants him just as much as he did all those years ago. It’s not as pathetic as it sounds when it’s only been a couple years for you, not over seventy.

“Y’know,” Bucky says after a few minutes, “when they found you in the ice, I was sure that was a PR stunt,” he licks his lips and then gives Steve a pointed look. “If I’d known it was you, I would’ve tried to find you. I would’ve said something.”

Steve perks up. “Yeah?” he asks, and okay, maybe it really isn’t that pathetic. Maybe Bucky finds it just as hard to get a good, satisfying fuck as Steve does. Bucky just grins in response, so Steve lets his gaze fall pointedly to Bucky’s lips and scoots a bit closer on the couch. He says, “I was thinking maybe you didn’t wanna see me… You did leave before morning back in ‘45.”

“The morning light hurts my skin,” Bucky tells him as he moves to straddle Steve’s lap.

“I have very good blinds,” Steve informs, resting his hands on Bucky’s hips.

Bucky smiles impishly and kisses him.

#stucky #this is v rushed and silly cause it was one of those things i wrote for patreon #that i realized 2 days ago i hadn't shared yet #basically i just wanted to have a verse where i could write different snippets of disaster vampire bucky and slutty steve #and this is sort of the setting?#lol if i had the time i'd edit a bunch of it but alas #also...um #this isn't really shrunkyclunks but it's similar?#lmao #anYWAY #thank u nonnie #you're lovely #<333 #veewrites #vampire!bucky #there's so many disaster vampire bucky smol ideas i wanna write #it'd be like independent fics but also sort of a common storyline #where they go from fuck buddies to lovers because of course they do #idk if anyone cares about this other than me lmfao #maybe since i can't edit this one rn i'll go back and expand on a couple scenes later on #like the whole first night together #meh idek #*shrugs*#anons #Grey Paladin #Viper Replies #ask

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wordlesscaptain · 7 years

Text

Tinder Bait: Part 1 (Steve x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warnings: language, Tony being Tony (definitely a warning in and of itself)

Prompt: “I’m very, very bad under pressure.”

Summary: Tony decides to meddle in your life yet again and sign you up for Tinder…but there’s a catch.

A/N: This is my entry for @e-g-b-o-k’s 500 Follower Celebration Writing Challenge. She is an AMAZING writer. Definitely check her out! The reader in this is a bit…feisty? I really can’t write them any other way. It’s also important to note that Steve holds a very special place in my heart, but I really do enjoy writing Tony so there’s a lot of him and his shenanigans in this. Here’s the first part! There are many parts to come!

Series Masterlist

You had it pretty good. Well, pretty good for a recent college grad trying to enter the “real world”. You were fortunate enough to get a job at Stark Industries as a part-time receptionist. It wasn’t the most glamourous job, but you got to interact with a lot of famous faces. Of course, the job had its ups and downs, as anyone would imagine working for Tony Stark would. You had the pleasure of just starting working right before Tony made that killer robot, Ultron. You handled all the incessant calls and inquiries about that fiasco so well that Tony decided to hire you full-time.

An added bonus of working for Tony was getting to interact with the Avengers. You got well acquainted with the entire team in no time. You got along with everyone, some more than others. You, Natasha, and Wanda were extremely close, confiding in each other often. You regularly had girls’ nights together to get away from the testosterone of the rest of the team.

You meshed well with Sam, Steve, and Bucky. Sam and Bucky’s pranks on each other always amused you. You would sometimes join in, which would make the “victim” of the prank furious. They were a fun bunch. You and Steve were great friends. He always made sure to stop by and say hello to you every day if he wasn’t away on a mission. You two often got together when Sam and Bucky’s bickering got a little too much to handle. You also enjoyed sharing parts of the 21st Century with him that he hadn’t discovered yet. Overall, you really enjoyed being in his company. You had a soft spot for him, but you tried your damn hardest to keep that under wraps.

As for Tony, your relationship was…interesting. He was like an annoying brother, over bearing and caring father, and weird uncle all mixed into one. He obviously wanted the best for you, but didn’t always go about it the best way. He often dragged you into awkward situations, of which you had no way of getting out of. You were currently in his lab about to get involved in one of his crazy schemes again.

“Alright Tony, what did you call me in here for?”

“Well, I’m sure you’re aware that you’ve been out of the dating game for quite some time,” he paused. You stared at him. What was he getting at? “So, I took it upon myself to make you a Tinder account.”

“You did what?” you asked harshly.

“Signed you up for Tinder. You know, that online dating app where-“

“I know what Tinder is, Tony,” you snapped.

“Great, so I won’t have to teach you how to use it,” he continued.

“Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into that genius head of yours, but I don’t like the concept of online dating at all. It just seems so-”

“Nuh-uh, save it. You can voice your opinion in the briefing room. Let’s go,” he said as he led you down the hall with his hands on your shoulders.

“Tony, I have work to do. Those phones don’t answer themselves, you know,” you argued.

“Actually,” he paused with a smirk, “they do.” You groaned. You knew there was no chance you were getting out of whatever it was Tony had up his sleeve. You worked for him long enough to know that. You hoped the other Avengers in the briefing room would help change his mind. A slim chance, albeit, but a chance nonetheless.

When you got to the briefing room, Sam and Steve were already there talking amongst themselves. Tony cleared his throat to announce his presence and they turned their attention to the both of you. “Alright, now that everyone’s here,” Tony started.

“Wait, wait, wait. Where’s the rest of the team?” you asked. You needed all the help you could get if you wanted Tony to change his mind about this. You wished Natasha was there, not that Sam and Steve couldn’t help. She was just better at talking sense into that stubborn head of his.

“Sorry, kiddo. I’ve got the rest of the team tasked with something else,” he said. You were doomed. “So,” he continued, “as you all know, I signed our lovely Y/N up for Tinder. Sam, did you fill Gramps in on what Tinder is?” he asked. Sam nodded his head. You snapped your head in their direction with a look of disbelief.

“Hold on, you two knew about this already?” you asked. Sam nodded. Steve hesitated before he nodded as well. You stared hard at Steve. You thought he would be against Tony meddling in your life without your permission. He had definitely voiced his opinion when Tony had done so in the past. He adverted his gaze from yours, looking down at his hands. You couldn’t believe this. You turned to Tony and spoke again, “Tony, you’ve done stuff like this before. Many times, actually. But this is taking it too far.”

“Y/N, it’s not as bad as you think,” Sam commented. Maybe he was right. Maybe you were overreacting. You could always delete the account later. But Tony should’ve asked for your permission first, and the fact that he didn’t pissed you off.

“I don’t like online dating. I think it’s fake. Call me crazy, but I like meeting people the old fashioned way,” you stated. Steve looked up at you when you said this, but you were too busy fuming to notice.

“And how’s that been working out for ya?” Tony asked. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “That’s what I thought. Now if you’d please, Y/N, take a seat.” You did as you were told and sat next to Steve, not without giving him a disapproving look first.

“As I was saying, I signed Y/N up for Tinder, and she took it about as well as anyone expected,” he said. You huffed. “But I did it without the intent of finding you a boyfriend.”

“Okay…” you said hesitantly.

“As it turns out, one of our lovely friends at HYDRA happens to be an avid user of Tinder,” he said. You didn’t like where this was going, but you decided to keep quiet. “And you’ve got a date with him this Friday.” Your eyes grew as wide as saucers. Your mouth was slightly agape, but you couldn’t get any words to come out. You were stunned. Speechless. Why in the world would he think this was a good idea?

“I realize this all sounds,” he paused, looking for the right word to say, “terrible. But we don’t really have any other choice.”

“He’s right, Y/N,” Steve finally spoke up. You looked at him, still stunned. “We’ve been trying to track down this guy for months. He’s got intel on HYDRA’s new whereabouts and we desperately need that information before they decide to attack again.” He gave you a slight smile. You sat there in silence, still unsure of what to say.

“We need someone on the outside, per say, to try to reel him in. And that someone is you,” Tony added.

“Why not send Natasha on him? This is definitely her area of expertise,” you proposed.

“We did,” Sam said. “This guy caught onto her right away. That’s when we all decided we needed to send in someone he definitely wouldn’t recognize.”

“And you’re sure he’s never seen me? I mean, I work for Tony fucking Stark of all people. He’s not exactly subtle,” you inquired.

“Pretty positive,” Tony answered, ignoring your jab at him. “You’ve only every worked at the Tower. You’ve never visited SHIELD’s headquarters in DC and you know I don’t let any just anyone in here.” You nodded. Everything they were saying made sense, but you still weren’t completely comfortable with the idea.

“We also need someone we can trust,” Steve added. “We still don’t know who’s HYDRA and who’s not, so we can’t choose a SHIELD agent. We know you won’t double cross us.”

“But I’m not an agent. I answer phones all day. I have zero training. What if he tries something funny?” you asked, worry lacing your voice.

“We’ll be right there with you,” Steve assured you as he put a hand on your shoulder giving it a small squeeze. You gave him a slight smile. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The Avengers had handled much worse so you knew you’d be in good hands.

“We’ll have you wear this the entire time,” Tony handed you a small ear comm. “That way we can record what he says and help you out if you need it.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “I’m going to need it.”

“Oh come on, Y/N, you’ll be just fine,” Sam laughed. “Just be yourself.”

“That’s the problem. I’m absolutely terrible on dates. Just awful,” you sighed. “I never hear from them again, so obviously I’m doing something wrong. I don’t want to mess this up for you guys.”

“Oh, don’t you fret, I will be there to help you every step of the way,” Tony boasted. You rolled your eyes.

“Yep, I’m screwed.”

“Yep,” Steve and Sam laughed.

Part 2

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers #captain america x reader #captain america fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #avengers fanfiction #captain america #reader insert #wordlesscaptain #tinder bait

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jarienn972 · 7 years

Text

Only a Little Superstitious - Chapter 13

I’ve been a little behind on writing this past month, but I finally managed to get this latest chapter completed. As I promised from the beginning of this story, I’m slowly weaving in some of the real legends and myths of the Southwest into this fictional fantasy tale and as this goes forward, you’ll see how those tales tie in. Emma is about to reach a major realization about how they managed to get to Arizona but will it be something that will help get them back home?

Also on AO3 and FF.net

From the beginning on Tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve

The moment she and grandson, Carlos, stepped from the elevator, Sarah Bending Willow instinctively knew something was amiss – even before she spotted a visibly shaken Emma standing in the corridor outside of her husband's hospital room. The younger woman's eyes were puffy and her cheeks streaked with too many shed tears, but while Grandmother was the first to sense Emma's pain, Carlos was the first to vocalize concern.

"Emma? What's going on?" he asked as he quickened his pace to reach his law enforcement colleague and new friend only to have Grandmother grab a fistful of his shirt to pull him back. He knew what that meant as he stopped and allowed his grandmother to approach Emma first.

"I fear the evil spirits are upon you once again," Grandmother stated, clasping Emma's left hand between both of her own as she noted the redness in the young woman's eyes from sadness and sleeplessness.

"It's definitely something evil," Emma scoffed, gaze still fixed on the flurry of activity around Killian's bedside. "I don't even know what they're doing… The nurse said he was in respiratory distress, whatever that means, and they won't tell me what's going on… They just shoved me out here and all I can do is watch…"

"Come, you should sit," Grandmother insisted, calmly trying to guide Emma away from the corridor. "We can talk about all of this…" Emma only heard a few of the elder woman's words though as the curtains blocking her view were pulled back and she realized that Killian's bed was being wheeled toward her. The nurse who'd responded to the alarm approached Emma with an emotionless expression and Emma wriggled free of Grandmother's comforting hold so she could rush to Killian's side, unsure of where they were taking him or why.

"Is everything okay?" Emma asked nervously, fatigue and anxiety both increasing her eagerness for an answer. "Where are you taking him?"

"He's doing better with the increased oxygen supplement and some new medication, but it's looking like the infection we're chasing may be settling into his lungs," the nurse explained. "The doctor wants to get some images of his lungs to make sure that we're not seeing the early signs of pneumonia so we're taking him down to Radiology. It shouldn't take long…"

"May I go with him?" Emma pleaded.

"I'm afraid not, but I promise, we'll have him back soon," the nurse replied. Emma didn't really want to be separated once again, but as she stared at the pale shell that was her husband's wounded body, the side of her still capable of logical thinking understood. She could tell that he wasn't completely conscious. His eyes were partially open but there was only a sliver of the usual vibrant blue hue visible and no discernable hint of recognition, merely a vacant stare.

"I'll be right here when you get back," Emma whispered her promise as she trailed her fingertips across his scarred, stumped forearm just before Grandmother stepped toward her once again, placing her withered hand on Emma's shoulder.

"Come, child," Grandmother urged. "Let's all go sit down and we will talk. You said on the phone that you had urgent matters to discuss?"

"Umm, yeah…" Emma stammered as she fought to regain her composure as she watched Killian disappear through a set of automatic doors. She wiped at her dampened eyes with the back of her hand, slightly embarrassed at her emotional display although neither Grandmother nor Carlos appeared to take offense. "We can't talk here though. Need somewhere private…"

"How about we go out to my truck again?" Carlos suggested to which Emma nodded in agreement. This was another conversation that did not need any prying ears.

As Emma recalled from her last conversation with Carlos Littlecreek in this parking garage, the area wasn't entirely private. For whatever reason, today seemed to be an exceptionally busy day for patients and visitors to be coming and going from the hospital so there were far more people wandering around that she would have preferred. A steady stream of cars snaked around the bend behind them, some drivers throwing frustrated glances their way when they realized that the parking spot wasn't going to be vacated.

From the back seat of the huge Suburban, Emma revealed all that she'd learned since yesterday – everything that validated Grandmother's concerns. Dark magic. Evil spirits. Might as well be the same thing in Emma's book as neither was making anything easy for them. She explained her need for a place to have Regina's dark magic fighting potion delivered and Carlos immediately provided the address of the National Parks Service field office where he worked as he knew that someone would be there late into the evening. He let her know that he'd swing by to retrieve the parcel once delivered and return it to the hospital. Emma relayed the address to Regina via a text message and got a reply minutes later that Regina had advised the courier was on their way to pick up the package and an update would be provided as soon as the potion was on its way to Phoenix.

Knowing that the much-needed potion was soon going to be in her hands, Emma could finally relax a bit so she turned the topic of conversation to the other subject she'd sought out Grandmother's expertise with – the mysterious dagger itself. Belle had emailed a file containing multiple, detailed images of both the broken dagger and its companion scepter and as Emma thumbed through them briefly before showing Grandmother, she found herself tensing a bit at the sight of the bloodstained blade. Emma steeled herself, blinking away a stubborn tear as she passed the phone to Carlos in the driver's seat with the first full-length image of the dagger displayed on the screen.

"What do the two of you make of the designs carved into the handles of these?" Emma asked as Carlos positioned the phone so that both he and Grandmother could clearly see the photographs. "Our librarian thought that the images resemble those from early Central and South American cultures like the Incans and the Mayans, but not exactly like theirs…"

"This is the blade your husband was stabbed with?" Grandmother asked, although there was little doubt considering that its missing point matched the piece sitting in a specimen jar up in Killian's room perfectly.

"Yes. It's the one that Nehemiah Kronk used and then must have dropped before following us through the portal. There are photos of the matching scepter that Yzma used to open the portal as well."

The old woman studied the photo displayed on the tiny screen for a few seconds, then gestured for Carlos to swipe to the next image. Emma tried to read the expression on Grandmother's time-worn face, but the elder woman's stoic concentration revealed nothing.

"The symbols are ones very commonly used in the ancient glyphs of many cultures," Grandmother began. "This one, for instance, this circle with half depicted in relief represents the moon. The full circle below with the radiant lines is, of course, the sun. The two are quite often depicted together to demonstrate light and dark." She pointed to the images on the screen as she described each in more detail. "The third image is an animal, canine for certain, but what specific member of the canine family, I cannot be certain. It may be representative of a wolf, a common dog or even the Trickster himself. It also bears resemblance to the Egyptian Anubis – the jackal-headed god. I don't know if it is Anubis the craftsman chose to depict here, but the resemblance is highly unusual."

"What about the bird and the other designs here – like those repetitive patterns?" Emma queried.

"The bird could be one of a number of different varieties as well," Grandmother stated. "It may perhaps represent an eagle or a hawk or it may be something less common like a condor, although that would be unlikely."

Carlos noticed something in the third image that caught his attention as he shifted in his seat to get a closer look. "That symbol below the bird – I've seen that somewhere before…" he spoke up as he zoomed in on the specific part of the photo that had drawn his eye. "It was out on the glyph trail… I'm sure that exact symbol is carved into one of the rock outcrops out on Petroglyph trail."

Emma leaned forward to see over the seat at the image he was referring to, blanching slightly at the sight of the enlarged image of a stylized spiral. "Oh, my god…" she exclaimed in momentary disbelief when recognition kicked in.

"What?" Carlos asked, confused by Emma's reaction to the strange glyph.

"You said you've seen this exact image carved out here somewhere?" Emma asked for clarification.

"I sure have," Carlos replied. "It's out on an old hiking trail, out in the middle of the Superstition mountains. We closed down the trail a few years back because tourists were damaging the delicate site. Some of the petroglyphs out there date to one of the earliest Native civilizations, the Anasazi, but while the carvings are attributed to the Anasazi, some experts weren't sure. There's been some debate about what that particular symbol was supposed to represent but the consensus was that it's a whirlpool. They form occasionally in the nearby Salt River during heavy rains, so it wasn't a huge stretch…"

"I don't think that's a carving of a whirlpool," Emma stated with conviction. "I'm pretty sure that's a portal."

"A portal?" Carlos asked, incredulously. "Like the one you and your husband came through?"

"Exactly like one," Emma responded. "I guess it would make sense. We know the dagger and the scepter are really old. Maybe the ancient people here knew how to use them to open up a portal to… well, somewhere…?"

"It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility," Grandmother spoke up. "As I have told you before, these mountains were once ripe with magic. Our people once believed it was possible to travel to travel to different worlds so what you've just described isn't altogether surprising."

"Is this trail anywhere near where Killian and I landed?" Emma wondered. "Anywhere near that Ranger station we found?"

"You mean the one you broke into?" Carlos laughed. "It's a few miles from that sub-station. Does that mean anything?"

"I'm not sure, but pieces like this are slowly beginning to help make sense out of how we got here," Emma responded. "If there was an ancient portal out there, maybe whatever Yzma did with the scepter opened it back up?"

"If the scepter is the object that opened your portal," Grandmother said cryptically, causing both Carlos and Emma to turn to face her with the same befuddled expression.

"What do you mean by that?" Emma was the first to ask.

"I am not a scholar of ancient cultures by any means, but based solely on knowledge of my own people's history, the scepter does not fit," the old woman insisted before continuing with her interpretation. "I may be incorrect, but I don't believe that your sorceress, Yzma, had anything to do with opening the portal."

"But she was wielding the scepter when the portal opened," Emma reminded Grandmother. "It had to be her magic."

"I believe that it may have been purely a misdirect, child," the elder woman chuckled, leaving Emma even more baffled than before. "Let me explain… First, this knife that is pictured, while the carvings on its handle appear to be the same as the ones on the scepter, they're both highly unusual. They have the appearance of being reminiscent of early civilizations of the Americas, but not exact in design. Second, most Natives, and I am assuming the same of these other early cultures, fashioned their knives from bone or obsidian. This blade is forged – from iron, steel or bronze or whatever metal the blacksmith chose the day it was cast. The design of the blade itself also reflects influence from outside of the Americas as it is far too stylized to be practical, meaning it was purely ceremonial in use. As you may know, many of the early civilizations here in the Americas were practitioners of human sacrifice. This dagger was likely a part of one of those ceremonies, but the scepter would have served no purpose. Perhaps the set was once a gift from representatives of another visiting civilization?"

Carlos swiped to the next image in the set as they tried to digest Grandmother's theory. The next photo was another image of the entire length of the dagger, from the missing tip to the inlaid ruby at the base of the handle. Emma stared at the dagger's image absentmindedly, thinking about how it now made sense that neither Regina nor Zelena had been able to reactivate the scepter if it had never been the item that controlled the portal. The question did remain as to whether Yzma herself knew the scepter wasn't the catalyst. If she did, why then was she storming down the middle of Main Street brandishing the useless object?

Unless…

"Carlos, would you zoom in on the hilt for me?" Emma asked, he mind racing as he did as she requested. Leaning forward as far as she could from the rear seat, she studied the enlarged image for a second. In close up, the now-dried flecks of Killian's blood darkened portions of the blade, spilling across the hilt and into the grooves of the first carving on the handle – across the one that Grandmother had identified as representing the moon. In an instant, it all made sense to Emma. Everything she'd learned about magic and magical objects over the course of past few years reminded her that there was no such thing as coincidence and she found herself seeing a huge piece of the portal mystery unraveling. "It was the dagger…" Emma whispered in realization, not even certain if the others heard the breakthrough.

"I believe you are correct, child," Grandmother responded with a slight nod of her chin. She'd already reached that conclusion and knew it was only a matter of time before Emma found the truth as well. Only Carlos remained bewildered.

"Am I missing something here?" Carlos asked. "This all just went right over my head…"

"The dagger was what opened the portal," Emma revealed, shrinking back into the upholstery. "Killian's blood activated it."

"Your husband getting stabbed is what brought you here to Arizona?" Carlos was still confused how that might have happened, but he was trying to wrap his senses around it. "Do you think the guy who stabbed him knew it was gonna work that way? Wouldn't that make it premeditated?"

"I can't really say for sure if Kronk knew that stabbing Killian would open the portal," Emma replied. "He'd been fighting with my father too while Regina and I kept Yzma occupied. If they did know they needed blood on the dagger to open the portal, I don't think it would have mattered whose blood they spilled. This is slowly starting to make more sense…"

"Okay, then how about you explain this to me?" he demanded. "I'm still completely lost here." He hadn't found it quite as easy to make the connection that the two women had.

"Look – the first symbol carved into the dagger's handle is a moon," Emma began, her words coming out rapidly as she tried to relay it in a way that he would understand. "When Grandmother talked about the early civilizations practicing blood sacrifices, all of the mentions I've heard about this blood moon suddenly clicked. Look at the blood stains on the blade and the handle: they extend over the hilt and onto that first carving of the moon…"

"And you think that the blood spilling onto that glyph at the right time of the year opened your portal and brought you to our mountains?" Carlos found the thought of it rather perplexing, but after everything else he'd learned about this blonde woman and her husband, why would this be any more of a stretch?

"I highly doubt that Arizona was the intended destination," Emma clarified. "I don't think that either Yzma or Kronk would have had this place in mind, but aside from that little glitch, I'm pretty sure that the blood hitting that carving was precisely what triggered the portal opening."

"Could this dagger then bring you home?" Grandmother questioned, causing the interior of the SUV to fall silent for a moment.

"I don't know," Emma sighed after a few seconds of thought. "Even if the dagger weren't already broken, I don't have my magic here. I don't know how I would get it to work…"

"I still believe that you are the white witch revealed in my vision so long ago and if that is true, when the time comes, you will find what you seek," the old woman assured Emma.

"I suppose I'd better call Regina again and see if she can send the dagger along with the potion she whipped up. I'm willing to try just about anything at this point to save my husband's life – especially with Kronk out there looking for us. If there's something out there that will help me open that portal and get us back to Storybrooke, I'll try, but I know I'm going to need some help finding it."

"You know, I wonder if all of this ties into that swirly glyph, the one you think is a portal? I know I saw it out on the petroglyph trail so maybe there's some significance to it?" Carlos thought aloud. "The land out there is sacred to the Apache. Would you mind if I showed these to my friend, Tim? I'd like to find out what his people thing that swirling glyph represents…"

"Sure. Anything would be helpful right now. I'll forward the pictures to your phone," Emma agreed.

"If that really does indicate a portal or something, it's gonna potentially give a whole new meaning to some of this area's most famous legends," Carlos said with a flustered shake of his head.

"Okay, I think I'm the one confused now," Emma responded, not understanding how the dagger and portal that brought her here would have anything to do with their local legends.

"There are many legends that have grown out of these mountains," Grandmother mused. "Several involve tales of men who vanished into the desert and mountainous wilderness of the Superstitions, some who returned inexplicably weeks or months later with unexplained riches and others who never returned."

Carlos picked up the tale from that point. "One of the most famous is the story that inspired the Lost Dutchman State Park. While there are multiple versions of the story, the basic one was that in the late 1800s, a German immigrant wandered off alone out into the deserted Superstition mountains, returning some time later with a fortune in gold ore. It's probably the most famous tale of men who ventured out in search of riches, but there are tons of others about lost treasures out there."

"Sounds like something that would be right up Killian's alley," Emma chuffed.

"Probably – I'm sure he's had plenty of experience with hidden treasures and maps," Carlos laughed at the reminder that the Killian Jones he knew was once the legendary Captain Hook himself. "Anyway, there's one legend about a supposed Apache gold mine that dates back to the 1850s, but the Apache people insist no such mine ever existed. Of course, nothing's ever been found." He paused to massage his temples for a moment, overwhelmed by the stream of thoughts coursing through his mind. "If this portal theory is to be believed, these legendary 'mines' might simply have been gateways to other lands? Maybe one where gold was plentiful?"

"I can't really answer that for sure, but its certainly plausible," Emma replied. "It would actually make sense in a way, especially when you think about people disappearing in the mountains and then inexplicably returning."

"If this ceremonial knife is connected to the possibility of hidden entrances and mysterious portals to other lands that may lie out there in out mountains, then you definitely should have your family send the knife to you," Grandmother reiterated.

"I agree," Emma stated as Carlos returned her phone. "I'll call Regina before I head back upstairs and if the courier hasn't picked up the potion yet, I'll have her package up the broken dagger as well. Not sure what I'll be able to do with it, but with or without magic, I want it here in my hands."

"You will find what you need when it is time," Grandmother assured Emma once again. "Right now, the most important place you are needed will be at your husband's side. He is far from being out of danger and I will be happy to stay with you should you need a shoulder to lean on."

"I would greatly appreciate that," Emma smiled. "Let me see if I can explain why I need the dagger shipped too and then we can head back upstairs." Emma couldn't wait to hear Regina's objections to this one…

#cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan ff #only a little superstitious

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texanredrose · 7 years

Text

By Moonlight - The End

Yang fidgeted all through the meeting, sitting beside her wife and trying her damnedest to appear like she wasn't counting the seconds. Normally, she'd have no problems at all providing her expertise, especially for such a unique problem as a rampaging unicorn driving people out of a forest along the western border; they were usually docile creatures, preferring to flee rather than fight, but this one had wounded six woodcutters and chased off a few children.

Quite frankly, she thought the villagers should just leave the unicorn alone and come back in a few months, but that was neither fair nor right.

"Has the unicorn left the forest at all?" Winter, equally anxious, managed to maintain her composure moderately better. Outside the window, the moon rose high in the sky, yet she remained in her human form. All things considered, it spoke volumes to the woman's iron will; they'd painfully gone through the flashes of memories she experienced upon first turning and tied them to ancient werewolf bloodlines.

Yang still could hardly believe it. Winter now stood as the last bastion of several old packs, ones driven to extinction by the Vacuon warlocks who stole their blood, some of the most fearsome werewolves to ever roam the land now sharing a blood bond with the Atlesian Princess. They'd been captured and tortured to madness before being released, spawning the many terrible stories that survived to present day regarding werewolves as a whole, and how Winter hadn't immediately began carving a bloody path through Atlas when she turned mystified not only the dragon but the Elders, too. They'd been wary at first but accepted Winter among them, just as Yang said they would, and it proved to be a bit awkward as more than half were tempted to defer to the younger werewolf's judgment, regardless of her inexperience.

The intervening years had greatly improved Winter's control of her inner wolf. The moon didn't hold the same sway, but she still turned once the sun set as opposed to remaining human, and they often ran through the forest together- up until recently, anyway.

"No, Your Highness." The harried messenger sighed heavily. "We've tried everything to appease it. We've sent virgins-"

"That's a myth," Yang said, her irritation beginning to show. "They're drawn to those pure of heart, but if it's charging children, then it's likely been wounded or it's protecting someone who is." She tapped the table. "Leave out medicinal herbs in a basket at the edge of the forest. If it's gone by morning, then it's someone else; if the unicorn is standing in the area, then have a healer approach slowly with a sage necklace. If neither occurs, then send urgent word to the guild." Her gaze slid to the guild master, a man Winter trusted unequivocally- a member of their pack. "James, send a few of the younger members with Ren to oversee the offering; there's a chance it might anger the unicorn, so they can at least turn its anger north rather than to the village."

"Of course, Your Highness." He inclined his head. "I'll see to the arrangements. Thank you for taking the time to hear this request out."

Yang didn't bother replying, immediately shooting up from her seat and heading for the door, her wife falling into step behind her after offering a quick, cordial farewell.

"Easy, Sundrop." Her voice, soft, held enough edge to be slightly reproachful. "We're not far-"

"We're too far," she replied, quickening her pace down the halls. "It's too late to be leaving the room at all- what if we miss them hatching?"

"We won't-"

"But what if we do?" The whole process had been long and drawn out. Two months of carrying the eggs before she laid them and another eight keeping them warm during the Atlesian winter, with only her duties as the kingdom's official authority on uncommon beasts managing to pull her from the room. Winter brought her food and water, sat with the eggs when Yang absolutely had to leave, but she didn't share the same attachment to them as the dragon did, instead more concerned about her mate's well being. It made sense- wolves and humans usually carried their young to term- but it frustrated the dragon to the core. "I won't have them coming into this world without me right next to them."

"I understand that, but you're running yourself ragged at this point." Winter sighed, realizing she wouldn't win the battle and dropping the offensive, her form shifting as she turned. Although the halls wouldn't allow for Yang's larger form to comfortably navigate, the werewolf could lope along the stone rather easily. She didn't hesitate to dig her fingers deep into white fur and pull herself onto Winter's back, pressing low so she could run, down the halls towards the dragon sized addition to the castle.

Servants, guards, and whoever else happened to be in the hallway quickly ducked down corridors to avoid the two, everyone more than aware of Yang's lack of patience for being away from her eggs. When they made the last turn, the royal guards standing at the doors wordlessly opened them, admitting the two without a word; they knew better than to waste time with pleasantries considering the circumstances.

"I feel like we should be offended you have so little faith in us," Weiss said, having taken off her crown and relaxed as much as she ever did, one arm curled around her eldest child seated in her lap. Blake, meanwhile, had the twins occupied with some manner of puzzle that Yang couldn't be bothered to decipher as she leapt into the air and shifted, gliding to the little nest she'd made and quickly checking her eggs, all of which were motionless and intact.

I told you. Winter padded over to her side as she wrapped her tail around the assortment of blankets and furs, all sprinkled with enchanted dust to prevent any fire mishaps; according to their father, Yang had hatched and immediately set fire to the nest, which he'd found funny only in hindsight. Their scents drenched the entire area, with Weiss', Blake's, and their children's scents much less prominent, and all others obliterated by periodic blasts of dragonfire. The staff thought it a bit odd but it set Yang's mind at ease, running more on instinct than sense ever since she'd gotten pregnant. We had time.

You're lucky. The Dragon blew smoke through her nose. If we'd missed it-

"We would've sent for you," Blake said, the ears atop her head twitching. "They're moving around but they've not started trying to break through. There would've been plenty of time."

That's not the point.

Sundrop. Winter crawled atop her coils until she could rest her muzzle on the dragon's snout. You're fretting too much. You'll make yourself sick worrying over nothing. Her ears dropped to the sides of her head as she sides deeply. You'll be a fantastic mother. Of that much, I'm certain, so have a little faith in yourself.

Yang snorted, only a little smoke billowing from her nostrils. I'll never be as good as Summer.

"That's not even a fair comparison; Mom was the definition of Super Mom and you know it!" Ruby chimed in, slipping through the door bearing a tray piled high with cooked meats. "And she was also a witch, so I'm not sure if it really counts when almost all the chores did themselves."

That's-

"Beside the point, we know." Four voices chorused and Yang winced.

... okay, maybe I'm a little high strung. The way canine ears laid back spoke to the severity of that understatement but she ignored it. Can you really blame me?

Of course not. Winter nuzzled against her, tail wagging. But the faith you have in me, I have in you. Our children will be thankful for a mother so attentive. Her tail stilled. Between us, you certainly have a better maternal instinct, and a better role model.

"I'd take offense to that if I didn't agree," Willow said, striding into the room and bearing another tray like Ruby's. Between a dragon and a werewolf, they had quite the appetite. "You both have a much healthier relationship than I had with Jacques. You're already miles ahead in that department, and I'm certain the rest will fall in line, even with dragon... kits? What is the proper name for Dragon young?"

We call them hatchlings. Yang sighed, eyeing the plates of meat; she couldn't remember the last time Winter reminded her to eat, nor if she'd actually followed the advice.

Sensing where her mate's mind had wandered, the werewolf got up and loped over to her sister-in-law, grabbing a piece of meat in her jaws- lean pork, lightly salted by the smell- and snapped her head to the side, tossing it up in easy range for the dragon to snap out and pluck it from the air. The grumbling in her stomach said that it'd been far too long since she'd last eaten, making her disinclined to stop accepting the meat thrown her way.

"Hatchlings? Curious; at what point are they no longer considered that?"

"Once they've made their first kill," Blake replied, wincing and putting a hand to her swollen belly, the fourth royal child on the way for the ruling couple. "She's kicking again."

"You're sure? Another girl?" Weiss did her best to keep the hopefulness out of her voice but it shone in her eyes all the same.

"I'm sure." The Faunus laughed as the twins inspected their Mommy's belly, little feline ears twitching. "You have a little sister on the way. But first, cousins."

"Cousins?" Their eldest perked up, twisting in Mother's lap. "We get cousins?"

"You absolutely do, my little Grace." Weiss smiled, looking towards her sister, busy licking her muzzle after finishing a cut of beef. "When do you think they'll be ready to hunt?"

Anywhere between a few months to a few years. Winter tilted her head. Though I'm not sure how their mixed heritage might affect that.

Well, I'm only half dragon, too, Yang said, her hunger sated for the moment, freeing her up to consider the question posed. But the only difference it made for me is that I can't really change my human appearance. Dragons can usually assume whatever outward appearance they wish, but I look like my dad.

"Perhaps-"

Suddenly, her attention snapped away as Blake's ears perked up and her own hearing picked up something that sounded like faint scrabbling. She watched the four little eggs- all of them a pale yellow with splotches of light blue- and held her breath until one shifted, just slightly.

It's happening.

What? Winter jumped up onto her coils, peering down with her ears cocked forward. Are you sure?

Listen. Silence fell on the room until another faint sound came from a different egg, the top wobbling just a little. There!

I saw. Winter moved along her coils, nuzzling against her cheek. We're right here for them.

Minutes passed and Yang found it difficult to breathe, wanting to reach out and help the hatchlings and restraining herself by the barest measures. They would need to break into the world on their own. The waiting was agonizing but when she saw the cracks appear on one egg, her wings began to flex erratically, anticipation rising.

Snowdrift! Snowdrift, look!

I see. Winter pressed against her cheek. We're keeping to the names we picked out?

Yeah. She couldn't be sure- not as sure as Blake, anyway- but she thought the darker splotches of blue might be little girls while the more vibrant yellow might signify a boy, but she honestly didn't care, she already loved them. It shouldn't be much longer now.

All eyes in the room remained fixated on the four eggs, two of which moved around a lot, while a third had started to move as well. Yang could feel her excitement rising, shoulders bunching as Weiss and Blake came to stand beside her coils, while Ruby plopped down on her curled tail, and the children fluctuated between being bored and trying to get in the spirit of their parents' anticipation.

Then, after a small eternity, one of the eggs broke, a tiny scaled nose poking through and taking its first breaths of air, gleaming white scales visible beneath the fluid.

There you go, little one, she said, voice as soft as she could make it. Just a little more.

At first, the nose retreated, and then it pushed again, tiny claws aiding as the little dragon broke a bigger hole, the egg falling over. A little dragon head slipped out, blue eyes blinking and curiously taking in the world.

Hello, little Zephyr. Winter fidgeted where she sat. Welcome to the world.

The first hatchling twisted her head around, blinking up at them and opening her mouth, a sound halfway between a roar and a whine slipping out. Not words, not dragonspeak or even the language of werewolves, just the sounds of a newborn testing out vocal chords for the very first time.

Come on. Come out. Yang felt tears of pride stinging her eyes, happiness flooding her as the second egg broke. Come out, Zise. Her brows rose in surprise as the hole in the second egg was made bigger by a paw, a thin layer of fine fur instead of scales poking out followed by a little white dragon's head. Uh...

The werewolf beside her blinked. Is... that...

I have... no idea... Yang cast a look around, not that anyone else knew better than her as the second hatchling broke free into the world, revealing wolf's paws and a dragon's body, head, and tail. Little one?

Bright gold eyes looked up at her, long neck stretching towards the dragon as she let out a similar noise to her sister. The third egg broke, golden scales accompanied a dragon's head and front half, but from the belly down he was all wolf.

Well...

"They're... cute." Weiss didn't sound insincere but rather confused. "I've... certainly never heard of any creature like these. They're... unique."

"I wonder if this is normal, the combining of traits like this." Blake tilted her head, a quirk to her lips. "They're adorable."

"Are you kidding?" Ruby laughed, clapping her hands together. "They're perfect!"

They really are, Winter said, nuzzling against Yang's cheek. They're incredible.

Yeah. Now the shock had passed, the dragon could feel her pride and happiness surging forth, pressing back against her wife and mate. Just like their Mom.

I'd argue they take more after you. But lilac eyes fell on the fourth egg, still and unblemished, and her heart sank. Winter noted her shift in mood, following her gaze to the fourth of their eggs. Oh...

Three out of four... She shifted her right arm unconsciously. Guess that's a theme for me.

Oh Sundrop, this isn't your fault. The werewolf nosed under her jaw, rubbing at the soft spot in her scales. It happens-

Is that supposed to make me feel better? She sighed, lowering her head to prod at the three hatchlings. Come here, little ones. Let Momma get a good look at you.

However, now more or less mastering the ancient art of walking- it honestly looked more like stumbling around and luckily getting a claw beneath them before hitting the ground- they ignored her attention to look at the other egg, wobbling over until Zephyr could rear up and put her tiny claws up on the egg, sparking a flare of anger from Yang.

Don't-

Fire gathered on her tongue, a warning to be released high over their heads, but Winter wrapped her forelegs around the dragon's head to keep her jaws closed- a futile effort but as effective as a steel trap.

Wait. They watched as the other two hatchlings made their way over. Give them a moment.

Everyone watched as the three nosed at the egg until the eldest pulled her head back and rammed it forward, smacking hard against the egg.

Yang shifted slightly, whining a little, but her wife hushed her.

Then the other two began hitting their heads against the same spot, taking turns, and using the pointed tips of their mouths to peel back the shell, and the full grown dragon quite nearly ripped herself away from Winter in her distress until a tiny black nose poked through the new opening, twitching and sniffing.

What... Yang watched in slack jawed astonishment as the werewolf climbed down and approached the egg slowly, lowering her head so their hatchlings could press against her muzzle, recognizing her by scent and opening their little wings wide in a cute, playful gesture. Winter used her claws to carefully break open the last egg, revealing their fourth hatchling, mostly covered in white fur except from shoulder to tail, where she had the yellow scales, wings, and tail of a dragon. The wolf's eyes were closed, canine ears pressed flat against her skull, and Yang's breath caught entirely in her throat. ... Zajah...

She looks more mammal than draconic. Winter noted, placing their still blind hatchling among her siblings. No wonder she had difficulties.

The dragon lowered her head down, allowing for tiny claws to begin scrabbling against her scales and feeling a wet nose press against her chin. Hello, little ones.

"I can't believe we're witnessing the beginning of a new line." She looked over to see Ruby's wide eyes, shining with excitement. "Wolfdragons."

"Mommy?" One of the twins turned a curious look to Blake. "What are those?"

And with all the confidence of a seven year old, Grace answered. "They're scaly fluffy baby cousins."

The rest of the room stood in stunned silence until Weiss finally coughed into her hand. "It's not like she's wrong."

All of them burst into laughter, Yang's body uncoiling to allow Weiss and Blake to escort their family over to the hatchlings while Ruby darted ahead to scoop up Zise. Zephyr and Zachariah tentatively approached their cousins, with Zajah acclimating to the sudden increase in movement with little yelps that Winter soothed while Yang let out a low growl to settle all four of them. Eventually, the dragon turned her head to see Willow standing off to the side, speaking directly to the woman so it wouldn't upset her wife. Do you want a better look at your grandchildren?

The woman's lips twitched, responding in kind- one of the few humans to master the skill. The birth of my children are the few good memories I have out of nearly twenty four years. I wouldn't want to intrude.

You're part of this family, too. She smiled. I'm sure there's many new happy memories awaiting us.

Mother, Winter said, holding their last hatchling in one massive paw while using the other three to move. Look, she has a birthmark just like I do.

"Does she now?" Willow stepped closer, reaching out to accept the youngest of her grandchildren- for the moment, anyway. Blake had only a few months left before she was due, and the current betting pool around the castle expected more additions to the royal family. "Come to Granny Willow, little Zajah."

Yang smiled, chuckling as Weiss set the eldest atop her snout, the white dragon opening her mouth open wide. In time, they would grow- who knew how big- and maybe they'd fly the skies with her or run the fields alongside Winter, and maybe they'd look just like a combination of their parents in their human forms, too, and a million other possibilities whirled through her head as she made a solemn vow.

I will do my best as your momma, little ones. Yang's gaze was drawn up to the windows as a shadow appeared, black and red scales surrounding bright red eyes. The dragon on the other side of the glass looked at her for a moment before giving a single nod and disappearing into the night.

"Sorry I'm late!" The doors opened as Taiyang burst in, three royal guards hanging off the man. "I heard I have grandkids! Finally!"

"Guards! Let the man be; he's my father-in-law!" Weiss paused. "I'm pretty sure that's how it works."

"At any rate, he's allowed to be here," Blake said, the guards following orders and releasing the man.

"So where-" His eyes fell on Zephyr, Zise, Zach, and Zajah in turn, blinking for a moment before his smile widened. "Well, look at them! They're-"

"They're wolfdragons, Dad, and they're awesome!" Zach started licking at the underside of Ruby's jaw, making her laugh. "They're like puppies with scales!"

"Sounds like you're in for an easier time than I had." He laughed, striding forward and holding his arms out to Zach. "Now come here little guy! What's your name?"

Yang watched as her father embraced one of of his grandchildren, Zephyr scrabbling to the edge of her snout to inspect the newcomer, this man who smelled a little like Momma and a little different, and the dragon in her felt absolutely content with the treasures before her.

In her excitement, Winter tilted her head back and let out a long howl, following it with a few shorter ones that conveyed her overflowing emotions. Almost together, four tiny voices echoed her, the sounds not... quite the same, but close enough.

Weiss told the guards to send for Klein, James, and Healer Goodwitch, that the newest additions to their family might know the extent of their pack.

#Elderburn #Monochrome #TRR writes #Werewolf!Winter AU #By Moonlight AU #TRR and the discord shenanigans

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