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maximumjinx · 3 years

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Steven Universe Gravity Falls AU

~Yknow what they say, if you run out of content, ya gotta make it yourself. This is a ? shot (I might continue or not who knows not me) please don’t ask for more I have 18 unfinished fanfics on this site.~

California was nice, Steven had to admit. The people were nice, the food was fantastic, and the weather was splendid. It reminded him a lot of Beach City. Though there were just so many people, and traveling north, Steven was beginning to long for something small and simple again.

Oregon was the perfect place for that, right?

“Ronaldo wants pictures of Bigfoot, and if anyone can find him, its you Steven.” Petey’s voice was faint on Steven’s phone speaker, tossed into the passenger seat as Steven blindly picked a highway exit.

“Sure Petey, but couldn’t Ronaldo just go to a circus?”

“Not big feet Steven,” Petey emphasized, “Bigfoot.”

“Saying it twice isn’t helping buddy.” Steven was half paying attention. He was focusing on the winding roads and the looming trees surrounding him. Deep, in the pit of Steven’s stomach, he felt something start to tug him toward one direction farther away from the highway. He wasn’t quite sure if it was a good or bad feeling yet.

“Forget it, I’m going to take a blurry photo of that mean Gem in the woods and say its Bigfoot.”

“Just don’t let Jasper catch you, she’s no joke when she’s angry.”

“I saw her ripping grass out of the ground I think I’ll be fine. Later dude.”

Steven heard a small click and smiled to himself. He’s happy to see how far the people of Beach City have come and how they’ve taken to the gems. He remembers when the Crystal Gems were once the outcasts of town that locals warned you to stay away from.

He looked up to see a welcome sign.

“Gravity falls. Well, that’s a funny name.”

—

Steven wanted small and simple but he feels he may have overshot it.

This small town had exactly three attractions. A town museum that mentioned marrying woodpeckers (Steven couldn’t figure out if that was a normal human thing, like taxes and velcro), a small diner, and as one local described it ‘some tourist trap’ deep in the woods. It was a sticky summer day and the former two attractions didn’t have airconditioning. Steven gambled on the last stop in hopes of stretching his legs and maybe finding a source to the strange feeling in his gut. It had become much stronger since he entered this small town. Alluring, but nothing related to Gems as far as Steven could tell.

He parked in the nearly empty lot and stepped out. Jacket wrapped loosely around his hips, Steven made his way inside.

A girl that looked about 13 was petting a pig on the front porch. She was incredibly reflective, and depsite the heat wore a knitted bedazzled sweater that made her glow like a disco ball in the sun.

She looked Steven up and down as he approached, a wide smile taking up her face and Steven saw bright braces with colored bands.

“Hi!” She launched upwards, startling the pig away, “I’m Mabel, but you can call me anytime.” The girl winked and stuck out her hand, palm facing the floor.

Steven blinked.

“Mabel, stop scaring away the customers!” A gruff voice yelled through the screen door, and soon an older man stepped out in a suit, wearing a fez and eyepatch.

Immediately the old man squinted at Steven, sizing him up.

Stanley Pines knew this teen wasn’t local, but he wasn’t sure if he had any money. For all he knew he was another boy trying to hit on his giftshop cashier, Wendy.

Oh well, a customer is a customer.

“Come in, come in, and see our mystical and magical wonders!”

“Magical?” This could be it, Steven could figure out why this town has felt off. Maybe it was gem related after all.

Quickly this older man who had introduced himself as Mr. Mystery gave Steven a tour of what looked like failed taxidermy projects. Now Steven may have a lived a sheltered childhood, but he felt pretty confident there was no such thing as a Sashcrotch. And so far, nothing had felt magical or mysterious.

“That concludes our tour! Here is our mistifying giftshop and it’s purchasable wonders!”

“Right...” Well, at the very least he was able to spend some time in airconditioning.

There was a girl behind the desk in plaid that looked about Steven’s age, and just a half inch shorter than him. She looked bored, flipping through a magazine as a young boy that looked a lot like Mabel made googly eyes as he swept by the door.

Steven guessed there was no harm in asking around.

“Hi, I’m Steven.” He smiled easily, walking up to the register.

“No refunds, even if an exhibit bit you.” She sighed, peeking up before turning back to her magazine.

“Oh no, nothing bit me, I just wanted to know something.”

She looked up to get a better look at Steven and gave a small smirk.

“Sure, but only because I like your shirt. Mr. Universe merch, now that’s a deep cut.”

Unbeknownst to Steven, Dipper Pines would had been watching the exchange felt a twinge of uneasiness as this out of towner talked with Wendy.

“Have you ever seen anything strange or weird actually happen in this town?”

Wendy’s smile dropped.

“Why do you ask?” Her eyes flickered to Dipper, just for a moment, and that was all he needed to rush over.

“Excuse me sir, please buy something or exit the store.” Dipper spoke in the deepest voice he could muster.

Steven looked over with a questioning expression.

“Oh sure uh-“ He blindly reached for the wad of bills that his dad had given to him before he left. Steven pulled out a hundred dollar bill and put it on the counter. Wendy looked up baffled as Steven stuffed the other cash back in his wallet.

“Boy was I wrong about you kid!” Mr. Mystery, seemingly materializing out of nowhere, now bounded over. He had loosened his tie and lost the eyepatch which turned out he never needed.

“Whaddya wanna know? I’ll tell you everything. There’s gnomes in the woods you know-“

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper protested loudly, dragging his Stan away and harshly whispering at him.

“Did you steal that money?” Wendy asked as Steven watched the pair whisper fight in the corner. He turned back to the girl and gave a sheepish smile.

“Uh no, my dad gave it to me before this roadtrip. He’s actually Mr. Universe.”

Wendy lit up.

“No freaking way! Your dad is Mr. Universe? I only got into him since he managed Sadie Killer and the Suspects and they always perform covers of his songs on tour, I can’t believe he’s your dad!” She rambled, stars in her eyes. Steven beamed, he loved when people praised his dad’s music. Greg really deserved it.

Steven learned Wendy’s name and they swapped stories back and forth, only interrupted as the girl from outside slowly rose from the behind the counter beaming.

“A cute musician that loves weird stuff, take me now.” She swooned. Steven blushed profusely, not used to the attention.

“Sorry, my girlfriend Connie probably wouldn’t like that very much.” He said gently. Mabel looked him up and down and pouted.

“I can wait, but not forever.” She warned, and winked, bounding to break apart her grunkle and Dipper, who are now whisper screaming with arms flailing.

“I wasn’t going to mention that Dorito shaped jerk! Just the normal stuff!”

“It’s dangerous! He could be a spy, or government, or another stack of gnomes!”

Steven raised an eyebrow and looked at Wendy. She chuckled and shrugged. Steven carefully approached them.

“He can hear everything you’re saying anyways so might as well tell him!” Mabel interrupted, nodding towards Steven as he came up.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m definitely not government.” Steven technically didn’t exist at all. He never had a social security card and didn’t have a birth certificate.

Dipper only glared. Rich strangers with an interest in the paranormal didn’t come through gravity falls without some kind of agenda.

Steven hated the conflict he was starting. No information was worth this family fighting.

“Okay,” he surrendered, hands up, “I’ll just go. I’ll stick around town until tomorrow if you change your minds”

“Wait Steven-”

“Let him go Wendy,” Dipper glared as the boy in pink walked out, “We can’t trust him.”

“But I was going to ask for Sadie tickets...” Wendy groaned, defeated.

“There’s something weird about him.”

“Great!” Mabel beamed, “He’ll fit right in.”

~.~

Steven wasn’t crazy about sleeping in his car, but was seriously considering it after seeing the state of his motel room. It looked like it hadn’t been used in decades, a thin line of dust covering every surface. He was also pretty sure they didn’t even have free ice.

“Wish Pearl were here..” He mumbled, exhausted. He curled up on top of the covers, fully clothed, and let sleep take him.

Being Steven Universe however, meant rest was sure to allude the half alien.

Steven found himself in a dark space, fog all around him. Before a word could come out of his mouth he heard a fast, repetitive muttering.

“Stranger...Wendy looked pretty today..Can’t trust...Tell no one...Ford isn’t here..”

“What, the-” Steven quietly walked toward the source of dialogue, and saw the faded silhouette of the boy from the Mystery Shack. His back was turned to him, but Steven recognized the blue vest and mosquito bitten legs.

“I thought I was over the dream hopping.” Steven spoke a tad too loudly, starting the young boy - Dipper.

“What-” Dipper’s eyes grew wide in panic, and the boy fell back harshly.

“No, no, you can’t be in my head!”

“Wait, I’m not-” Steven tried to reassure him, stepping carefully towards the boy but Dipper let out a screech of terror, sweat gathering around his temples.

“Bill sent you didn’t he?! He’s not really gone- he’s going to hurt Mable again-” Dipper began to hyperventilate.

“Dipper please,” Steven took a step back, arms in the air in surrender.

“I-”

“I’m not going to hurt you I swear on the gems.” He placed a hand over his heart. “This is a total invasion of privacy but it’s something that happens when someone’s emotions are out of control-”

“How are you here?” Dipper demanded, scrambling to his feet. “Tell me what you are and what you want.”

“I’m just passing through!” Steven insisted, then lowered his tone to calm the younger boy. “I’m kinda of magnet for weird stuff. I just wanted to help in case anything was going on.”

“We deal with things just fine around here.” Dipper spat, then watched as Steven deflated. He seemed tired, like he hasn't slept well in a while.

“So what are you anyways? How can you be here?”

Steven winced, and laughed nervously. “It’s kind of a long story..”

Dipper raised and eyebrow and swept his arm around the void dramatically.

“You have until dawn.”

“I thought that was a conspiracy theory, it wasn’t even covered by major news outlets.” Dipper look exhausted, cross legged on the unseen floor as he ran his hands through his hair.

“I think Garnet is pretty persuasive when it comes to government and reporters. They all kinda fall in love with her.”

“She’s the one that’s really two aliens?”

Steven shook his head with a small smile. “It’s hard to explain but yes, I guess that comes close.”

“That’s actually insane. I’m insane, aren’t I?” Dipper stood up, leaving Steven on sitting next to an empty space. “It’s been too quiet around here and now I’m so desperate for weird, that I’m making it all up in my head.”

“I get that feeling.” Steven smiled without humor, “but no, this is real. I’ll prove it when you wake up.” Steven felt a shift, the fog in the void getting denser.

“Sooner than I thought, you’re an early riser huh?”

Dipper looked back at Steven, panicked. “You’ll come to the Shack again right? In just a bit?”

Steven smiled. “Promise.”

Dipper woke up to his sister braiding his hair. Mabel still had her pjs on, and a make up kit next to the bed. Dipper frowned, tasting strawberry shortcake.

“Stop testing party looks on me, Mabel.”

“Stop having my face structure and maybe I will.” She grinned, covered in blue glitter.

Dipper quickly washed up and got dressed for the day, feeling like he was anxiously waiting for something but not quite remembering what.

He felt like he had a strange dream last night...

He quickly remembered, choking on cereal as Steven walked into the shack right as it opened. Hair slightly frizzy from the heat and eyes strangely tired. Maybe dream hopping took energy that he anticipated.

“Steven!”

“Meal ticket!”

“Grunkle Stan.” Mabel chastised as Dipper rushed over to the older boy.

“Good morning everyone.”

Dipper stopped short, slightly hoping that everything he experienced wasn’t just his imagination. That everything exciting and weird and interesting wasn’t always trying to kill him, ruin his life, or steal his candy.

Steven looked tired, like he had been doing this much longer than Dipper, but he had still come out with enough energy to smile.

“Not insane?” Dipper asked hopefully, quietly. Steven snapped his attention from his Grunkle and Mable bickering down to the Dipper. He gave a reassuring smile, eyes quite serious.

“Not insane.”

#I feel like I made up a strange tension but please don't ship them THEYRE FOUND FAMILY #Steven universe #gravity falls #universe falls #???#what's the tag?#dipper pines #Mabel pines #grunkle stan #stan pines #bill cipher #this is something or maybe nothing idk people need to give me plot ideas #probably no plot just one shot series

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all-hail-the-witcher · 3 years

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say yes to the plus one

the sequel to say yes to the drinks. which you should read first. i am so tired. just have it.

ship: geraskier

warnings: none

editing: ish

words: over 3k but under 4k

genre: floof

After getting drinks with Geralt, Jaskier could not stop thinking about him. He found himself taking more time with his appearance each morning - something that he hadn't even thought would be possible - hoping that Geralt would come into the store.

But Geralt still hadn’t come into Kleinfelds since the day of his trunk show. Jaskier tried not to be disappointed. He knew that he was very busy and it had been a one off that he had even met him in the first place.

Still, he couldn’t help but think that the two of them had something. There must have been some sort of chemistry between the two of them. Why else had Geralt asked him to get drinks after he had made that awful slip up with the magic fingers? Surely, he must feel something for him.

He had been texting Jaskier though, so Jaskier knew that he was at least still interested. Every message that he got wishing him a good morning or about some funny wedding dress design or of a picture of Geralt’s Pomeranian, Roach, made his heart flutter. There just had to be a future for them, right?

So, Jaskier went through yet another day of busy appointments at Kleinfelds, hoping that he would run into Geralt.

Late May into early June was always a busy time for them. Jaskier didn't personally understand the appeal of getting married in a zillion degree heat, but to each their own. This was by far his least favorite part of the year though. He spent every hour at work on his feet, hardly getting a break as he rushed from appointment to appointment: checking on alterations, making sure that every bride was getting their dream dress, and providing tweaks to designs when necessary to prevent bridal meltdowns.

It was nothing short of exhausting.

“Jaskier!” Camille, one of the consultants, called to him at around mid afternoon.

He had just spent the last hour trying to get a very adamant, very conservative mom and a very eccentric bride on the same page. He needed a daiquiri. Or three. Still, he turned around and put on his brightest smile.

“Yes, darling?”

“You’re needed down in alterations,” she said with a sweet smile.

Jaskier nodded and turned back through the salon to walk down to alterations. He hated going to alterations. If he was needed there, it usually meant that shit had hit the fan in some sense. He braced himself for a long afternoon.

He walked up to the manager, about to ask her where he was needed, when a shout from behind him made him jump.

“Jaskier!”

And a swell of desire rose up in Jaskier’s stomach because he knew that gravelly voice. Quickly, he straightened his tie, thankful he had worn his good pink one today, before taking a deep breath and turning around.

“Geralt!” he said, trying furiously to keep his cheeks from flushing. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Surprise?” Geralt’s brows furrowed together as he walked up to Jaskier, his wolfs head cane clicking across the floor. He was wearing a light blue button down today with the sleeves cuffed to his forearms that made his golden eyes pop and Jaskier had to struggle to keep his eyes on his face. “I texted you this morning.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened as he reached into his blazer pocket for his phone. Sure enough, there were two messages from Geralt. The first was a picture of Roach, lying in a patch of sun in his apartment. The second was a message that read:

Hey, I’m going to be at Kleinfelds today doing a custom fitting. Can you help with the appointment?

And Jaskier had never even seen it. Much less responded.

“Oh Geralt, I am so terribly sorry,” Jaskier said quickly. “This is our busiest time of year and I have hardly had a moment to think today.”

“You don’t have to help,” Geralt said sincerely, concern clouding his eyes. “I don’t want to push you too hard with the rest of your appointments, but I just figured that since I was here, I would ask.”

“No, no darling!” Jaskier said, rushing to reassure him. “Of course I will help! Helping you is much better than dealing with emotional brides and entourages that aren’t on the same page.”

“It’s alright Jaskier,” Geralt said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I know you just want to see my magic hands at work again.”

This time, Jaskier did flush bright red. “ You! ” he said outrageously, gaping at Geralt’s audacity to bring up his slip up from last time. “You need a nap!”

But Geralt just laughed, a glorious sound that sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine. “I think you’re the one who needs the nap, Jaskier.”

Jaskier shot him an incredulous look. How dare he make such assumptions, and how dare he be right?

“Anyway, the fitting is for my brother’s fiancee,” Geralt explained. “I made her a custom dress and she’s coming in for her fitting today. There was a shipping delay, so we only have time for one fitting before their wedding next week. I was hoping you could help.”

Jaskier could see the tension that had creeped its way into Geralt’s broad shoulders and the worry that was clouding his pretty face.

Jaskier placed a reassuring hand on Geralt’s arm. “Of course I’ll help, darling. Helping resolve wedding dress disasters is my specialty. Er- not that your dress is a disaster,” he said quickly, amused by the way that Geralt’s eyebrows had shot up. “Nothing that you design could ever be a disaster, the way that you work lace and beads is just divine, not a disaster. Not in any way a disaster. What I meant was the fact that she only has one fitting, that’s the disaster. Not your dress.”

“My magic fingers are quite incapable of creating a disaster dress, you’re right,” Geralt winked.

Jaskier resisted the urge to smack his shoulder. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope.” Geralt looked far too pleased with himself. “Can you grab the dress for me? It’s on the rack for the day. And can you bring it to room 13?”

“Of course,” Jaskier said. He’d let the magic fingers comment slide for now. Geralt looked far too attractive with his moonlight silver hair in an artful bun, tendrils framing his face, for him to stay mad at him for long. He had never been able to resist a pretty face.

“Thank you.” Geralt moved past Jaskier and began to make his way to the room. Jaskier turned to watch him walk down the hall. His ass looked far too delicious in those gorgeous, fitted navy pinstripe pants. He just had to appreciate it. It would be a crime not to.

Distantly, he wondered if his ass looked just as delicious without the pants on. And was he wearing boxers or briefs? Oh who was he kidding, he had to be wearing at least briefs with pants like those. But what color? Geralt seemed like the type of man to appreciate a fun pair of underwear and-

Jaskier. Get your head out of the gutter.

He made a beeline to the rack and grabbed the dress. He had already left Geralt waiting long enough.

“Here you are,” Jaskier said, hanging the dress in the room.

Geralt fidgeted with his shirt sleeves, eyeing the bag. With a pang, Jaskier realized that he was nervous.

“I’m sure she’s going to love the dress,” Jaskier said, putting as much sincerity as he could into his words. “You are one of the best designers in the industry, Geralt.”

“I know,” Geralt said. “But I’ve never designed for someone that I know before, there’s more risk involved if they don't like it. Cause she’s put all her trust in me and what if she doesn’t like it? This is her only fitting. There isn't time to make anything else."

“Geralt,” Jaskier placed his hand over Geralt’s where he was still fidgeting with his sleeve. “She’s going to love it. Don’t doubt yourself so much, it ruins your pretty face.”

Fuck, did he just really say that out loud?

Geralt’s doubt dissipated as he looked at Jaskier amusedly. “You think my face is pretty?”

“Well who wouldn’t?” Jaskier said, trying and failing to backpedal. “It’s a plenty beautiful face, I mean you’ve got a nose and eyes and everything and…”

“I would hope I have a nose and eyes, yes,” Geralt laughed. Then, he leaned in, as if telling Jaskier a secret. “I’ve also heard that I have lips, too.”

Jaskier was saved the embarrassment of having to respond by a consultant escorting who Jaskier assumed to be Geralt’s brother’s fiancee and her entourage into the alterations area.

“Geralt!” a pretty girl with dark, curly hair said as she stepped up to hug him.

“Hi Triss,” Geralt said, giving her a polite hug and waving to the rest of the entourage. “Are you excited?”

“Of course I’m excited,” she said. “It’s only a week away, Geralt. This better be every bit as perfect as you said it would be.”

“It will be.” Geralt’s smile was easy, as if he hadn’t been freaking out about the appointment moments before.

“And who is this?” Triss asked, turning to Jaskier.

“Oh, everyone, this is Jaskier. He’s a consultant here and my friend,” Geralt said.

“Hello!” Jaskier said, giving everyone a wave.

“Jaskier, this is Triss, the bride to be. She’s marrying my brother.” Geralt gestured to the woman with the dark hair standing in front of them.

“Hello darling,” Jaskier said, shaking her hand. “You look just gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Triss smiled.

“And this is Triss’s friend Yennefer, Yennefer’s daughter Ciri, my other brother Lambert, and Lambert’s husband Aiden,” Geralt said, pointing at the people sitting on the bench.

Jaskier waved to them all and gave them his best customer service smile.

“Tell me about your fiancee, darling,” Jaskier said to Triss.

“I am getting married to Eskel,” she said, her face lighting up immediately. “We’ve known each other forever and he is perfect.”

“Forever is an understatement,” Geralt said. “They went to kindergarten together.”

“Oh, a childhood love story!” Jaskier clapped his hands together. “How romantic! Let’s hope you have a dress to match.” He turned to Geralt.

“Well darling,” Jaskier said, gesturing to the garment bag that Triss’s dress was in. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Geralt stepped up to the garment bag, his shoulder taught with anxiety.

“Take a breath, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, just quiet enough for only Geralt to hear. “She’s going to love it.”

Geralt nodded once before unzipping the bag and pulling out the dress. Jaskier couldn't help but gasp.

“Oh my god, it’s gorgeous,” Triss gasped next to him, taking Jaskier’s words right out of his mouth. “Geralt, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“You haven’t even put it on yet,” Geralt said, stepping away so that the entourage could see it as well.

“I don’t have to to know that it’s everything I wanted and probably more,” she said, giving Geralt another hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Geralt said and Jaskier thought that he saw a light blush tinting his cheeks. Was Geralt embarrassed? Oh that was just adorable…

The dress itself was gorgeous, just as Jaskier suspected it would be. It was a glorious ivory color that seemed to shift under the lights to be a gorgeous pale blush pink. The skirt appeared to be A line and was sleeveless with a high neck. The bodice had an intricate lace and beading design that blended into the skirt. Jaskier knew that the dress was going to be amazing but Triss was right, Geralt had really outdone himself.

“Would you like to put it on, darling?” Jaskier asked.

Triss nodded, still not tearing her eyes from the dress as Geralt stepped out of the dressing room and Jaskier closed the curtains behind him.

He helped Triss into the dress, zipping up the back effortlessly.

“Oh it fits you like a glove darling,” he remarked. “Almost like it was made for you. Oh wait-” he smiled at her. “It was, wasn’t it?”

Triss laughed at his terrible joke - bless her - as she fingered the lace and beads on the front. “I wasn’t expecting it to look this beautiful,” she whispered.

“Well then let's spin you round, darling,” Jaskier said, taking her hand as she turned to face the mirror. “That’ll really shock you.”

“Oh my god.” She clapped her hands over her mouth as she gaped at herself in the mirror, turning from side to side to look at herself better. “Oh my god .”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jaskier smiled at her. “Geralt is far more talented than he gives himself credit for.”

“Tell me about it,” Triss said distractedly as she continued to stare at the dress. “This is absolutely gorgeous. I love it. Eskel’s going to love it. Everyone’s going to love it.”

“Stop feeding pretty boy’s ego and show us then!” someone shouted from the other side of the curtain.

“Fuck off, Lambert!” Triss called back. “I’m having my bridal moment,” she whispered, tears springing up in her eyes as she continued to stare, utterly transfixed by the dress.

“Here, darling,” Jaskier said, pulling his pink pocket square out of his breast pocket. “You don't want to get your mascara on the dress now, do you?”

Triss dabbed at her eyes and took a deep breath before handing the handkerchief back to Jaskier.

“Are you ready to show your entourage?”

��She better be!” Lambert shouted from outside again.

Triss let out a watery laugh. “Yeah, I am.”

Jaskier drew back the curtain as Triss turned around.

“Oh, Triss,” Yennefer said, tears unmistakably clouding her eyes. “You look gorgeous.”

“Holy fuck, Geralt,” Aiden muttered as he stared at the dress, his jaw dropped. “ You designed that ?”

“Hey!” Lambert elbowed him. “I already said that pretty boy doesn’t need his ego inflated any more than it is!”

“Okay but fucking look at the dress, Lambert. It’s fucking gorgeous. And I’m half fucking blind. ”

Lambert shrugged. “Yeah I mean it’s nice. It’s a dress. It’s fabric. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Say she looks beautiful!” Aiden nearly shouted, smacking Lambert’s shoulder. “And that Geralt did a great job because if you don't I swear your ass-”

“Boys.” Triss crossed her arms. “There are children present.”

“I’m nineteen!” Ciri protested, throwing her hands up.

Triss ignored her. “There are children present and this is my fitting. So Lambert, shut up and tell your brother he did a good job.”

“You did a good job not fucking it up, Ger,” Lambert muttered.

“I’ll take it. And Aiden? You can finish that sentence later,” she said with a pointed look.

She turned to Jaskier, who had been watching the entire exchange with raised eyebrows. “Sorry about them, they are always like this.”

Lambert flipped her off. Aiden threw up a peace sign.

“Well,” Jaskier said, trying to contain his laughter. “Clearly they are meant for eachother.” He was just glad that he hadn’t had to diffuse the situation. He was tired of telling entourages to get along.

“It’s a good thing they got married then,” Geralt said, standing slowly and walking over to Triss. “You like the dress then?”

Triss once again read Jaskier’s mind and playfully punched Geralt’s shoulder. “I fucking love it . I was right, it is everything I wanted and more. Thank you.” Her eyes were shining with tears again and this time, it was painfully obvious that Geralt blushed when he looked down at his shoes.

“Of course, it was my pleasure,” Geralt said, squeezing her arm. “I’m glad you and Eskel are finally tying the knot, I couldn't imagine a more perfect match for him than you.”

“Geralt,” Triss sighed, the tears pooling in her eyes spilling over again. “You didn't need to make me cry more! The dress was enough!”

Geralt just laughed. Jaskier silently passed Triss his pocket square again.

“Is there anything big that you want to change or do I just need to adjust the fit?” Geralt asked.

“Just the fit,” Triss said, dabbing at her eyes again.

Geralt nodded and set to work, silently slipping into the zone, pinning and adjusting and occasionally stepping back and squinting at his work. Jaskier knew that Triss and her entourage were talking, but he didn't even pretend to be paying attention. He was much more content to watch Geralt work, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the fabric as he made the already gorgeous gown look somehow even more phenomenal.

“Alright,” Geralt said, stepping back. “I think that that should be good, spin round for me.”

Triss turned to look in the mirror.

“Does it look okay?” Geralt asked and Triss punched his shoulder again. “Ow!”

“Geralt if you don't stop insulting your frankly quite stunning work, I will have to steal your little demon dog,” she said, looking over the dress in the mirror. “But yes, everything looks good.”

“Roach isn’t a demon,” Geralt pouted, and oh fuck wasn’t that adoreable.

“That fucking dog almost bit my hand off!” Lambert shouted from the bench.

Geralt made several rude gestures at him and Jaskier nearly swooned. Fucking hell he was gone for this man. And it was only the second time that he had seen him.

“Jaskier, can you get her out of the dress?” Geralt asked. “Be careful with all the pins.”

Jaskier nodded, very much at a loss for words.

“C’mon darling,” Jaskier said, tugging the curtain closed behind Geralt again.

He undid the zipper on the back of Triss’s dress and helped tug the dress off her shoulders, mindful of the many pins that Geralt had put in it.

“Have you and Geralt known each other long?” Triss asked.

“Oh, no not at all,” Jaskier said, glad that he was standing behind her and couldn't see the flush of his cheeks. “He helped me with an appointment a few months ago and we went out for drinks after and we’ve been texting occasionally, but that’s it.” He didn’t say that he wished it was more.

“You went out for drinks on the day you first met?” Triss asked, letting her voice rise. “That’s interesting, Geralt doesn’t often go out with people that he’s just met.”

There was a shout from the other side of the curtain, but it was muffled almost immediately, the sound of a hand slapping over someone’s mouth unmistakeable.

“Well, it had been a long day and we were both in need of one. Step out for me, darling,” Jaskier said, picking up the dress and hanging it back up.

“I’m sure you were,” Triss said from behind him as he zipped the dress carefully back into the garment bag. Before he had the chance to ask what she meant, she was opening the curtains and walking back outside to her entourage.

Jaskier picked up the garment bag and followed her.

“It was lovely meeting all of you,” he said, waving to the entourage. “Triss, darling, I hope you have a wonderful wedding and Geralt, it was nice seeing you again.” He turned back down the hall to go hang up the dress for Geralt to deal with later. He should get back upstairs, hopefully nothing too dire had happened in the salon during his absence, even if the break had been nice.

He was just turning to go up the stairs when he saw Geralt walking purposefully towards him, his cane clicking quickly against the floor.

“Jaskier!”

“Oh, hi again!” Jaskier said. “I was just going to head back upstairs, we are still very busy.” He gave Geralt an apologetic smile. There was nothing that he would rather do than stand and talk with Geralt.

Geralt winced. “Then I guess you probably shouldn't have helped me with the appointment.”

“No, no!” Jaskier said quickly. “It was my absolute pleasure, Geralt. And honestly? The salon was driving me a bit insane, so it was quite a nice and much needed break.”

“Well thank you for helping,” Geralt smiled. “I think it went well.”

“It definitely did, darling,” Jaskier said. “She loved the dress, just like I told you she would.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and looked down at his feet, placing both hands on top of his cane. “Actually though, I had something to ask you before you get back to work, if that’s okay. I don’t want to keep you.”

“The only thing you’re keeping me from is crying brides and disapproving mothers, and there is only so much of that that my poor soul can take,” Jaskier said. “I’d rather stay here with you and your-” he cut himself off before he made another terrible slip up. He had already learned his lesson from last time.

“With my magic hands? Or my pretty face?” Geralt asked smugly.

Jaskier sighed, ignoring him. “What was it that you wanted to ask me?”

“I have a plus one for Triss’s wedding next week,” Geralt started.

“And you haven’t asked anyone yet?” Jaskier asked. “Geralt, what have you been doing?”

“...Designing dresses?” he said sheepishly.

Jaskier swore his heart melted. He just looked so cute. How on earth was this allowed?

“Well, you better ask someone,” Jaskier said. “You’re running out of time.”

“Yes I know.” Geralt looked at Jaskier and smiled. “Jaskier, what are you doing next Saturday?”

“Saturday?” Well…” Jaskier trailed off, trying to remember what was coming up. “That is technically my day off, but I might still come in because we have just been so busy and we’re getting a new collection in and I’m going to have to….wait….” his eyes widened as he finally processed what Geralt had been asking him. “Are you….are you asking me..?”

“Would you like to be my plus one to Triss’s wedding?” Geralt asked, his golden eyes somehow sparkling in the atrocious fluorescent lighting.

“ Oh ,” Jaskier gasped. “Yes. Yes I would love to.”

“Great,” Geralt said, breathing an audible sigh of relief. “I’ll pick you up at 1pm. It’s formal. Be ready.”

Oh, Jaskier would be ready alright. He walked back to a salon with a huge smile plastered across his face.

may be a ch 2. havent decided.

tag list:

@percy-jackson-is-sexy-

@barlowpng

@eminasan

@llamasdumpsterfire

@nonegenderleftpain

@geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde

@geekymagicalpotato

@jaskierswolf

@toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account

@toss-a-coin-to-your-lesbian

@littleredhotridinghood

@fontegagrilledcheese

@acemoppet

@lookatgeraltmyboi

@gods-oopsie-woopsie

@julek

@funkylittlebard

@dani-dandelino

@officerjennie

@kuripon

@alllthequeenshorses

@mothmanismyuncle

@dapandapod

#the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #geralt #jaskier #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fanfic #saph scribbles

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consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

Small Buff Girl Sightings Ch. 1

Summary: The first thought that comes to mind as he looks at the scene in front of him is: wow, she’s cute. The second thought is: holy shit, did she just flip a six foot, two hundred fifty pound man into the ground without blinking an eye?

Thank goodness there’s time for second… and third.. And fourth impressions?

Seriously, how many creepy people and criminals does this girl deal with on a daily basis?

1(you are here) | 2 | 3 | ao3

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Damian Wayne is sure that if his elder siblings were watching him right now, they would be screeching at him to go help the girl. But-- well. His siblings and his father aren’t watching, and he isn’t sure whether or not the girl needs his help. The weirdly hooded man who is rapidly closing in on her might just live in the same direction. Surely, this time, his instincts are wrong. He’s only following them for peace of mind. Nothing is going to happen.

Otherwise known as: Damian isn’t particularly feeling up to saving another girl outside of his Robin costume and then being come on to. Why girls always have to have a Thing for people who saved them, Damian will never understand. He can’t imagine attempting a relationship with somebody who saved him, though admittedly the pool of candidates of people who are superior to him in capability is small, and far too annoying or old for him to ever consider dating them. And even thinking about having a relationship with somebody who couldn’t take care of themselves gives him the chills.

This leads to a very contemplative two minutes of walking the same path that the girl and the hooded person were taking-- he is not following them--until the girl who is being stalked darts into an alleyway. Of course, the hooded person follows her.

Is she trying to get herself killed? Damian can’t believe the sheer idiocy of the girl. At least the last girl he saved hadn’t done anything as stupid; her attacker cornered her near her home. Gotham girls know better than to duck into random alleyways. There is too much crime in Gotham for anybody with self respect to be so dumb.

With a sigh, and a wish that his brothers and father hadn’t beat a moral conscious into him, he lopes over to the alleyway, expecting to have to break up whatever futile struggle the girl put up with her stalker, or maybe even knock out the guy because by now, she must either be unconscious or on her way to other unpleasant circumstances.

Except.

By the time he gets over to the alleyway, the girl walks out unscathed, phone pressed to her cheek.

“Yes, you should check 12th arrondissement, two streets down from the Opera Bastille. He’s 6 foot, blonde haired and brown eyed. Wearing a grey hoodie and adidas.” The girl brushes past him, blinked at his appearance, then continued on the phone. “No problem, officer.”

Damian looks into the alleyway and there the man is, head lolled to one side. Unconscious, probably. His hands are tied up with a pink plastic zip tie. He looks out of the alleyway, eyes trailing after the girl who just left. She barely reaches his shoulder. Maybe, Damian thinks drily, Parisian girls are different.

At least Damian won’t get another adoring fangirl today.

Damian is sitting at a coffee shop across from the Louvre. It’s overpriced, and the coffee tastes awful, but it’s still coffee, and he’s tired. He’s here to check out the akuma that the Paris media keep reporting about, even though the Justice league of America shouldn’t have to deal with Europe’s problems, and also largely believed that it was a publicity stunt on Mayor Bourgeois' behalf.

Now, the Justice League of America isn’t really sure what is happening, but surely it can’t be that bad if the city has no damage, right?

What a joke. Damian has been here three days (count them-- three) and he is almost sure that he has been transported into some alternate dimension where some little kid’s imagination went wild and plopped the ever loving conundrum of Paris, France into Damian’s hands.

On the first day he arrived, there was a pigeon akuma-- apparently, one of the more frequent ones that popped up. Ladybug-- one of two consistent Parisian Heroes-- made quick work of him once she arrived on the scene, but it took her a while to arrive. Almost a whole half hour. Which meant that the streets of Paris were filled with bird poop and flooded with more pigeons than Damian knew existed, and he lived in Gotham. The other hero, Chat Noir, arrived after Ladybug, but handled the situation more warily. He later found out that this was due to the superhero being allergic to feathers, as witnessed by a video on this site called the Ladyblog.

Due to some freak magic power called the Miraculous Cure that Ladybug called after her battles, the streets had been blessedly cleaned, and the pigeons flew back to their mostly hidden existence. The world was right, once more. Then, on the second day, he tried and failed to save that weird girl who knocked out a man who had a good hundred pounds on her. He’s not sure that tried and failed is applicable to the situation, as the girl seemed competent enough to take care of an issue like that on her own.

Today, another akuma appeared. His name is Deliverer, a postman who had one too many customers complain about a package not being delivered in a timely manner.

Damian isn’t really sure how he felt about having people turning into villains over such trivial things. He is also no longer sure whether he is the best choice for this mission. His emotions tend to run hot, and there is the chance that he might become compromised. Because if there are people out there turning into villains over not being able to feed some pigeons, there is no way that Damian’s own annoyance with his family and the random people on the streets won’t be taken advantage of. However, out of his family, it’s not like there’s any better choice. Dick, maybe, but he’s busy with Kor’i and his daughter, and they won’t want to move to France. And he doubts that the superheroes of Paris want a metahuman trying to solve the case in Paris after seeing how much damage a normal citizen can do when akumatized.

It only takes ten minutes for Ladybug and Chat Noir to arrive on the scene this time. Whether it is because it is a new akuma, or whether it is because they were closer to the scene of the crime, Damian can only guess. He thinks it to be a combination of the two; Mr. Pigeon is a very common akuma and the people deal with his issues quite often, thus he is probably lower on the priority list. The heroes have their own lives to deal with, Damian is sure.

In any case, Damian rushes to the akuma when he gets an alert from the Ladyblog and is able to catch the tail end of a battle where Ladybug doesn’t even have to use her Lucky Charm. She just takes the clipboard after some bizarre yoyo moves and snaps the clipboard over her knee. When the butterfly flies out of the clipboard, she purifies it. Easy breezy, and no involvement from Chat Noir, yet again. The cat looks tired and Ladybug says something to him, her posture reminiscent of a mother scolding her child, after which he flees the scene.

Then, Damian gets caught up in a wave of exhaustion. Forgoing sleep for the past two days trying to catch himself up on the situation in Paris before making any major reports back to the league will do that. He needs coffee, badly, which is why he finds himself in this tourist trap coffee shop with some of the worst coffee-- wait. That girl seems familiar.

He spends a few seconds trying to place her. Short, pig-tails, part asian, blue hair and blue eyes. The girl he saw coming out of the alleyway yesterday. Of course. She is on her phone walking slowly and frowning, purse hanging at her side. Damian traces her movements. She is naturally graceful, but closes in on herself. He looks a little closer. Her eyes look red. Perhaps she is dealing with the aftermath of yesterday’s situation.

From the side, a guy darts out at her, reaching for her purse. The girl drops her phone to the floor in shock, clutches her purse, and then side-swipes the guy. A hand to his neck, a foot to his knees, and then her arms pulling his behind his back. She pulls a zip tie from her purse and ties his hands up, then picks up her phone almost exasperatedly and before calling someone.

Vaguely curious, Damian picks up his coffee and approaches the girl and criminal. Several others have done the same, only to be waved off with a blindingly bright smile and a yes, she’s fine, thank you very much.

“Need help?” More of a courtesy than anything else.

“No thanks, Monsieur.” The girl looks down at the time on her phone, then scrunches her face up. Freckles dot her pale skin. A text message alert from her phone causes her to scowl, and she looks down at her phone, then back up at Damian.

“Actually, could you do me a favor? I’ve really got to get back with my class, and I don’t really want to leave this guy in the middle of the street like this. I just called the police, and they should be here any minute. Stay with him?”

It’s not like his research on Ladybug and Chat Noir can’t wait a few minutes.

“Sure.”

Then, the girl runs off without another glance backwards. True to her word, the police do arrive a few minutes later.

“Where’s the girl that called?” The policeman asked with a furrowed brow.

“She had to leave.” Damian eyes the man, who has barely looked at him. The policeman is assessing the scene, taking in the handiwork of the pigtailed girl.

“Half-asian, blue eyes, freckles?”

“Yes.”

The policeman handcuffs the criminal. “That poor girl. She always seems to attract these street thugs. It’s really a blessing that she can take care of herself.”

This piques Damian’s interest. “This happens often?”

“She’s almost like an urban legend, at this point. Whenever we find a criminal tied up with a neon pink zip tie, we know it’s her. A real shame, too. She’s such a nice girl.”

He’s not sure if nice was the word to use. She looked slightly stressed and harried. Polite enough, but she certainly has no trouble putting guys twice her size down.

“Well, thank you for your help.” The policeman tips his cap and makes his way to the patrol car.

Damian goes back to drinking his coffee and scrolling through the Ladyblog on his phone.

“I’ve heard you do this quite often.” Damian appears at the girl’s side like a ghost, but she doesn’t jump. Doesn’t even flinch. Just takes a step back to reposition herself and gives him a side eye. Tactically, a good decision if he is another potential attacker. She created just enough distance that it would make it harder to attack her, but had moved in a smooth fashion that said she wasn’t going to run and was prepared to stand her ground. Her body half faces him, like she is ready to put up her guard at any moment.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Her victim this time is unconscious. Damian isn’t exactly sure what happened, but the quivering girl only a few feet away from them made him think that the girl in front of him has a bit of vigilante in her, because it is clear that this time she hadn’t acted in self defense.

In an act of goodwill, Damian takes his hands out of his pockets slowly, showing that he doesn’t have anything to hide. In response, the girl-- who Damian mentally decides to call Pigtails, since she’s had the same ridiculously childish hairstyle for their past three encounters-- relaxes, just a little, and turns her attention to the crying girl instead.

“Do you want me to call the police?”

Pigtails eyes flicker towards the man on the ground, who is what Damian approximates to be six foot three and two hundred and fifty pounds, and then towards the crying girl looks to be in her mid twenties.

Pigtails hasn’t tied this one up, yet, but she has flipped him onto his stomach. Judging by the lingering look that she gives the man’s unbound hands, and the ziptie that she pulls out of her small purse, she’s ready and willing to tie him up at the slightest movement, or at the other girl’s command.

“I’m going to tie him up, okay?”

The other girl manages a yes, please. And so, Pigtails brandishes her ziptie, directs Damian to call the police; tell them they’re on Barbes Boulevard.

Damian assesses the situation before the operator comes on. The would-be victim is somewhere around twenty four, is slender and full of what his brother, Dick, would call French girl charm before getting hit by Cass or Barbara. She has brown hair that’s a mess on the left side of her hair, probably from the man grabbing her on that side, and is lightly tanned. There are bruises on her wrist and on her cheek that are quite visible and continuing to darken.

Now that Pigtails has tied him up, Damian nudges the man’s face with his foot to see what he looks like. Average looking at best, and he reeks of alcohol. Damian crinkles his nose. Midday drinking is not a good look on anyone. His clothes are also cheap. Fast fashion, but bad.

Then, there’s Pigtails herself. Evidently she trusted him enough to look after the brute, because after giving him a once over and nodding, she goes over to the other girl to comfort her. Damian is sure that Pigtails can’t be much older than himself, but he's not sure. She has a sort of timelessness about her, between the lightness in her step and the sharp, intelligent look in her eyes. Her sense of fashion is simple but chic, and whatever she is wearing looks pretty high end. Designer, even.

After relaying the information that he has gathered to the operator, he is told to please wait there with the victim and the attacker, and if he could have the other party involved stay there as well, that would be fantastic.

Pigtails is surprisingly good at calming people down. The other girl seemed seconds away from a complete breakdown and was rocking back and forth, muttering to herself before Pigtails started talking to her. Already, the other girl’s crying turns to hiccups, and then stops. She is then embraced by Pigtails, circles rubbed soothingly on her back, and a gentle smile that makes Damian purse his lips. He doesn’t see that kind of smile often in Gotham. Everybody is harder there, less willing to help. If they see somebody in danger, most times citizens hurry on their way because they don’t want to get involved. When citizens do get involved, their aftercare is fairly rough, if there is any aftercare at all. Even as a vigilante, Robin didn’t often comfort victims afterwards. He helped them to police stations or the hospital occasionally, but never stopped to talk with them.

By the time the police get there, Pigtails has the girl standing with a watery smile on her face. What a feat. Damian wonders, briefly, if having Pigtails’ social capabilities would help victims back in Gotham.

“Ah, Marinette,” the police officer smiles warmly. “We meet again.”

“Officer Raincomprix,” Pigtails inclines her head.

The officer is of stocky build, red headed and green-eyed. He cuffs the man, lugs him to the back seat of his cruiser, locks the door, and then comes back out. “I’d like to take your statements, now.”

Damian learns that the attacker, Fraser Barbot, was in several of Nicolette Deanne’s master classes this year. Both were studying business with an emphasis on fashion, which resulted in a lot of time spent together. Fraser thought that a relationship was the inevitable next step. She refused, because besides their master’s emphasis, they didn’t really have much in common. She also just wasn’t interested in him. He became slightly more hostile to her after her rejection. Then, as the months went by, they started vying for a lot of the same job opportunities. Nicolette had gotten the most prestigious one, and had many other companies attempting to persuade her into joining their business instead. Fraser had gotten very few, and was convinced that Nicolette had stolen those job opportunities away from him, had seduced her potential employers, and asked her why she wouldn’t do him if she was so willing to put out.

That was when Marinette had come in. She was walking to a fabric store when she heard the commotion and saw Fraser hitting Nicolette. By the time she got over to them, Nicolette had already acquired several bruises on her arms, shoulder, and face. After arriving, she promptly knocked him out.

By the time the three of them finish their statements, nearly ten minutes have passed, and Officer Raincomprix bids them farewell.

“If you ever feel like you’re in danger again, Miss Deanne, feel free to call. Since you want to press charges, we’ll be in contact with you soon. Call us if more than three days go by without hearing from us. A taxi has been called for you, so you can get wherever you were going in peace.”

Officer Raincomprix turns to Marinette and Damian with a slightly sunnier disposition. “And thank you two for helping. Especially you, Miss Dupain-Cheng. If you ever change your mind about wanting to go into law enforcement, just give me a call. I should really have Sabrina do whatever training you’re doing, because it’s clearly effective!”

Marinette laughs. “The bakery is magic. Between lifting bags of flour, running around the city for deliveries, and Maman’s cooking, anybody could do what I do. I’ve heard a lot of good things about the studio down the street from our school, though, so you could have her look into that.”

This, Damian thinks, is such a bald-faced lie he almost chokes on his own spit. There is no sort of magic food that imbues a person with the ability to fight like Pigtails does and lifting flour bags in a bakery doesn’t suddenly allow people to take down people with ease. She has to have had some professional training, though if he is being honest, her movements feel like they have more of an origin in street fighting than they do in any martial arts.

She’s remarkably good at lying, mixing jokes with statements that had the possibility of truth. Maybe Damian is just being paranoid. Maybe she trained at some studio that she didn’t want to mention and the studio taught amazing self defense. Maybe she is just an excellent study. Somehow, Damian doubts that was the truth of the matter, but there isn’t much of a reason for Damian to spend his precious time determining the reason why this girl lies to policemen. It’s her business. It doesn’t concern him.

Then, Officer Raincomprix heads back to the police cruiser and Nicolette gets into the taxi she ordered for herself, looking worlds better. Marinette turns to him with a smile. The smile is so blindingly bright and pure that he suspects it lets the girl get away with a lot of things. “Thanks for the save. It was a lot easier to calm Nicolette down since you handled the call. I’m Marinette, it’s nice to meet you.”

Damian nods in return to her wave and smile. “No problem. I guess this answers my earlier question. You do get caught up with criminals quite often.”

She flushes, and it makes the freckles on her pale skin show even more. “What do you mean by that?”

“You seemed to be on very good terms with that police officer.”

“Oh, that. He’s a classmate’s dad. I’ve seen him around plenty of times.” She waves him off.

A very good liar, indeed. Pigtails keeps to half truths and vague statements. Damian gets the feeling that she definitely saw him more often in the capacity of a police officer than he did as a friend’s father. Understandable to lie to him, though. He is just a stranger, and he certainly doesn’t go around telling every person on the street his life story. Maybe Pigtails values privacy, just like he does.

The movement of the police cruiser catches his eye. Fraser has woken up, and he is not happy about being handcuffed in a police cruiser; they can hear him screaming at Officer Raincomprix from the street. Marinette’s eyes jump to the cruiser as well, eyes narrowing as she sees a butterfly approach the cruiser.

“Oh, for--” Marinette glances at Damian, at the butterfly, and then at Fraser. She makes a split decision. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This is not going to be pretty.”

“What do you--” Pigtails is pulling his arm with more strength than he thought possible. If this is just her pulling him, it’s no small wonder that she fares so easily against all her opponents. She definitely has strength behind her small frame.

“Fraser is probably going to get akumatized and we have to get you to the nearest shelter. Then, you’re going to wait there until the all-clear alert is given, got it?” She pushes him into a building, says by way of explanation to the bewildered looking employees, “Akuma,” and then rushes off, saying, “I’m going to go home, because clearly I’m not going to be able to go shopping for fabric today.”

Damian doesn’t stay in the shelter that Pigtails has so kindly guided him to, and there are a few people who look at him in confusion; people should be entering the building if there’s an akuma attack, not leaving. But Damian has a job to do and watching the battles up close is much better than watching the footage on the Ladyblog, which, in recent years, has turned into little more than poor speculations and attempts to stoke relationships between heroes that haven’t been used in years. When he looks at the information the website had up years ago, Damian finds a bunch of interviews that clearly haven’t been fact checked done with a girl named Lila, who is in the class he’s going to be transferring into, and despite the fact that they’ve been taken down since then, he doesn’t trust most of the Ladyblog’s information without video evidence. Not the most reliable news source about akuma, however, most other blogs he found didn’t have any videos taken up close. The older footage of past battles on the Ladyblog were pretty good quality, but they had gotten worse and worse, which meant that Damian and the Justice League didn’t have a clear picture about the heroes’ or villain’s capabilities.

By the time Damian arrives, back on the scene, Ladybug is already there in her red and black spotted glory. She has pulled Officer Raincomprix to safety.

“I am Shackled! Burdened by unfair double standards that allow incompetent tramps to get jobs before other, clearly more superior candidates do and by the corrupt justice system that wants me to go to jail, I desire what I should have been given to begin with! The affections of ladies clearly below me, and jobs that were made for me.” Convenient. If every villain explains their modus operandi to the heroes, it is probably easier to take them down. “Give me your Miraculous, Ladybug!”

The hero scoffs, avoids the chains that Shackled controls, and crouches atop a car a fairly good distance away.

Chat Noir lands, quick to make a pun. “If you feel so tied down by society, why don’t you just bug off? No woman wants to deal with somebody who has such a su-paw-riority complex.”

Ladybug rolls her eyes, but allows the pun. “Chat Noir’s right. You need to get taught a lesson on ethics and morality. If a woman got a job and you didn’t, that just means she’s better than you. Your interviewers probably saw that you had an awful attitude and work ethic. Nobody wants such a toxic person in their work environment.”

“Don’t you mean clawful, m’lady?”

“Chat,” Ladybug reprimands. She tosses her yoyo in the air. “Let’s get this over with. Dealing with misogynistic akumas is annoying. Just talking to them uses up all of my common sense.”

She throws her yoyo in the air, and calls, “Lucky Charm!”

A pack of zipties falls from the sky. Ladybug groans. “You have got to be kidding me. Zip ties? Really? You couldn’t have given me anything else? This is going to take forever. Chat, grab some of his chains and zip tie them together.”

“You’ve got to be yanking my chain, m’lady. We can just take him out without using the Lucky Charm.”

“No, the akuma is in the chain that’s between his handcuffs. And we can’t get there unless we immobilize all of these.” She gestures around wildly, then begins the process of grabbing chains and zip tying them together. As she continues to tie more and more together, it begins to get harder and harder for Shackled to move them as he wants, and a butterfly mask flashes over the akuma’s face.

After almost thirty minutes of tying and avoiding the few free flying chains that there are left, Chat Noir and Ladybug finally get all of the chains in one messy bundle that is too heavy for Shackled to control. At one point in the battle, Ladybug darts towards Chat Noir, a concerned look on her face, but he brushes her off and they continue working. Chat Noir cataclysms the chain between Shackled’s hands, and sure enough, a butterfly flies out. Damian watches as Ladybug shoves the butterfly into her yoyo and feels his eye twitch as the black-purple butterfly comes out white. He hates magic. It makes things so much more complicated than they should be.

“Bien Joue,” the two superheroes say to each other before heading off in opposite directions.

Damian sticks to his first thought. Whatever is going on in Paris is definitely the equivalent of some kid having a series of very weird dreams.

______________________________________________________________________

All the way up to ch 4 is already posted on ao3! I’ll be posting this fic daily up until i catch up :) also how do you decide where to put the keep reading for all you experienced tumblr users? idk where a good place to break is

#miraculous ladybug #daminette #dc #mlb x dc #sbgs #ch 1 #maribat #original content #adrien agreste #lila rossi #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne

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kiribaku-queen · 4 years

Note

Can I request a Nishinoya Yuu x Reader from America where Nishinoya actually meets our reader as she works as a florist that her grandmother owns and from that day forth he wants to get to know her much more by visiting each day after practice until he finds out that she won’t actually be staying for long :( Even then when he goes to confess his feelings he’s too late.

Tulips

Pairing: Nishinoya x reader

Fluff, Angst

Word count: 3.4K

A/N: Uhm... I’m OVERWHELMED by how much love and support I got from that Oikawa request????? Like thank you so fucking much! Anon picked a good request. This is another long one but let me tell you! I looooved this request and I had so much fun writing it! The ending is really my favorite part and I hope I fulfilled this request to your liking. Anon please let me know what you think and I appreciate all of your comments!

Flowers were the epitome of romance. On any special occasion, flowers are always bought to show a loved one that they are thought of and that they are special. They were hard to maintain and sure, they might die easily, but the symbol of love was only meant to live for short time. That’s what makes it beautiful. That’s why people come back for more. That’s why it’s treasured more carefully.

It’s no secret that the Karasuno boys were head over heels over their manager. And it was no surprise that two specific people would die for her. But there was one person that wanted to absolutely woo the heck out of Kiyoko. And that was Tanaka. But Tanaka was an idiot. He didn’t know how to woo a girl. He didn’t know the first thing to impressing a woman. He stared at the local florist shop, completely spaced out and overwhelmed. Thank god his best friend was there to hype him up. Nishinoya also didn’t know the first thing to impressing women. But he was there for moral support.

“Are you seriously stressing over flowers?” Nishinoya poked fun at the bald who was practically shaking in his feet.

“They have to be perfect,” he stressed. But Nishinoya paid no mind to mind and walked in the shop without a second thought.

“How hard can it be? They’re just flowers,” he brushes it off. And soon as he steps in the store, the small bell rang, indicating that someone had walked in.

“Welcome!” a girl’s voice greets them. Nishinoya turns to that direction and was about to wave back in response until his smile drops and he is suddenly frozen in place. His eyes saw one person and one person alone.

You. You were standing at the cash register with the widest and cheekiest smile you could muster. Your eyes disappeared from how wide you were smiling. You were dressed in a floral, pink dress that flowed down your body like it was made for you. Nishinoya was starstuck. He could feel the rush of emotions coming up from the bottom of his feet all the way to way past his head. The moment was ruined when Tanaka bumped into his back, causing both of them to groan.

“Why did you stop all of a sudden?” Tanaka yelled, pushing him forward so that he, too, could enter the shop.

“None of your business!” Noya yelled back and walked away from him, confusing the boy. But he brushed it aside and walked with him. He wasn’t even paying attention to the lovestruck boy. He was lovestruck himself and he was on a mission.

While Tanaka was over in one corner picking out different flowers and putting them together to see if it looks good, Nishinoya was facing the direction you were at, acting like he was interested in a flower. When really? He was staring at you the entire time. There was just something about you that drew him to you. That just mesmerized him.

“Oi, Noya. What do you think of these?” Tanaka held up a poorly arranged bouquet, feeling all proud with his creation. When he saw that his friend wasn’t even paying attention to him, he was about to knock some sense into him. But then he noticed that his friend was looking at something. Or someone. Tanaka leaned closer, almost to Nishinoya’s level and scanned his eyes to where he was looking.

“Watcha looking at,” Tanaka whispered straight into Noya’s near, scaring the crap out of him.

“I was… looking at the flower,” Noya lied, picking up the flower that he was messing with that just to happened to now be ruined because of him. Yeah, he wasn’t falling for that one. Tanaka squinted his eyes and looking over the smaller one.

“A girl, huh?” Tanaka gave him a sleazy smile and bumped him with his elbow a few times.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“NUH-UH!”

“YEAH-HUH!”

“Uhm, can I help you guys?” both boys spun around to see you looking shyly at them. Noya swore his heart just leaped out of his chest. And he would have fallen over if it wasn’t for Tanaka keeping him steady.

“Yeah, I want to buy flowers to impress this girl. But I don’t think I’m doing a great job,” Tanaka says after Noya refuses to say anything. That’s because he was so distracted looking at your pretty face. When he hears you laugh for the first time because you saw Tanaka’s failed attempt at making a bouquet, it was like angelic music in his hears. He wanted to hear more.

“We have some premade bouquets in the front if that’s easier for you. But if you want to make your own, I can help you make one,” you offered. Noya tilted his head. Your voice was also like music to his ears, but something about the way you talked was different. And he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The boys followed you around the shop because Tanaka insisted that he wanted to make his own. And he was trying to do his friend a favor by being by your side a little longer. You and Tanaka were making great conversation and Noya was standing in the back wanting to jump in, but didn’t have the courage to. He’s never nervous. He thought he had great game and could flirt with any girl he sees. But you were exactly his ideal type. The type of girl he dreams about every night. You were real and standing right in front of him. So why couldn’t he get the courage to speak to you?

“I’ve been wondering for a while, you’re not from here are you?” Tanaka blurts out and Noya freaks! You don’t ask people that! But you didn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m actually from America,” you replied with that lovable smile.

“Woah, but your Japanese is so good!” Tanaka complimented, causing you to flush red. Noya pouted. You were blushing at Tanaka. And not him. He wanted to be the one you were blushing at.

“Thank you, but my Japanese still needs a little work,” you say, wrapping up the flowers Tanaka picked out. “I need more practice, but I don’t have anyone to talk to beside customers.”

“I can practice with you!” Nishinoya shouts out, a little too enthusiastically. You look at him, wide eyed. And Tanaka just feels proud that his boy finally has the balls to speak up. You looked surprised at first but then your eyes and lips curl up to show that excitement you were bubbling up.

“Really?” you lean forward towards the shorter one, eyes pleading that he wasn’t joking. But now you were closer than you’ve ever been and he was blushing like crazy. All he could muster to do was nod his head with confidence and you exploded with happiness!

“Yes!” you cheered for yourself. And Nishinoya swore that was the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

Tanaka already got checked out and paid for all his stuff but now was waiting on his friend. Ever since he spoke out like that, you two were having full blown conversations. It was like you two were in your own world, talking about this and that. His hobbies. Your hobbies. What your favorite color was and vice versa. Tanaka felt like he was third-wheeling all of a sudden. But he smiled when he saw how happy his friend looked and knew that he couldn’t ruin such a rare moment.

You and Nishinoya could talk for hours. You didn’t feel like strangers that just met. Talking with him felt so comfortable and normal. So much that you weren’t even shy about your accent or if you were saying sentences correctly. It just flowed out on its own. You wish it could go on for another couple of hours, but before you knew it, shop was already at closing time. Unfortunately, you two had to say your goodbyes. Noya didn’t want to leave just yet. There were so many things he wanted to talk to you about still. There was always tomorrow, he thought. As he left the shop, he so happened to glimpse at one of the flyers on the bulletin board. A class for flower arrangement? Sly as a dog, he ripped the flyer down to keep in his pocket for safe keepings.

It was everyday for the past month. Everyday that Nishinoya would stop by the florist shop after volleyball practice to see you and talk with you. He would even go to the weekly flower arrangement classes that he saw on the flyer. There, he could spend even more time with you and fall even harder for you. Needless to say, you were falling for him too.

The day you two met, it was actually your grandmother who pushed you to go help them. When Nishinoya came through the door, you were starstruck. You knew Japanese men attractive but this guy was too attractive. For a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. That’s how breathtaking he was. But you were at work. Professionalism. That’s a thing. But even though you had a job to do, you kept looking in his direction just to see those sparkling eyes and dazzling smile. Your grandmother noticed that you were distracted and nudged you in their direction.

“Why don’t you help those gentlemen over there,” your grandmother suggested, leaving you to become flustered.

“Granny, it doesn’t look like they need any help. How could I help them? I can’t speak Japanese,” you tried to make an excuse. But it wasn’t working on granny.

“Oh, stop. You’ve helped plenty of customers. What’s a couple more?” she says and pushes you in their direction. You grab on tight to the sides of your dress and look back. Your granny was watching you, urging you to keep going. With a deep breath to calm your nerves, you made your way to the couple that was arguing.

You thought that was going to be the one and only time you were going to see him. But you were wrong. You saw him many times. Every day actually. You were even surprised when he showed up to your flower arrangement classes. Granny could see the pure excitement look in your eyes every time he showed up. And how you were talking nonstop to this young, volleyball player. She felt young love in the air. She was so happy for you, but sad at the same time because you haven’t told him yet. The time was getting closer. But she was sure that you would figure it out on your own.

“Noya,” you got comfortable calling him by his nickname. At first, it was very awkward, but he got you to say it after much persuasion. You pulled up a stool and motioned for him to sit down. “Can you help me style this bouquet?” you asked and he kindly accepted.

“What’s the theme today?” he asked, plopping down in the stool next to you. Then, he scooted even closer to you, making you tense up at the sudden closeness.

“Uhm, h-how about, uhm…” you stuttered, your brain shutting off because now you got a whiff of his cologne and god, does he smell good. Noya notices that you stopped and pays even more attention to you, his gaze now curiously looking at you. Please stop looking at me, you thought. He’s just making your brain go haywire.

“S-Summer!” you blurted out. Now that was embarrassing. Your face becomes hot under his continuous gaze but he doesn’t laugh at you. Instead, he gives you an encouraging smile and nods his head in understanding.

“Summer! It’s really hot outside. If we make a good enough bouquet, we can put them outside to attract more customers!” Nishinoya said very enthusiastically. His enthusiasm about promoting your granny’s shop makes you admire him even more. You pursed your lips together in a shy, side smile and hummed in agreeance.

Noya was collecting pink, yellow, and white flowers while you were cutting up some leaves and stems to fill up the empty spaces. And you arranged everything into a style that you could both agree on. Although, there were some disagreements here and there but it was in all fun. When you were finished, you stepped back to look at the finished product. But it looked like something was missing.

“How’s it lookin’?” Noya asked, also getting back to look at what they created. His pointer finger and thumb met his chin in a thinking position, like he also thought that it was missing something.

“It’s pretty, but it could use something else,” you comment seriously. Now this was really bothering you. What was it missing? Then the idea popped up like magic. You looked at the pile of leftover flowers and picked up a white rose that was there. Like you shared the same brain, Nishinoya went for the same one and your hands brushed against one another. The moment your hands touched, you both stood still and your eyes looked up to meet each other. Both were wide with shock and a deep, red blush ran across your cheeks. You pulled back and was about to apologize when Nishinoya grabbed your hand back, pulling you in closer to him than you were before. Your thoughts were traveling at a millions miles per second and you didn’t know what to do in this moment. His eyes were serious and intense. He may not be saying anything but his eyes told you the whole story. He was going to kiss you. Right here. Right now. You let in to your emotions and allowed yourself to fall in his arms. Right before your lips touched, a big, red sign in your mind said STOP! Because you were keeping a secret from him and he needed to know. You placed your hand on his chest, stopping him movements.

“Wait,” you said. It was now or never. You had to do this or else you would feel so guilty.

When you stopped him, he took that as a sign of rejection. He could feel his heart burst with pain, like someone had just stabbed him right there. It was too bold of a move, he thought. He backed away, lowering his head in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he whispered. But you didn’t want him to apologize. You had to tell him something important but before you could, he stood up, grabbed his Karasuno jacket and left without another word. And that was the last time you saw him.

Nishinoya was heartbroken that night. God, why did he attempt to kiss you?! He didn’t even know if you liked him back and he did that? He must be a real idiot. Sure, he’s been rejected before but why did this one hurt the most? Why wouldn’t the pang in his heart go away?

It’s probably because he didn’t do it right. That has to be it! He was missing all the steps! He had to confess first, then ask you to be his girlfriend, then he could kiss you! He wrote this down in his notebook yet he completely looked past it. You rejected him because he missed the most important step. He had to confess first.

Over the next few days, Noya was working on the most gorgeous bouquet for you. He no longer went to visit you because in the meantime, he was going to other florist shops around town to see what kind of flowers they had in store. Little by little, he was gathering the materials to confess to you. Brown paper so that he can wrap the flowers around nicely with. Greenery because you loved some greenery in bouquets. You would never make one without it. Yellow tulips because you reminded him of the color yellow. It fits your personality just right. Bright, beaming and beautiful. He also did a little digging, and tulips mean confession in flower language. Yeah, he knows that’s going to impress her. And he also bought a yellow bow to tie the whole piece together.

Today was the day. The day to finally do the first step: confess. He got dressed in his best boyfriend clothes. He slicked back half of his hair and left the other half rest on his face. He saw an attractive person pull of his hairstyle so he tried to pull it off. It was okay, but it was too late to change it. He wore his best cologne because he knew that you liked how he smelled. He’s got his shoe game on and bouquet in hand. Time to go.

He was on his way, skipping down the street while whistling a happy tune. He raised the bouquet of flowers in the air, admiring his work because you were for sure going to love it. As he got closer to the shop, his heart starting beating and his stomach was starting to get butterflies. There was something else he was feeling but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was probably just his nerves getting to him.

The shop was finally in his field of vision. He stopped, turned to the side and looked at his reflection in one of the shop’s window. Fixing his hair and pumping himself up, he was ready to go. He took a few steps towards the shop when he already saw you outside. Perfect. But why did you have a suitcase in hand? And why were you putting it in a van? And why does it look like you’re saying goodbye? He started picking up the pace because it looked like you were going somewhere. But you got in the van and already left. Dammit, he was too late. Still running up to the store, he saw your grandmother still outside the shop, preparing to open up shop.

“Granny!” he greeted her, running out of breath from running so long. She looks stunned to see him.

“Young boy. What are you doing here?” she asks with an alarmed tone.

“Well, I came to give (y/n) this but I saw that she just left. Do you know when she’s going to be back?” he asks, showing your grandmother the flowers that he made. Her eyes soften with sadness. What an innocent boy. The news is going to break his heart.

“She didn’t tell you, did she?” your grandmother pointed out. But Nishinoya was confused.

“Tell me what?”

“She left for the airport. She’s going back to America.” Nishinoya’s smile dropped. He didn’t need to hear the rest of the story. The bouquet of flowers that he worked so hard to create fell to the floor and he was chasing after your car.

No, it has to be a lie. You couldn’t leave. There were so many things he had to tell you. Things he wanted to tell you but never could. So many secrets that he wanted to confess to. Theres never going to be a tomorrow. He ran after your car like he’s never ran in his life. But no matter how fast he ran, you were getting further and further away. But he couldn’t give up. You were the one for him, he just knows it. He screams and he pushes himself to continue running. But he could only go so far. He started to slow down but his mind kept telling him to push through it. That he’ll never get another chance. He’ll never meet another girl like you. A girl who was so down to earth and sweet and intelligent and beautiful and funny and shy and quirky and dramatic and emotional and caring and loving as you. Noya clenched his teeth as tears brimmed his eyes. Then his body couldn’t take it anymore. He gradually came to a stop, frustrating taking over his body. Running took so much energy out of him that he had to take multiple deep breaths for him to breath properly. But he wasn’t done there. He took a deep breath and yelled with all his might.

“(Y/N)!!!!!! I LIKE YOU! I LIKE YOU, I LIKE YOU, I LIKE YOU!” Nishinoya screamed like a madman, hoping that you could hear it and that your van would stop. But that wasn’t the reality. Your car kept driving until it disappeared into the distance.

“Fuck…” Noya said, exhausted, not noticing the tears streaming down his face. “I love you.” He confessed to himself and fell down to his knees. You had already left and he was devastated.

#nishinoya x reader #nishinoya imagine #yū nishinoya #nishinoya angst #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu nishinoya

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whimsandvanillalattes · 5 years

Text

"You?" (Part 2)

Pairing: Kwon Jiyong (G Dragon) x Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU, Romance, a dash of fluff

Soulmate AU Prompt: Soulmates have identical counters that count the number of times they have passed their soulmate.

Part: 2/?

Part 1 | Part 3

Alternatively titled: Y/N and GD think too much.

A/N: Thank you everyone who read the first part and everyone who liked/left comments/reblogged. It means the world to me. Also, I’m so so sorry for not updating sooner. As an apology, accept this really long part! Another thing I want to add is that I’m more used to writing OC stories rather than reader centered ones. I really tried to make Y/N gender neutral but for some reason I couldn’t make that work. I’m really sorry about that too. Please bear with a Fem!Y/N here. For my next story, I’ll definitely make a gender neutral Y/N.

You swore under your breath as you veered around an elderly couple. You had overslept and if you didn’t reach the train station in another minute, you were going to be late for class. You lived at the university dorms so you had never really been late before. But you and one of your best friends had had a sleepover at your other best friend’s house and last night had been spent binge watching Lee Jong Suk’s dramas (in honor of his enlistment, and because you just loved him). Unlike you, they didn’t have morning classes so now they were sleeping soundly at home while you were just hoping you reached class before your professor.

Luck was not in your favor though, because you encountered one of the largest crowds you had ever seen (and you had seen a lot, considering how much of your free time you spent going to music shows and fan meets) at a little distance from the station. You saw some people taking pictures and, while you were offended on behalf of their center-of-attention whose privacy was being invaded, a part of you was tempted to stop and see which idol or actor was causing this commotion—you were sure it was either of the two because that was the only logical explanation. But your professor’s angry face appeared before your eyes, and you seriously wanted to not fail, so you pushed through the crowd and got to the station.

About ten minutes into your journey, your phone began to vibrate. Intensely. You pulled it out of your pocket and saw a ton of notifications. Most were from twitter, accompanied by a single one from a tabloid. You clicked on that, figuring it would make more sense than the frenzy of tweets. The headline read:

BIGBANG’S G-DRAGON spotted enjoying his military leave with his sister.

The article went on to say that he had “attracted a lot of attention.” So GD was on a leave? And so-called fans and paparazzi—or should you say Dispatch—wouldn’t even let him relax on his break. Now, you wouldn’t call yourself a VIP, but you had been listening to K-pop since you learnt the language and regarded BIGBANG as one of K-pop’s legendary groups. You could sing along to most of their songs and many of their solos (maybe you should call yourself a VIP). Which made you not exactly happy about how GD was being treated.

The tabloid article also had pictures. Dispatch is fast, you thought. He was wearing a black mask and a cap, so his face was barely visible. It was surprising how anyone had managed to recognize him. But then again, you had recognized him in the photos immediately so it wouldn’t have been hard for longtime VIPs to do the same. Taking a closer look at the photos, you noticed something strange. His surroundings looked familiar. Two years of living in Seoul had made you quite well-acquainted with the city and with a start, you recognized his location. The crowd you had just encountered had been caused by him.

The fangirl inside you freaked out. You had walked right past THE G-Dragon. A part of you cursed yourself for wanted to be a good student and not stopping, while another part tried to convince you to get off the train at the next station and run back. The more rational part of you, however, curbed all these stupid ideas. Enough people had swarmed him already without you joining them. Besides, you had a class to get to.

Scrolling through the comments, you were in the midst of adding one of your own to rebuke Dispatch for invading his privacy and making him uncomfortable when something on your wrist caught your eye and you almost dropped the phone. Setting it down on your lap, you turned your wrist over.

And gasped.

The 0 you were accustomed to seeing on the inside of your right wrist was not there. In its place was a cursive 1.

You ended up skipping the first class, not because you didn’t reach the university on time, but because you spent about half an hour in the toilet bawling your eyes out. You had finally passed the boy you had wanted to meet your entire life. Only, you had simply passed him, without even realizing it. What were the odds of meeting the guy you passed only once in your two years in Seoul, especially when you had passed each other at or around a busy train station? You weren’t one to be pessimistic usually, but it was frustrating how you moved to an entirely different country for your soulmate, but you hadn’t even been able to find out what said soulmate looked like.

Your bad (awful) day didn’t end after that. Sleep deprivation combined with narrowly missing your soulmate lead to a terrible mood and a terrible headache, you learnt, and you were not able to concentrate in any of your classes. So, several consecutive classes later, you had a clear plan in your head. You were going to crash onto your bed in the dorm and catch up on at least a bit of the sleep you had forsaken for Lee Jong Suk. You would worry about your soulmate when you were thinking straight.

Naturally, you forgot to set your alarm.

For the second time that day, you overslept. This time you were running late for work. Unlike class, you had been late for work several times and knew that your manager would absolutely kill you if you were late again. So, you got dressed in a frenzy, almost left all the lights switched on, and, for the second time that day, you ran for your life.

You reached the coffee shop you worked at ten minutes after your shift started and thankfully your manager thought a warning glare was enough punishment. You hurried to the employees’ room at the back of the shop and changed into your uniform. A quick peek in the mirror informed you that you looked like a mess. Your dark circles had somehow intensified and your hair resembled a bird’s nest, courtesy of the fact that you hadn’t bothered to brush it. It was frustrating how this was what you looked like the day your soulmate showed up (though you were sure he hadn’t noticed you either). You pulled it back into a ponytail in a measly attempt to tame it. While it was not the most effective, at least now you looked less like a homeless sleep deprived person and would gladly face your soulmate if he showed up at the coffee shop. Which was next to impossible, because he had never come here in the two years you had been working here.

The smell of coffee began to put your mind at ease once you settled down at the counter. As you prepared two teenage girls’ orders—a strawberry shake and an iced americano (totally contrasting drinks, you mentally noted)—you fell into a sort of routine, unlike the events of the morning. That put you in a comparatively comfortable state of mind and your thoughts finally began to align themselves. Usually, you kept a novel or a textbook with you during your shift but having very conveniently forgotten to bring anything with you afforded you the opportunity to think of your soulmate—who hadn’t really left your mind all day anyway. Maybe he took the morning train from that station everyday and you hadn’t ever crossed him before because that was not your usual route? You often stayed at your friend’s house, so you had taken trains from that station many times though. Had the timing always been wrong? Or had your soulmate recently moved to Seoul? Was he from another city? Busan? Daejeon? Pyongyang, North Korea?

A loud grumbling sound broke your train of thoughts. With a start, you realized it had ensued from your stomach. The only thing you had consumed the entire day was a cup of coffee and some cookies you had found in your bag. You were starving. A particular red velvet cupcake, with cream cheese frosting, had caught your eye and was enticing you to have it. The only customer in the shop was seated at a table by the window, typing away at his laptop. He had been like that for about an hour, his now cold coffee abandoned on the table. You could afford a snack break, then. There was at least one perk of working at a place that had food. You retrieved cupcake and quickly punched yourself a receipt which included the 20% employees’ discount, adding the due amount to the cash register. You settled down on a stool and indulged in a bite of the heavenly cupcake (that you enjoyed more than you normally would because of the lack of food in your system).

The bell above the door rang, and you tried to swallow it down so that you could greet the new customer. You glanced towards the door and nearly choked on said cupcake. Walking towards the counter, wearing a black hoodie and the same cap he was wearing in the picture you had seen earlier but having somehow lost the mask, was Kwon Jiyong. Aka GD. Aka G-Dragon.

What? How? What is he doing here? Is it really him? But-

Incoherent half-thoughts ran through your mind, but the gist was wondering why he was here of all places. Was it because this particular coffee shop was not in a mainstream area? Or had he suddenly craved coffee and had been tempted by the fact that there was only one other customer?

You were able to regain some of your composure and uh, not choke by the time he got to you. Your manager’s hawk eyes were on you and you could not afford to appear unprofessional, no matter how much you wanted to squeal and ask this man for an autograph. He probably noticed that you knew who he was though because a wide smile appeared on his face and you nearly melted in a puddle (Be professional, Y/N! you scolded yourself internally.) Either that, or he had found your almost-choking antic amusing. Possibly both.

“Good evening, sir!” At least your voice hadn’t betrayed you.

“Hello,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Your Korean pronunciation is pretty good.”

“Oh, thank you.” A blush threatened to appear on your face. “I’ve been living in Seoul for a while.” And I’ve been learning Korean for more than a decade, you decided to not add.

He ordered an iced Americano and you began to prepare it for him. Unlike with most customers, you felt extra nervous, mainly because you could feel his eyes following you. You were just hoping not to mess up.

“You know,” he began, “I thought you would ask me for an autograph. I know you recognized me.”

Whoops, busted!

You smiled. “I want to, but my manager would kill me if I do, so I can’t.” Conversing with him had seemed like a hurdle two seconds ago but now that he had initiated conversation, it was just…natural. As if talking to Kwon Jiyong was the most normal thing in the world and something you had been doing your entire life.

He chuckled. “You’re that scared of him?”

“I can’t afford to lose this job,” you said, shrugging as you handed him his drink. You had never seen him in person before, and you were a pretty big fan of his, but after your initial shock, you couldn’t help but wonder at how comfortable you felt talking to him. It was strange because you were the kind of person who could never be completely relaxed talking to an ordinary person for the first time, much less talking to an idol.

“I guess I can give it to you the next time I come here, then.”

Now that was something that made you almost freak out. “You’re going to come here again?” you asked. It was hard to mask the excitement on your face, and he seemed to find that very amusing. At least, that was what you inferred from the wide gummy smile that adorned his face, and you couldn’t help thinking of how cute it looked.

He took a sip from his drink. “Well, the coffee’s good,” he grinned, “So yeah, I am.” His phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen.

“I need to go now.” He stepped back from the counter. “See you next time.”

“Bye!” you called out. He waved at you over his shoulder as he opened the door and for some reason you were waving back, not caring that your manager was rolling his eyes at you.

“Oh, sit down already!” your roommate and one of your best friends, Soo-jin, whined. You rolled your eyes as you plopped down on your bed next to Min-ji, your other best friend.

“Okay, now spill,” Min-ji ordered. You had briefly told them what happened the entire day and they had deemed it too important to discuss in the morning, so the three of you were now gathered at your dorm room. Min-ji was the friend whose house you had had a sleepover at the previous night. She had decided to stay at your and Soo-jin’s room that night so you could talk peacefully.

“What do I start with, GD or soulmate?”

“GD!” they cried in unison. Both of them had been BIGBANG fans since they were kids. You told them how you had seen a crowd in the morning which had turned out to be because of him, and then how he had showed up at your workplace. When you finished, they just stared at you for a second.

“Woah,” Min-ji breathed out finally. “You’re so damn lucky.”

“But he is so sweet!” Soo-jin exclaimed. The fangirling was starting now. “He even asked if you wanted an autograph.”

“I know right. And telling her that he’d come again!” Min-ji was almost squealing now. She looked at you. “How did you even survive it?”

“I almost didn’t. I’m just glad I didn’t totally freak out and left a, you know, terrible impression.” You shrugged. Now that you thought of it, it was odd that he had talked to you at all. Hadn’t he been ambushed by enough fans already for one day? He knew you knew who he was, so why talk to you any more than necessary? In any case, the three of you discussed (err, fangirled over) him a little longer before Min-ji remembered you had another important matter to discuss.

“What about your soulmate, though?” she asked. “When did you pass him?” Both of your friends had already found their soulmates. Min-ji’s happened to be her neighbor so they had known each other almost their entire lives. Soo-jin’s soulmate was one of your seniors and they had met a little after she started university.

“My counter changed to one in the morning.” You leaned back into a pillow. “I noticed when I was on the train. We probably crossed on the station, or when I was rushing to it.” You sighed. If only you had been paying more attention to your surroundings, you would have met yours too.

“Hey, what if your soulmate’s one of those Dispatch photographers?” Soo-jin exclaimed. You snorted.

“Dispatch? Seriously?” You rolled your eyes at her. You could always count on your friends to find all sorts of weird ways to cheer you up.

“That’s totally possible, though,” Min-ji added, playing along. “Didn’t you say he’s older than you?”

“You’ll have to start stalking Dispatch’s professional stalkers!”

“That might actually end up being a good thing.” You laughed. “I’d know all the latest gossip.”

Min-ji nudged you with her foot. “Show us your counter.” You thrust your wrist towards them. They promptly gasped, as you had expected them to. Your friends tended to be quite dramatic too.

“I know,” you began, “it is surprising. I was so shock—”

“Y/N,” Min-ji interrupted, “when did you last check your counter.”

“When I was leaving for work, I think. Why?”

“Well, it’s not Dispatch, for sure,” Soo-jin whistled.

“What?”

“Look at it again.”

You did, and you gasped too. Your wrist didn’t say 1 anymore. Now it read 2.

To say that Jiyong was confused would be an understatement. He was far beyond confusion. He was conflicted in the worst possible way. His entire day had been…chaotic. It hadn’t entirely been bad—he had experienced intense excitement and adoration at one point—but it had not been an ideal way to spend his break. Even trying to make sense of everything that had happened made his head throb.

When he had managed to disengage himself from the swarm of paparazzi at the station, he noticed that the counter that had read 0 for the past 20 years suddenly read 1. He had always imagined he would be overjoyed at this occasion. Strangely, he hadn’t been anywhere near overjoyed. He had become too used to living as if he had no soulmate. The discovery that not only did he have one, but that his soulmate was very close was a change he hadn’t seen coming, and it was not entirely welcome. And, he had to admit, he was also frustrated because he had only passed his soulmate, rather than actually meeting.

He had decided he needed coffee to clear his head and had taken great pains to find a place where he could get it without attracting public notice (again). At least, he had thought that was his consideration. But, in hindsight, it could have been the soulmate pull. They did say it worked in strange ways. How else could he, out of all the coffee shops in Seoul, have ended up at the one his soulmate worked at? Crossing her once in a day could be a coincidence but meeting her again in the span of some hours could most certainly not be one. In any case, he had winded up at her workplace. There, he had encountered a cute, albeit quite young, foreign part-timer who knew him, he had realized immediately. After the rough morning, he should have bolted but something had compelled him to stay. And he had discovered that the part-timer was fun to talk to.

He hadn’t realized she was his soulmate until he got back to his car and his manager pointed out that his counter had changed again. That was when things had begun to click in his head and the reason talking to her was fun started to become clear. He had been tempted to run back inside and tell her this new turn of events. But that had been accompanied with thoughts of rejection that held him back, and he had felt suffocated beneath a variety of emotions. Instead, he had told his manager to drive on.

That was why he was currently lying on his living room couch, a steaming bowl of ramen he suddenly did not want to eat abandoned on the mahogany table in front of him and all the lights expect the one in the hallway switched off. The atmosphere was gloomy, but he liked it better that way; it was a perfect representation of his inner turmoil. Her eyes, wide with excitement and surprise as they had been when he had mentioned coming again, seemed to be permanently etched in his brain. Now that he had uncovered her identity, the pull felt even stronger. His entire being was craving her. And she had moved to Seoul, so that would mean she was looking for her soulmate too. Had she put two and two together yet and realized she was actually looking for him?

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake off the doubts. He had gotten his counter when he was ten, so that would mean she had to be twenty. He had always known about the age gap, so it didn’t really bother him. It wasn’t like she was a minor or anything. But was she okay with it? All her knowledge about her soulmate came from whatever he had first said after she was born. He didn’t even remember what he had said. He just hoped it wasn’t something stupid. In any case, the most she could have inferred from that would be that he was a Korean man a few years older than her. There was a big difference in being a few years older and around ten years older. And did she even want him as her soulmate? His life hadn’t really been a pure, sinless, scandal-free one. She probably knew about that.

And most importantly, he didn’t like the pull. His mind was sort of sick of the effect the bond was having on him. It wasn’t her fault, but it made him want to avoid her at all costs.

What was he to do now? Go to her the next day? Or pretend his counter still said 0? Coming to a conclusion was not easy. He told himself to wait until his enlistment was over and then approach her. If she wanted to find him, she wouldn’t leave before she did. But even when eventually he drifted into a light, troubled slumber, he had not managed to convince himself.

#kpop scenarios #kpop fic #kpop #kpop au #bigbang #big bang imagine #big bang scenarios #big bang gd #gdragon #g dragon #kwon jiyong #g-dragon #fanfic #soulmate au

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brieflygorgeouss · 5 years

Note

52, 82, and 100 please!

52. “I need help.” (82 and 100 are coming in a separate fic because i couldn’t help myself, hope you don’t mind!)

Lucas really likes his job at the coffee shop, you see, as out of character as it is for him. There are three reasons for that.

Reason number one: it pays his bills. He doesn’t earn particularly much, but it’s enough to cover his rent and basic living expenses, and if he tries really hard, he can even afford to go out every once in a while to keep the illusion of his social life in place.

Reason number two: he gets to work with some really cool people, which is unexpected but not unwelcomed. Manon is the one who got him this job, so he basically owes her his life, and she bakes the best fucking muffins Lucas has tried in his entire existence. Yann is like his long-lost brother at this point, and Lucas feels as if they’ve known each other for years instead of four months since he stared there. Imane can be harsh sometimes, or stubborn, but Lucas appreciates that, actually, how she doesn’t let others fuck with her. He also appreciates how, when Lucas’s ex-boyfriend kept pestering him, she was ready to break the dude’s arms if Lucas only said a word. That was nice.

Reason number three: Beautiful Boy.

See, Lucas doesn’t know much about Beautiful Boy. He knows his name is Eliott, and guesses he is an art student because he sometimes comes into the coffee shop with art supplies peeking out of his bag or with his fingertips stained with ink. He wears weird patterned shirts or the immortal brown-orange jacket when the weather gets colder. He has a nice voice that makes Lucas think of sunlight, warm and golden.

And he’s the most goddamn gorgeous person Lucas has ever seen. So there’s that.

Lucas gets to see Eliott every Tuesday and Friday morning. Eliott is always nice and smiley, even at 7 AM, and very kindly ignores it whenever Lucas is very obviously trying not to yawn as he takes his order. Eliott always drinks the same thing, and it’s tea, of all the options he could choose, but Lucas finds it endearing, even if Yann keeps making fun of him for it, like right now.

”Lover boy not here yet?” Yann asks as he comes out of the staff room, only to find Lucas slumped at the cash register, trying not to fall asleep. It’s 7:30. Lucas likes this job, yes; the fact that he has to wake up at 6 for the morning shifts is not why he likes it.

”He’s not a ”lover boy”,” Lucas mutters. They’ve had this conversation before. ”Stop calling him that.”

Yann shrugs, raising his eyebrows. ”Yeah, he’s not but he could be,” he says and winks, and Lucas thinks, it’s too early for this. ”You know I’m right.”

”You’re not right,” Lucas tells him. It doesn’t sound convincing.

”I’m right,” Yann says. He sounds like he’s having the time of his life. ”You realise I still have that picture of you blushing while taking his order, right? It’s hard proof.”

Lucas is, suddenly, very grateful that the morning rush hasn’t started yet and they’re still alone at the coffee shop. ”I asked you to delete that,” he says, feeling the traitorous blush creeping its way onto his face.

”And I’ve decided to ignore that request,” Yann says, the cheeky bastard, but then he has to notice something about Lucas’s expression because his grin softens. ”Lucas, he keeps coming back here twice a week, and he doesn’t even drink coffee. It’s a coffee shop. Have you never thought about that?”

He has. ”Maybe he really likes tea.”

”Yeah, maybe,” Yann says, and then the bell at the door tinkles, so he turns to greet the first customer, ”Or maybe it’s not the tea he likes.”

Lucas only ducks his head and doesn’t say anything in reply.

He tries not to think about it, as his shift progresses. He busies himself with making the orders and not messing anything up as Yann handles the cash register, and then when that’s done, he busies himself with cleaning and then busies himself with whatever else he can after that. He also tries, and fails, not to flit his gaze to the clock every five minutes. It’s Friday today. It’s really stupid, how his heartbeat stutters every time someone comes through the door.

Lucas knows it probably doesn’t mean anything — how nice Eliott is, or how he seems to light up whenever he spots Lucas, like Lucas has anywhere else to be. Eliott is nice to everyone, from what he’s noticed. And Lucas is not blind, okay, it’s not particularly difficult to realise that Eliott might flirt with him a little bit from time to time, but maybe he’s just…naturally flirty, or something. Or maybe he’s doing it unconsciously. Lucas can’t really see any other explanation, really, because people as beautiful as Eliott don’t really get interested in people like Lucas.

(Imane almost maimed him with a spoon, once, when he’d said that out loud, but that’s how it is. There’s nothing self-deprecating about it, really; it’s just the truth.)

He’s so deep into his thoughts that he doesn’t catch Yann saying his name at first, but then he snaps his head up and —

Eliott is here at the counter. Lucas remembers, like he does every time he sees him, why he’d kept calling him Beautiful Boy in his head for almost three weeks before he finally caught his real name.

”I need to make a call, dude, I just remembered,” Yann says, untying his apron and turning to Lucas, and he doesn’t ever try to hide the sly grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. ”Can you take care of the cash register for a second?”

”Um,” Lucas says, thinking, fuck you but also thinking, thank you so much. ”Yeah, I— Yeah, okay.”

”Great,” Yann says, beaming like a child that got away with something, and then slides past him, and Lucas is left on his own.

Eliott fidgets a little by the cash register. Lucas swallows down how idiotically flustered he feels and comes up to him.

”Hi, Eliott,” he says, hoping it comes off sounding normally. ”Your usual?”

Eliott’s usual is rosehip and cranberry tea, which Lucas has teased him about, on some occasions. Eliott smiles at him, but there’s something off about it today, and Lucas wonders briefly if it’s because Eliott is afraid that he’ll make fun of him again, maybe.

”Yeah, sounds good,” Eliott tells him and then quickly turns his eyes away, looks down before flitting his gaze up again. Lucas blinks. ”Sounds great.”

”Okay,” he smiles. “Right up.”

He rings it in, and Eliott pays, and Lucas feels— a little strange. Without any specific reason to, really, except this is usually the part when Eliott’s vague flirting starts. Eliott likes to lean over the counter a little and ask about how Lucas’s shift has been going, or — if Lucas is feeling brave and manages to ask Eliott about his day first — talks about something he’s seen on the street and found funny, or a book he’s been reading or a song he’s been listening to. That’s how it usually goes, and it’s enough for Lucas to spend the rest of the day smiling quietly to himself when nobody else can see him.

Except that now, when he goes to make Eliott’s tea — since Yann still hasn’t, shockingly, finished his call — Eliott is completely silent. He stands at the cash register and kind of just keeps biting at his lower lip — which, god — and shuffles a little awkwardly on his feet, and even when he sends Lucas a smile, it seems strained around the edges. Lucas finishes making the tea with a confused frown forming on his face, and it only deepens when he hands Eliott the cup and Eliott takes it, says, ”Thank you,” and then just keeps standing there.

Lucas tries to discreetly size him up, starting to feel worry sprout up next to his initial confusion. ”You’re welcome,” he says and it comes out sounding more like a question than a statement. He catches Eliott’s gaze, bright and beautiful. ”Is everything all right?”

”Yes, it’s— yes,” Eliott says, but the words are quick and laced with something Lucas can’t pinpoint. Eliott licks his lips again. Lucas tries very hard not to follow the movement too closely. ”I’m— listen, I— I need help.”

Lucas’s frown deepens. ”Okay,” he says, trying to swallow the worry down, ”well, how can I help you?”

It comes out sounding stupid but he can’t do much about it, really. Not when Eliott’s acting weird like that. They might not know each other very well, but he’s been talking to Eliott at least twice a week for the past two months and he doesn’t think he’s seen him acting like this before. Eliott usually seems like an extremely laid-back guy, with his gorgeous face and tall frame and shoulders hunched just a little bit. He laughs like he doesn’t have anything to worry about, ever. Lucas is not sure how to approach this change in his behaviour.

”This is going to sound really stupid,” Eliott says and then fidgets with the rings on his fingers, making a pause like he’s waiting for Lucas to stop him from talking. Lucas doesn’t, only waits until Eliott looks up at him again, then watches as Eliott takes a breath. ”Listen, I’m not sure if you know, but I’m an art student.” Lucas nods. He figured that out right, then. ”And I actually have an art project to make, and it’s about—it’s, well—” Eliott cuts himself off. Lucas raises his eyebrows, hoping it comes off as encouraging. ”It’s— We’ve been talking about what attraction and beauty mean in the context of contemporary art, and my teacher asked us to draw a portrait based on that theme, and I know it probably sounds extremely idiotic but I— was wondering if maybe you’d agree if I drew you. Possibly. If that’s okay.”

It takes Lucas a moment to register what Eliott has said.

Then, he swears his heart fucking stops for a moment, probably because all the blood in his system rushes to his face as he blushes.

”You—” Lucas is the one stuttering now. ”You want to draw me?”

Eliott runs a hand through his hair in a gesture that Lucas finally pinpoints as nervousness. Eliott’s freaking nervous. Oh, Jesus. ”I mean…if that’s okay?”

Lucas barely hears it. ”For your project about beauty?”

He watches, incredulously, as Eliott ducks his head and the tips of his ears get bright red. ”Yes,” Eliott tells him, small, and then he takes a breath and kind of squares his shoulders like he’s getting ready for something and says, in that same small, warm, sunlight voice, ”I— I just think you’re really beautiful.”

And Lucas thinks, oh.

For a moment, he just stands and looks at Eliott. At Beautiful Boy, with his big eyes and messy hair and his forever-there jacket, at how he shuffles on his feet nervously and how he’s fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt now. Something in his Lucas’s chest tips over and floods him with warmth, a tingly feeling, spreading slowly.

He says, ”Okay.”

Eliott’s head snaps up at that. ”Okay?”

”Yeah,” Lucas says, smiling at how Eliott’s voice sounds, then smiling wider as Eliott’s face lights up with a wide grin. ”Sounds good.”

”Great,” Eliott says. Lucas nods in agreement. It’s really great. Really great. Eliott thinks he’s beautiful. They keep smiling at each other like lunatics, grinning like kids, at 8 AM on a Friday. Lucas loves this job.

After a moment, Eliott shrugs a little, and it’s sheepish and endearing all at once and Lucas thinks, god. Jesus. ”Can I get your number?” Eliott asks, sounding shy, but also like he’s happy and Lucas is nodding before he even knows it.

He writes his number down on Eliott’s cup of tea, and then Eliott takes it and, smiling at Lucas with the brightest grin he’s seen from him yet, says, ”Thank you.”

And then he turns around and goes, and Lucas keeps grinning until Yann finally materialises by his side and starts laughing at how red Lucas’s face apparently is.

(He gets a text later.

what would you say, it says, if we started our portrait drawing session with a nice dinner first?)

#skam france #elu fic #elu #skamfr #skamfr fic #hope you like it!! it's corny but well :')#my writing #this was so much FUN #also it was supposed to be quick and it's over 2k words anyway welp

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Not Your (soul)Mate {3/?}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Are you guys ready for some meddling friends and conversations about stealing bread? Cool. I am too 💜 As always, thank you to @captainsjedi for her beautiful artwork and supportive reading and to the organizers of @cssns for putting this event together! 😘

Sorry for reposting. Something weird happened, and I had to delete it and try again!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 |

Tag list: @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @galaxyzxstark @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis@dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke@tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld@jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81@xellewoods @thejollyroger-writer @cssns

-/-

“I’m going to kill you for dragging me out here.”

“No you’re not.”

“Asshole.”

“Wanker.”

“Bastard.”

“You’re my brother, so if I’m a bastard, so are you!”

Killian stops running, his feet halting in their tracks, as his breath fully escapes him. They’ve been out here for over an hour, and his legs are burning. Hell, his entire body is burning, every inch of him slick with sweat that is doing nothing to put out the flames. He can practically feel his heart beating between his ears, and he knows that he shouldn’t hastily stop his running, that he should walk it out, but he can’t physically run anymore.

As much as he likes having their workouts done before work, sometimes six in the morning is too early when they don’t even have to be in the office until ten.

Scratch that. All of the time. Six is too early all of the time, and he’s an early riser most days. Unlike Liam, he’s never quite gotten out of a lot of the routines he became accustomed to in the Navy, but he likes to spend that time drinking his coffee or tea and eating breakfast, possibly catching up on some television or on what’s going on the world that he might need to know about. That’s not always the most pleasant thing, but it’s a necessary thing.

“I can’t believe,” he huffs, stretching his arms over his head to try to catch his breath and relieve some of the tension that’s pulling at all of his muscles while a pleasant breeze blows up from the beach, “that you basically just gave me a version of ‘I know you are but what am I.’”

“I probably got it from Luis and Luca. They’ve really been into fighting with each other lately.”

He looks over to his brother, eyes flickering down to his feet which are still moving despite the fact that they’ve stopped their run. The man is still getting exercise in when he knows that they’ve far surpassed their ten thousand steps...not that he tracks them. He had a fitbit at one point in time, but he may have accidentally dropped it into the ocean one day when he was inspecting one of their boats. He’d been messing with his wrist because his scars were agitated and burning like the dickens, and the damn thing came unclasped.

But really, there is no need for Liam to be still jogging in place. He knows that the man is five years older and that his metabolism might not be as great as Killian’s is right now, but damn. All he wants is to take a nice cold shower, eat some more food, and then maybe watch some television before he goes into work. He’s behind on The Rookie, and he really wants to catch up so that Ariel doesn’t ruin it for him. Whenever they watch the same shows, she always ruins them if he gets behind. And if she doesn’t, it’ll be Will. The only person he can count on to not spoil things is Robin, and that’s only because he doesn’t have time to watch anything that’s rated over G with a six year old at home. Technically Liam could also fall into that category, but Liam so rarely watches television unless Elsa makes him.

Elsa watches a hell of a lot of shows that are entirely in Norwegian so that Luca and Luis are bilingual. Liam is still working on his Norwegian, though. It’s funny, when Liam and Elsa could hear each other’s thoughts, things were always spoken in their native tongues.

It was like Google translate, free of charge and of bad mistranslations.

Imagine their surprise when they met and Liam didn’t speak Norwegian. Elsa speaks fluent English, though. Obviously she’s far superior to Liam.

He’d get his ass kicked if he ever spoke those words out loud.

It might be worth it. It’s most definitely true.

“Traffic is going to get bad if we stay out here too much longer,” he points out, his skin cooling down while his heart starts beating steadily again, normalcy returning to his body.

“We live in Storybrooke. There is no backed up traffic. Let’s do one more mile, and then I promise we’ll be finished. And good news for you, we’re not running tomorrow.”

He takes a deep breath, puffing his chest up, before he takes off, yelling to Liam that whoever gets to the library last has to buy lunch.

(He ends up buying lunch.)

(He’s going to have to start training alone so that he can beat Liam’s ass.)

(Who cares about fitness when being better than your brother is at stake?)

His next few weeks at work are a bit insane. It always is in the spring. On their website they recommend ordering customizations, especially full customizations or total redesigns, in the winter, preferably in the fall, but without fail, everyone seems to put in their orders in the late spring. It’s something about the sunshine being more prevalent, temperatures warming up, and everyone simply gets that itch to be outside, specifically to be on the water. He can’t blame his clients. He feels exactly the same way.

There’s likely no one who enjoys spending time outside, spending time out on the water, more than him, so he gets where everyone is coming from.

It honestly makes his life a little bit of a living hell.

It’s funny because hell is only supposed to be for the dead, and he’s only dead inside.

(Not really.)

Maybe his sense of humor is a little twisted.

Being busy is a good thing. It keeps his hands and mind occupied, and that’s something that he desperately needs right now. He needs something to think about other than his personal life. His friends and his family are great like they’ve always been, but they all have lives of their own that are separate from him. He spends his days at work, evenings as a mixture of personal times and spending time with all of his loved ones, but ever since Ariel’s pregnancy announcement dinner, his mind has been absolutely muddled with thoughts of...everything. He’d say his mind is muddled with thoughts of Emma Swan, but that would only be half the truth. After all, he’s only met her once, and he barely knows anything about her.

Scratch that.

There’s a pretty high probability (and he knows this even if his mathematics may be a little off and out of practice) that she’s his soulmate.

That is absolutely the most insane thing in the world. He doesn’t want a soulmate, not really. A part of him does, but for years now all he’s felt is despair. He doesn’t want to be forced to love someone. And yet only days after the anniversary of Milah leaving him, he might have met the woman who is supposedly the love of his life.

But what if he’d already met his?

What if he can’t love again after Milah? What if the universe is telling him to move on in a very big way and he’s not ready? What is he supposed to do with that?

It doesn’t even matter. Emma had been kind and witty, bloody well one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen, but she’d very clearly not been interested in him. Obviously she was sexually, if only because they apparently literally cannot help themselves (She’s obviously stronger with her restraint than he is.), but she made it clear as day that nothing was going to become of them. He doesn’t know her, doesn’t know her background outside of what he’s picked up from friends, but she seemed just as averse to soulmates as he was.

Maybe they are kindred spirits.

Obviously they are.

But maybe in a different way.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything, really.

He’s freaking Jon Snow.

(Is it still funny to make that joke now that the show is over?)

(It doesn’t matter. He’s still going to make that joke.)

It’s all a confusing mess. He’s met the woman he’s supposed to be with. He’s met his soulmate like all of his friends and family have, but he imagines that not a single one of them had an aversion to their loves to the point of them meeting and then never speaking again despite having access to each other. It’d be a bit of a roundabout way, but he could still talk to her if he really wanted to. All he’d have to do is go to the police station, frequent Granny’s Diner since that’s where Ariel and Emma eat lunch together, or literally ask any one of his friends for her number.

But Emma’s not interested.

Besides, when they met, he spilled water down her dress, making it see through, and then they’d made each other aroused to the point that she caught him wanking one off. It was not one of his finer moments, so it might be for the best that they don’t see each other for awhile. Or forever. It’s not like they can talk to each other in public anyhow. Emma may be able to hide how it affects her, but he cannot no matter how many unpleasant thoughts he thinks.

Seriously. He’s come up with a lot of boner killers over the years, and none of them work.

The universe is fucking with them because it wants them to fuck.

Will: Belle wants to invite you over for dinner tomorrow. Can you make it?

He looks down at his phone, at the message that just popped up. Belle is always inviting him over for dinner. She’s an absolute sweetheart, but he honestly thinks she must assume he doesn’t eat or that he’s lonely. He does eat, and he isn’t lonely. But Belle and Will are both brilliant cooks, most likely because Belle spends her days in a library that has a section full of cook books and Will is always experimenting with food at the Rabbit Hole. So he’s definitely not going to complain.

Killian: Sure! What time?

Will: Six. We’ve got to do it before I go to work.

Killian: Okay, I’ll make sure to leave the office early.

He’s just put his phone back on his desk when it buzzes again, Will’s message popping up on the screen.

Will: At Belle’s apartment, not mine.

Cue the Tag Team because Whoomp (there it is).

He’s being set up on a double date with Emma, and he’s already agreed to go. He already knows that’s what happened because never once have they gone to Belle’s apartment instead of Will’s. Not once.

Sneaky bastards.

Starting tomorrow he’s designing himself a boat...no, he’s designing himself a ship that he can live in for the rest of his days, because he needs to leave Storybrooke in order to avoid Emma Swan.

He’s not even sure if he wants to. All he knows is that he can’t possibly be in public with her.

This entire dinner is going to be spent with him sitting at the table dying a little inside with every word, isn’t it?

No one told him life was going to be this way.

(He’s got to stop quoting songs.)

Maybe she won’t be there. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Will’s apartment has a gas leak or something and that’s why the dinner is at Belle’s.

-/-

He hears Emma talking from outside the apartment door before he gets to the end of the hallway where their apartment is. His thing with sounds, his unfortunate ability to be able to hear absolutely everything unless he’s actively focusing on not hearing it or distracted by something else, is somehow heightened when Emma talks or laughs or even, he assumes, when she sneezes. He has a visceral reaction to it, his entire body heating and tensing, and he hasn’t figured out how to control it, how to make it stop.

There’s about thirty seconds from now until he’s inside that apartment to figure it out.

He doesn’t figure it out.

“Hi,” Belle smiles the moment she opens the door, not even letting him gather his bearings or knock. Belle might very well be the most considerate person he knows, Mary Margaret aside, and she has no idea that she is helping in his demise.

He’s not dramatic in the slightest.

(He definitely is.)

“Hello, love,” he greets, leaning down to kiss her cheek and handing her the bottle of wine he’s brought with him. He prefers to bring homemade food, but he came straight from work and only had time to grab something from the grocery store down the street. “You look absolutely beautiful today.”

“Thank you. Why don’t you come in? I hope you don’t mind that Emma is here. You two have met, right?”

He’s about to answer Belle, to say that they have, even if he sees the cheeky smile on Belle’s face, when Emma turns around from her seat at the table and sees him. She’s in leggings and a sweatshirt, her feet only covered in comically mismatched socks, and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail under a baseball cap. And if the way her lips keep parting before coming together again is any indication, she had no idea that he was coming.

Surprise.

She’s going to hate him.

This was definitely some kind of set up. Never in doubt.

“Hello, Swan,” he waves, awkwardly putting his hand in the air and moving his fingers. Her mouth snaps closed, lips pressing into a firm line, and he sees her eyes roll even under the shadow of her cap. She’s not happy that he’s here, and he doesn’t blame her. They’re in a bit of a complicated situation.

Instead of speaking (thank goodness), Emma simply waves back with a flick of her wrist and the slightest nod of her head. He’s grateful for that, truly. This entire night is going to be torture, but she’s doing him a kindness there. It’s the little things in life.

“Oi, why do you look like the cat has your tongue, mate?”

“Shut up, Scarlett.”

“You know I’m incapable of that. Besides, milady likes the sound of my voice.”

“I don’t know what you see in him,” he sighs to Belle as he walks into the apartment and settles against the kitchen counter next to the table where Emma is alternating between shooting him daggers and completely avoiding his gaze. He should probably stop talking, but he’s not entirely sure how to do that when he’s having dinner. Conversation is kind of expected.

They could all become mimes.

The apartment is a small place, especially for two people, but Emma and Belle have it decorated in soft whites and creams with green and blue pillows and accents everywhere. As well as books. He shouldn’t be surprised at that, especially with Belle living here, but he wasn’t expecting them to have an entire wall of the things. It’s nice though, cozy even. He loves his apartment, but there’s a certain staleness to it sometimes. He doesn’t have much there, just his leather couch with one or two pillows and a painting of the horizon at the bay hanging over his television. He’s got bookshelves too, but it’s nothing like the packed space before him. He wonders if Emma is a bookworm as well.

He hopes that she likes flowers for all of the ones that Belle’s father sends them from his shop.

“He’s surprisingly kind when he’s not being an asshole.”

“So once or twice a year then?”

There’s a loud snicker, more of a snort really, and he whips his head to the right to see Emma covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking the slightest bit. Well, look at that. He made her laugh. It may be a good night already.

“You find that funny, love?” he teases, not able to stop himself from talking when he knows that she must be losing her mind. Maybe he’s a bit sadistic, but it’s kind of fun watching her squirm and knowing that there’s nothing she can do to stop him.

“You? Funny? I don’t believe it’s your allotted one time a year for that.”

The beginnings of arousal spark at the base of his spine, but it’s not enough to do anything. Thank fuck.

“It’s not a funny joke when you have to steal it from me, love.”

“That’s cute that you thought it was a funny joke to begin with.”

“Aww, sweetheart,” Will sighs, leaning back in his chair so that it props up on two legs while he looks at Belle who is grabbing glasses out of the cabinet, “would you look at the two of them flirting?”

“We are not flirting,” he and Emma say at the same time while the real hum of arousal starts to spread across his skin. Sighing, he speaks again on his own. “Belle, would you like some help with dinner since your boyfriend is a wanker who isn’t helping you out?”

“You guys are such weird friends, but sure. That’d be great.”

He helps Belle butter slices of toast while she gets the lasagna out of the oven, the two of them easily moving in and out of the kitchen. His left hand being near heat can sting sometimes, so he tries to avoid it on days where he has pains. It’s been nearly a decade since the accident, and sometimes it’s like nothing has changed. He and Belle fill in casual conversation, catching up on how they’ve been while Belle recommends him some new books to come pick up from the library, and Will occasionally adds something in to make Belle laugh, her entire face lighting up. He sees Emma get up from the table and stalk off to what must be her room, and not a part of him blames her. It’s likely what’s best for the both of them, and he appreciates it.

Until she comes back into the room right as they start to eat, silently fixing herself a plate and settling down across from him. He can’t help but watch her, be fascinated by her. For someone who he knows is intelligent and graceful, incredibly athletic if her legs and arms are anything to go by, she’s not very graceful as she eats. He can’t count the amount of times she’s gotten sauce on her chin and he’s had to motion to his own to get her to wipe it off. It’s funny, if he’s honest with himself, but he’s also pretty sure that each move he makes causes Emma to hate him that little bit more.

Hate may be too strong of a word. She simply wants absolutely nothing to do with him. That’s all.

And that’s totally not hate.

Belle and Will are most definitely trying to set the two of them up, as every other sentence is some kind of not-so-gentle nudge for he and Emma to talk to each other. Emma is much better at avoiding everything, deftly nodding her head in answer or giving as curt of a response as possible. He’s not so adept at it, getting roped into saying a bit more than Emma does. He can’t help himself, even though he’s pretty sure that she’s going to murder him and then hide the evidence. She is a detective, after all.

He’s taking a sip of his wine while Belle and Will are having some kind of argument over their upcoming vacation. It’s refreshing to see that even with the whole soulmate thing that people still have normal arguments and petty squabbles. It makes life seem more…real and not like he’s living in some kind of manufactured box.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Emma slide her phone across the table, the screen lit up with the messaging app open. He takes it, pulling it into his side so Belle and Will don’t see. It’s not like they’re paying attention anyways. They’re currently debating if they should go to England or to the beach in Florida. He’s not really sure how that’s a competition, but then again, sometimes people like sunshine.

Sometimes people also like not burning up in the fiery pits of hell of Florida.

If we leave right now, I bet they won’t even notice.

He chuckles at her words, looking up and curving his lips into a smile only to see her looking down intently focusing on what he assumes is a split end on her ponytail. Obviously he knows that she wanted him to see this message. She typed it and sent her phone over to him, but she’s acting like he doesn’t exist. It’s an odd disconnect, but he guesses this is how this is going to go.

Do you think we can take the bread with us?

God no. Belle would snap our heads off. The bread isn’t even worth it.

The bread is always worth it.

That gets a laugh out of Emma, even if he almost missed her small snicker. But he can see the slightest tick of her lips, the smallest of smiles peeking out.

Damn. It feels good to make her smile.

He’s not supposed to be feeling that way.

At least he’s not feeling aroused. That’s a damn good feeling and all, but it’s not something he really wants to deal with right now. It still may be the most idiotic soulmate (or maybe not soulmate and just some sick, twisted game the universe is playing with the two of them to screw them up even more) sign in the world, and while he’s still wondering just how long he’s going to have to suffer with it, it may not be the worst thing in the world.

As long as he doesn’t speak to Emma.

That seems pretty easy since they probably won’t be stuck eating another meal together.

He’s not sure how he feels about that.

“Killian,” Belle huffs, slapping her hands against the table just as he’s texting himself on Emma’s phone so that he has her number, something that contradicts every logical thought that he’s had all night (and something that will probably piss her off), “will you please tell Will that we don’t need to go to England when we can go somewhere nice and relaxing like the beach in Miami, which is definitely different than the beach here?”

“I – ”

“Florida sucks,” Emma starts, inching her glass into the middle of the table so that he can covertly slide her phone back to her. ��It’s not only hot but also humid, and the people there are assholes.”

“Oh Emma,” Belle sighs, her eyes widening with what he thinks is compassion, “just because Neal is – ”

“It’s not about Neal,” Emma barks, cutting Belle off. If he wasn’t so interested in who Neal is and why he causes such a reaction from Emma, he’d probably notice the slight tingling sensation that’s working its way over himself. “Go to Spain or something. You get Europe and the beach. I’m going to bed.”

With that Emma gets up from the table and stalks over to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. He thought that things were going well tonight, especially with their little back and forth over the phone, but whatever just happened obviously made her change her mind.

“Damn, Jones. What’d you do to make her so mad? I told you she could kick all of our asses.”

He holds his hands up and shakes his head from side to side. “I didn’t do a thing. She was fine.”

“Until I mentioned Neal,” Belle laments, her lips parting slightly before snapping shut. He so wants to ask who Neal is, the words on the tip of his tongue, but it’s none of his business. Emma might not be interested in him, despite her being kind of friendly to him tonight, but if she’s really his soulmate, he’d like to get to know her on his own. Betraying her trust doesn’t seem like the best way to start that. And if she isn’t his soulmate, he’d still like to get to know her. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why? You think Emma doesn’t enjoy talking about her bastard of an ex?”

An ex.

He figured that, but it’s still…nice, he guesses, to have confirmation even if he doesn’t want to know more.

“I just hate that she’s been hurt so badly,” Belle sighs, rising from the table and collecting plates. He stands with her, not about to let her take care of everything when she cooked. “I wish she could find her soulmate so that she could have that partnership, you know? Like us, Will.”

“You and I both bloody well know that Emma will shove her soulmate away whenever she finds him. She’s not about to fall for everything just because someone tells her to.”

Boy do they have no idea.

He doesn’t stay there much longer, only helping to clean up and chat with Will and Belle a bit more, before he’s leaving Belle and Emma’s apartment and walking home thinking about all of the little bits that he learned about Emma tonight. She’s definitely got protective layers around her heart, something he can understand, but he can also see some of the cracks that let in her friendliness and her humor. Sure, the humor might be a defense mechanism, but it’s still humor.

He rather likes her, he thinks.

He’s not sure if it’s just as friends or some kind of crush, but he knows that he doesn’t seem to hate her. Really, he’d love to talk to her some more. If only the universe didn’t suck and they didn’t have this teeny tiny (in his case big if he does say so himself) problem that keeps them from doing that.

Never in his life has he hated getting turned on this easily.

(Except maybe in secondary school in the middle of a mathematics exam, but that’s an unfortunate story for another day.)

Walking into his apartment, he turns on the lights and kicks off his shoes, leaning down to put them in the right order on his little rack, before he sheds his jacket and hangs it on its hook. It’s eerily quiet in here compared to his dinner, so when he sits down on his couch and props his feet up on the ottoman, he immediately turns the television on, letting it stay on the History Channel for some background noise on the American Revolution.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he responds to Ariel’s text about her time off for a doctor’s appointment next week. He’s about to put it back in his pocket when he remembers Emma’s number in his phone. He could text her, but should he? She probably doesn’t want to hear from him, especially if she’s in a bad mood because Belle mentioned her ex, but it’s almost like he can’t help himself.

Dammit.

He’s thirty-five. He should not be having this much of an issue on deciding whether or not to text a woman he fancies.

Killian: You know, I quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me.

One, two, three minutes pass. He watches his screen for all of them.

Emma: I could just block you, you know.

He snickers at that. Of course that’s where she goes first.

Killian: I know. I also know where you live.

Emma: That’s stalkerish, dude.

Killian: Block my number and throw me in a jail cell, love. I’m ready for it.

Emma: Kinky.

Killian: The name’s Killian.

Emma: Asshole.

Killian: I also answer to that.

She takes a few minutes to respond, the little dots popping up on his screen and disappearing over and over again.

Emma: Good.

#Not Your (soul)Mate #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #cssns

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another-sonic-blog · 6 years

Text

Dark Prince

Prompt: "Amy all of a sudden started to feel like she is really ugly and wants to undergo surgery when Shadow heard about that he freaked out."- Spikeeeee

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I didn’t want this face, I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the small freckles on my cheeks, my round nose, nor the way my double chin would show up every time I smiled.

Just everything about myself... disgusted me.

It has begun with my body, I wasn’t well proportioned. There was fat in the parts I didn’t want it to be, and flat skin where I wanted something else to be there. I thought that my face would make up for the mistake but as I stared into the mirror, I realized that the only good thing about it, was the green tint in my eyes.

It wasn’t enough, I wasn’t enough.

I tried to apply makeup once to see if that would help me, but the moment I stepped out into the street, people staring at me with a look of concern in their face, I decided to never do it again.

And no I wasn’t doing it to get a boy’s attention. I was doing it for myself, so one day I could finally look at the mirror and like what I see.

“Are you sure about this honey?”

Rouge, my closest friend looked at me confused. She was probably the most beautiful creature alive, I had to admit that sometimes I would get jealous of her. She was blessed with good looks and she knew it. She had confidence and that only made her more beautiful.

“Yes, I think this would make me feel better”

“I don’t see a problem with “fixing” something you don’t like about yourself in order to get more confidence. But I do believe that that confidence you are seeking for is not suddenly going to appear because you had a nose job”, Rouge rolled around my bed trying to get a better look at myself. I pretended to be doing work on my laptop, indeed to say she was so beautiful that sometimes it would intimidate me. I didn’t look away from my laptop but I could feel her staring at me.

“I’ll try to work on it Rouge, I know it sounds kinda sudden but I have honestly been thinking about it for a year now... I think this is definitely for me”, I added as I took enough courage to turn my chair to face her.

“Are you sure this is not to please a boy or anybody else, right?”, Rouge straightened up as she gently rested herself on the edge of my bed, facing me directly to get her point across.

“Definitely but... don’t you think it’s a bit weird? I am 20 and I never had a boyfriend before.”

“No, of course not! Everyone is different when it comes to dating, so don’t ever feel pressure because of that.”

But Amy did. Even her own parents found it strange that at 17 she had never brought home a boy before.

“Your mother and I wanted to ask you... if you like girls? Because if you do that’s completely fine, we still love you and-“

Amy stopped listening, she couldn’t tell her parents that it wasn’t that she didn’t like boys. It was that boys didn’t like her.

“You are right.”

Amy didn’t sound completely satisfied and Rouged noticed that she only agreed with her to avoid an argument.

If Amy could just understand how she is way more than just ‘pretty’.

Rouge pleaded for nothing but that.

“You were completely lost today’s meeting, what’s wrong with you?”

Rouge snapped out of her trance and noticed the ‘Dark Prince’ in front of her. Or so that’s what the ladies in G.U.N. call him. She looked at Shadow and really wonder what the females see him. He was sarcastic, had terrible fashion sense and had an addiction to black coffee. Maybe it was because they were different species, but she definitely found Knuckles way more attractive than him.

“I know, I was just thinking about a friend.”

“You are the leader of Team Dark, I believe you should really focus on meetings, especially in this one since the commander just explained our next mission.”, Shadow said as he poured another cup of coffee into his mug.

“What?! Oh, Chaos...You are right, I should really separate my work with my personal life-.”

Shadow then suddenly slide a notebook in front of Rouge. She looked at her side to find him taking a sip of his coffee delicately. “It’s my notes, everything you need is there. Feel free to keep it.” Shadow then sat down in front of her, sip by sip finishing his coffee.

Rouge smiled as she holds the notebook dearly. So this was why they called him the ‘Dark Prince’. It wasn’t only that, she remembered once that a co-worker of theirs had expressed how sad she was because they were closing the flower shop in front of G.U.N and she wouldn’t be able to see the flowers from her window anymore.

The next morning, Rouge found Shadow placing flowers all over their co-workers’ workplace.

At first, she thought that Shadow might like her, but it wasn’t until she noticed that Shadow was just nice like that.

Like when the commander assistant had forgotten to write her report and Shadow stayed with her all night to help her finish it.

Or like when he helped the mechanic's team test their new vehicle’s resistance with his Chaos Spear multiple times without telling them that it hurts him to do them constantly.

“Thank you.”

“No problem... but it might help you telling me about this friend of yours if you want.”

It wasn’t just that, it was the small things. Shadow was extremely caring, he might not show it often. But Shadow cares for everyone in G.U.N. He listened to the entrance guard for three hours straight about how he had problems with his wife and never complained about it.

“Well...”. Rouge adjusted herself, “It’s about Amy, you remember her-“

Next thing she knew. Shadow had spilled his coffee from his mouth.

“Are you alright?!”, Rouge had never seen Shadow spilled coffee like before and she had to admit that it was even comical.

“Yeah, the coffee was just too hot”, Shadow tried to keep his cool but was failing at it miserably.

“Coffee is never too hot for you tho”

“It was this time.”

“Well... like I was saying...”, Rouge give one last look at Shadow before continuing her story. “Amy, it’s going to have plastic surgery for her nose and I don’t know, something about it doesn’t fully convince me. I am not against plastic surgery but I feel like Amy definitely doesn’t need it.”

“Oh no, she absolutely does not need it. Has she seen herself in a mirror? She’s completely gorgeous-.” Shadow stopped himself, already cursing himself for not keeping his composure.

“I didn’t know you had a thing for pink hedgehogs.” Rouge teases him, who would have thought that the Dark Prince had a crush on Amy Rose.

Wait, it all made sense now. For some reason, every single Monday since a year ago, Shadow would get late to work. Instead of coming to work at 9:00, he would come at 9:30. Which is weird because Shadow being the Ultimate Life-form and being the perfectionist he is, it wouldn’t seem he was the type to do that. Amy was the owner of her own business called “Momo Cafe.”

Amy has told her once that every Monday, Shadow shows up to buy black coffee.

Rouge had never really thought on it before, she thought that it was just Shadow being the coffee lover that he was. But now that she thinks about...

Shadow had never liked coffee before Amy opened her cafe, which was around one year ago. Since then, Rouge had always seen Shadow with a cup of black coffee on his hand.

“Oh, Shadow you don’t have a crush on Amy... You love her don’t you?”

Shadow hated how good Rouge was at these things.

“Me? You perfectly know I don’t have time for that.”, Shadow tried to play it off but both of them knew that it was game over for him.

“True, you don’t have time for that... but you know who does? Sonic.”, Rouge already knew his weakness and was ready to play her cards well. “You know another thing? Amy told me that one of the reasons she was doing surgery was so Sonic could notice her.”

“What? Why would she want the attention of that faker?”, Shadow’s voice raises and Rouge knew that he just needed a little push.

“Oh, well, Amy really wants a boyfriend and I don’t blame her. After all, everyone needs affection once in a while and who better to give it to her than the worldwide hero Sonic the Hedgehog? It’s not like there’s someone out there as strong and confident like him...” Rouge just need one more sentence to finish him. “... or maybe there is?”

“What do you mean?”

She had him now.

“You know what I mean... there’s a ton of boys who want to date Amy. She receives flowers every day from different guys at the cafe... maybe one of these days she would say yes to one of them.”

“...oh...”

Rouge looked at Shadow who seems to be in deep thought. He kept taking sips of his coffee until he finished it and he stared in into the cup in silence.

Was this it? Really? All of this lies for nothing? Was Shadow not gonna do anything about it? She literally told him that Amy was willing to go under surgery in order to please society and he just gonna sit there and-

“Rouge, can you cover up for me for a while?”

Oh, there we go again, Dark Prince.

It was already late and the sun had begun to set. Amy was about to close her cafe for today. She pulled out her keys but as she looked into the inside of the cafe one last time, she noticed a figure behind her being reflected on the door’s crystal. She turned around to find her number one customer, Shadow the Hedgehog.

“Hey, Amy”

“Hey, Shadow. How are you being? I haven’t seen you since...well, this morning”, Amy goggle a little bit and Shadow’s heartbeat stopped for a second.

“Yeah, um actually I um... wanted to talk to you for a bit if you don’t mind.”

Amy really wasn’t feeling like it but Shadow has become her number one client and he didn’t want to disappoint just yet.

“Sure, would you like to come inside?”, Amy made a gesture with her hand, showing the inside of the cafe. The lights were off but nothing that she couldn’t handle. Shadow was ashamed to make Amy do so much for him but thought to himself that this was utterly necessary.

Shadow nodded and Amy turned around to open the door once again.

The sight was lovely. It was quiet, but not too much. The lights were dim and the aroma of the coffee made the scene almost to perfect. Seeing Amy sitting in front of him as she peacefully drank her coffee made him think that this could potentially a date if he wanted to make it so but in his fantasies this was already made a million times.

“I didn’t know you were a fan of black coffee too, ”Shadow asked the pink hedgehog in front of him who look up to him with her emerald eyes.

“I love all types of coffee... I guess that’s why I opened up a cafe... which to be honest I didn’t think it was going to grow so fast.” Amy responded.

“Why is that?”

“Well, when I opened Momo Cafe I had no money left for advertisement. However, two weeks after I opened, someone called making a bunch of orders to be delivered at different companies throughout the city... I was baffled that guy almost spent 1,000 dollars on coffee. I was really blessed because after that; the companies that I sent coffee to buy coffee from me every day.”, Amy ended her story with a melancholic smile on her face. “If I had the opportunity, I wished I could thank him.”

“Seems like you had luck... you shouldn’t question your success too much. You work hard for it after all.”, Shadow took another sip of his coffee, missing the flavor of it.

“I think you are right.”

“You are a successful young woman, educated who also possess incredible qualities... you must have a lot of suitors.”

There, Shadow was going now straight to the point. He wasn’t one to lose his cool so easily but when it came down to Amy... well things don’t usually go his way.

“Well... not really...I don’t think I fit their beauty standards.”

Shadow notices that the question had made her feel uncomfortable but there was no way out now and he had to keep pushing to make her realize.

“I think you are mistaken... guys don’t talk to you because they are intimidated of you... “

“Really?”

“Yes, Amy you are beyond beautiful but you are more than a pretty face.", Shadow waited for Amy's reaction. Her eyes shone and her face was nothing but red.

"You...you really think that way Shadow?."

Amy couldn't believe what the Dark Prince was telling her. Yes, she knew the title that Shadow holds, how all the girls were over him and how none of them interested Shadow.

She was starting to believe what Shadow was saying may be true. Because Shadow could be many things, but he wasn't a liar.

"Amy, if only you could see how your freckles look like the stars, how your cute round nose wrinkles whenever you smell something you like or the way your double chin shows when you smile...Amy, you are like the entire universe in one person." The sight in front of him encouraged him to continued and without knowing, he kept babbling just letting his emotions take over him.

They shared a silence in which Shadow suffered the most. He still couldn't say his true feelings, but if it was for Amy, then maybe...just maybe he could.

"I don't why I suddenly feel this way. It wasn't much of a problem before but realizing how I never had anyone to be with...I just thought that I was the problem and I wanted to fix that problem even if that was just a bit. It is still a bit hard to believe your words...but Shadow... right now your words mean the world to me."

Shadow was ready to say it all. The adrenaline was taking over him, he felt his cheeks could burst at how hot they were. He straightens up, cleared his voice and was ready to say that three-word sentence. Instead, Shadow received the epiphany of his life, something that changed him.

Not even in his deepest fantasy, he imaged this could happen.

Amy's face brightens up and whispered that three-word sentence he was waiting for her to say for so long:

"Shadow, thank you."

A/n: dedicated to those who can't see the stars in their freckles.

#shadamy boom #shadamy fanfiction #shadamy comic #shadamy #shadow the hedgehog #shadow and amy #shadowxamy #Amy Rose #amyrose #Amy the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #Rouge the Bat #fan fiction #fanfiction #romance #sonic fanfiction #sonic fanfic #romace

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

THE EFFORT THAT GOES INTO LOOKING PRODUCTIVE IS NOT MERELY A USELESS METRIC, BUT POSITIVELY MISLEADING

Some investors want to know what your valuation is before they even talk to you about investing. It's more straightforward just to make the team, and if not it doesn't matter whether you fund them, because when everything else is collapsing around you, having just ten users who love you will keep you going in one direction if there weren't powerful forces pushing you in another.1 You may be wasting your time, but you're not idle. In big companies there's always going to be more politics, and less scope for individual decisions.2 Cofounders are for a startup what location is for real estate. I knew intellectually, but didn't really grasp till it happened to us.3 It's a consequence of the tree, you're going to have to think about the upper limit is, we are clearly not meant to work in the pure, intellectual world of software, not deal with customers' mundane problems.4 Obviously one case where it would help to be rapacious is when growth depends on that. If these guys had thought they were starting companies, they might have been ok if he was content to limit himself to talking to the press, but what if he wanted to have a co-founder.

Ideally this meant getting a lot of people, and promoted from within based largely on seniority. The numbers on the Y axis will take care of itself. Comments have much more freedom. Like the time the power went off in Cambridge for about six hours, and we made the mistake of trying to start a new company using Lisp. Let your idea evolve. So orange usernames won't be back.5 You may be wasting your time. In nearly every startup that fails, the proximate cause is running out of room.

If these guys had thought they were starting companies, they might have been. Europeans didn't introduce formal civil service exams took years, as prep school does today. There are two major types of problems a site like Hacker News needs to avoid: bad stories and bad comments. The reason tablets are going to be more than a couple hours, and we made the mistake of trying to make credentials better. Eventually we settled on one millon, because Julian said no one would invest in a company with a valuation any lower. I don't know if I could only keep one.6 I've learned about dilution is that it's not that high a cost. That plus the inexperience card should work in most situations: sorry, we think you're great, but PG said startups shouldn't, and since they're the customer you can take their word for it. Probably because the product was a dog, or never seemed likely to be done, or both. We've now funded so many different types of investors, you should get all the users, and the latter is not simply a constant fraction of the probability that the company will die or at the very least people will have to be a hot deal—they can pretend they just got distracted and then restart the conversation as if they'd been anointed as the next Google?7 That depends.

Ideally you want between two and four founders. But maybe the older generation would laugh at me for saying that the way we work: a normal job may be as bad for us, why is it so common? What cram schools are, in effect, an annuity. But just two companies, Dropbox and Airbnb, account for about three quarters of it. I was saying. But by works I mean something more subtle than when they can get away with it. These are the only places I know that have the right kind of place for developing software. But how do you know it's not 70%?8 The record labels and movie studios used to distribute what they made like air shipped through tubes on a moon base, though.

We probably had 20 deals of various types fall through. It felt as if there was a bug, and then come back to work.9 Individual performance is hard to measure in large organizations, and the most common question people ask is how many employees you have. Some investors will try to seem more corporate, corporations will try to invest at a lower valuation.10 David Filo's title was Chief Yahoo, but he was proud that his unofficial title was Cheap Yahoo. Usually you want to sell, they take the meeting. When you start fundraising, your initial plans are almost certain to be wrong; be confident enough to tell them to get lost.11 This essay focuses on phase 2 fundraising consists of presenting a slide deck in person to collect a check.

For example, working for a big company is like high fructose corn syrup, and hydrogenated vegetable oil. This is already clear in cases like GPSes, music players, and cameras.12 Miraculously it all turned out ok. We had office chairs so cheap that the arms all fell off.13 Instead of sitting in your grubby apartment listening to users complain about bugs in your software is what will make you successful—making things and talking to users, we understood online commerce way better than anyone else. Fee, fie, fo, fum, I smell a company run by marketing guys.14 I'm going to give you a termsheet.

Notes

You know what kind of intensity and dedication from programmers that they use; if there were about 60,000 sestertii e. No one seems to pass so slowly for them. There are titles between associate and partner, which is all about hitting outliers, are not the sense that if colleges want to start some vaguely benevolent business. But this is mainly due to the extent we see incumbents suppressing competitors via regulations or patent suits, we used to do better, and a few old professors in Palo Alto, but he turned them down.

17. No big deal.

Most of the growth is valuable, and for filters it's textual. Once the playing field is leveler politically, we'll see economic inequality in the Bible is Pride goeth before destruction, and those are usually obvious, even if it's dismissed, it's a harder problem than Hall realizes. When a lot of classic abstract expressionism is doodling of this theory is that they use; if you have a single cause. As well as problems that have little to bring corporate bonds; a vogue for conglomerates in the Baskin-Robbins.

The nationalistic idea is bad. People who value their peace, or b to get good grades.

This sentence originally read GMail is painfully slow. Xenophon Mem.

Why go to a car dealer. You have to deliver because otherwise competitors would take Abelson and Sussman's quote a step later in the right way. Microsoft than Netscape was.

Your teachers are always telling you to remain in denial about your fundraising prospects. What Is an Asset Price Bubble?

If a company he really liked, but getting rich, purely mercenary founders will seem dumb in 100 years ago, and it would annoy our competitor more if we couldn't decide between turning some investors away and selling more of it, and Fred Wilson to fund them. Which is precisely my point. At any given college.

Maybe that isn't what they'd like it takes a startup to succeed in business are likely to coincide with mathematicians' judgements. Now to people he knew. It was harder for you, however. So although it works on all the potential series A termsheet with a face-saving compromise.

This is the most useless investors are just not super thoughtful for the popular vote.

It's not simply a function of revenues, and it would take their customers. 66. Though most VCs are only locally accurate, because even if they make money, the assembly line, the same way a restaurant as a constituency.

To talk to mediocre ones. 4%, Macintosh 18.

Mozilla is open-source browser. If you freak out when people are immune to the writing teachers were transformed in situ into English professors. Sofbot.

What made Google Google is much more attractive to investors, is deliberately vague, we're going to use some bad word multiple times. With the good ones, and logic. Ironically, one variant of the optimism Europeans consider distinctly American is simply that it would do fairly well as good ones don't even want to impress are not in the US, it seems. The two are not written by the customs of the latter without also slowing the former depends a lot cheaper than business school, because despite some progress in the general manager of the funds we raised was difficult, and Smartleaf co-founder before making any predictions about the size of the grad students they admit each year are long shots.

Thanks to Geoff Ralston, Robert Morris, Joshua Reeves, Sam Altman, and Jackie McDonough for putting up with me.

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fantastic-fans · 7 years

Text

College Library

5 times Will failed at conversation with Nico, and One time he succeeded

The first time Will Solace spoke to the raven-haired kid known as Nico Di Angelo, was in the campus Library. Will had gone into the building to study for an upcoming medical exam and was not planning on basically staring at the skinny boy with an aviator jacket the whole time. However, Will’s life doesn’t always go according to plan.

At first, Will just stared at Nico over the top of his medical book. He’s pretty sure he’s in the chapter about treating broken bones, but it could also be about stitching up surgical cuts. He’s not completely sure.

After about fifteen minutes of staring at the boy, and not actually studying, Will decides he probably should go back to his dorm if there’s a distraction at the library. A beautiful distraction.

Will reluctantly gets up from his table to pack his things, and then he goes to check out the three books he has. On the way to the checkout desk, he bumps into someone as he wasn’t paying attention.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Will stoops down to help the kid pick up the books he dropped. Once Will hands the books back and looks at the kid’s face, he flushes a bright red.

maybe I can ask him to hang out sometime. Yeah. Let’s do that.

However, when Will speaks, all that actually comes out is “Hi, um, I, me, you. Bye.” Which leads to Will’s face flushing a deeper red wine color as he speed walks away from the cute boy with pale skin.

God Damnit. Why can’t I just talk normally around cute guys?

Will doesn’t get his answer that night.

The next time Will talks to Nico is, once again, in the school Library. This time Nico isn’t wearing ripped jeans and his aviator jacket over a black t-shirt. Now, he’s wearing plaid PJ pants, with a baggy AC/DC shirt. His shoes aren’t shoes but slippers, and he has a large thermos, which is most likely filled with coffee if Nico’s twitching is any indication.

All of this is completely understandable as it is currently one am. The Library closes at two, and it seems like both boys decided to get in some late night work done.

Nico, Will notices, seems to be working on some sort of project that deals with Alexander Hamilton as he has about three books on him laid out in front of him, and mini note cards scattered on the table as well.

Currently, Will is sitting at a table close to Nico writing an essay on the importance of African texts for his world lit class. He’d rather be anywhere but here, but he has to finish the essay as it’s due tomorrow or today, and he had put it off until now. He currently has three of the five paragraphs written, and can’t wait to be up in the dorm he shares with Cecil and be asleep. His first class on Thursday isn’t until eleven so he will have time to sleep.

Right as Will starts his fourth paragraph he hears a tiny ‘fuck’ come from the only other person in the library, and he turns to see that Nico had spilled coffee over himself.

Will jumps up, unzips his bag, and pulls out the tissue box he stuffed in there for his cold. He walks over to Nico and taps his shoulder. Nico’s head whips around, eyes hard. As soon as Nico spots will, his eyes go soft.

“Uh, for the, uh, coffee. Um, here.” Will shoves the box at Nico, who takes, giving Will a small smile which makes Will’s lovestruck heart absolutely melt.

“Thanks Will.”

HOLY FUCK HE KNOWS MY NAME!

“Uh, yeah.” And Will once again runs off. This time, stopping at his table to gather his things, and promptly leaves the library. Will can still feel his whole face burning even when he gets back to his dorm.

The third time Will speaks with Nico was, for once, not at the library. Nico was working at the quaint coffee shop that Will had just entered. Nico had on a red apron with the coffee shop’s logo of an espresso cup with steaming coming out of it in the middle. He was working the cash register and Will was very tempted to leave, not wanting to make a fool out of himself for the third time in front of the beautiful boy.

However, it was seven am, Will had a seven thirty class, and his coffee machine was broken. So he really needed this and couldn’t leave.

When Will gets up to the cash register, Nico sends Will a smile. “Hi, welcome to Mischief’s Brewing, what can I get for ya?”

“Uh, A caramel frappe? Largest size you have, please.”

“No problem, Will.”

Will blushes at the unnecessary use of his name, as Nico scribbles onto a cup and passes it to a girl with curly golden hair behind him.

“Um, N-nico?” Will asks, making Nico turn back around to face him.

“Yeah will? What’s up?”

“Well, um, I-“

“Hey, you ordered already, now get out of the way for the rest of us,” A guy says from behind Will. He turns around to apologize but is met with a hard glare from, Will believes, the starting quarterback on their college football team. Then, before Will can get a word out, he promptly shoved aside.

Will rubs his arm, which had hit a pillar, as he goes to the pickup counter to wait for his order.

Will isn’t sure how many more fails he can take with talking to Nico.

The fourth time Will talks to Nico is once again in the library. Will was going over his notes and readings for his medical final in a week when he hears the doors of the library open up and then slowly close shut once again. When the doors clicked close, Will looked up to see who had entered and felt the familiar twist in his gut he gets every time he sees the brown-eyed Italian.

Nico had his messenger bag slung over his right shoulder, his hand gripping the strap. His head was facing down as he looked at his phone, typing furiously with one finger.

Will watched him as he maneuvered his way to an empty table, sitting down, and placing his bag on the chair next to him. Then, Nico tossed his phone into his bag, and a second later he reached into his bag and pulled out mac book.

Will shook his head, exiting the little daze he was in from staring at his crush and went back to studying his notecards.

Even though Will hadn’t looked at Nico since he entered the library, he still found himself constantly thinking of the boy while he silently stared at his studying material.

After twenty more minutes of this, Will decides that he needs to take a walk around the shelves of books. Mostly to clear his head of the Italian, but also because he had been working for an hour and a half before Nico had walked into the library. So, that’s what Will does. He places his phone in his back pocket, after standing up from his chair, and heads off down the rows of shelves.

On his way back, Will notices Nico walking towards him. Which leads to him having a small freak out moment, like usual.

“Hey, Will, I just wanted to apologize for that guy at the coffee shop the other day. Some customers can be real dicks. Especially in the morning.”

“Oh, uh, thanks. It wasn’t your fault, um, like you said. He was a dick.” Will knows his face is red. It always is when around Nico.

They stand there for a couple seconds, waiting for the other to speak.Eventually, Nico does. “ Well, uh, I gotta go. I’m covering Hazel’s shift at the shop. See ya around Will!” Nico waves as he turns and heads out the library, bag flapping against his leg.

Will sighs and heads back to his seat where all of his stuff is. He really wishes he could just talk to Nico, like a normal person.

The next time Will talks to Nico is, again, in the library. It seems to be their designated talking place.

Nico showed up at Will’s table at the library with five books in his arms, and his messenger bag on his arm, nearly falling off.

“Hey, Will, can I sit here? Everywhere else is full and I don’t think I can make it back to my dorm with all of this.”

“Uh, yeah sure,” Will mumbles, a bit shocked that Nico wants to sit with the awkward kid that can’t seem to form a coherent sentence around him. He’s like Marinette with Adrien in Miraculous Ladybug. And yes, Will watches what’s suppose to be a kids show. Apparently, French kid shows are just better than American ones.

Nico smiles gratefully at the blond as he sets his books opposite of him. Once Nico is seated, he takes off the grey beanie on his head and stuffs it in his coat pocket, then proceeds to take off his jacket as it was unusually warm in the building. Not that Will is complaining. So far he’s only seen Nico in jackets and long sleeves. Today, however, he’s wearing a short-sleeved skull t-shirt. Will notices that, while Nico doesn’t seem to work out every day, he does have a bit of muscle. Just enough to make Will even more attracted to the raven-haired boy in front of him.

For the next two hours, the two sit in silence, studying, reading, writing, and just plain working. Will wants to say something, anything, but every time he’s about to speak, he thinks better of it and shoves the idea out of his head.

At the three hour mark, Nico gets up, packs up his stuff, and leaves. But not without a small smile and a “See you later.”

Next time, Will is defiantly asking that boy out, even if it kills him. Preferably after the date, if there is one.

Apparently, for Will, sixth times the charm. He was once again in the library, leaning up against a shelf with a history book in his hands. He can hear feet coming down the aisle, and he looks up to find the boy that stole his heart.

It was a split second decision, but Will is glad he made it.

Will makes his way over to Nico, who notices him as he approaches, and gives Will that same smile he always gets. One that nearly makes Will’s knees go weak.

“Hey Will,” Nico said, standing up from the crouching position he was in.

“Hey, I uh, wanted to ask you a quick question if that was all right?” Will rubs the nape of his neck, a sheepish smile taking over his face.

“Yeah, sure.” Nico faces Will completely, body completely turned to him.

“So, uh, I was. Never mind it’s really stupid.” Will turns to leave, but feels a cold hand wrap around his wrist. He turns to see Nico’s outstretched hand gripping his wrist.

“Come on, you can’t leave me like this. I’ll be wondering for the rest of my life what you wanted to ask me if you do,” Nico jokes.

Will smiles at him. “Alright. I wanted toknowifyoudgoonadatewithme!” Will stumbles out.

Nico blinks at the taller boy, “What?”

Will takes in a deep breath before he repeats what he had just said, this time much slower. “I wanted to know if you would go on a date with me. Please.”

Nico’s smile widens, and he nods his head frantically. “Yes, god yes.”

“Really? You don’t think I’m, you know, weird?”

“Why would I think that?”

“Cause I could never form an actual sentence when I talked to you.”

Nico shrugs, “I thought it was cute.”

Will blushes, and rubs the nape of his neck again, smiling.

“So, dinner, tomorrow at six?” Nico asks.

“I wouldn’t want anything else,” Will replies.

“Good.” Nico leans up and presses a chaste kiss to Will’s cheek. Then he turns around and heads back down the aisle. “See you tomorrow, Will!”

Will couldn’t be happier that he finally spoke to Nico in full sentences.

#solangelo #will solace #nico di angelo #I literally haven't written solangelo in like six months #this was fun #also my first 5 + 1 #I really enjoyed writing it

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imgonnabeyourbubblegumwitch · 7 years

Text

I Love You, You Pay My Rent: Chapter Two

First Chapter (Prologue)

Previous Chapter (Chapter One)

Nico had been living with Will Solace for almost three days. In that time he’d broken Will’s washing machine, found out Will had an aversion to fortune cookies and, well not much else. Will spent a lot of time out of the apartment which kind of led Nico to question why Will even wanted anybody around unless Nico’s sole purpose was a live, moody burglar alarm. If that was Wil’s logic then he was going to be solely disappointed because Nico was pretty sure Nico would either manage to miss the burglary completely or be too busy hiding under the bed to fight the intruder off.

Will was out again, doing who knew what, which left Nico with time to kill before he went to work. He was supposed to be using the time to come to a decision about whether this thing he had going on was going to be permanent, but he was mostly staring at the wall with an utterly blank mind. He was no longer worried Will was a murderer which he supposed was what the three days had been about in the first place. He hadn't freaked out about the flood, and he let Nico eat his leftover pizza which was a definite plus in a roomate even if Will was a pineapple-person with a questionable taste in toppings. He could always scrape the vegetables off. And most importantly of all, of course, was the fact that living with Will Solace was 100% completely and totally free. He didn't understand why he was still hesitating.

Perhaps it was because Will Solace was driving Nico mad. It wasn't just the mystery of the free room. It annoyed him how untroubled Will was most of the time. He just seemed to breeze through life without a care in the world. Octavian's words about Will being handed things stuck like a sharp object in his mind, uncomfortable and unavoidable. He knew part of his issue with Will's easy-going nature was that he was really jealous about how good Will had it, but now Nico had it that good too. So maybe that wasn't exactly it.

He still had nothing when he had to leave for work. He spent much of his shift pouring out drinks on autopilot and trying to figure out exactly what his problem. Reyna eventually pointed out he was ignoring people with less vitriol but more intensity than usual and asked if there was anything wrong. Nico liked Reyna so he timed his break to coincide with hers and sat with her in the dingy closet that was classed as the staff break-room trying to explain the problem in a way that didn't make him sound like a whiney brat or an idiot for not leaping at the offer the second it had left Will's mouth.

"So, the issue is you don't like him?" Reyna asked.

Nico ran a finger around his coke glass, drawing patterns in the condensation.

"It's not that I don't like him," Nico said.

"Coming from you Nico, not not-liking him is a big deal."

Nico shrugged.

“I flooded his apartment and he responded by buying me Chinese. I’d be a real douche if I said I hated him.”

Reyna gave a half smile of agreement and sipped at her lemonade thoughtfully.

"Why don't you make a list of pros and cons?" She suggested. "I mean as far as I can tell the cons are he annoys you occasionally while the pros could go on for days from rent-free-apartment to Will-Solace is freaking hot.”

Nico blushed and tried to hide it behind his glass. Reyna didn't know Nico had had a crush on Percy. Reyna didn't even know Nico was gay. But he suspected she suspected. He also knew she wouldn't care but admitting it would inevitably lead to conversations he didn't want to have like ooh do you like anyone and the extended version of Will Solace is freaking hot.

He thought about Reyna’s suggestion as he made up rum and coke after rum and coke, and eventually came to the conclusion that Reyna was right. Maybe a list would clear things up. So, when he got home, too wide awake thanks to the pounding music and flashing lighting to hope to sleep for at least an hour, he dug an old notebook out of his box of junk and started a list.

Reasons not to like/want to live with Will Solace.

He was tapping his pen against the paper when he heard the front door close.

Will looked tired but he smiled when he saw Nico.

“Thought you’d still be at work.”

“What time do you think it is?” Nico asked, leaning against his doorframe and watching Will for any fresh clue as to what his deal was.

Will looked at him blankly for a moment. Then blinked as though realising he was supposed to answer.

“I honestly don’t know. Dinner time? Bed time? Time to watch Tangled time?”

“No to all of those.”

Will gave a tired grin.

“I don’t know, Tangled is sounding good right now.”

“As long as I don’t have to hear it. Anyway, I’m glad you’re up. I need an extension on this three days thing.”

“Still think I’m a murderer?” Will asked. “Because I promise this is paint.”

He gestured to a red stain on his t-shirt. It was mostly hidden by his jacket so Nico hadn’t actually noticed it before Will had called his attention to it. Will lifted his jacket to show Nico and accidentally hiked his t-shirt up in the process. Nico tried, and largely failed, to focus solely on Will’s face.

“This is blood,” Will added pointing to a tiny rust coloured stain on his sleeve. “I cut my hand.”

Nico raised an eyebrow at him. Will gave him a surprisingly mischievous smile and then shrugged.

“Sure,” he said. He took a slice of pizza from the fridge and disappeared towards his room. At his door, he paused.

“What is the time?”

“Three thirty-two am.”

Will nodded solemnly like this was profound knowledge. He had dark rings under his eyes Nico noticed, like bruises. He wondered how long Will had been up.

“Okay,” he said. “See you in the morning. Or whenever.”

The door shut behind him. Nico stared at it for several seconds and then went back to his list.

Will Solace is too chilled out about everything.

The next morning Nico woke to singing. He threw his pillow at the wall and then groaned because that, surprisingly, didn’t shut Will up and just left him without a pillow. He crawled out of bed and snatched up a pen.

Will Solace sings too much.

When Nico eventually decided to leave his room, his found Will sitting at the breakfast bar eating toast.

“You want some?” he asked when Nico shuffled into the kitchen, fully dressed but without a smile.

“It’s too early to eat.”

“It’s one thirty. In the afternoon.”

“Oh, now you can tell the time? But like I said. Early.”

Will gave him a slightly sceptical look but he didn’t argue.

“So, there’s someone coming round to look at the washing machine,” he said. “But I’ve got to go out. If you hear the door can you let them in? There’s money on the counter.”

Nico nodded his agreement, as Will slid off his seat toast in hand.

“You’re the best!”

The door closed behind him leaving an apartment that suddenly felt very empty.

Will Solace is too cheerful.

Will Solace takes up too much space.

Nico’s work schedule had been thrown off by his move across town which meant that while he wasn’t working at the bar, he did have to go into the café. Nico wondered if there was ever going to be a time in his life when he didn’t spend the majority of his time making drinks for other people.

Halfway through his shift a group of twenty-somethings showed up, Will in the midst of them. Will seemed surprised to see Nico. He seemed uneasy when giving his order, even unwilling to acknowledge he knew Nico at all. Nico shrugged it off, or tried to, but he couldn't help but be a little hurt that Will didn't want to associate himself with Nico. But whatever. Why should popular, perfect, air-headed Will Solace want anything to do with him? He was nobody.

He just happened to live with Will.

He handed Will's drink over trying to keep the scowl off his face. He turned without comment to the next customer, a tall girl with dark curly hair who hung onto Will's arm like she was worried he would float away if she loosened her grip for even a fraction of a second. Nico felt his heart drop a little more but focused on her order and tried to ignore Will ignoring him.

He was so focused on what he was doing that he only realised the girl had been speaking when Will cut in.

"Lay off him Drew."

Nico turned to Will in some surprise. Will still looked uncomfortable, doubly so when Drew turned heavily lined eyes onto him.

"Why do you care?"

Will glanced at Nico and Nico shook his head a fraction. Will still seemed indecisive but Drew was already grabbing her coffee off the counter and dragging him away.

Nico watched their group out of the corner of his eye. He may not have liked interacting with people much but there was a time when he'd had to be very good at reading them. The dynamics of Will's group were for the most part boring to the point of being so stereotypical they almost came out the other side and became subversive. The group were uniformly attractive and empty-headed: noisy and boisterous they commanded attention and all talked over each other without listening to what anyone else had to say. Drew sat close to Will, practically on his lap. Will seemed unusually subdued. Nico had to wonder if Will was usually that out of place within his friendship group or whether, for some reason, Nico's presence was making him uncomfortable.

It would only be fair if that were true. Will's presence in the cafe was making Nico uncomfortable. He hated the way Will was acting: quiet and distracted until anyone spoke to him directly. And then the mask went on, or fell off perhaps, and Will Solace acted exactly how Nico thought Will Solace would act before he'd met him: smirking, confident and flirty. He hated it because it was so different from the Will who had helped him clean up the apartment, or even the dorky Will who had turned up in facepaint to ask him if he wanted to move in in the first place.

At home he found his notebook.

Will Solace makes no sense.

He stared at the list and then screwed it up and threw it against the wall. It wasn't getting him anywhere.

He wasn't sure if he would have confronted Will about the cafe thing, but Nico didn't see him for a full two days after that. Nico was almost starting to think that he was dead in a ditch somewhere, possibly dying from alcohol poisoning, or maybe from an attack of Drew. When he eventually came home it was with a half-empty bottle of vodka and sunglasses on, and Nico was suddenly furious: furious at the way Will just came and went, furious at how Will could apparently wander around drunk at midday without a care in the world, furious that he'd actually been worried about him. He raised an eyebrow as Will put the bottle on the counter and sank to the floor, apparently exhausted.

"Is having endless money really that much work?" he asked scathingly.

Will stared at him for a moment.

"It's actually pretty easy," he said dully. He wasn't fighting back and for some reason that annoyed Nico more.

"I don't get it. I don't get you."

"We've known each other for like five days. Didn't think you'd be the instant sharing, caring, soul-bearing type."

"Not entirely sure you have a soul," Nico snarled and he was no longer sure why he was angry but the fury kept coming. He'd bottled up so much rage over his life that it all came spilling out at the tiniest opening. It didn't matter that there was a tiny voice in his head saying that Will didn't deserve this.

"Is this about the cafe?" Will asked. "Because I agree Drew was out of line but -"

"But you didn't do anything about it," Nico pointed out, "because I'm just someone you need in your house. For some reason. I don't think you've ever actually explained why. Or why Octavian was basically telling me to run."

"That's an overstatement," Will said. The set of his shoulders was defensive.

"How many housemates have you had?" Nico demanded.

"Nico-"

"No, I deserve to know."

"It's not what you think."

"How can it be not what I think? I don't think anything because you don't make sense."

Will sighed and dragged a hand through his hair.

"You don't have to stay. I'm not forcing you."

"Fine."

Nico stormed back to his room, feeling strangely hollow underneath the anger. It didn't matter that there was a voice in his head telling him Will didn't deserve this. It didn't matter that this was a stupid decision, that he'd be homeless, that he couldn't afford anywhere else. The anger didn't stop. He threw his clothes into a bag. It didn't take long. The boxes would be awkward, he'd have to come back for those. It wasn't ideal but Will was out so much he doubted he'd have to see his stupid face again when returning for them.

Nico was still seething when he left his room, even if a more rational part of him was making itself louder demanding to know where he thought he was going. Will was sitting at the breakfast bar with his back to Nico. The sunglasses and vodka sat next to him on the counter. For some reason that bugged Nico and he was preparing to throw open the door never to return when Will turned.

"Do you have somewhere to go?" he asked. He actually sounded concerned and that might have annoyed him more because Will shouldn’t be concerned, he should be furious, arguing back. But he couldn’t answer, and he couldn’t move.

"What happened?" he asked when he could finally move his jaw. His tone was brusque and Will winced. Will moved his hand up to his face unconsciously and then put the ice pack back up to cover the angry looking, purplish bruise tainting the skin under his eye.

"It's nothing," he said.

"I should see the other guy?" Nico asked sceptically.

Will laughed a little hollowly.

"No, I definitely came off worse."

Nico felt the anger draining away and was relieved to find he could let it go. The cyclone of rage had been a little scary; he didn't want to end up like his father.

He dropped his bag to the floor and moved to sit down opposite Will.

"I don't get you Will Solace," he commented as he took his seat.

"Oh I'm your typical rich airhead," Will replied. It was a good attempt at carelessness but didn't quite cut it. Will was shaken up.

"You're a terrible liar," Nico commented.

They sat in silence for a minute.

"Three," Will said suddenly.

"Three?"

"Housemates. Before you."

"That's a lot less dramatic than Octavian made it out to be."

Will shrugged.

"Octavian doesn't like me much," he said, but didn't elaborate.

"To be fair I don't like you much either," Nico said, though he said it lightly.

"I don't know why. I'm pretty awesome," Will said. His tone was light, matching Nico's and his shoulders relaxed somewhat.

"You are kidding right? You are the most annoying person I have ever lived with."

"How am I annoying?"

"I literally made a list," Nico said despite the fact that said list had been something of a bust. "Awful food."

"Liking pineapple isn't a crime Nico."

"It is if you choose to put it on pizza. Okay fine, you are too cheerful."

"I'm too - cheerful?"

"Yep it's infuriating. The world really isn't all that great you know."

Will gave Nico a very sceptical look. His eyes were regaining their sparkle and Nico was ridiculously, stupidly relieved about that.

"Is that all you've got? I like pineapple and I'm too cheerful."

"Constant singing."

"Oh come on!"

"Seriously I am so sick of Disney. And that one about the sun. What even is that?"

"No one is ever sick of Disney."

"I am!" Nico said. "I am very sick of Disney. I don't even like Disney."

"Maybe I don't want you as a roomate then. Maybe you should go."

"That's where you are going to draw a line? Me not liking Disney?"

"Yes. It is. Or it would be if I believed you. Hercules? I bet you are a Hercules person. Or maybe Big Hero Six."

"I have seen neither of those."

"Wow you are the worst."

Nico stuck his tongue out at Will and Will grinned.

"I'm surprised you didn't bring up my friends to be honest," Will said musingly.

"They do seem pretty awful," Nico agreed.

"Mitchell isn't all bad. And Cecil and Lou-Ellen are cool, I just don't end up seeing much of them. Really it's only Drew that's a pain."

"If you don't like her -?"

"She's a terrible person. I know that. But I can't just ditch her."

"You are way too soft Solace. Please tell me you didn't get punched over her."

Will laughed.

"No, it wasn't over her."

"But you won't tell me what it was over right?"

"It's nowhere near as exotic as whatever you are imagining. I confiscated the vodka off of Cecil and he punched me."

"This is a guy you just described as cool."

"I don't think he was actually going for my face. He was trying to snatch the bottle back but he was pretty drunk and his aim sucks when he's sober. He was very apologetic."

"Your life is weird," Nico told him.

"But it's not boring."

"No I can't imagine endless partying will ever become repetitive or boring," Nico said snarkily.

Will gave him an odd look, but just shrugged.

"Well I'm getting food. You want anything before you go?"

"Go?" Nico asked, more than a little confused. "I don't have work tonight. It's Tuesday. Though considering your track record with days and time I'm not surprised you don't know that."

It was Will's turn to look confused. He looked kind of adorable and Nico's stomach did odd things, like it was attempting Olympic gymnastics.

"You said you were leaving?"

"I've changed my mind," Nico said while trying to make it seem like this wasn't a big deal at all.

"Oh," Will said.

"Really?" he added.

Nico shrugged uncomfortably.

"It's been pointed out to me that I'd be pretty stupid to turn down free rent. On reflection, it's probably a good point."

"Besides," he said, "if I stay I might get to witness you getting punched for weird reasons. That could be interesting."

Will smiled but it was the small, unconscious one that was rarer than a blue moon or the Hades mythomagic figurine. It made Nico stupidly glad he'd agreed to stay.

"You know offering you this place was never supposed to be some big mysterious thing," Will said thoughtfully as he got up to throw the ice pack in the sink.

"I prefer living with someone else. Percy mentioned you needed somewhere and since I'm not paying anything for this place it seemed unfair to make you pay."

It was an explanation but it also offered more questions, like why Will didn't have to pay rent. Still it was a start.

"I can't believe you wrote a list about how annoying I am," Will added as he picked out a take-out menu and chucked it at Nico.

"It was a thoroughly valid exploration of your personality and limits."

"Can I see it?"

"Absolutely not."

"That seems unfair," Will said. "Maybe I'll have to write a list of all the ways you annoy me and then refuse to let you see it."

"I'd like to see you try," Nico replied. "I'm not annoying in the slightest."

Will laughed. His eyes were really blue.

"Sure Neeks," he said. "If you say so."

Next Chapter

#Writing #fandom #percy jackson and the olympians #Will Solace #Nico Di Angelo #will solace/nico di angelo #solangelo

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taeguboi · 7 years

Text

“Tease” [TaeJin Fluff/Smut] PART 01

Pairing - BTS V / Taehyung ¦¦ Jin / Seokjin

Summary: What happens when the social butterfly gets a fluttering feeling of his own?

Kim Seokjin. The reason Taehyung has been visiting the local entertainment store daily without fail for the past 2 weeks. At best, the variety the vicinity had to offer was mediocre for Taehyung’s eclectic music tastes and was usually exceptional enough to drop into once a fortnight or something...

Since the arrival of the new employee however, his money had been squandered on: 2 deluxe versions of CDs he already has, 5 DVDs, a pair of headphones - perhaps the only thing he actually needed - and 4 posters that sadly stand rolled up in the corner of his room, like Christmas wrapping paper that you forget about when you’ve bought too much of it, buying to gift 30 people and then realizing you have 4 friends to buy for…

But he doesn’t mind. Every trip so far has proved worthwhile, never failing to conjure up a conversation with the cutie behind the till who has surprisingly been on shift there every time… it’s almost too perfect.

Entering the store once more on a quiet Friday evening, after college as always, Taehyung paces straight to the end of the first aisle down which he can see Seokjin knelt restocking the vinyl shelves. He should be used to this by now, approaching the guy, but there’s this adrenaline that fills his system every time he is about to greet the man.

“Hello stranger” Taehyung coyly smiles, looking down onto the attractive broad shoulders of the elder.

Now, usually Taehyung would only go for someone more around his own age, specifically the cute little mochi with the Busan accent that used to work at the local convenience store down the road from his house that sadly moved out of town… He swears to God if this guy moves away too, he’s resorting to online shopping…

They’ve talked about everything over the past days - culture, food, sports, tv… you name it, and it’s given Taehyung sufficient knowledge about his newfound crush, bar the mystery of the man’s sexuality,

“Ah, I was wondering when you would come over here first” Seokjin asserts, flustering Taehyung a tad.

There was a truth to that, Taehyung can’t deny; just coming into the store more often than usual was courageous enough for Taehyung. You wouldn’t think it if you saw him around college, socializing with literally everyone on the premises, but when he spots a guy he really likes, that confidence just disappears and he’s a completely different person.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Taehyung knowingly smirks in response.

He knows he’s a sucker for a cute guy and when he falls, he falls hard; always has, always will, the most cringe-worthy example being in the final year of high school when he had this huge thing for the school prodigy Jeon Jeongguk who was placed in a lot of Taehyung’s classes… He was such a boisterous, informal teenager that could talk to everyone and anyone, until this guy sat next to him one day and bam - jelly legs, empty stomach, dizzy head…

“Although this does mean you’ve already broken our little tradition…” Seokjin replies, bringing himself to his feet. “But since the store is so dead today, there’s little point in beating around the bush… Now, how can I help you today?”

“I’m thinking of just chilling out on the couch tonight with a film, so…”

“Then allow me to escort you to the film aisle” Seokjin jests, bowing his head down and pointing in the right direction, to which Taehyung chuckles as he leads the way.

The boys pace minutely across the floor, engaging in conversation about the different films and tv series that Taehyung points at

“See, I really like stuff like this,” Taehyung begins, picking up a copy of an earlier series of the anime Detective Conan, “and it would be ace to collect stuff like this, but I kind of think it’s worthless when it’s all available online, like I don’t think it’s good enough to pay for when it’s all free…”

“Yeah, I feel you man, like some things are worth buying even when they’re available for free online, and it’s nicer to have a solid copy of something, but there are some series that can feel a little repetitive in that sense I suppose… So like what you have there, I feel is more something that is nice to watch one or two episodes of to kill an hour or take a break from a challenging task… I probably shouldn’t be saying this when I work in a store like this though, right?” Seokjin laughs.

They move onto the film section of the DVD aisle, inspecting the shelves that hold special offers. All the ‘classics’ that everyone has known and seen that show up on normal tv channels every weekend… With some exceptions.

“Ah…” Seokjin mildly grins, pointing at a darker dvd case. “Have you seen it?”

“Uh, I… Yes” Taehyung hesitantly replies, not wanting to seem like a complete and utter pervert as he registers which DVD Seokjin is talking about…

“Everyone always raves about it, but I don’t know… What did you think of it?”

Taehyung at this point is having an internal freak out right now. How is Seokjin asking these questions so calmly and seriously? Taehyung hasn’t even had time to contemplate whether he will be comfortable talking about such topics around this guy… Why must he have pointed at that film in particular? Why not just have a perfectly innocent conversation about one of the action films or something? Okay, technically that film is action, but not the James Bond kind of action… Kind of.

“It was… alright I guess?” Taehyung replies uncertainly, figuring that he’s going to have to force himself to be a bit more open about himself if he wants this crush to go anywhere, or at the very least get answers to the questions that run in his mind.

“Look, I’ll be perfectly honest here with you Seokjin, I don’t exactly… Let’s just say it’s not something I can engage with…” It’s very indirect and ambiguous but Taehyung hopes that’s enough to put across to Seokjin his orientation.

Of course, Seokjin is quite an intelligent man, Taehyung has gathered, and he seems to pick up the meaning, indicated by his tone “Oh, right, I see…” and what he says next all confuses, intrigues and scares Taehyung “I get you there, man, completely… She isn’t quite everyone’s type, is she?”

‘What does that mean?!? Is he like me… he said he gets me? What does he mean by ‘not quite everyone’s type’? Not everyone’s type by personality, appearance or gender? This is mental…’

“Um, no…”

“I’ll admit, I can relate to the guy in a roundabout kind of way, but… Just not with her… Simply put, you can’t really beat a dick, can you?”

‘Wow. Fuck. Fuck. This is escalating SO fast! Why is he being like this? Has he clocked on that I fancy him more than a big juicy steak being offered to a starving dog?... Omo Tae! Quit it with those thoughts!... He’s playing me, isn’t he? He’s fucking playing me…’

“Um, no, I guess not” Taehyung utters with a stiff smile that could easily be translated as an awkward smile of admittance rather than nervousness.

This shouldn’t be a problem at all, Taehyung figures. They’ve spoken about everything and anything lately and have become quite comfortable around each other… Yet this is real. This is Taehyung’s crush having a discussion based on sex; this makes Taehyung feel all sorts of things.

“Sorry, that was a little weird” Seokjin apologises. “I just… I guess I feel comfortable around you, that’s all… I don’t really talk to many people about…”

“Your sexuality?”

“Yeah.”

“Neither do I really…” Taehyung confesses. “‘Wasn’t even planning to come out at school, you know, until I kind of made things really obvious with this one guy around…”

“Oh dude! That’s like literally how I knew what I was, you know. Like one day, you’re thinking about what x times y could mean whilst trying to ignore your acknowledgement of a super hot classmate in your algebra lesson… and then you realise that x times y is basically xy…”

An awkward silence takes its place in the flow of conversation for a second as Taehyung fails to recognise the reference.

“Like the chromosome…?... Sorry, I’m just blabbering shit now…”

“No need to apologise, I, uh… it’s actually kind of a relief for me” Taehyung manages to admit.

“A relief? How so?”

This is it. The moment in which Taehyung is about to either make a complete fool of himself, or say the sentence that could be the start of something cool.

“I guess I’ve been wondering…” is all Taehyung musters before leaving another silence in the air.

Taehyung’s brain comes to a stand still. His fear of rejection is proving to be a barrier, stopping him from proceeding any further. He urges himself to continue, having already gotten nearer to confessing to Seokjin than he has with any other guy before. It would be a shame to stop when he’s come this far.

“So have I, actually…” Seokjin pipes up. “This… this is kinda nice, and… I’m gonna come clean here; I may have been picking up extra shifts this week…”

“Really?” Taehyung enquires, now feeling much more at ease that he doesn’t have to worry himself with what to say next. “Well, in that case, I have a confession to make also…”

“How many of the things that you’ve purchased here over the past few weeks are things you actually wanted?”

Taehyung chuckles, unashamed now to be called out on his frequent visits “I mean, there was the headphones…” he pauses. “Ah, that’s it” he concludes, hands in pockets, looking down at the floor, unsure where to look.

“Are you free after my shift?” Seokjin asks, causing Taehyung to lift his head back up. “I’d like to talk more outside of this same old place.”

“Of course” Taehyung grins.

“I’m really glad you like music, Taehyung.”

“I’m really glad I like music too, Seokjin.”

“Wait outside for me, yeah?” the elder winks, wandering away down the aisle and toward the till where he has noticed a customer ready to pay.

There aren’t many places to go at 6.30 on a Friday evening, and when you’ve only known one another for just under a fortnight, suggesting going back to one of the other’s house would seem a bit off… So here they sit, in front of some garage door at a parking lot, looking onto the city traffic.

“It’s strangely therapeutic, huh?” Seokjin asks, admiring the aesthetic of the lights with the dull evening sky.

“Yeah, I guess it kind of is; it’s quiet and away from people, yet you wouldn’t go crazy from the loneliness because people are getting on with their lives right over there.”

“So, sorry if this is weird and completely random, but it’s just that I’m eager about finally being able to talk to someone who can relate… How was it telling your parents about…?”

“About me being gay? I kind of didn’t tell them really, I just brought a boy home one day and formally introduced him as one would with a girlfriend and they kind of just gathered from there... How was it for you?”

“Probably the other end of the reaction spectrum!” Seokjin laughs with embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that bad was it?”

“I mean, it’s one of those things that a funny to look back on, but dreadfully humiliating at the time…”

“Seokjinnie, stop stalling and tell me!” Taehyung demands, playfully tapping Seokjin’s shoulder.

“Oh!” Seokjin gasps positively. “Is that a nickname for me?”

“Hmm… maybe” Taehyung leans forward with a grin. “Do you like it?”

“Hmm… maybe” Seokjin repeats back, also leaning in forward quite close so that the two boys’ noses almost touch

“Well you won’t be hearing it anymore if you don’t tell me” Taehyung backs away with a laugh, leaning backwards to rest his head against the garage door.

“So I kind of underestimated how intrusive my family can be…”

“Oh no, they found everything, didn’t they?” Taehyung asks with much empathy in his tone, tilting his head back upright, figuring that he would like to admire Seokjin’s facial features as he explains his story.

“Right down to these weird beads that I never even ended up using!”

“Oh right? I actually kind of like those ones…” Taehyung admits, then wondering why the heck those words just left his mouth...

“Well, you see, I prefer to stick to the front…” Seokjin openly states. “Stop me talking at any time if you want by the way, I understand this isn’t exactly what could be viewed as appropriate conversation material…”

“No, no, carry on. I just like talking to you” Taehyung beams.

“I feel awkward now because I stopped the flow of talking about the subject by directly mentioning it…”

“Somehow, I’ll try and continue for you then…” Taehyung manages to assert, rather surprised, yet pleased, at how he’s managing to come out of his shell more around a cute guy. “So by sticking to the front, is that just out of laziness, or…?”

“Uh, no, actually… I’d say far from it, in fact” Seokjin interrupts. “I… I often use my imagination to like make things feel more… real… and since I know my own preferences, it just sometimes started to seem kind of weird and not as great when I would… put something inside…”

Suddenly Taehyung feels feverish as different conclusions conjure in his head, all of a similar nature. Unsure of what he would have had Seokjin down as, if he had given it some prior thought, Taehyung doesn’t know what to do with this information and its potential meaning…

“I suppose although in reality, I’m a bit of a switch, in my fantasies… I’m mostly the dominant one; it gives me such a sense of excitement, you know, to be essentially in control of someone else’s pleasure when I…”

Taehyung interrupts Seokjin by urgently leaning in forward and presses his lips against the elder’s. He can’t take it anymore; these feelings for Seokjin were overwhelming before today as it was without all this talk about Seokjin’s sexual preferences… it’s such a turn on and too much for Taehyung that it has come to this; having to stop Seokjin in his tracks before his words have too much of an effect on him… Although in this moment, Taehyung is unsure as to whether he’s really made matters that much simpler for himself at all…

Though the kiss is forced and very in the moment, it also manages to have a tender side to it with the new and compelling feeling of Seokjin’s supple, smaller pout against Taehyung’s wider, yet still full, lips that might still be a little dry from the lack of focus he has had on himself. Taehyung’s large hand cups Seokjin’s smooth cheek which eventually releases itself of tension upon registering the intense moment.

Seokjin allows sufficient time to appreciate the kiss before backing away to speak “See, there was a reason I pointed out that DVD earlier, you know…” he begins, running his index finger along Taehyung’s chest, pausing at a button. “I can be terrible for acting in this way, I know…”

“You are indeed terrible Seokjinnie…” Taehyung agrees, running his thumb gently along Seokjin’s cheek bone. “You’re trying to get me worked up on purpose, aren’t you?... You’re not even going to be surprised when I tell you…”

“...That all this talk about sex has affected you more than it should have?”

“Uh-huh” Taehyung instantly admits without any sense of dignity or patience, feeling humid now even though the evening air is rather breezy.

Seokjin leans back in so that his forehead presses against Taehyung’s and he closes his eyes. He can hear Taehyung’s shaky breath that he receives as nervousness, causing Seokjin to open his eyes to take in the appearance of the boy in front of him.

As Taehyung runs his tongue around his lips to give them moisture, languidly blinking a couple of times, Seokjin just has to draw Taehyung back in for another kiss by hooking his finger into Taehyung’s shirt to pull him in. This time, there is much more fire and intensity, so as Seokjin crashes his lips against Taehyung’s, the latter returns the sensation, turning the kiss into a passionate one.

A passionate kiss turns into a passionate make out as Seokjin increases the intensity by taking in the taste of Taehyung with a loose tongue, and in turn, Taehyung explores all that is Seokjin, tracing his hands along Seokjin’s neck, down to his shoulders, then his upper arms, lingering with a firm grip for a while before travelling his hands further down to lace his fingers between Seokjin’s.

Some more gentle kisses are exchanged between the two before Taehyung manages to shift his weight to lean and rise over Seokjin, guiding him back to rest his back against the cool brick wall that borders the garage door. Taehyung positions his knees on either side of Seokjin’s thighs, allowing more intimate contact… Possibly more intimate than the younger bargained for as his slowly hardening member presses up against Seokjin’s stomach, eliciting a muted hiss from the tip of his tongue and through gritted teeth.

“Oh man, this sucks…” Taehyung states with a nervous laugh, throwing his head back in frustration.

“I know right…?... It seems my plan has backfired on me if I’m honest with you…” Seokjin desperately replies with a low tone, breath shaky.

No more words are spoken as they continue to plant kisses on each other’s lips, taking shallow breaths between each. It’s getting increasingly difficult for either to contain themselves as each is getting more and more aroused with each second that drags by.

Seokjin can feel Taehyung’s perfect lips getting softer and his breath hitching more with each touch the elder gives him, from a caress of the face, to a needy grip of the hair at the nape of his neck, and especially as Seokjin runs his fingers down Taehyung’s back. It becomes a constant fight between Seokjin and his urge to completely have his way with Taehyung here and now… after all, they’re in a public place…

“Definitely backfiring” Seokjin repeats the second Taehyung presses his weight against Seokjin’s now sensitive crotch.

“Maybe we could set up camp here...I’ve built something of a tent in my trousers…” Taehyung jests, attempting to relieve the two of their hunger for each other by adding some humour to the atmosphere.

“Now if only we did have an actual tent though… That would solve our little problem…”

“I know I’m probably getting myself in way too deep here but…” Taehyung begins, wrapping his arms around Seokjin’s neck. “Hypothetically, what would you do if it was just us two in a tent?...” he enquires, raising his eyebrows.

“Well that all depends…”

“On what?”

“On what you like…”

“I would like to hear more about ‘in control’ Seokjin… It sounds… hmm…” he hums, tilting his head playfully “...hot.”

“Well then…” Seokjin rasps, tilting his head to the opposite side to allow his breath to be felt upon Taehyung’s lips which breaths of anticipation escape past. “First, I’d tease you relentlessly, pretending to be unknowing of how I’m making you feel… I like to tease, you see; I like to see what effect I can have on someone before I’ve even started… I have to have that sense of excelling in making someone want me for me before I get too eager to take all my clothes off…”

“How would you tease me?” the younger asks, planting a single kiss against the elder’s lips.

“Hmm…” Seokjin ponders. “Well, I must reach out to all your senses, so a combination of things… Starting with more subtle things such as unnecessarily licking my lips for you, and maybe other poses and gestures that are seemingly innocent on the surface…” he informs as he indeed parallels his words by moistening his lips.

“...So that’s why you’d always gaze into the air seductively when you would claim to be thinking about something…” Taehyung responds.

“What do you mean ‘claim to be thinking’?” Seokjin questions. “I could hardly have been thinking about nothing could I? That’s imposs…”

“Alright, you know what I meant…” the younger rectifies. “That you probably weren’t thinking about the things you said you were like restocking, and…”

“I guess you got me there…”

“I bet you were thinking about making your face look as… as luscious as possible…”

“Then I’d kick it up a notch” Seokjin interrupts. “ I’d react to things with moans, an ‘accidental’ brush against your skin, and again, it’d seem innocent and unintentional… But I always know exactly what I’m doing…” he growls

“Damn right you would…” murmurs Taehyung.

“How easily would you give in Tae?...” Seokjin asks with a grunt, dropping his head back against the wall. “Would you be patient and resilient…” he begins to ask, lifting his head back up to make direct eye contact, “or would you falter at the first gesture?...”

“You have the looks of a model and the aura of a stud… Of course I would give in…” Taehyung declares, confidently maintaining eye contact.

“Are you weak for me Taehyungie?”

“I really am… Especially now you’re talking like this… Damn, I wish we could be somewhere else!” Taehyung sobs subtly.

“Me too… You’d make such beautiful noises, I know you would… I just wonder how much I could change that killer deep voice of yours…”

Seokjin was intending to carry on with the talk, but stops as Taehyung stumbles to his feet and holds a hand out, offering to help Seokjin stand. Instead of reaching a hand back out, Seokjin just looks up at Taehyung with a confused expression.

“We need to move away from here” Taehyung states, eyes glancing left and right wearily.

“Where to?” Seokjin enquires, finally taking a hold of Taehyung’s hand and bringing himself up on his feet.

“We’ll figure something out” Taehyung replies, beginning to move one foot in front of the other, causing Seokjin to follow, still holding on to the younger’s hot sweaty palm.

The boys travel with urgency and desperation, almost brisk walking and staggering on the tips of their toes across the car park.

Leading out onto a main street through they walk down there quite innocently, now properly holding hands, fingers intertwined, Seokjin making sure to be on the outer side nearer to the road, almost as if he is protecting the younger. The city lights that have a recent glow to them seem hazy under the heavy eyes of the two infatuated boys that seek privacy to fulfil each other’s desires.

“It’s kind of ridiculous how few places one can actually get away from the world in peace, huh?; considering that everyone out here is minding there own business, not even caring for what goes on in the distance” states Taehyung, still scanning the streets for even a hint to the answer he seeks.

“I guess so… I suppose really it’s just because the chance of being caught is still there nonetheless, causing us to be more wary” answers Seokjin. “Um, you can tell me if I’m being way too forward here, but… We’re actually not far from where I live…”

Taehyung flashes Seokjin an inviting smile “Man, why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“As I told you Tae…” Seokjin grins, tightening the grip on Taehyung’s hand and now swaying the control of the path they lead to his instruction, “I’m a bit of a tease…”

Seokjin leads as the boys rush through the gateway and the elder searches the pocket of his hoodie for the house key. The lock rattles as Seokjin’s shaky hand attempts to unlock the door

“Nice place you’ve got!...” Taehyung exclaims.

Seokjin hushes the younger boy: “There’s one thing I should have mentioned before; there’s like a 50-50 chance that my housemate will be in….” he explains, cut off by a voice unknown to Taehyung.

“Hey Seokjin, man! What time do you…” A face appears to be paired with the voice and the housemate registers the arrival of a guest and stops in his tracks.

The housemate appears to be just as enthusiastic about music as Taehyung himself is, the latter notes, observing the headphones that rest around the boy’s neck.

“Ah, Yoongi, this is Taehyung…” Hesitantly, Seokjin tries to introduce his guest to his house mate “He’s my… friend…”

“Alright…” Yoongi unsurely voices. “Nice to meet you Taehyung. Don’t mean to be rude but I.... was... actually... about to go to bed… yeah, so…”

“Perfect!” Seokjin is quick to say out loud. “Uh… I mean, cool, yeah” he corrects to which Yoongi lets out a chuckle.

“You kids have fun” Yoongi tells the two, obviously having caught on to the nature of Seokjin and Taehyung’s relationship. He exits swiftly, placing his headphones over his ears.

Seokjin awkwardly looks down to the floor whilst Yoongi exits to his room as Taehyung lifts Seokjin’s chin with his index finger and the younger raises his eyebrows suggestively once eye contact is made.

“I don’t know why you’re raising your ‘brows at me like that Taehyungie… We’re gonna have to be hella quiet; are you sure you can handle that?”

“Looks like I’m going to have to, doesn’t it?” the younger smiles back, taking a hold of Seokjin’s hand.

Part 2 coming soon [hopefully]

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mrsbenedictbridgerton · 8 years

Text

How not to fall for Killian Jones (and other failed endeavours)

SURPRISE! Hey @xerxesrises, tis I, your very tardy GFSS! This is one of those situations where what I set out to write bears little to no resemblance to what ended up on the page or what I had planned to write initially. Regardless, I hope you like it.

A huge thank you to my wonderful beta, nickillian/Ztofan, for all her tireless efforts to make my writing not suck!

Also on FF.NET and AO3

She wasn’t really good at any kind of resolutions - New Year’s or otherwise. Maybe that was why it was so easy to break them.

7:52 pm Failure one: Not thinking of or fully considering the consequences

Bored and listless, Emma Swan drummed her nails on the surface of her standard issue corporate desk. Around her, the office was silent, its beige walls absent of the echoed sound of her workmates chatter. This was unsurprising, considering it was New Year’s Eve and almost 8pm but still disconcerting when used to the hubbub of the dozens or so coworkers who shared the twelfth floor. She stared at the phone for the hundredth time, willing it to ring and give her something to do, yet it remained stubbornly quiet.

Letting out a frustrated huff, she picked up her lukewarm coffee and knocked back an unpleasant gulp while she reminded herself that she had volunteered to work that night (and that it was triple pay that she badly needed).

It had seemed a great idea at the time; now, not so much.

She slipped her hand into the pocket of the red leather jacket that hung over her chair and pulled out a small, black leather notebook. It had been a gift from her closest friend and one time roommate - Mary Margaret - one that had started out as a trendy ‘bullet journal’ when Emma had complained one too many times about not being focused enough in her life. Her friend had sworn that this would change everything. Well, it hadn’t taken long for daily lists with twee little codes and pretty pens to be replaced with grocery lists scrawled in sharpie and the once pristine pages to be stuffed with receipts and business cards.

Emma flicked to the back and grabbed one of the number 2 pencils that sat in a pot on her desk. She scrawled at the top of the page: Emma Swan, 2016. And beneath began a start assessment of her life.

31 years old

Proud renter of a one bedroom apartment with a kickass view of Boston Harbor

Owner of a car older than she is

Single

Hopelessly addicted to hot cocoa (with cinn

Stuck in a goddamn rut.

She underlined the last one three times. Tapping the eraser of the pencil against the page, she paused.

Mary Margaret had once told her that her problem was that she spent so long pondering what direction to take her life yet so little time putting anything into action (hence the damn journal). At the time she had brushed off the comment, but now, begrudgingly, she had to admit her friend was right. While Mary Margaret was always working on improving herself (and had even found just about the best still-single man in the city), Emma was still exactly where she had been for the past few years. That’s not to say that Emma was unhappy… just a little lost. Or maybe unfulfilled. And certainly lacking in direction.

Like her current place of work, for example. It was yet another one of those situations where her laissez faire attitude had led her down a path that she had not intended. See, this job was supposed to be temporary - a short work contract, earning her enough to pay some of her overdue rent and get her landlord off her back. An old friend, Ruby, had hooked her up after they’d met up for some drinks and Emma had bemoaned her financial situation. A few weeks working for Mills Security Systems seemed an easy enough way to supplement her bail bonds income (which had taken a nose dive that Spring) and when her friend had told her it was 20 dollars an hour for simply monitoring some alarm systems and taking a few calls, she’d been sold.

Yet now the year was drawing to a close but her ‘temporary’ contract was still going. She had just about paid back her rent when her car had decided to break down, maxing out her credit card and thus extending her supplemental job. She’d even became eligible for basic health care now she’d been there for so long…

Okay, so there were a few positives. She had her own desk - which was a step up from working out of the driver’s seat of her VW Bug. It even had three, half-sized walls around it which gave a modicum of privacy when she was sending WhatsApp messages during working hours. She did like the paycheck. It came in a crisp white envelope, once a week delivered to her little cubicle (the one labeled E. Swam in some clerical error. She’d changed the M to and N with a Sharpie). She liked the regular (ish) hours and the climate controlled environment that meant less time spent freezing in her car or apartment (heating wasn’t cheap during the cold-ass east coast winter). She even liked most of her coworkers. So far, so good?

Well, there was one particular fly in the ointment that made her resolve to quit the job as soon as possible even stronger: Killian Jones, the head of finance who she’d met that first week, and then tried to avoid ever since.

Okay, okay, let’s back up a little.

It had been her third day. She’d already jammed the copier and gotten scolded for taking someone else’s coffee cup from the break room (seriously, it was plain white and looked exactly like all the others). She’d been told to attend a team strategy meeting one floor up on 12 and arrived with her (non-stolen) coffee cup and a minute to spare meaning the only seat in the tiny room had been next to… him. Him being the most attractive man she had seen in a long, long time. Her quick assessment of him as she looked for a seat noted his glossy dark hair and piercing blue eyes and the nonchalant way he crossed his legs at the ankles as they sprawled out in front of him. It wasn’t like she was exactly an innocent gal, but the way he had looked her up and down as she approached the chair beside him had her stomach doing flips and an uncomfortable heat growing between her thighs.

Goddamn it.

(It had been way too long.)

Then as she’d sat, he’d turned and looked her in the eyes, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. He’d introduced himself and then asked her name, repeating it in his silky English accent. It had cut through her like a hot knife through butter and she’d known straight away that he was trouble.

Hey, if things had been different, if she’d met him at a club after a few drinks, she’d have made it quite clear that she thought he was highly fuckable and then added him to her ‘one and done’ list. But even Emma Swan, not exactly employee of the year, knew that one night stands with work colleagues were a recipe for disaster.

Problem was, he was gorgeous. He was that easy kind of handsome. The kind that took your breath away but at the same time just suited him so well that you couldn’t help but stare, even as your cheeks flushed and your mind turned to goo. And then there was just something about the way he held himself, his manner and posture, that made her want to fucking swoon.

So like a rabbit startled by headlights, she’d decided then and there to not put herself in any situation where she’d be tempted to exercise poor judgment–no matter how freaking hot he was. When the meeting was over she’d scuttled back to the 11th floor as he was distracted by a coworker, yet not without the nagging feeling he was watching her as she left.

Of course, despite her efforts, that wasn’t the only time they had interacted.

A few weeks later, for Ruby’s birthday, a bunch of people had headed to a bar downtown after work to toast in her new age with pineapple margaritas. She didn’t think Killian Jones was exactly a friend of Ruby’s (though she’d mentioned offhand just how ‘hot’ he was in his ‘tight, ass-hugging pants’) so Emma hadn’t hesitated to tag along. But, unexpectedly, he had turned up, looking perfect in a pale grey suit and sky blue shirt, his tie removed and his hair ruffled oh-so-perfectly.

Emma had almost panicked. Which she knew was ridiculous… He was just a guy! She’d met thousands! But whenever she glanced in his direction (and she couldn’t resist), it seemed like he was wearing the most intense, curious look that had made her feel completely naked and exposed. It had ended up with her feeling hot under the collar and thoroughly frustrated. So she took the only action she could in such a situation. Putting on her best stony-faced look, she’d done her utmost to stay as far away from him as possible, practically gluing herself to the birthday girl’s side. Strategically, she had positioned herself as much out of his line of sight as she could, purposely avoiding his gaze. (And maybe, once or twice, when she had allowed herself to look again at him… maybe she saw an expression on his face that looked like disappointment.)

After that close call, they’d found themselves frequenting the coffee cart in the lobby together a few times. Waiting in line, she’d pretended not to see him, instead attempting to focus her attention on her phone. He hadn’t tried to speak to her those times. Clearly, her cool demeanor was working. See, the one thing Emma possessed in bucket loads, was self-restraint.

And I suppose the question that needs to be answers is why was she so adamantly avoiding this man? Simple. She just didn’t do relationships. After a couple that crashed and burned quite spectacularly, she’d came to the very adult conclusion that she was just not designed to be part of a pair.

Emma Swan did just fine on her own, thank you very much

Huffing softly, she opened a drawer and tossed the damn notebook away and out of her view.

***

8:31 pm

Time continued to drag painfully slowly.

Tink, the girl who usually worked the evening shift, was visiting family for the holidays and the rest of the team had split her tasks between them. Emma’s sole role tonight was to answer any customer service calls (thanks to Mills Security’s promise of ‘365 days service’) and log the details so the client could be contacted during normal office hours. She had zero idea why they just didn’t use a phone service.

She was staring at drunken photos on Facebook of friends celebrating at the parties that she could have been at when she heard a noise at the other end of the floor. She knew it was only her and a security guard working that night, so she immediately grabbed the pepper spray she kept in her purse and peered over the top of her partition. Then the sound of a bang behind her practically made her jump out of her skin and she spun around.

What the fuck.

It was Killian Jones, bending down to pick up what looked like a bottle of champagne that was rolling along the floor, his perfect arse exactly in her line of sight as it strained against his oh-so-tight dark jeans.

(She flushed as she imagined his ass sans those jeans.)

“Shit,” she cried as her heart raced and she tried futilely to look away, “You scared me!”

“Sorry,” he replied, sheepishly dropping his chin as he stood up. “Didn’t realize anyone was up here.”

With desperately feigned aloofness, she folded her arms. She could be cool. She was alone with the a guy she’d had some pretty R rated dreams about in a deserted office building. No biggie.

(Yeah, there had been dreams to… It had been a very, very long time and he was very, very attractive.)

“Well, I am. What are you doing here?”

He smiled. (Damn he had an amazing smile.) “Ah, I left earlier and realized I’d forgotten to file a report.”

She eyed the bottle in his hands. “And you thought you’d celebrate that fact?”

“Oh, I need to keep this chilled. I was just up here to use your refrigerator - the one on 11 doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Right,” she nodded, relaxing just a little as the initial shock of his appearance faded. These were the most words she had ever shared with the guy. She vaguely wondered if he even remembered her name.

(Because she knew his: and that he had one brother and that he had moved from England five years earlier and that he owned a sailboat - yeah, her colleagues liked to talk and she was an apt pupil when it came to Killian Jones 101.)

“So you heading to a party?” she asked, feeling a strange mixture of jealousy and yearning as he nodded.

“That’s the plan,” he smiled, “My brother said I need to stop being a miserable sod and enjoy myself for the holidays.”

“Your brother sounds like my old roommate. She’s still offended I volunteered to work tonight rather than attend her potluck dinner.”

He smiled again, much broader, exposing his pearly white teeth and she was struck by the fact that when he did so, he looked even more handsome. Her heart did a little jump and she suddenly felt, well, a little shy.

“Well, I’d better-” she hitched her thumb towards her silent phone.

He nodded. “Happy New Year, Emma.”

“Happy New Year,” she echoed.

(She really did like the way he said her name.)

***

9:37 pm Failure two: Keeping promises to herself

Twenty two minutes spent playing Candy Crush.

Thirty five on Facebook.

Eleven spent composing the perfect inspirational New Year post.

And not a single goddamn phone call.

The dollar signs that had convinced her to volunteer were slowly morphing into visions of the glasses of champagne she was missing by not attending Mary Margaret’s potluck. She pulled out the notebook and flicked back to the list she had made earlier. Her life laid out in the stark grey lines of the pencil was particularly sobering. Sure, she was doing… fine. Better than many. Yet something was missing, she just wasn’t sure what.

Maybe Mary Margaret was right - maybe she did need to really make some changes this year. She’d never been one for New Year’s resolutions, but what could it really hurt to do something different? Because doing the same old things year after year wasn’t really getting her anywhere. Hadn’t she wanted to travel and see the world? To be brave and take some chances? (Secretly, she’d dreamed of opening her own bonds bureau for over a year.) If nothing else she knew that she did not want to spend her next New Year’s Eve surrounded by grey partition walls and lingering regrets.

The sound of Killian Jones clearing his throat startled her and she jumped in time to see him standing now six feet away, the bottle of champagne he had earlier back in his hands and covered in beads of condensation.

“Shit,” she cried, placing her hand on her racing chest, “You need to stop doing that.”

“Apologies, love,” he said advancing a step closer to her desk.

“S’fine,” she replied, waving away his apology with her hand. She looked at the bottle of champagne with more than a little envy. “So you done?”

“Aye,” he nodded, his hair bouncing over his forehead.

“Then off to this party of yours..?”

He gave her an awkward smile and then tilted his head to one side. He opened his mouth to speak and then paused before dampening his lips and repeating the process. “Look, this may sound a bit mad, but what are you doing tonight?”

“Umm…” She gave him a curious look and then gestured towards her phone. “I’m the customer support til the automated system kicks in at one a.m. and everything is forwarded to India.”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned rubbing his hand across his face. “Of course you are. Mills Security’s famous promise of US-based call centers.”

A peculiar light feeling bubbled in her chest as Killian Jones - object of her lust and fascination for months now - danced awkwardly from foot to foot-

“You see, the thing is, my brother-”

“The one who said you’re a miserable sod?”

“Aye, that’s the one.” He gave her a quick, searing glance and she felt a shiver ripple down her spine. “Well, he always says I’m too uptight. That I need to be more spontaneous.”

“Okay…” she said, wondering where he was going with this.

“So, Emma Swan, who has been avoiding me since I clapped eyes on her gorgeous self five months ago, how do you feel about joining me?”

Stunned, Emma felt like she’d been slapped in the face. But in a good way. “Huh?”

“The party. I believe it’s custom to bring a date?”

Her mouth gaped open.

What was her life right now? Was she not just minutes earlier contemplating doing something different and out of her comfort zone? It was like he was freaking psychic.

Immediately, her usual defenses flung right up, spewing out reasons why this was a very, very bad idea.

“But the calls-”

“You can forward them to your cell phone.”

“If they find out-”

“They won’t.”

“I won’t know anyone there…”

“You’ll know me… And, Emma Swan,” she blushed as he said her full name for the second time in the span of a minute, “I would really, really like to get to know you better.”

Oh shit.

Now this was unexpected and quite frankly, scary territory. She had sworn to stay away from him, but now that seemed like such a ridiculous thing to do as she stared into his beautiful blue eyes.

She looked down at her sweater and jeans combo.

“I’m not exactly dressed for a party.”

“You look great to me.”

She was running out of excuses. And actually wanting to make excuses.

A thought suddenly occurred.

“Just gimme a minute.”

***

Ruby Lucas, whilst a great girlfriend, was foremost known among her circle of friends for her active social life and exacting preparations. As such, she kept a selection of outfits in the breakout room lockers just in case of any last minute post-work drinks or dinner invitations that just could not be attended in her usual office attire.

Most of them were short, but since Ruby was a couple of inches taller than Emma, she was able to find a black wiggle dress which fit just about right, landing an inch above her knee, with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. It was sexy, but not too sexy. (Since she didn’t know what this was - was it a date? She wasn’t an expert in last minute New Year’s plans when she was really supposed to be working.)

She dug out a pair of black pumps with a medium sized heel that were only a little too big and checked her reflection. She was pretty sure Ruby would not mind when she found out. She was actually pretty sure Ruby would quite the opposite of mind. Next, she grabbed the emergency makeup bag that also lived in the locker and added some layers of blush and mascara before finishing the look with a red Dior lipstick that even she had to admit was very flattering. A spritz of perfume before she ran a brush through her (thankfully, freshly washed) hair and she was ready. And her heart was racing.

Nervously, she stepped back into the office. A cool shiver trickled over her skin. What was she doing? She was about to turn back, when-

“Well now, I have to admit, that’s much better.”

She hadn’t thought it was possible to blush any deeper because of this man and she had been wrong. He gave her a slow, appreciative look, one that was hot and spine tingling yet not disrespectful. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, this old thing,” she teased.

He held out his hand, “Shall we? I have a car waiting.”

“A car?” she asked.

He shrugged, “I’m CFO, have to take advantage of the perks at some point.”

“What the hell,” she shrugged in reply, placing her hand in his and letting him lead her to the elevator.

***

10:52 pm Failure three: A total misunderstanding of what she had gotten herself into

‘Party’ was perhaps a bit of an understatement. The event was being held at one of those trendy little bars in Union Square with oversized art on the walls that contrasted with simple, neutral furniture and neon accessories. It was being hosted by a client of Mills Security, as it turned out, Killian had explained on the journey there that he’d been given the company invite.

It had been so hard concentrating on what he had been saying in the back of the sleek black sedan that had been waiting for them. Even though the back seat was pretty roomy by her VW bug size standards, they still seemed to be achingly close together as the car pulled away.

Then it hit her just how crazy this was! Five months of avoiding this man, only for her resolve to crumble in seconds. But she couldn’t find herself regretting her snap decision. He smelled damn good next to her. She peeked over at him, noticing how he’d left the top few buttons of his navy shirt open, showing a hint of chest hair. Her eyes lingered there. Biting her lip softly, she wondered just what that would feel like under her palms.

Down girl, she warned herself, puffing a breath of air over her face and trying to shift her focus onto anything other than him.

Upon arrival, Kilian had gifted the bottle of champagne upon the host (One August W. Booth, local furniture magnate and pretty skeezy in Emma’s opinion) before scooping up their own champagne flutes and observing the scene of the party in full swing.

“So,” she sighed, feeling a little awkward as she ran her free hand over the satin of her skirt and tried to think of something smart or witty to say.

“Maybe we should… mingle?” he suggested. She sighed in relief; she wasn’t quite ready to engage in solo conversation.

“I’d like that,” she smiled, taking his offered arm as they wandered into the crowd.

Up to this point, her attraction to him had been almost purely physical. But as they spent the next hour moving around the different guests and drinking just enough champagne to take the edge off her nerves, she started to see that he was really a great guy. Being one of those business-like occasions where most people don’t know each other that well, he was fantastic at putting others at ease and introducing himself (and slipping some of them a business card or two). He had the perfect combination of wit and charm that seemed to win over every woman - and man - in the room. And if she was a little proud of the envious looks some of them gave her, that was merely a bonus.

Finally, her feet began to ache and the two sought out a small table in the corner of the room.

“Wow, you really know how to work a room!”

He beamed before ducking his head a little at the compliment. “I’m generally better with people I don’t know.”

“Oh?” “I’m not the easiest man to get to know.”

Emma shrugged and took another sip from a fresh glass of champagne. “Well, it’s not like I’ve exactly tried to…”

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

“I tried to overlook the hiding from me at Ruby’s birthday bash, but by the third time you ignored me at the coffee cart, I was beginning to take the hint.” He pouted a little, his full pink lips looking so inviting that she could help but stare for a few seconds. “Truth is, I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages.”

“You have?”

“Emma, I’ve been quite taken by you for months now.”

How was this happening? Her breathing began to quicken.

“But you were giving me very clear signals that you weren’t interested.”

“I don’t…” she began, ready to spout out her usual ‘don’t do relationships’ spiel, when she realized just how lame it sounded. “Yeah, I guess I did. But what about this-” she gestured to the party in full swing around them.

He smiled a little coyly before his gaze dropped to studying the glass in his hands. “Before I came into the office, I’d been on a call with my brother - he lives in England and you know, time differences made it past New Year there. He was quite merry and told me that it was about bloody time that I got over myself and started living a little.”

“He sounds more and more like my friend.”

Gently, he placed the glass on the small table in front of them. Looking up, his eyes flitted over her face. “Maybe we have something in common, then; people in our lives who care more than we think we deserve. I’ve spent years living in the past, Emma, using shit I couldn’t control as an excuse to not try to change. But then I spoke to Liam and then you were there and - do you believe in fate?” she shrugged, “Well I’m not sure I do either, but I figured if ever some higher power was telling me I needed to make a change, it was tonight when I saw you in the office.” Her breath caught in her throat as she absorbed his words. “And the change?”

“It was taking a chance and putting myself out there,” He edged a little closer on the loveseat upon which they sat, until their knees jostled together, “Honestly, I was fully prepared for rejection and having to begin to avoid you.”

Lashes fluttering like some paperback heroine, Emma let herself reply with a bright smile. “I’m glad you did.”

“So am I,” he whispered.

They tipped their glasses together, exchanging daring glances as they drank. The bubbles danced over her tongue the way only a really expensive champagne can. Slowly, the music around them changed from lively into something with a more mellow beat.

“Care to dance?” he asked.

“You can dance?”

“I have many talents.”

A peal of light laughter fell from her lips as she took his hand and let him lead her to where a few other couples were swaying together. He placed her arms around his neck and his own hands about her hips. The heat, the champagne and this intoxication of him made the room swirl pleasantly, tempting her to place her head on his chest, while a part of her deep inside hummed ‘this feels right’.

***

11:59 pm Failure four: Making sensible and rational decisions

The music became quieter as the minutes ticked towards midnight. The pair paused in their dance and Emma let her fingers brush against the tendrils of hair that spilled over his collar. He looked at her, his focus dancing between her eyes and lips until she thought she might burst with the tension.

“Hey, remember what you said about being spontaneous?”

“Yes,” he whispered, just as the countdown began.

This time it was her turn to focus on his lips. She knew that kissing him could be a beginning of something. It had been so long since she had felt that way about a man and that scared her. But not enough to stop.

Her fingers slipped from his hair to slide under the lapel of his thin wool jacket, hands drawing down over his shoulders and balling in the material, as she reached up on her toes. A second passed by, where their eyes met and both smiled, then there was a little jump in her stomach as she leant into him and pressed her mouth to his. Instantly, she was consumed by emotion: happiness, desire, fear- Until the simple physical motion of lips upon lips engulfed her completely, drowning out the countdown echoing around them. Her whole body tingled as he wrapped his arms around her pulled her body flush.

They fell apart to rousing shouts of ‘Happy New Year’, her fingers still tangled in his jacket, breathless and exhilarated.

“Wow,” she sighed, her senses slowly returning.

“Yeah,” he agreed. His cheeks were a captivating pink. Without thinking, she reached up her hand to brush against them.

“So, do you have any resolutions?” she whispered.

“Well, I definitely want to do that again.”

“Oh do you?” she teased.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice serious; the air around them suddenly thick-

And then it was as if the rest of the room faded away. He took hold of her hand, edging it back around his neck before crushing his mouth against hers once more.

Emma Swan was pretty sure she was drowning. Her whole body throbbed with need as she chased each motion of his lips. As first (or technically second-) kisses go, it was up there with the best; the explosive chemistry between them so palpable that the idea of not taking this further made her gut ache.

Resting her hands on his shoulders, she paused the kiss, whispering, “Follow me,” not waiting for a response before she took hold of his hand from her waist and pulled him with her towards the service area behind the bar which currently stood deserted.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, letting him push her against the wall, his hips anchoring her own in place so that she could feel his erection pressing heavily against her and making her wish that she was wearing a more forgiving skirt that would have allowed her to wrap her legs around him and seek out the friction she so wanted.

His needy lips did as she desired, desperately claiming her again: a little recklessly, certainly without restraint, almost bruising in their determination. One hand gripped her waist while the other snuck under the hem of her skirt, teasing her thigh while his lips found her neck. She let her hands thread through his hair, not caring if she mussed it up, just wanting this feeling to not end; wanting to be as close as she could to him and whatever magic spell he had placed over her.

Finally, he tipped back his head and took a few deep breaths.

“Emma, this wasn’t what I intended-” “You want to stop?” she asked, feeling slightly mortified at the idea she had entirely misread the situation.

“God, no-” he cupped her face with his hands, “I just don’t want you to think that this was my aim when I asked you to come here.”

She saw honesty in his eyes - she’d always been great at telling when someone was lying. Mary Margaret called it her superpower. He was telling the truth.

“I don’t think that,” she smiled, “If I’m honest I don’t even know what’s happening right now,” she swallowed hard and then added, “But I do know I don’t want it to stop.”

A flash of understanding crossed his face and he tipped his face closer, “Well, maybe we need to take this elsewhere…” he let the words linger a moment between them.

“Is that car still available?”

He nodded and she became captivated for a moment by his unfairly thick lashes that curved back and further enhanced the mesmerising blue hue of his eyes.

“Then let’s go.”

***

The car ride was almost unbearable. There were too many thoughts in her mind to cope with being so close to him and not having him there and then. What was going on? What was she doing? What was he thinking?

And she was taking him back to her place.

Emma Swan did not bring men back to her own apartment - it was too intimate, it suggested she wanted more. But the invitation had fallen from her lips without hesitation and she’d given her address to the driver before she could overthink it.

Their hands rested next to each other, spanning the small gap between them. Emma counted the beats of her heart as the street lights zipped by. Then his fingers inched closer, slowly overlapping hers until he had taken hold of her hand. She looked at him, half hidden in the shadow of the dark interior, flashes of light flickering over his face.

God, she wanted to kiss him again. Waiting was such sweet torture - but she knew should she touch him like that now they would be consummating their new found chemistry on that very seat. So instead, she focused on the feel of his hands on her and let her eyes roam over his figure as he did the same. She could feel him study her decolletage and the exposed curve of her breasts thanks to Ruby’s predilection for low cut necklines.

Pulling up to the curb, she’d never been so thankful to get out of a moving vehicle, the pair tossing the driver a breezy ‘Happy New Year’ after Killian signed the chit.

Inside her apartment, she found herself once again pressed against the nearest wall, but this time with a lot less self restraint from both parties. His hungry lips tasted every exposed inch of skin as she clawed her fingers through his hair before yanking his shirt from his pants and sliding her palms up his back. He urged her hips apart and she felt the slit at the back of the skirt rip as she hiked her legs around him.

“Bed,” she demanded, tipping her head in the direction of her bedroom as they kissed their way across the living room.

After kicking open the door, Killian placed her back on the ground long enough for him to toss away his jacket and for them both to kick off their shoes. Then they were back, fused together, falling onto the bed as they pulled and tugged at each other’s clothes in a desperate search for the feel of bare skin.

The dress already ruined, she begged him, “Just tear it.”

With a guttural groan, he complied, foregoing the zip and yanking at the material until it gave way to the satisfying sound of threads splitting, leaving her in her simple underwear, as she concentrated on removing his shirt and fanning out her hands over his chest. His perfect chest, peppered with swathes of hair and just toned enough to say ‘hot’ rather than ‘gym obsessive’.

“You’re stunning,” he panted.

She palmed his hardness through his pants, earning another growl as her thighs clenched in anticipation of his generous size. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”

He yanked down the cups of her bra as she started to work on divesting him of his remaining clothes, suckling on a nipple as his hand worked the other into a firm peak, the sensation going right to her core where her body was practically begging her to take him inside.

“Shit,” she moaned as he took a second to help her with her task, before he was left gloriously nude and exposed before her - looking better than she could have imagined - so masculine and wanton with his erection jutting out proudly, demanding to be given attention. Bending forward, she reached out her tongue and ran it over his silky length, it jerked at the sensation, but before she could touch him he took hold of her wrist-

“You first,” he insisted and before she could protest he tugged down her panties, his lips once agains exploring her breasts as his fingers parted her folds and gathered the dampness that had already formed there. “Fuck Emma you’re so wet already. Such a delicious cunt.”

The unexpected language was surprisingly a huge turn on and she pulled his lips to her mouth-

“Waiting for you to fill me up, Jones.”

His fingers danced over her clit as he paused, inches from her mouth-

“So I’m Jones now, am I? Well I guess that makes you Swan.” Without ceremony, he pushed one thick finger into her quickly followed by another, her back arched from the bed until his lips muffled her moans. Inside her, his digits found places that had her letting out breathy little moans.

“You like that, Swan?” he asked, his eyes scanning her expression as her knees flexed and she pushed her heels into the mattress, trying to ground herself from the sensation of flying into the air.

“Yes,” she cried, her hands seeking something to also anchor themselves to him, finding his ass to be just as firm and round as it had appeared in his pants. She was now so slick that his hand was gliding silkily between her legs, harder and faster- until he fell back on his haunches, giving her a searing look, before his mouth joined his hands on the assault of her sex. His tongue flicked out to swirl around her clit and over her folds until she could no longer discern his movements in the high of sensation he was creating. Her body was folding in upon itself, the muscles of her gut and core tightening and twisting as they bended to his will, his free hand massaging her breasts and then she was spiraling out of existence into the heavenly bliss of release as the tension snapped and rippled from her in waves.

“You’re glorious,” he panted, suffocating her in an all-consuming kiss that tasted of her, pulling her back to reality and fueling her desire once again.

Reaching for his cock, she ran her hand over him, imagining how he would feel inside her while he rutted into her palm. She pressed her hand against his shoulder, trying to lay him on his back so she could return the favor.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, once again worried she was misreading the whole situation.

“Nothing, love,” he replied, still pistoning his hips as he laid a kiss to her forehead, “It’s just, if I can’t be inside you right now, I think I’m going to explode.”

Oh, she wasn’t going to argue with him-

“Top drawer of the nightstand,” she whispered, sitting up to watch him as he found a condom, palming her breasts as her whole body ached in expectation. It had been so long since she had gotten to this place with a guy, and even longer with someone who she could potentially care about-

It was right then, as he turned back to her, his face deliciously wrecked, that she recognized that was just it- there was something about him, something as still intangible in addition to his more obvious assets, an attraction brewing that was more than just superficial.

She liked Killian Jones. Really. Truly.

Stunned, she let craving for him roll over her again as he crawled back across the bed to her, caging her body in with his, a look of pure want on his face.

“Swan,” he whispered, with a crooked smile.

“Jones,” she replied, widening her legs to accommodate him, wrapping her legs around his waist until she could feel the weight of him pressing against her entrance.

He sank into her heat, every solid inch more perfect than the last, pausing once he had bottomed out until she pressed her heels into his ass, urging him into a sensual rhythm.

His soft grunts and moans had her hot and bothered, writhing against him, seeking out further friction as he alternated between hard, quick thrusts and softer, rocking motions. Normally, Emma would be vocal with what she wanted in bed, but he just seemed to know instinctively how to make her body hum. She gave as good as she got, encouraging him with muttered ‘yeses’ and ‘harders’, getting lost in the moment - not trying to draw it out. Because she knew this could never be a one time thing. Instead, she chased her peak, wanting him to join her, grinding against him, foregoing technique for desperate motions that had one single purpose-

It worked. In a frenzy of movement, she found herself falling once more, this time her body was gripping his, dragging him with her into dizzying, euphoric release.

To the heavy beat of heaving hearts, he collapsed beside her.

Minutes later, his fingers tangled in her hair as she lay against his chest, truth be told she was a little too warm, but had no desire to move as she soaked in the post-coital bliss. His other arm wrapped around her shoulders and he ran his hand over the naked skin within his reach.

“Can I ask you a question?” she whispered.

“Of course,” he said, punctuating his reply with a kiss to her forehead. “Anything.”

“Why me? I mean, you could have your pick of anyone, Jones.”

“You’re beautiful,” he answered, without skipping a beat.

“Please…” she clucked, rolling her eyes.

“And, well, it was really a choice between you and the security guard tonight,” he joked.

“Not funny,” she deadpanned, though tossing him a grin that showed she knew he was joking.

“Okay,” he nodded, “Well, when we first met I could see the guarded look in your eyes. I recognized it. Not many wear it so openly, but you, sweetheart, are an open book.”

Her instinct was to rebuff that statement, but she knew it was true. “I’ve been… hurt.” she admitted, “More than once.”

“Me too,” he nodded

“So pain is attractive to you?”

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” He shook his head, “Not exactly, love. I guess I saw a kindred spirit in you? And though you may have tried to avoid me, you piqued my interest that day. I sought you out, tried to learn a little about you. Ms. Lucas is surprisingly chatty when she brings up the daily figures.”

“I may have asked a bit about you too.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes really, just don’t let that go to your head!”

He gave her a wicked grin in response. She sighed. That cheeky smile of his was probably going to be her downfall.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why did you have to be one of the good ones?”

“The good ones?” he asked, his brow creasing in confusion.

“You know… I’m pretty good at telling when someone is being dishonest.”

“Oh, for all you know, I’m just some dashing rapscallion, love.”

“You wish buddy.”

The pair fell silent for a moment.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked, strangely nervously considering their current situation.

In reply, she rolled onto her front, running one hand through his hair, her eyes focusing on his mouth, until she kissed him once more.

“Mmmm,” he moaned, “I could get used to that.”

She dropped her forehead to his, her fingers drawing circles against his scalp as the reality of what this all could mean began to dawn on her.

“Killian, we work together…”

“We work for the same company, love, entirely different departments.”

“But still…” she trailed off, searching again for an out clause-

“Love, if you feel this was a mistake-”

“No,” she cried, placing a hand on his chest. “I’m just- Can we take this slow?”

The smile he gave her was a one she hadn’t seen - wide and bright, full of hope - “As you wish, my lovely Swan.”

She kissed him again, rousing them both to round number two.

***

31st December 2017

Emma Swan, 2017

32 years old

Cohabitating with a gorgeous man who loves her (and she loves him)

Still have kickass view of Boston Harbor but this time sharing her bed (and life) with aforementioned gorgeous (and amazing) guy.

Still owner of VW Bug older than she is, but better able to afford mechanic costs since…

Now owner of her very own bail bonds business.

Very, very, sickening happy, thank you very much!,

#captain swan #cs ff #gf ss #jill writes things #(very slowly)

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