I’ve been reading these snippets of Saudade and the one thing stopping me from reading it on AO3 is the fact it’s unfinished. I beg of you PLEASE finish it because these snips are FANTASTIC and I NEED to read the whole thing 😍🥺 please I beg you finish it 🫶🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜
Babe, I swear, I'll finish it if it's the last thing I do 🫡 I just need to crawl out of the writer's block sinkhole I'm currently in; haven't opened my writing app in like a month and it's killing me. My stupid day job beating my ass isn't helping either 🥲
Watching Cobb pass through the immigration gate took an immense amount of weight off Arthur’s shoulders, but it also made him realize how absolutely exhausted he was. He felt lighter as well as deflated, like the stress of the last two years was the only thing that kept him together, kept him standing straight, kept him going.
He rested his whole weight on the heels of his hands splayed over the wet faux marble counter of the airport bathroom. His forearms trembled with exhaustion when he dropped his head between his shoulders. Inhale, exhale, exhale, exhale…
When he raised his head again, the familiar, battered face of a man on the brink of falling apart looked back at him from the mirror. His hair, no longer slicked back, was framing his face with sad, wavy strands. The overhead fluorescent light accentuated his paleness, the shadows making the bags under his eyes appear twice as big. The furrow in between his brows was prominent and, at this point, seemingly permanent.
Arthur closed his eyes with an exuberant sigh and straightened his back to the sound of popping joints. He turned the faucet on, threw his tie over his shoulder, and cupped his palms under the stream. After splashing his face with a handful of water, he rubbed his eyes and mouth, then raked his still-wet fingers through his hair to comb it back. He didn’t have any tissues and the airport paper towels were the stinky kind, cheap and grey, so he dried his hands and under his chin just enough to stop the water from dripping under his collar.
Rolling his arms back, he tried to crack his neck to relax his aching muscles before finally grabbing his duffel bag from the counter and throwing it over his shoulder with a grunt.
He genuinely hoped the rest of the team had already left. Cobb lying to him hurt like a motherfucker, even though he knew perfectly well where Cobb was coming from when he decided to go behind their backs. Arthur would always love Cobb like a brother, but he definitely needed a break from the man. Just for a while, so the anger and hurt would have a chance to simmer down. Yusuf, however, he couldn’t forgive so easily.
Before he left the bathroom, Arthur checked the team’s itineraries he had saved on his phone. The only one who might still be at the airport, besides Ariadne waiting for him by the food courts, was Eames. He was flying to New York in 45 minutes, so he should be going through the customs right about now. At least, that’s what Arthur was hoping for. He really wasn’t in the mood for Eames.
He was closing up the app when the door handle creaked. Startled, he jumped away from the door, shoved his phone into his pants pocket, and rushed to the sinks again, pretending to wash his hands while he glanced at the now-ajar door.
Fuck his luck, honestly.
Eames snuck into the bathroom, eyes focused on Arthur’s back, and he could feel the anger flare up under his skin. He aggressively shook his hands in the air, splashing excess water everywhere, and without raising his eyes, he turned around and headed for the door.
“Arthur, wait.” A strong, warm hand grabbed his wrist and locked it in a tight grip. “Can we talk for a moment?”
Saudade - Chapter One - The Goodbye
The first chapter of my longest Inception fic is finally on AO3, and it only took 13 years to post it ;___;
There must’ve been an alarm that lured them in. Something he didn’t notice, didn’t pay enough attention to. It must’ve been something he couldn’t have anticipated, otherwise it’d mean he’s getting sloppy.
And Arthur is not getting sloppy.
He tries not to listen to the growling behind him, feet shuffling on the concrete and slimy bodies rubbing against each other. Tries not to think about how much his legs hurt, how his lungs burn, and his heavy breath whistles as he’s literally running for his life.
Arthur is not getting old, though.
Right, then left, then left again. His tired legs know the way even if his head can’t keep up. He studied those maps for weeks, remembers every house, every fence, every dead end.
Just a few more streets, he’s telling himself while cutting every next corner, eyes searching for a way out.
There, a fire escape. He jumps on the trunk of a car at the last moment, undead hands grabbing the air right behind him.
“Fuck,” he gasps, realization of how close of a call that was making adrenaline rush through his veins. He quickly scrambles to the roof of the car, his every move making the vehicle move and creak under his weight.
He throws a panicked glance over the shoulder. Two zombies are kneeling right by the trunk of the car. Their hands reaching out, jaws working. Not bothered that they’re being trampled by others climbing over them onto the vehicle. More of pale, boney fingers, blood under every broken nail, are stretching out towards him. Just mere inches from grabbing onto his pants. Rotting teeth seconds from biting into his ankles.
The ladder, Arthur, focus on the ladder.
Can he jump that high?
He has to.
Knees bent, arms swinging, he throws himself up, springing from the car’s roof, hoping the ladder won’t simply give out under his weight.
His fingers brush the metal. His heart stops when they slip.
His feet dangle above the ground, and his hands are closed around the last rung.
Tears of relief sting his eyes, and a panicked laugh escapes his lips. He clambers onto the fire escape and runs on his last legs, runs to the last fence standing between him and the rescue.
He can hear the hum of the engine, the car getting closer. Right on time, he thinks, as he rips his leather jacket off his back and throws it over the barbed wire before he jumps one last time—
Right into the passenger seat of Eames’ flashy convertible he refuses to abandon, no matter how much Arthur nags him about it.
He’s so fucking grateful that Eames didn’t listen.
“Did you get it?”
Arthur closes his eyes, his heart still hammering in his heaving chest, his breath still heavy and whistling. His fingers tap out a rhythm on his thigh before diving into his back pocket to dig out a battered moleskin.
“Arthur, did you get it?”
Leafing through the pages, he skims over the sketches, rows and rows of chemical formulas, hand-drawn maps, and pages of some kind of instructions. He smiles when his fingers feel out a rectangle tucked in between the last page and the cover loosely glued together.
Arthur’s head lolls to the side, his eyes landing on Eames’ worried frown, the plastic entry card displayed proudly in the air between his middle and forefinger. “I fucking got it.”
Eames glances back at Arthur before looking back at the road, and his lips spread in a smile that mirrors Arthur’s own. The success of their mission finally reaches his brain, and he bursts into cheers. Arthur can’t help but laugh with him.
* * *
Gliding feels like falling, no matter how many times he does it. Landing feels like he’s about to fucking die.
Humans were not supposed to fly.
Well, they weren’t supposed to turn into zombies either, and yet here we are.
Arthur throws the hang glider onto the dirty roof the moment they land and pins it to the nearby pipe so it doesn’t fly away, while Eames unpacks their climbing gear and starts complaining again.
He does that a lot lately, and Arthur knows he’s bored. There’s not much to do in a post-apocalyptic world besides surviving and definitely not much to entertain a con man. Practically nothing that wouldn’t immediately paint a target on their backs.
“What would you say about the change of scenery? We could go to the Colony. See some sights, visit some people.”
“They’re still after us for the last time, you know,” Arthur says but it breaks his heart all the same seeing disappointment on Eames’ face. He tightens the last strap of the harness on the man’s hips and pats him on the chest, trying to ignore his sad sigh before throwing the climbing rope down the side of the building.
“I just miss it, you know? Thieving,” Eames speaks again as they hang hundreds of feet above the street, crawling with lethargic zombies. He’s dangling his foot, almost kicking Arthur in the shin while he’s doing his best to cut through the window glass without slicing off his fingers.
“We’re literally in the process of stealing as we speak,” Arthur deadpans as the window gives, and he pushes the glass inside.
“Ugh, it’s not the same when it doesn’t belong to anyone. There’s no thrill.” Eames crawls through the hole, unpins the line from his harness, and immediately shoots a growling zombie crawling towards them, lured by the noise. Arthur shoots him a look.
“Zombies not thrilling enough for you?”
“I’m just saying,” Eames starts as they sneak around the building, and he shoots another zombie in the head while it’s still turned away. “What’s the point if no one’s chasing us? Zero risk, zero fun.”
“One bad move, and we have a horde of flesh-eating monsters chasing us. I’d say it’s a fuck ton of risk.”
Eames huffs and crosses his arms while Arthur tinkers with the lab door to make the entry card work. “You wouldn’t understand,” he says as the lock’s light turns green and the door hisses as it decompresses. Arthur rolls his eyes.
They pack whatever they can fit into duffel bags and backpacks they’ve brought. Eames is worryingly silent as he does so, and Arthur sighs, looking around at everything they will end up carrying out of the building. “I guess we have enough merch to sell some,” he says, and he can immediately tell Eames is getting perkier. “And we’re short on ammo. A trip to the Colony wouldn’t hurt.”
Eames turns on his heel, giddy with child-like excitement. “Darling, I could kiss you right now.”
“What are you waiting for, then?”
“Arthur, we’re literally in the process of stealing in a building surrounded by zombies,” Eames says with a smug and playfully serious face. “Do keep it in your pants.”
Arthur snorts. Why he loves this idiot, he has no idea. He smacks Eames on the shoulder before he kisses him, feeling the man’s smile pressing against his own.
* * *
Arthur is definitely getting old.
He’s running again, Eames right behind him. His lungs hurt, and his legs hurt, and the only thing that isn’t hurting is his ego. Because he knew coming here was a bad fucking idea.
Whenever the first opportunity presents itself, he’s telling Eames “I told you so,” and he won’t even feel bad about it.
A stray bullet hits the brick of the building they’re sprinting by, and the sounds of an engine revving are getting dangerously closer. It looks like they were able to fix the truck Arthur tampered with the moment he realized that Eames fucked some shit up.
Then, he sees an alleyway shrouded in the shadows just around the corner, the nearby streetlamp not working. He makes a decision and turns into it, then hauls Eames in by the sleeve of his jacket as the man runs by. Using the momentum of Eames’ body, he pulls him in deeper, twists him around, and slams his back against the wall, immediately pressing his palm to the man’s mouth.
Their bodies are flushed together, and he can feel quick huffs of Eames’ breath on his fingers and his chest heaving against Arthur’s. He’s breathing heavily as well, his heart thrashing under his ribs. Eames’ hands venture to rest on Arthur’s hips, and he, in turn, rests his head on Eames’ shoulder.
Shortly after the sounds of the army truck’s engine disappear in the distance, Arthur drops his hand from Eames’ mouth and looks at the man.
He scowls in protest. “You told me I could steal from someone!”
“But not from the fucking general of the army, Eames!” Arthur hisses.
“Well, he had something I wanted.”
“I hope it was worth the price on our heads.”
“Mmm, we’ll see,” Eames replies with irritating vagueness. Arthur feels his blood boil.
“What does that even mean, you psycho?”
Eames laughs and Arthur wants to slap the shit-eating grin off his handsome face, he really does, but instead he snickers as well, and doesn’t protest when Eames catches his mouth with his own to playfully bite at Arthur’s bottom lip. The stress of the chase eases off quickly after that.
* * *
After buying fuel and ammo for an ungodly high price, they drive to their hideout. Eames is giddy and visibly excited the whole way, and when they pull up to a rundown house on the outskirts of the city, he gestures to Arthur to stay put and jumps out of the car.
Arthur, arms crossed over his chest, watches Eames dig out a long tube wrapped in grey paper from the trunk of the car. You can never know with Eames, so he’s consciously wary and expecting the worst. A treasure map, perhaps. Or a body.
The package is handed to him, and he takes it and weights it in his hand. It’s light, so he decides it can’t be that bad.
“Go on, open it,” Eames urges, watching him. The smile on his face doesn’t falter, but it’s warmer now, timid.
Arthur turns the package in his hands before he tugs on the ribbon, and the brown paper falls to the ground. He’s holding a painting, the texture of a canvas unmistakable under his fingers. His brows furrow, eyes darting from the gift to Eames. The man nods in encouragement, and so Arthur unfurls it.
“That’s my favorite Bacon.”
Eames nods.
“Is this why you wanted to go to the Colony?”
“I’ve heard through the grapevine that the general was hoarding some artwork, hell only knows what for,” he scoffs while Arthur stares at the painting, his mouth agape. “It’s the anniversary of our first job together soon, so I thought…”
“Eames, I—”
Arthur carefully puts the Bacon back in the trunk and looks at Eames. Fondness tugs on his heartstrings when he’s met with the man’s searching eyes. How could it not when he's looking at someone who loves him so much?
“I thought you’d like something to hang over the fireplace of that farmhouse we’ve been dreaming about,” Eames adds, and Arthur’s heart swells. He has to swallow to speak, stupid tears prickling his eyes.
“I love you so much,” he says with all the affection he can muster, and Eames is beaming, arms reaching out to hold him, and Arthur goes, of course he does, thinking how lucky he is to have met this man.
The world might have ended, but Arthur’s not worried because, with Eames by his side, his life has just begun.
Simon wasn’t planning on killing again so quickly, still riding the high of destroying the teacher who liked their students a tad too much. But then he found himself at the Manchester Piccadilly one morning, no reason, no purpose. He briefly wondered what he was doing there, but then... Simon saw him.
The man was clearly new to the city, getting off the train with a backpack, a suitcase, and a cardboard box under his arm, a look of feeling lost in an unfamiliar place weighing down his handsome features. Simon felt it then, deep in his gut, a stir of excitement that made his instincts sing. He immediately felt drawn to the man, enticed like never before with anyone else.
Simon didn’t know what the man did to deserve catching Simon’s eye that day, but he was determined to find out. His intuition was never wrong, which told him there was a good reason for them to meet like that. He had to get to him, had to study him. He had to have him.
Simon watched as the man looked something up on his phone, unapologetically taking up space in the middle of the station, not caring in the slightest that he was blocking the path, making other passengers go around him. That checks, Simon thought, gauging the guy as obnoxious. Just look at that hair.
Simon cocked his head, watching as the man crumpled his printed-out ticket and threw it in the nearby trash bin before heading towards the main exit.
He loved people’s disregard for the safety of their personal information.
Simon waited half a minute before he moved. He quickly grabbed the ticket from the top of the trash pile and left the station to follow the man. He stopped in the smoking zone by the taxi parking, where the man was waiting for his Uber. Simon lit a cigarette, lazily leaning on the wall, before unfolding the paper to see the man’s name. He traced the letters with his fingertips. John MacTavish.
“Hello, Johnny,” he said under his breath, watching MacTavish enter the car.
A ghostsoap serial killer AU I wrote for the discord's spooky exchange. Hold My Breath in Your Hands available on AO3.
ghost who doesn’t know how to show affection so he just kind of stands there vibrating at the seams with cute aggression after soap does something like kissing his cheek.
Arthur rose from the couch and leaned forward again. He threw one of his legs over Eames’ knees, straddling him. “Can I see him?” he whispered, leaning even closer, his mouth hovering over Eames’, his eyes darting from one iris to the other.
He watched Eames’ face shift as it clicked in his mind, his expression going from sheer confusion to something animalistic, his eyes darkening.
“Arthur…” Eames said the name with a purr, finally getting it, a delighted grin splitting his face. “Are you hot for Venom? You kinky monsterfucker.”
Arthur wanted to protest, to roll his eyes, but Eames closed the gap between them, crushing his lips. He didn’t wait before he licked the seam of Arthur’s mouth, asking to be let in. Arthur didn’t protest and deepened the kiss, bringing his hand up. Running it over Eames’ pecks with a light squeeze, he finally settled it on his jaw, the fingers caressing the nape of Eames’ neck and his thumb brushing his cheek.
Eames leaned back then, letting Arthur’s mouth chase his as he said, his voice even deeper, rougher. “Good thing we like you too.”
Arthur gasped when Eames’ eyes whitened, black swirls dancing at the edges of his now wholly black irises. “Fuck, Eames.”
“I sincerely hope that’s the plan, love,” he said as he tugged Arthur’s shirt from his pants and began unbuttoning it slowly. Arthur was captivated, still looking into his eyes, outlining his features with the lightest touches of his fingertips like his face was a sacred thing, and Arthur feared he wasn’t worthy even to touch. He brushed his lashes with his thumbs and kissed the bridge of his nose. Eames’ eyes fluttered close with a quiet, affectionate exhale.
My number one mission in life is to crossover Inception with e v e r y t h i n g. Venom was the perfect place to start. Don't be fooled by the humor, 70% of this fic is straight-up p0rn. You can read the rest at AO3: I Wanna Feel You, I Want It All
“You will be the death of me, Arthur,” Eames murmured to the clear sky and exhaled, effectively sinking himself under the surface. With a swift underwater somersault, he flipped himself in the shore’s direction and started leisurely swimming back.
As Eames swam closer, he spotted Arthur on the beach next to his things. He was lying back, resting on his forearms, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He was dressed in navy blue pantsuits and a white oxford shirt. He stood out like a sore thumb, surrounded by people in swimsuits, although Eames had to admit he was impressed regardless - Arthur’s sleeves were rolled up to the elbows.
Arthur noticed him when he reached the shallow waters, so he waved to the man and stood up to walk the rest of the way. He deliberately didn’t look in Arthur’s direction as he emerged from the ocean. Instead, he closed his eyes and slicked his wet hair back, then glanced sideways at a group of kids running in his general direction. Even though he didn’t look, he could feel Arthur’s heavy gaze on his body.
He knew how he looked; the months he spent under the radar weren’t exactly rich with activities, so more often than not, he busied himself with working out. He didn’t even have to flex right now to present Arthur with his hard-earned, defined muscles. Chiseled, dripping with water, and wearing only tiny black booty shorts, he was like plucked out of Arthur’s wet dreams.
Well, he never said he had to go easy on the man. A little physiological torture never killed anybody, after all. Look what you’re missing out on and all that.
“Admiring the views?” he asked with an innocent face. He felt delighted when Arthur’s breath hitched, and a faint blush colored his cheekbones. His stoic face didn’t falter, though.
“Well, you said it’s your favorite beach in the city, so I had to see what all the fuss is about.”
Eames hummed with a smirk and kneeled on the towel next to Arthur. He brushed off some of the sand from it before laying down on his stomach, face turned to the other man, his arms crossed under his cheek. “And how do you find it?”
“A beach is a beach, I think. Sand, salty water, not enough shade. Not my thing, if I’m being honest.”
A fragment of Saudade, my ArthurEames Inception WIP I started writing with a friend in 2011
#exes to lovers #angst #hurt/comfort #mutual pining #post-canon
When I die someday, whether that's tomorrow or in ninety years, I'll die peacefully knowing that I fulfilled my life's work.
Which was getting strangers horny on the internet using lovingly written, highly personal AO3 smut that I handcrafted myself and kissed on the forehead before I sent it out into the world.
Venom jumped on the projection’s back, knocking it over so violently that Arthur was surprised the man didn’t die instantly. Venom roared, pinning the man’s head to the ground with clawed hands. He leaned over his back, on all fours, like an animal, and then… Then he opened his mouth, and a thick, pink, impossibly long tongue slid out from behind the row of deadly teeth, slowly dripping saliva all over the projection’s face.
“I wish I could taste you,” Venom said as he dragged his tongue from the projection’s neck, over the side of his face, and up to the hairline. “I just know you’d taste so good.”
Arthur’s eye twitched in disbelief as he felt a familiar warmth pooling heavy in his loins. Un-fucking-believable.
“Well, fuck,” he said under his breath and squeezed his hand tighter on Eames’ shirt.
“Arthur?” Eames asked, his hand closing over Arthur’s own. “It’s okay. Venom won’t harm you.”
“That’s not really what I’m worried about,” he whispered, as he focused on Venom’s claws slowly digging into the projection’s shoulders for better grip as he leaned even lower, mouth opening wider, tongue still dancing over the man’s features. When Venom suddenly chomped down his teeth on its head, and his claws ripped down the projection’s back, Arthur breathed out a choked-up gasp.
“What?”
Arthur’s eyes snapped back to Eames’ face. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
He almost ran to the building’s door, trying to ignore the heat searing his cheeks.
My number one mission in life is to crossover Inception with e v e r y t h i n g. Venom was the perfect place to start. Don't be fooled by the humor, 70% of this fic is straight-up p0rn.
You can read the rest at AO3: I Wanna Feel You, I Want It All
Arthur’s heart pounded, fast and heavy, against his ribs. He took a shaky breath and gripped the blackness tighter. He almost died just then. Not the permanent kind, of course, he knew that, but dropping something like 15 feet and dying on impact with either concrete or the water wouldn’t be a pleasant kick either.
He finally glanced down to see what was gripping him so tight. It was a fucking arm. An arm the size of his fucking thigh, and were those… claws?!
“Everything alright?” Eames asked, just as they jumped over the bridge tower, landing on a suspension rope with a thump. They were being carried over the top of the bridge in the monster’s… monstrous arms. The arms that were smooth, slimy but not sticky, with milky gray veins throbbing under the… skin? The arms with huge hands that ended with fucking claws, but that were also surprisingly gentle, caring even, carefully enveloping them both and cradling them into the monster’s chest. Arthur felt a blush rising up his neck as he was rocked up and down in the rhythm of the monster’s jumps.
“Honestly, no,” he said, because what was the point of lying in situations like these?
“Also, it’s they. Or he,” Eames said, because yeah, no point dwelling on what wasn’t alright in situations like these, either. This one was pretty obvious.
“What’s they?”
“Venom. You said it, earlier. Venom’s not an “it”, it’s he or they.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed. Was Eames teaching him about the monster’s pronouns right now? “As in, they’re nonbinary? Genderfluid?”
Eames chuckled. “As in, usually referring to themself in plural.”
“Oh.” Yeah, that made more sense, he supposed. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Venom said, and Arthur, honest to god, shrieked, startled. “But you calling us a bootleg Spider-Man? That one hurt.”
My number one mission in life is to crossover Inception with e v e r y t h i n g. Venom was the perfect place to start. Don't be fooled by the humor, 70% of this fic is straight-up p0rn.
You can read the rest at AO3: I Wanna Feel You, I Want It All
