Original Story: Target Locked
Title: Target Locked
Author: grimcognito
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fluff, romance
Disclaimer: These characters are mine (though Cupid is adapted from mythology) so no stealing.
Author Notes: um, yay for original fic?
Summary: Doesn't Cupid, the ultimate matchmaker, deserve his own chance at true love?
Word Count: 997
Cupid landed on the rooftop with a soft step and settled his wings against his back. He checked his watch and noted with satisfaction that he’d arrived on time, but if he didn’t hurry and set things up, he’d miss his chance, and some poor fool would walk past their true love without even knowing it.
He strode to the edge of the building, set his briefcase down next to the low ledge wall, and with quick movements had it clicking open despite the numerous locks. He opened the lid and lifted out the separate parts of his sniper rifle, an M14, and began assembling them with the speed and surety of someone who’d done it hundreds of times.
It was a good thing no mortal could actually see him, or at least, they couldn’t remember him afterward. He probably looked like a hitman, with his black suit, sunglasses and his gun-carrying briefcase, but then again, he hadn’t seen many hitmen with big white wings or bright pinks guns either. He looked down at the rosy color of the weapon in his hands and snorted. Apparently, no matter what form his bow and arrows took, they were doomed to forever be this color. Ah well, he was used to it by now, and at least the other gods wouldn’t steal it, being rather conspicuous and all that.
He shook his head to clear it and set his M14 on the ledge, scanning the crowd for his target. He found him soon enough, his instincts pinpointing the man before his eyes could catch up, and in no time had him in the crosshairs of his scope. The odd thing was, he couldn’t feel the man’s true love anywhere. Usually, he could sense the other person, and could feel when the perfect time to fire was, and that moment was fast approaching, but where the hell was his true love?
There was no time, he had to shoot now or never, and pray that his instincts weren’t leading him astray for the first time in centuries. He took a calming breath and pulled the trigger.
A small ball of golden light blasted from his gun, not a real bullet, but a condensed form of pure, untainted love, meant to show the target exactly who they were meant for. As soon as he fired, he saw it, almost like it was in slow motion. Just before his bullet hit, the man turned and happened to glance upward, and as soon as he was hit, the golden light vanishing into his chest, they locked eyes.
Impossible. Absolutely impossible. There was no way the man could see him with his magic shielding him, and even if it wasn’t, he was simply too far. It wasn’t a passing glance though, the man stared right at him, and Cupid could see the way the wind mussed his dark hair as he stood still in the crowd of people moving along the busy sidewalk. He felt something warm bloom in his chest and… oh. Oh, damn.
His mouth went dry, and his heart raced, torn between elation and terror. Not knowing what to do, he tore his eyes away from the scope and fled.
…………………
Two weeks later, he sat at a café, holding his now-cold coffee and wondering if the ache in his chest would ever leave. He tried to take a tiny bit of satisfaction in the fact that he had the ability interact with the world as much as he could. He was able to order coffee, even if he had to hide his wings with magic, and the barista always forgot he was there as soon as his coffee was made. Even as he sat at the table, people’s eyes simply passed by him and they avoided his table without realizing they did so.
But today, there was nothing he could tell himself that would help lighten his mood. He’d seen his true love, had fired the bullet that made his true love see him, and what did he do? He ran. And he knew, better than anyone, that second chances were few and far between.
He sighed, staring down at the creamy brown pool of hazelnut coffee in his cup and was about to throw it out when someone coughed in that distinctive, trying-to-politely-get-your-attention kind of way. He ignored it, knowing it was for someone at a nearby table, and not him. Whoever it was coughed again, a little louder, and Cupid looked up, wondering who was bothering his sulking with their half-deaf friends.
Only, when he looked up, the man was staring right at him. The very same man Cupid had shot thirteen days, five hours and twenty seven minutes ago. Not that he was counting or anything.
He had nice eyes, a brown the same color as dark honey, and a shy smile that made coherent speech neigh on impossible. Oh crap, he had it bad. The man shifted from foot to foot as Cupid gaped at him, then nodded toward the empty chair across the table. “Hello. Um, mind if I sit?”
Gathering his wits, Cupid managed to form an actual sentence, “Of course! I mean, yes, please, help yourself.”
His efforts were rewarded with another one of those smiles and the man sat. “My name’s Jason.”
Cupid rubbed his chest, wondering where the ache had gone, and prayed he wouldn’t be laughed at, “My name is Cupid.”
There was a slight pause, and Cupid was positive that Jason would think him a liar, but when he spoke, it was with a thoughtful tone. “Well, I guess that explains the wings at least.”
As Cupid sat in shock, Jason smiled wider, “How about I get us some fresh coffee and we can go from there?”
Cupid could only nod, and as he watched Jason stand and head toward the counter he thought that maybe, getting a taste of his own medicine was exactly what he needed.
Author: grimcognito
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fluff, romance
Disclaimer: These characters are mine (though Cupid is adapted from mythology) so no stealing.
Author Notes: um, yay for original fic?
Summary: Doesn't Cupid, the ultimate matchmaker, deserve his own chance at true love?
Word Count: 997
Cupid landed on the rooftop with a soft step and settled his wings against his back. He checked his watch and noted with satisfaction that he’d arrived on time, but if he didn’t hurry and set things up, he’d miss his chance, and some poor fool would walk past their true love without even knowing it.
He strode to the edge of the building, set his briefcase down next to the low ledge wall, and with quick movements had it clicking open despite the numerous locks. He opened the lid and lifted out the separate parts of his sniper rifle, an M14, and began assembling them with the speed and surety of someone who’d done it hundreds of times.
It was a good thing no mortal could actually see him, or at least, they couldn’t remember him afterward. He probably looked like a hitman, with his black suit, sunglasses and his gun-carrying briefcase, but then again, he hadn’t seen many hitmen with big white wings or bright pinks guns either. He looked down at the rosy color of the weapon in his hands and snorted. Apparently, no matter what form his bow and arrows took, they were doomed to forever be this color. Ah well, he was used to it by now, and at least the other gods wouldn’t steal it, being rather conspicuous and all that.
He shook his head to clear it and set his M14 on the ledge, scanning the crowd for his target. He found him soon enough, his instincts pinpointing the man before his eyes could catch up, and in no time had him in the crosshairs of his scope. The odd thing was, he couldn’t feel the man’s true love anywhere. Usually, he could sense the other person, and could feel when the perfect time to fire was, and that moment was fast approaching, but where the hell was his true love?
There was no time, he had to shoot now or never, and pray that his instincts weren’t leading him astray for the first time in centuries. He took a calming breath and pulled the trigger.
A small ball of golden light blasted from his gun, not a real bullet, but a condensed form of pure, untainted love, meant to show the target exactly who they were meant for. As soon as he fired, he saw it, almost like it was in slow motion. Just before his bullet hit, the man turned and happened to glance upward, and as soon as he was hit, the golden light vanishing into his chest, they locked eyes.
Impossible. Absolutely impossible. There was no way the man could see him with his magic shielding him, and even if it wasn’t, he was simply too far. It wasn’t a passing glance though, the man stared right at him, and Cupid could see the way the wind mussed his dark hair as he stood still in the crowd of people moving along the busy sidewalk. He felt something warm bloom in his chest and… oh. Oh, damn.
His mouth went dry, and his heart raced, torn between elation and terror. Not knowing what to do, he tore his eyes away from the scope and fled.
…………………
Two weeks later, he sat at a café, holding his now-cold coffee and wondering if the ache in his chest would ever leave. He tried to take a tiny bit of satisfaction in the fact that he had the ability interact with the world as much as he could. He was able to order coffee, even if he had to hide his wings with magic, and the barista always forgot he was there as soon as his coffee was made. Even as he sat at the table, people’s eyes simply passed by him and they avoided his table without realizing they did so.
But today, there was nothing he could tell himself that would help lighten his mood. He’d seen his true love, had fired the bullet that made his true love see him, and what did he do? He ran. And he knew, better than anyone, that second chances were few and far between.
He sighed, staring down at the creamy brown pool of hazelnut coffee in his cup and was about to throw it out when someone coughed in that distinctive, trying-to-politely-get-your-attention kind of way. He ignored it, knowing it was for someone at a nearby table, and not him. Whoever it was coughed again, a little louder, and Cupid looked up, wondering who was bothering his sulking with their half-deaf friends.
Only, when he looked up, the man was staring right at him. The very same man Cupid had shot thirteen days, five hours and twenty seven minutes ago. Not that he was counting or anything.
He had nice eyes, a brown the same color as dark honey, and a shy smile that made coherent speech neigh on impossible. Oh crap, he had it bad. The man shifted from foot to foot as Cupid gaped at him, then nodded toward the empty chair across the table. “Hello. Um, mind if I sit?”
Gathering his wits, Cupid managed to form an actual sentence, “Of course! I mean, yes, please, help yourself.”
His efforts were rewarded with another one of those smiles and the man sat. “My name’s Jason.”
Cupid rubbed his chest, wondering where the ache had gone, and prayed he wouldn’t be laughed at, “My name is Cupid.”
There was a slight pause, and Cupid was positive that Jason would think him a liar, but when he spoke, it was with a thoughtful tone. “Well, I guess that explains the wings at least.”
As Cupid sat in shock, Jason smiled wider, “How about I get us some fresh coffee and we can go from there?”
Cupid could only nod, and as he watched Jason stand and head toward the counter he thought that maybe, getting a taste of his own medicine was exactly what he needed.