#I return from like an eternity of silence to be mushy about my love again <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darksiders-drabbles · 2 years

Note

It's me again~ I really enjoy your work so I'm back for more!

How about some Samael and reader valentine's day shenanigans?

Big scary man doesn't get enough love!

Samael's Valentine's Surprise

Hi @winterzver, happy Valentine's Day!

Alrighty, you know the drill. “Reader” as a character and gender neutral!

Also idk how tall Samael is I just know that he’s like 3x Death’s height so we’ll just use our imagination here

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, fluff

“What exactly am I looking at?” Samael asked, brow raised.

“It’s a Valentine’s Day gift!” Reader replied, bashful.

“A gift, you say?” He smirked. “And what exactly do you desire in return?” He leaned down to Reader's level, his warm breath fanning over their face.

The flush that exploded across their features at the proximity amused him greatly. Though he was indeed curious as to what exactly the purpose of the gift was meant to be.

“It’s- I- Uhh…” They tried, flustered. “It’s for a holiday. Today. The holiday- Valentine’s Day- is. Uh. Today.” They raised the heart-shaped box over their head to shield themselves from his gaze.

“I am not exactly well-versed in human holidays, little one.” He chuckled and leaned back, deciding to show mercy.

“It’s a day to celebrate… uh” They mumbled, trailing off.

“A day to celebrate…?”

They lowered the box enough to peek over the edge at him. “It’s a day to celebrate... Love?”

He paused, slightly taken aback. But quickly hid his surprise in favor of teasing. “Oh, and are you saying you love me, little one?”

Reader shuffled nervously, avoiding eye contact. “I mean… yea- uh, yes.” They finally met his eyes. “Yes.”

His wings fanned out behind him, large and imposing. “Is that so? And how do you expect to handle all of me?” He laughed, pushing down whatever mushy, gooey feeling he was feeling.

Reader must have seen something in the way he clutched his hands over the armrests of his throne, or the way he didn’t quite look at them when he spoke. Maybe it was the slight tremble in his wings when he stretched them as far as they would go. But the next words out of their mouth threw him for a loop.

“Patience and a lot of lube?” Their voice cracked on the last word and his eyes snapped to them, wide and shocked.

They both sat, frozen, neither willing to break the silence. Eternity could have passed with how long they sat staring at each other.

Their reply echoed in his head. Finally Samael broke, bursting into loud, uproarious laughter. “I admire your boldness, Reader.” He knelt down to get closer to them. “And I will admit, I do happen to take pleasure in your company, as well.”

They flushed again, a small grin gracing their face as they offered the box to him. “I’d certainly hope so, I spent a lot of time trying to get these right.”

When he opened the box, he was greeted with several chocolate cupcakes. Well, they looked more like mini cakes to accommodate his size. The frosting smelled deliciously sweet. The words “Be My Valentine?” were scrawled messily over the top of the treats. For a long moment he was speechless, sitting himself on the floor to better meet their height.

Reader was the one to break the silence this time. “Even if you say no, you can still keep the food. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.”

He drew a finger through some of the frosting, licking it off with a satisfied hum. He saw their eyes follow the movement, before quickly looking elsewhere. He removed his finger with a pop. “Oh, I believe I will enjoy these thoroughly.” He curled a finger under their chin to tilt their head to meet his gaze. He set down the box of pastries. “Though you did not answer my question from earlier.”

“Uh, which question?” They asked nervously, cheeks burning.

His eyes darkened, a smirk drawing his lips over his fangs. “What do you desire in return?”

He saw their eyes widen, gaze darting to his sharp teeth. They drew in a shaky breath, gathering their courage. “Would you go on a date with me?”

He huffed in amusement, deciding to pry. “Just a date?”

Their mouth clicked shut and their flush darkened their features further. He moved his finger to draw the clawed digit down their neck to meet their shirt collar. He could practically hear their heart racing. “Come now, where did all of your courageousness go?”

Reader grasped his hand in both of theirs, taking a moment to breathe. They met his eyes with a small smile. “I mean, maybe more if the date goes well?” They shuffled in place a bit, seemingly gathering their nerves. He smirked, but their next words weren’t quite what he was expecting. “I really do like you, and would like to see you more.”

His heart thundered traitorously in his chest. “Very well, a date it is, then.”

A bright smile that made their eyes practically sparkle flooded their face. He huffed again, amused and flattered. Humans were quite charming, but Reader in particular made him feel much more than he thought he was capable.

“Hey…” They started. “Lean down?”

He raised a brow, but complied, resting an elbow on the ground to accommodate the request. They stepped closer, drawing their hands up to cup his face. They searched his eyes for a moment, seemingly looking for something. His tail swished behind him in anticipation.

“Well?” He goaded.

They scoffed, a wry smile replacing the bright one from earlier. He grumbled, impatient. The waiting was beginning to wear on him. He knew what they wanted, so why the hesitation?

Before he could close the distance himself, Reader finally pressed their lips to his. They were soft and sweet, caressing his cheeks and tilting their head to deepen the kiss. He purred, wings fanning out again. He decided then, that if this is where his patience would get him, he would wait centuries for more.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #darksiders genesis #reader insert #reader #darksiders samael #samael darksiders #fluff #suggestive #samael x reader #ask

51 notes · View notes

warmau · 4 years

Text

love struck!au x tbz

find other love struck!aus here: monsta x | day6 | ateez *this post was commissioned through kofi

sangyeon

confident sangyeon spends half the day flirting with you

then shy sangyeon spends the rest of the day running embarrassment laps around the creker building

he has high spikes of adrenaline where its just quite literally circling you with hearts in his eyes and doves singing

and then low long silent moments where he sits in a corner, muttering at the wall and everyone is like what is going on with him

if he could he might just spend eternity flip-flopping between the two

it’d take an intervention to get him to just seize the opportunity during one of his more positive moods to just ask you on a date

the only problem is he talks so fast and so jumbled and waves his hands around

and you’re like wh-

and he’s like datetommorrowcoffeeorteawhichdoyoupreferdoyounotevenwanteitherwhataboutumlikeamoviepleasesayyes

once again you are like ?

and sangyeons meter of confidence is slowly depleting hes about to run away until sunwoo is like

let me step in and translate:

sangyeon wants to go on a date with you tomorrow

when you brighten up and accept, sangyeon just breathes a sigh of relief and maybe almost tips over from the intense amount of feelings hitting him at once lol

jacob

no one takes him seriously when he starts saying he likes you

not because you’re unlikable but because jacob says it with such normalcy that everyone is like

nah

if you liked them, you would definitely be all mushy and shy and embarrassed about it

and jacob is like what are you talking about im not embarrassed to have a crush on someone i think is really awesome

even kevin is like dude don’t push it - you shouldnt make jokes about liking people

and jacob is just like *blinks*

but seriously, everyone expects him to be writing lyrics in secret and practicing some kind of grand serenade to ask you out - like you’re literally an angel dude so you have to like someone in the most cupid-esque way possible

which jacob is just like :/ about because there’s no right way to show someone how much you like them-

juyeon: sorry what i was not listening?

you on the other hand, don’t ever even catch wind of it because jacob is so sweet at all times

polite, caring, gentle touches, lots of eye contact, little smiles that make your heart melt, the usual

that you just assume he’s like this to everyone so of course you are clueless and his lack of grandiose confessions is making everyone else clueless too

until one day jacob is like fine if no one believes me ill just tell them a

nd everyone in the room is like pfft would love to see you try-

three seconds later jacob is standing in front of you and saying “want to date me?” and you’re so shocked you can’t speak

but the rest of tbz is so shocked at least three of them nearly faint

younghoon

keeps his mouth shut

literally like shut shut like not a WORD to you or to anyone in a five foot distance of you

he’ll be talking to chanhee about something and you’ll walk in and suddenly younghoon just hits pause

chanhee is like hello are you broken hello and younghoon is just _____

until you walk out of the room and then he’s like

“-that’s why i think we shouldn’t include that dance move”

and chanhee is like what the hael just happened

you will be in a conversation and pull younghoon over to join you and when you’re like what do you think!!!!!!!1

he looks at you and the cognitive function for speech just disappears

maybe its your cute face accelerating his heartbeat or maybe its the all the nerves in his body going haywire because all he wants to say is how much he really really likes you

but he can’t just SAY that so instead he says nothing

sometimes he’s lucky and members who understand this younghoon lovestruck glitch are around can save him

but sometimes its just you and him and silence until youre like ok- well-

you think maybe he just doesnt want to talk to you because he doesnt like you

so you apologize for bothering him

and its like everything that has ever blocked him from speaking before just flies out the window

because suddenly younghoon is holding your hands in his and saying

“no, im sorry. i just dont know what to say because i like you so much.”

it’s the longest sentence you’ve ever heard from him

and you are so flustered but all you can say back is

“you can keep saying ‘i like you’ if you want...........”

younghoon for the rest of the week: i like you

you: giddy

tbz: kinda wishing he’d shut it again

hyunjae

there’s no lovestruck period, it’s straight up infatuation from day ONE

and it comes at full force

hyunjae is like bubblegum, stuck to you and only you

sugary sweet and always reminding you that he is available whenever you decided you want to take him

it can really overwhelm someone, because his attention is fixated and forthcoming

and i mean you’d really have to lack all the common sense in the world not to see that he’s interested

but that’s the thing interest is not always a form of sincerity so you just kind of chalk it up to him trying to be funny

and he sprawls across your lap like a cat

happy with the fact that you just giggle and smile because ok you might never believe that he’s so in love with you it hurts but at least you still let him near you

really people probably ask you if you’re dating him and when you say you’re not their follow up is usually like well arent you exhausted having someone you dont love always around

and you’re like um - no well - i mean - and you are like ok i mean i do love him but im not going to be a fool and fall into a trap of thinking im special

and hyunjae will literally be like they are special. i feel nothing for anyone else, it is just them

and you’re like see! he’s so sweet!

and at some point i think you either drive hyunjae crazy and he kisses you because words are pointless - actions are everything

or chanhee pushes you two into each other from pure, unfiltered annoyance

“if you love each other stop pretending like it’s a big joke and just DATE!”

juyeon

return to kindergarten romance

literally he sees you and goes pink to the ears and slinks behind his friends even though he’s taller than most of them

and he can barely hide the fact that he jumps over the rainbow when your shoulders brush in the halls

if no one knew any better, juyeon probably scribbles your name in hearts on a notebook page somewhere

but then crumples it up and almost eats it if anyone tries to see what he’s up to

but again you enter the vicinity and he’s goo - muttering and forgetting to string nouns to verbs or whatever

everyone is so amazed that someone with so much charisma on stage can turn this goddamn goofy around someone he likes

and you are energetic and bright - you always want to pull juyeon into the loop - and you think the flustered look on his face is just from genuine surprise or confusion

and you’re like “oh! let me explain what we’re doing blah blah blah” and yes juyeon knows you guys are going to play monopoly but like words? dont? come ? out ? of ? his ? mouth?

and just like kindergarten he probably ends up writing you a note about how much he likes you (tick this box for yes and this box for no) or some form of that

maybe like a text where he is like hi do you want to go on a date and it was actually supposed to be like a ten page essay about why he likes you but then he got too nervous to send it so yeah

its a text that comes out of the blue and when you agree and see juyeon in person the next day you’re like why didn’t you just ask me like months ago

and once again, words? dont? come? out? of? his? mouth?

kevin

gift giving

nonstop gift giving

like to a point where jacob is worried about kevin’s spending habits

but it is all like handmade items and cute stuff he sees that reminds him of you

and everyone knows he has a crush before he can even process it because they’re doing a show halfway across the country and everyone is like practicing or doing something on their own

and kevin’s like guys look i saw this in a shop and it reminded me of-

all of tbz looking at him like: we know who it reminded you of

he plays it off though when he gives you the gifts, he’s like ah this was just like in my bag or whatever or oh i made this extra keychain when i had a day off like do you want it

and kevin thinks he is so sly and covering it up so damn well but he isn’t

you try to give gifts back, mostly because you feel bad that he’s always offering something to you

and one day you are like - at first as a kind of jest - like “here ill just give you myself in return”

and you throw your arms around his neck like you’ve done a million times before and oh shit you think kevin is going to pass out with how fast his heart starts beating and how he overheats

and you’re like kevin?!??!?! are you ok!?!??! and he’s like areyouserious

and you’re like wh and he’s like are you serious about that,,,,and you’re like oh well i mean do you even want someone like me

and kevin unblinkingly is like of course you are the only person i want

and suddenly you realize that these gifts youve been getting are kevin’s love language and its so freaking cute

(but also stop spending money just give kisses instead) (kevin agrees but he is still like im buying you anything cute i see because u are cute and cute people deserve cute things we love kevin moon logic)

changmin

ignores his feelings by throwing himself into his work

much to the surprise of no one, because he’s naturally a workoholic and perfectionist, but this time something is off

no one should be beating themselves up over such miniscule mistakes like he is

and hyunjae is convinced changmin has finally lost it, like the goddamn lid has flew off the kettle with this one

because they finish practice and everyone is clapping and changmin looks like he’s going to crush the speakers with his bare hands

less lovestruck as he is loveconfused because the real reason he’s so upset is like

he wants to focus so hard on being a great performer and whatnot but when he shuts his eyes or takes a moment to breath

his brain is fuzzy with thoughts of you and not like super romantic flowery thoughts like you see in movies or read in comics

its just little snapshots of you being,,,,,,,,,,,you

laughing along with eric, fixing the hem of your shirt in the mirror, waving at changmin before looking both ways and crossing the street to his side

GOD WHEN HAS SOMEONE CROSSING THE STREET MADE HIS HEART DO A BACKFLIP

the worst thing is he can’t seem to find a way for it to stop until like you are actually in front of him

like the real you - not the memories and thoughts he has daily of you - no just you

and you’re putting your hands on his face and he’s sweaty and hot from dancing for god knows how long and you’re like

“don’t wear yourself out like this, take care of yourself - if you don’t want to do it for you - can you do it for me?”

and changmin realizes oh right - for you, for you he could move mountains, for you he could fly, like seriously for you he could do anything

and he thinks he just says this to himself but he just said it outloud and somewhere in the room hyunjae is slapping his knee like

“AH! he’s not nuts - he’s just in love.”

chanhee

falls head over heels for you and expects you to read his mind about it

you walk into a room and he sits up a little straighter and is like ok one step two step ok come over to me, look at me, pay attention to me

and you - because you are not a mindreader - go to talk to juyeon first

and chanhee is like OH I SEE HOW IT IS and gets all moody there on out

honest to god he probably knows he’s overreacting but he just does not get why you cant tell how he’s feeling

and he asks like everyone this question and theyre like what? because you aren’t making it obvious at all?

and chanhee is like what the hell do you mean i totally make it obvious and everyone is like did you ask them out? did you get them a gift? did you compliment them?

and chanhee crosses his arms like no......but like......i smiled at them in a way i dont smile at the rest of you clowns

tbz: :/

either way, you start to notice this pattern, that when chanhee is not getting your attention he gets a little like a cat and curls himself away from you

so you, much like one with a cat, start to shower him in attention

and he just uncurls and gets all giddy and swats anyone away who tries to get into your little bubble with him

and its a bit entertaining really lol but you think its just chanhee being chanhee

till it keeps happening over and over and over again and you’re like ok wait

and chanhee is like hmm and you’re like why dont we just go somewhere alone together like on a date or something if thats what you like so much

and chanhee, who has been under the suspicion you have been going on dates sitting together in the tbz practice room is like

“oh right! a date, um i guess sure!”

inside he is screaming

haknyeon

does not waste time, he puts his detective hat on and makes a plan

for one of the youngest members he probably puts the most diligence into liking someone

its not just lovestruck butterflies and running away whenever you’re around

haknyeon swats all that gooey-mushy stuff away and is like ok lets see what movies do you like? what kind of food do you like? he has to know so that when he asks you out he is ready to impress

it shocks some of his other members, sangyeon has never seen haknyeon almost bite younghoon’s hand when he tried to as him to get off the shared desktop

haknyeon just wants to know everything about you - which kevin says he could probably do by talking more to you

and haknyeon is like go away grandpa and kevin is like WH-

either way, when it all comes to a head and haknyeon has memorized what he’s going to say in his confession to you for the one millionth time

he does not prepare for what actually happnes

which is you bound up to him with your arms open and you’re like let’s hang out! just the two of us!

and he’s like ok ill go get the other- wait

haknyeon.exe has stopped working

because truth be told he’d spend so much time trying to research and be perfect when all you really like about him is how fun and eccentric he can be

so you just ask him out first and this was not in the plan, but haknyeon is not about to let go of your warm hand as you pull him along beside you

sunwoo

swears to deny it to his grave because one) it’s embarrassing and.........no that’s it. it is embarrassing to have feelings

jacob: feelings aren’t embarrassing! they’re the reason we can care so deeply about others <3

sunwoo: ok nerd........keep it moving

and unlike younghoon who just goes silent around the people he likes or juyeon who tries to find sangyeon to hide behind

sunwoo just straight up is like cold. and you are like what didi i do?

everyone is just like he’s complicated, it’s just who he is and he’s young so just ignore him

but it makes you sad that sunwoo just doesn’t want to be your friend

and in sunwoo’s head he’s like I DONT WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND BECAUSE YOU ARE MY DREAM PERSON BUT THATS SO FREAKING CORNY TO SAY SO LET ME JUST MAKE GRUMPY FACE

he also has such a bad luck, even when he’s not trying to come off mean he probably accidentally spills something on you or breaks something of yours

and instead APOLOGIZING like everyone is telling him to do he just yoinks out of the room and you’re like damn :(

to be honest, i think the more you guys get distant the more sunwoo falls deeper into it because even with everything

you are always so kind and sweet and how? like how? how are you doing that?

it probably takes a miracle or actually just like someone spilling the beans to you that sunwoo stayed up all night trying to fix the bracelet of yours he broke for it to all change

for you to find sunwoo and hug him and thank him for trying to fix it and the minute you touch him its like

all these stupid little walls he built melt into nothing and sunwoo is just like i like you so much im sorry im so dumb and you’re like

well you’re like shocked but youre like im sorry i also like you and im also dumb sometimes

both of you standing there wide eyed but also like super super super giddy

one day you aren’t even talking to each other the next day you are cuddling on the couch

kevin: these people are giving me literal whiplash

eric

thinks you’ll never feel the same way so he does the next best thing, he tries to be your bestest friend

for someone so spunky and confident in himself most of the time you’d think lovestruck eric would just GO for it

but more than he is like outgoing and brave, he is devoted to people he loves

and losing you as a friend over confessing his feelings would probably spiral him into a dark place

so he’ll just take his spot as a super close friend, and horrible wingman

who tries to get you to admit that you like someone in the group when you have told eric ten times no you dont like changmin like that and yes juyeon is cute but youre not interested

and eric just wants you to be happy and he thinks youre lying and keeping it from him because like you think it would be weird to date someone in tbz

and he’s like cmon tell me! or do you like someone from skz, im friends with felix - do you think he’s cute

and at some point it wears you down and you are just like over to play video games and have fun with eric

and he’s like hey felix said you were pretty when i showed him a photo and you are like ERIC LISTEN TO ME and he’s like blinking like oh?

and you’re like i do like someone but its you and so since that isnt going to happen lets move on

and eric is like lets not move on because from the minute i saw you i thought cupid lodged an arrow so deep in my heart its been stuck their permanently and yes i watched hercules last night so i made that analogy isn’t it about time you kissed me so i would shuttup?

and when you do you’re like ok i have wanted to do that SO many times and he’s like well you should have

and youre like dont be sassy i will bring up every oppurtunity you tried to hook me up with your group member if you do and he’s like

i will shut my mouth forever if that is what you wish <3

#the boyz au #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #tbz au #tbz imagines #member: the boyz #tbz scenarios #the boyz #tbz #sfw #the way younghoon is the ideal man: nothing to say just heart eyes in a stupor JK trgkdls

1K notes · View notes

mysticaltigersorceress · 3 years

Text

A Silent Betrayal

This is my piece for @some-piece's 2500 challenge! I asked for an angsty prompt, which was, "Do you ever mean the things you say?" I have no regrets, even though I made myself cry. (bad habit of imagination lol) I will leave a warning in case anyone is sensitive to writing where the character leaves the reader. Pairing: Rocinante x Reader (gender neutral) Length: 1k Ao3: (clickable)

Rocinante stared at the dark silhouette of the Den Den Mushi in his hand, barely visible in the moonlight. Law had finally fallen into a restless sleep, though at least he was getting rest of some kind. He was so sick, so frail, and getting worse with each passing day.

He had promised Sengoku he would let nothing compromise his mission. Stopping his brother was the most important mission he had ever taken on, and he would complete it no matter what. Even if it meant becoming a pirate. Even if it meant giving up his life. Even if it meant leaving you behind.

And yet, here he was with Law, trying to save his life. He wanted to save Law so badly, that he postponed his mission. Now, more than ever, thoughts of you were plaguing him. He left you. But he had put Law before his mission. Why couldn’t he have done the same with you?

Rocinante already knew that answer, it was one he reinforced in his mind daily for years. Still, that night still ached like an old battle wound in his heart. Unwillingly, the memory played for the thousandth time in his mind.

Cold winds bit Rocinante’s face, whipping his hair frantically around. He wanted to make this quick, to spare you from not just the cold weather but the coldness he was about to show you.

“You won’t see me again.”

You gave him a confused look, searching his face for an explanation, but he kept his face colder and deader than the snow-covered landscape that surrounded you. He took your hand and dropped a small weight into your hand and stepped back. It was the ring you chose for him, golden as his hair with a heart engraved on the inner band. It matched the ring on your own finger. The band was still warm when it hit your palm, but it quickly grew cold against the frosty air.

“What... Why...” You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his ring resting in your hand. Suddenly you remembered and looked up at him. “Is this because of that mission you mentioned?”

Rocinante was still for a long time, then nodded haltingly. He couldn’t offer you an explanation, due to the secretive nature of his mission. It frustrated you, but you were used to that from his previous missions as a marine. But this mission wasn’t like any he had before. Which is why he decided this would be the best course of action.

“Roci, you said you weren’t going to accept the mission,” you accused softly, shaking your head. “You said anyone could do the job! You said you wouldn’t let anything take you away from me, you said nothing, nothing!” your voice cracked, “was more important than us.”

You reached for his hands, but Rocinante pulled back, not letting you touch him. He couldn’t. If he let you, he didn’t know if he could go through with this. Your face fell, eyes welled up with unshed tears.

“This always happens!” You shrieked. “You say you will put me first, and then put the mission first! And now, now you’re– you’re! Do you ever mean the things you say?”

I meant every word! Rocinante wished he could say. But a horrible monster is leaving chaos and death and decay in his wake, and I’m probably the only one who could successfully complete this mission.

But he said nothing. Because he couldn’t. Even if he could, he wouldn’t put you in danger. He knew what his brother, that monster was capable of, and only his silence would be able to protect you now.

He turned away from you. His cheeks stung, wet and cold. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him not to do this. To turn back, to apologize, to ask your forgiveness, to retire and let someone else deal with Doflamingo. But he knew couldn’t.

Rocinante took a step, only to slip and crash to the ground. You instinctively moved to help him up, but he slapped your hand away, harder than he meant to. You gasped and the tears finally fell down your cheeks. His ring fell from your hand into the snow. He rose and turned his back to you again, activating his Calm-Calm fruit to hide any evidence of his anguish.

Which was harder, the first step away from you, or the second?

Which hurt more, the sound of you sobbing and falling to your knees or the final words he ever heard you speak, echoing in his mind for eternity?

“Please, Roci. Please, say something! Please!”

Say something!

Rocinante considered the Den Den Mushi. He’d postponed this mission for Law’s sake. He was such a fool. Always had been. Couldn’t he have simply asked you to wait? He still knew your number by heart, despite the time that had passed since he dialed it. What would happen if he called? What would you say? Could you ever find forgiveness for him? Could you ever open your heart to him again?

No. How could he even think to ask that after what he put you through? He shoved the transponder snail back in his pocket. Soon, Law would have the Op-Op fruit, the Donquixote pirates ended, and he would return home. He wouldn’t ask anything of you, he didn’t deserve anything from you. But, he still wanted to see you at least once more. Even if you didn’t see him, even if it were only from afar. All he wanted was for his last memory of you to be you smiling. Anything but the heartache he had caused you. He didn’t deserve it, but he still wanted your smile. It was so beautiful. You were so beautiful.

Oh, how he missed you.

Oh, how he wished he could tell you how much he loved you.

#2500 gremlins for bas #one piece fanfiction #one piece x reader #rocinante x reader #corazon x reader #donquixote rosinante #corazon #donquixote corazon #one piece fanfic #mystic writes #mvwriting #my writing #also apologies to lucy my love #rocinante x you #corazon x you #one piece x you

100 notes · View notes

lune-hime · 3 years

Text

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Tea Time #3

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

So these little Tea Times were written as little filler-memory chapters to place in between the main story line.

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

Fever

↞♞♘↠

Today was not one of your best days, physically or mentally. It had downpoured that morning, leaving the training grounds coated in slippery rivers of mud. Despite the less than ideal conditions, Pixis had insisted that the cadets still complete their daily training tasks. Equally as unideal was the remnants of a fever that still clung to your fatigued form. You were not exempt from training, however, as the onsite nurse had given you the okay for physical activity despite your joints still aching and sporadic chills. You sloshed through the mud, trying to distract yourself from the rapid pounding of your head against your skill as you jogged.

And just as you started feeling optimistic about your exercise, your foot caught in a deep trench of slush and twisted your ankle so awkwardly it sent you flying into the mud. Your face stung from the impact and the gritty taste of dirt coated your lips. The footsteps of other cadets against the wet ground sounded like thunder against your ears as they spared but a passing glance to your fallen form. You coughed and sat up, attempting to regain what sickly dignity you had left when a sharp pain in your ankle sent freezing jolts throughout your body.

“Cadet, get your ass up and finish the run. A little rain shouldn’t stop you.” A barbed voice cut through the dreary haze. You knew that voice only from afar; overheard from distant chatter or through the horrifying tales told by your fellow cadets. And now the famed captain was standing above you, vibrant pupils of ice regarding you through curtains of shadow.

“I can’t sir.” You whimpered. Damn, you hated sounding so weak. But the throbbing of your head was like the bashing of an army of percussionists about to herniate out of your skull and while your ankle was not sprained, you reckoned it would be if you kept pushing it.

“Yes you can.” The captain articulated every syllable so crisply that each word felt like it was lodging you further to the cold ground.

You struggled to gather yourself when a wave of nausea pulsed up your throat from the whiplash you gave yourself from flailing too quickly to appease his orders.

The captain huffed in disbelief when you still weren’t standing. He had seen plenty of cadets fake sickness or injuries to get their lazy asses out of the morning run.

“You think you can get out of the rest of the exercise just because you stumbled and got your uniform dirty? I think not, brat.” He scoffed, poking you with his boot. You were mortified at his insults and could only sit there in silence as your fever assaulted your body at all angles.

“What happens when you fall out there, huh?” He spat. He knelt down and roughly grabbed at your arm to lift you up. You felt like a rag doll caught in his forceful grip as you felt the vomit rearing its anguished head but not yet charging out.

“The only person you can count on picking yourself up is you.” The captain added sternly and craned his neck to force your lolling head to make eye contact with him.

You were about to respond when a pair of arms embraced you from behind. A noise of relief escaped your lips when your body found a steady source of support. You rolled your head back onto their shoulder to see the face of your roommate Mikasa as she gazed thorns at the captain.

“Captain, she's been sick! She clearly can’t run in this condition.” Mikasa exclaimed, adjusting you in her hold when she felt you slipping. You felt too woozy to watch the electric scene unfold before you, but you could feel the kinetic jolts of defensiveness bouncing between their locked eyes. After what felt like an eternity on your end, he nodded in approval.

Too weak to shower, Mikasa had dropped you off at your shared quarters after having you inspected by a nurse. Having to return to her duties she was anxious about leaving you alone. You assured her that you would be fine and that this bed is much nicer than a face full of mud and a boot in the face.

Your mishap with the captain had spread as gossip always does at HQ and as you expected the nosiest of the cadets was at the foot of your bed before you could even reflect on all that had happened.

“I’m going to wring his neck with that stupid, tiny, cravat of his.” Jean seethed as he dipped the washcloth in the bowl. He mumbled about how the nurse had missed so much of the mud that still caked your flushed exterior. Jean’s delicate strokes of cool cloth felt heavenly as it moved over your exposed skin.

“Not if I do it first.” You replied weakly. Now that your body had time to equilibrate, the anger for the way you were treated and the self pity you felt for not being stronger began bubbling to the surface. Despite his irritation, Jean carefully took your chin between his thumb and forefinger and gingerly cleaned your face.

“But you and I both know we are no match for him. Even if we are taller.” You huffed bitterly. Jean rolled his eyes and nodded in resentment.

“Yeah, he’s got too much strength in that tiny body.”

“It's all in the thighs.” Your disdained muffle made Jean chuckle.

A moment passed of comfortable silence where only the soft droplets of water against skin and cloth were heard.

“I promised Oma I would watch out for you, Y/N.” Jean said in a small voice, toying with his bottom lip in insecurity. He soaked the cloth in water once more, this time going to clean your neck.

“That’s kind of hard to do when you’re always tripping over yourself after every girl we train with.” You tried to lighten the mood, sighing when the sweet cooling sensation came back.

“Yeah, well that girl today was you unfortunately.” He retorted. “It would be better if we were on the same training schedule.”

You and Jean were in separate training squadrons and more often than not didn’t see one another besides meals and downtime. You had a sneaking suspicion that you two were assigned separate schedules because of your friendship, seeing as your closeness could be a distraction to training.

“Seriously, though, I don’t intend on breaking my promise. Even if I’m an ass most of the time.” He promised with a sincerity you rarely heard from him. It was a seriousness that only those closest to him knew behind his arrogant shield.

You smiled up affectionately at him and wondered how you got so lucky with a best friend like him. Sure he was stupid, headstrong, acted before he thought, and picked stupid fights with people. But he was also caring, sensitive, and stronger than he knew. The two of you were basically siblings at this point and you would do anything for him.

Jean looked to you when you didn’t reply and his breath hitched in his throat at the love within your eyes. He blushed and narrowed his eyes in awkward inquisition. He was never one for the mushy-gushy.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked with feigned disgust as he wiped your collarbone.

“Just thinking about how you’re my ass, Jeanie.” You remarked and ruffled his hair with what strength you had. Your hand was a bit floppy with exhaustion and ended up almost poking him in the eye. He recoiled with a sputter and lightly placed your hand back at your side.

“Ew, please don’t ever say that again.”

Graduation

↞♞♘↠

“I feel like my baby is graduating!! Is this what being a mother feels like?” Hange wailed and sniffled into your hair. The moment you had stepped off of the stage with your new badges she had caged you into a breath-stealing bear hug.

“You’re going to pay for all my training equipment then right, Mom?” You teased into her shoulder and her sniffling immediately ceased.

“Little sister it is then.” She said and pulled you outward so she could look at you. Her hands squeezed your shoulders gently.

“Nonetheless, I’m so proud of you!” She proclaimed affectionately.

“Thank you, Hange. That means a lot to me. I couldn’t have gotten this far without a squad leader as extraordinary as you.” Your confession was paired with a warm smile that sent Hange into a sputtering mess once again.

“HOW DID YOU GET SO SWEET? I’m not going to lie, I’m going to miss being your squad leader.” She sighed and pinched your cheeks. “It forced you to spend time with me.”

“I’m still going to be spending time with you, I’m on the titan bio-team remember?” You giggled as her pinching intensified and you swatted her hands away.

“That’s true. I’m just going to have to get used to calling you squad leader Y/N.” She playfully saluted and you shook your head fondly.

“Yeah you and me both.”

“Now not only have you graduated in rank, but you’ve also graduated to the big-kid’s table.” Hange winked at you and your breath hitched.

Oh.

Your eyes darted over to the group of seasoned soldiers walking your way. They fell first to Erwin who was paced a few steps ahead, then to the lumbering tree that was Mike, and then to the shorter but no less intimidating captain next to him.

Looks like your teatime acquaintance would now be one of your new lunch buddies.

Little Friend

↞♞♘↠

"Oh by the goddess what on earth happened, Y/N?” Oma called. Upon seeing her dirt lathered 6 year old in the doorway she lept from her armchair and trotted over. You were the embodiment of an ice cream bar; a thick coating of mud covered every thread of your baby blue ruffled dress and every inch of your exposed skin. Your new Mary janes were caked with dried clotted earth and pieces of your curled hair was crustily sticking up with muck. Salty tears left streaks that exposed your true form underneath your outer shell. You took in a shaky exhale.

“J-Jeanie called him ugly.” You choked back a sob as you explained. Your grandmother knitted her eyebrows and crouched down to your level. She gently turned you around to examine her little mud pie for any injuries or scrapes.

“Who is Jeanie insulting?” She inquired in concern. She saw no one but yourself and you hadn’t said you were going to be playing with any other kids besides Jean today. Oma thought after serving in the garrison that nothing could surprise her. But when you reached into your left dress pocket with both hands and carefully pulled out a dark green, lopsided circular object she was proven wrong. You held it out with both arms fully extended and violently sniffed.

“PUDDLE.” You wailed. Your body shook from your childish sobs and caused the object in your hands to croak in disturbance. Oma deadpanned, face to face with the slimy creature.

“Why are you crying so much over a frog, my dear?” She blinked. You squinted your eyes a little to fight the incoming tears her words brought.

“His name is Puddle!” You scolded her with a childish anger.

“I apologize. Yes, Puddle.” She cooed, brushing the sticky pieces of hair out of your slobbery face and rubbing your cheek gently.

“Jeanie called him ugly and, and then t-tried to take him from me and-” You swallowed hard, tears freely streaming down your face and nose running. You held the frog gingerly to your chest and covered the spots where it’s ears would be located with your fingers.

“Said that he would eat him.” You whispered, bottom lip quivering uncontrollably. Oma huffed in disbelief at the whole situation but a warm smile graced her hardened features when you began stroking the creature’s head lovingly.

“How dare he call this beautiful creature ugly. That boy is-” Oma started.

“STUPID, HE’S SO STUPID.” You interjected, crying harder now. Oma brought you to her chest and let you get the rest of your waterworks out into her shoulder while she patted your back comfortingly. Puddle’s croaks were muffled by your embrace.

“Yes he sure is, darling. Well, we most certainly will not eat him. Shall we find a place to keep him so Jeanie can’t hurt him?” Your grandmother proposed sweetly and pulled you at arms length to free poor Puddle from his human hug-prison. She booped you on the nose with her finger and you giggled, the remnants of your sadness fading away at the idea of keeping your new friend. You started brightly bouncing up and down like you were a frog yourself.

“Thank you Oma!”

“Alright, come let’s go see what we can find.” She got to her feet and straightened out her dress before leading you into the parlor to find a suitable home for your new pet.

“Why did you name him Puddle?” She asked in idle curiosity. You seemed very passionate about that name.

“He lived in a puddle, that’s why his name is Puddle.” You stated as if it was the most simple law of the universe. She turned back from her rummaging to see you holding Puddle above your head and twirling slowly. You would lower it every so often to give it an Eskimo kiss and then return to your little dance.

Oma would never tire of seeing that childhood innocence and happy grin on your face.

#levi #levi x reader #LEVI ACKERMAN #AoT #aot imagine #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #snk x reader #snk #hange zoe #jean kirschstein #bisexual jean #levi/reader

25 notes · View notes

lettrespromises · 4 years

Text

you taste like moonlight. - dracule mihawk.

@theastroooooworld sent a letter : ❝ Hi, I hope you're okay! I want to ask you two things. First of all are you French? and second, can I ask for a script with Mihawk discovering that he is in love with his fem s/o but hesitating to reveal his feelings, believing that his s/o is in love with Shanks (which is not the case) and he is even considering to cut the bridges with her? I hope you'll be able to write it down, 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆 💙🤪 ❞

author’s letter : ❝ hello you lovely human being, i’m doing amazing, i hope you’re doing good too!! aaaa, this is my first one piece request, i’m so excited!! thank you so much for trusting me with your request, this is such a wonderful prompt- the brain you have, it amazes me!! in the meantime, enjoy your promised letter.

sincerely yours, nikki. P.S: oui, je suis française, comment t’as deviné? ❞

genre : kinda fluff, kinda angst. warnings : mentions of alcohol, drinking. word count : 3.2k

Mihawk was unsure if being able to state that Shanks was in his inner circle was a blessing or a curse, perhaps it was both at once, the acerbic poetry of paradoxes. He was, without the shadow of a doubt, his polar opposite. And yet they clicked- he secretly both thanked and cursed Shanks’ ability to socialize in the blink of an eye.

Metaphorically speaking, they were the two personifications of two celestial bodies : Shanks was as bright as the sun, a sun that rises and never sets. Mihawk was as dazzling as the moon, a moon that beams the most amongst the quiet scenery of the stars and the sky. And yet, they were closer than they would admit- the moon lets the sun shine through and brings out its most secret and breathtaking sides. And in return, the moon reminds the sun that it’s never quite alone and that they will always meet, one way or another.

They would always meet one way or another, in a way, they copied the mechanisms of the celestial bodies. But no matter how long the process was, they were meant to cross each other’s paths, and today was that day.

When the moon and the sun would meet in the sky, Mihawk and Shanks met on the land.

Given his position as a Shichibukai, Mihawk bent under the obligations of assuming his responsibilities as the Marine’s hidden ace. Shawks, on the other one hand, had the influence to shift the weight on the balance. And as much as Akainu hated to admit it, his help, or rather the help of a pirate from the fleet Admiral’s point of view (one of the emperors no less) was deemed as reasonable according to the Gorosei.

The holy land of Mary Geoise was bound to be stepped on by all the crowned heads of the oceans and lands, it was only a matter of time before the Reverie. It was yet another meeting required by the higher circle of the Marine, and to them, it was yet another way to testify the loyalty of their Shichibukai, make sure that their own personal beasts were still obedient.

Both you and Mihawk were considered as the Marine’s deadliest weapons, and yet, you still held the status of being pirates. Isn’t it ironic? Once again, the acerbic poetry of paradoxes. The Shichibukai, although they were affiliated with the Marine, could not afford the oh so marvelous prestige of going to Mary Geoise. How shameful would it be for vulgar pirates to walk on the same land as an endless list of personifications of divinities? Instead, you were deemed to remain on an island close enough to the Holy Land, and in the worst case scenario, intervene if necessary.

The rules were strict, especially given that you were pirates- you were not allowed to leave the island nor the property of the Shichibukai, not allowed to ask about the Reverie nor the people attending to the event, you were doomed to sit and wait for a desperate call, if needed. Nonetheless, there was only one exception on the list of people staying, and much to Mihawk’s pleasure or misfortune, the special guest happened to be Shanks.

Mihawk was seating on the sofa displayed in what was supposed the center room, eying meticulously the Den-Den Mushi throning on the center of the table. He never dared to let his stare roam elsewhere, not even a centimeter next to the Den-Den Mushi, after all, you never knew what could happen, correct? The deafening silence was coating Mihawk, enveloping him in an invisible cocoon, if you will. He felt the most natural amongst a quiet scenery. He wished this silence was eternal.

Oh, anybody could have recognized his booming voice, his equally as loud laugh and the sound of beer being poured in his glass like an infinite loop. Mihawk didn’t bother spare a glance in Shanks’ direction, he recognized right away who was the protagonist who made an entry worthy of a dramatic character in a play. Shanks, on the other one hand, let his pearly whites shine through as soon as Mihawk’s frame enter his field of vision as he dangerously reduced the space separating him from the Shichibukai.

“Well, would you look at that? When was the last time we saw each other, old pal?” Mihawk reiterated himself, he wished this silence could have been eternal. “Akagami no Shanks. It appears you are as lively as ever.” Mihawk’s facial expression remained still, even after feeling the cushion bend under Shanks’ added weight. He needed to remain focused on his duties.

“And you’re as, how can I say that without coming off as rude, you’re still as you as ever! C’mon, don’t be all you, all serious like that. I’ve seen you having more fun than that in the past.” Shanks smirked as he reminisced himself of the time when the ever so serious Mihawk let his façade combust under the influence of alcohol, a pure rarity. “This is no laughing matter, Shanks. You must know why you have been summoned here with the rest of us Shichibukai.”

In return, the redhead offered him his most victorious smile despite knowing that Mihawk was not ready to observe anything else but the Den-Den Mushi, it was a lost cause, but he secretly dared himself to make him let loose, for old time’s sake. “Man, you sure as hell are not the life of the party. Look, the Marine is already protecting Mary Geoise as we speak, they’re not gonna’ call you, nor your friends. There’s plenty of booze here, c’mon, I know you like yourself some fine wine, so let’s drink!” Mihawk didn’t even have the time to say anything in return, Shanks was already out of the room, focused on his quest to find the perfect bottle of wine to satisfy Mihawk’s hushed desires.

Truth be told, Shanks had little to no idea where the oh so famous bottles were at, but he was so motivated to find them and lift his friend’s spirits, so perhaps it was even more important than to find the wine itself.

On his journey, Shanks recognized a familiar frame, but more importantly- said frame was holding Mihawk’s precious liquid darlings in their hands. “Oh, oh, oh! First, Mihawk and now you? Aren’t I one lucky bastard?” You could picture the grin adorning his facial structure as he spoke, it was so contagious, that even yourself felt the need to mimic the smile plastered upon his face. “Fancy seeing you here, Shanks! I haven’t seen you in forever.” You met on rare occasions, but said rare occasions were more than enough for Shanks to recognize your strength. “What are you doing here with all this booze? If that’s too much for you, I happen to know this one guy who can help you.” Oh, the wink sent your way didn’t go unnoticed, but you followed him anyway.

And oh boy, did you regret your decision. Hell, you were expecting Buggy, or even Trafalgar Law, but not him out of all people. The words pouring out of Shanks’ mouth increasingly became more and more hushed, your eyes were laying on him and him only as you and the redhead stood next to the open door. “Were you even listening to what I was saying, doll?” Broken out of your dreaming state, your eyes shifted onto Shanks’ figure, you were caught red-handed. “I’m sorry, I was... Distracted? So, you were saying?”

Shank’s glance balanced between you and Mihawk, Mihawk then you, you then Mihawk, and then it clicked. A dangerous smirk full of ill intentions drew on his face, before he could even speak, you covered his mouth with the palm of your hand while your cheekbones reacted to the nervousness shaking your body. “Please, just for once in your life, shut your mouth.” You frantically whispered while looking at him with alarming eyes. Knowing Shanks’ teasing nature, if he had figured on your attraction to the sword specialist, it was over for you. “Ha? Me? I would never dare to say anything about your ridiculous crush on Mihawk over there, right, Y/N?” You elbowed him in his stomach in a weak attempt to hush him, and your cheeks had never burnt this hard before.

Here you were, entering the room with both of your hands cradling the bottles of wine against your chest, accompanied by Shanks’ frantic laughter. You had no other desire than to disappear on the spot, could Kuma come and teleport you away, just this once? “Oi, Mihawk! Look at who I found, and a little birdy told me that Y/N is a huge fan of you, if you know what I mean.” You elbowed him a second time, knowing very well that it wasn’t going the last time you would do so.

The sound of your name was enough, and for the first time since since he had arrived in the leaving room, Mihawk’s golden orbs left the Den-Den Mushi and instead, he drank your frame in. You were absolutely breathtaking, even more jaw-dropping than the last time he saw you. What was your secret? How can you become more beautiful each day passing by? His interrogations found no answer.

But the sight of you also included seeing that Shanks’ arm was wrapped around your shoulder, his body engulfed yours, he was too close to you for his liking. But after all, this sense of proximity was very Shanks-esque, he couldn’t deny it, he secretly envied this ability of his. Instead, to heal his shattered hopes, he pictured himself instead of Shanks in his mind- his arm circling your shoulder, perhaps even circling your waist while his thumb would brush your delicate skin in circular motions. A dream.

“Y/N, what a pleasure seeing you here.” The tone of his voice was so stable, almost expressionless to some, but Shanks had already picked up the slight hint of pleasure in his voice. “Did you see that? A pretty doll and wine? Isn’t Y/N a keeper?” Each word leaving his lips silently infuriated Mihawk, the thoughts of you and Shanks appearing close, or even worse, in a relationship, were intoxicating him slowly, yet, he didn’t find the courage to let his eyes wander elsewhere than on your face. ‘Breathtaking’, he thought.

Shanks knew what kind of game he was playing now, he called that ‘helping his friends out’, but deep down, he perfectly knew there were higher stakes, and one wrong move could anger the sword specialist. He was on thin ice, of course, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. And perhaps, the burning fire of jealousy would melt the ice away.

You, on the other one hand, silently understood Shanks’ intentions- you knew that each touch, each glance sent your way, each laugh at anything you would say was specifically executed to diminish Mihawk’s patience, it was a dangerous game, but you both knew the secret rules.

With his arm draped over your shoulder, tugging you even closer to his side, Shanks had everything figured out, and seeing the way Mihawk’s gold colored eyes never left you, even amongst the ramblings and the fit of laughter coming from the redhead, Shanks knew you were the sole holder of all of Mihawk’s attention. But little did he know how much this was hurting him on the inside, the toxins of his jealousy kept on spreading.

“... And that’s how Y/N earned their Shichibukai status, you should’ve seen them, pal! Don’t let the pretty face fool you- they’re a beast, aren’t you, doll?” The wink sent your way, the slight squeeze of his hand on your shoulder, the smirk forming upon his face- this chain reaction caused Mihawk to delicately place his glass of wine on the table, or at least, as delicately as a person burning with silent envy and anger could allow. “I believe I’m interrupting something. I shall leave you two lovebirds alone.” He didn’t mean it, but he spat the word ‘lovebird’ with so much acerbity, each one of his words was coated with hurtful intentions. Perhaps he was better off without you, but the emotional burden would still follow him around. And once his line was pronounced, he left his seat and headed out of the room, out of your sights.

Your mouth was set agape- your brain screamed for you to do something, pleaded you to run after him and appease his ill thoughts, but your body was rendered numb. You felt numb. And if you were careful enough, you could feel the agonizing sensations of your own heart breaking. All this time, you were silent, thinking that Shanks knew what he was doing, but it seems that the game ended sooner than he had anticipated.

“Y/N, look, it’s my fault, I get th-...” Shanks started, but you interrupted him right away, as soon as you felt an outburst of confidence fed by despair coursing through your veins. You escaped his one-sided embrace, the root of all of Mihawk’s toxins, and threw a last glance in Shanks’ direction : “I think you’ve done enough.”

You rushed yourself out of the room, its atmosphere was so heavy, so heavy that you could feel it at the tip of your fingers. In the hallway, you snapped your head frantically while desperately looking for the hint of a gigantic sword adorning the back of the one you loved. You wanted to find him, correction- you needed to find him at all costs.

And eventually, you did.

“Mihawk! Please, wait! I think you misunderstood all of this.” You were out of breath, not because you had run through the long hallway to catch him, but because your heart was pumping so much under the pressure of your emotions. His back was facing you, not even the sweet melody of your voice was enough to catch his attention. “Please, just listen to me.”

Your pleadings were agonizing to him, the pain embedded in your words cut deeper than he had expected. As a matter of fact, you affected him more than he had expected. He turned around, and you found the familiar sensation of his golden orbs boring into yours. “You have two minutes to explain yourself, Y/N.”

Your lips almost quivered upon hearing the solemn tone of his voice, there, only there you could recognize that this time his voice was indeed expressionless. But you had two minutes to explain the situation, two minutes to clear his head from any haunting thought, two minutes to confess the feelings you held in his regard.

“I think you misread the situation. Shanks and I are not dating, far from that actually.” You caught your breath before continuing. “Shanks tried to make you jealous.” His brows furrowed at the sound of your sentence. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Explain further.” And now you were doomed- it was a back to the wall kind of scenario, the one you feared the most because it meant exposing the nature of your feelings to the freezing moonshine.

“Mihawk, I do have feelings for someone, it’s true. But it’s not Shanks, and never has been. The person I have feelings for is... you.” You felt like the weight of the world had been taken off your shoulders, you could finally breathe freely. But you met silence in return, causing invisible knots to form in your stomach. You knew you pushed the game too far, but it was impossible to go back. “Y/N, with all due respect, I do not think your words are genuine. If you’re trying to keep your relationship with Shanks secret, then so be it, but do not hurt me in the process.” And with that being said, he turned around once more and continued on his way without having a clue where he was actually going, he just knew he needed to be away from you.

Hurt him? The knots felt tighter. He walked away on you? Your body felt constricted under your emotional pain. You had never felt so hurt before, and you couldn’t even dare to imagine how hurt he must have felt.

You tried one last time to run up to him, perhaps it would have been the last time, but it was worth it. Your hand grabbed his wrist forcing him to face you, you and him were both surprised at the spontaneous gesture. His lips were parted, he had the words ready on the tip of his tongue, but you didn’t feel like giving him the chance to hurt himself any further.

Your palms cradled his cheeks, and you met the contrast of the soft sensation of his flesh and the roughness of his beard, this contrast was like him in a way. For the first time, the nature of his glance expressed surprise, he felt numb in your touch. And for the first time, the toxins settled in his mind were starting to fade away under the spell of your touch.

Without thinking twice, your lips crashed onto his, your brows furrowing in the process as a sign of concentration while your lids were now shut close. It took a few milliseconds for Mihawk to grasp the nature of your actions, and then, it clicked. The delicate sensation of your lips on his were enough to comprehend that your words were genuine.

Your kiss spoke nothing but pure passion, both of your lips melted against each other, as if they had been lingering for this moment forever, as if they were in fact made for each other. You completed him, and he completed you.

Due to the lack of oxygen, you felt obligated to break the kiss, against your will. Your eyes fluttered, and eventually, you found the courage to look at him. He was a living, breathing masterpiece. “Do you believe me n-... Humpf!” This time, it was his turn to cut your ramblings to a halt. His arms encompassed your waist, so delicately, he was secretly afraid that the aftershock of his pent-up anger would explode under your hypnotizing tendencies.

This time, your kiss secretly echoed to apologies, but it was fiddled with sweetness, with pure compassion. It was, indeed, his way to apologize. After all, he was a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. A scenery taken straight out of the most beautifully written novels about love met two crushed souls finally melting into one another. You were both at peace, enveloped in one another’s love.

The moment when Mihawk’s lips left yours, you slightly pouted at the feeling of vacuity left upon your lips. “I do believe you now.” But said vacuity was soon replaced by the overwhelming feeling of the gleam of love shining through in his golden orbs.

“Well, it was about damn time!” yelled a drunk Shanks from the doorframe.

#dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #one piece oneshot #one piece imagine #dracule mihawk #mihawk #one piece fanfiction #one piece #one piece writing

128 notes · View notes

miss-choco-chips · 3 years

Text

God of you

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30280023

--.--.--.--.--

Scared, aimlessly walking down his own frozen path, he started to feel his heart slowing down. The cold freezing him from the inside was familiar, and it horrified him

(Could anybody see him? Hear his silent cries for help?)

His name was Langa. This storm was his creation. And that was all he knew.

--.--.--.--.--

When they met for the first time, it was an accident.

Langa had gotten lost, to be true. His own blizzard out of control, icicles sparing right through whoever was dumb enough to get close, an avalanche of cold, merciless snow burying those who lingered. Pain and death and desolation, and a young, lost boy right in the middle of it all.

Where was he? Who was he? What was he doing here?

(What was he doing to himself? To others?)

Scared, aimlessly walking down his own frozen path, he started to feel his heart slowing down. The cold freezing him from the inside was familiar, and it horrified him

(Could anybody see him? Hear his silent cries for help?)

His name was Langa. This storm was his creation. And that was all he knew.

Then, suddenly, a strange, painful sensation in his hand. He looked behind him, and the bleeding red was like a jab to his eyes, used to only white and light blue.

And it didn’t stop there. Tan skin, bright eyes, colorful robes that covered very little for the unforgiving weather surrounding them. Looking at this person was an entirely new experience, evoking a feeling deep in his chest and down to his stomach that he didn’t know how to name yet. It was scary. It was exciting.

“Jeez, dude. Look at the mess you’re in. Are you okay?”

His hand, his hand, it hurts! But then, as he got used to the feeling (too surprised to snatch it away), he noticed that the stranger’s fingers cradling his hand weren’t trying to provoke damage. It was a soft, mushy sensation. Pins and needles at first, but… enticing, now.

“What… are you doing?”

The other man smiled a bit, tightening his grip. Langa felt an irresistible compulsion to turn around and completely face him, so he did.

(He was confused and didn’t know more than his name, but he still thought it wasn’t like him to deny his impulses.)

“Trying to warm you up”, he replied, fingers rubbing at his palm in soft, circular motions.

Warmth. That was the feeling, in his hand, in his stomach, surrounding his chest. It was… He wasn't sure what it was, yet. But. He liked it?

“Trying being the magic word; you’re freezing,” he followed up with. His smile turned into a worried frown. “Can you even feel my fingers?”

They were all Langa could feel, to be honest. His throat was dry.

“How did you even get here, the closest village is about two hours of walking.”

“I… I don’t know.”

The other looked at him in silence. Seemingly trying to decide on something, he finally sighed and gently tugged on the hand still in his possession.

“Well, come on.” At Langa’s confused stare, he smiled, broader than before, and tugged again. “I can’t exactly leave you here by yourself, now can I. My home is a bit far, but if we can make it there by sundown, my mother will have dinner ready and hopefully we’ll warm you up enough to keep you from death. My name is Reki, by the way.”

“Reki…”, he repeated. It tasted sweet, on his tongue. The warmth in his hand was climbing up his arm, and now he felt it on his cheeks. “I’m… Langa,” that much, he knew. Everything else, he’d have to figure out.

But there, walking behind Reki, cold and warm fingers intertwined, he thought that maybe it wouldn't be scary, the meantime.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The Kyan family lived in the village’s outskirts. Owners of a field (a big one, at that), they weren’t doing bad enough that they couldn’t afford to take Langa in.

He learned a few things, staying with them. The feeling of a warm, hearty meal (Mrs Kyan was a very good cook). The sensation of mud between his fingers (as the only man, only Reki worked the fields; as an unpaying guest, Langa helped). The quietness of a night without snow storms (it was always warm, inside the house.)

(But that might be just because of Reki.)

Langa didn’t mind his fleeing memory (questions about who was he and where did he come from seemed to dwindle with every afternoon spent trailing after Reki as he completed his chores), nor the hard work (there was something about this man, Langa couldn’t help but think, that he made everything fun). But the dark looks of worry Mrs Kyan and Reki would get, as winter seemed to get worse and worse, kept him awake at night.

So he tried. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was doing, only that it seemed to work when the ice covering the Kyan’s crops would get thinner with each passing day, despite the surrounding lands being completely white with thick snow. And he made sure to do the same the following winter, and the one after that.

And with that relief came back Reki’s brilliant smile, growing with each warm meal his sisters finished, with every happy laugh line furrowing his mother’s forehead. It’d only grow brighter as he held Langa’s hand between his and claimed what a good luck charm this weird foreigner was, that ever since they took him in, winter seemed to pass them by and leave them untouched.

Privately, Langa thought there was no one to thank other than Reki himself. Because it was him who unknowingly gave him the tools to morph his strange, almost uncontrollable powers into something malleable and useful.

It was Reki who taught him about warmth, and that was enough to help melt his unforgiving frost.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

His memories eventually returned, but it was too late by then. Too fucking late.

Because when they did come, it was just after war had taken all warmth from him.

Reki was gone.

The… the idea didn’t… Langa just couldn’t…

Reki was gone.

War had come, and he’d been called to fight. As the only man in his family, there was really no other option. And even when Langa had raged and shook, insides freezing over despite it being summer, demanding he took him with, Reki had stayed firm. As firm as he was when he found a strange man lost in a blizzard and took him home. As firm as he was when the villagers looked at them walking around, pointing at his strange, delicate features, his white skin and blue hair, and spoke of curses and demons. As firm as he was when people noticed his crops remaining healthy throughout the winter and spoke of witchcraft, or blessings, or miracles, and did their damned best to either hurt Langa or steal him for themselves.

The same firmness that made him feel secure and steady despite his blurry past and uncertain future, caused him now such unfathomable despair.

Because Reki was gone. And he hadn’t taken Langa with him.

When warnings about the dangers of war hadn’t been enough to stop him, Reki had played dirty. He spoke about his mother, too old to work the fields, and his sisters, some of them even approaching marriageable age and a little bit too tempting to those seeking to harm young girls, or to take advantage of the Kyan’s prosperous wealth.

Fear made him desperate to go with Reki, but duty forced him to stay. So he did, and he worked the fields in summer, and fixed the roof when it broke during the storm season in autumn, and kept ice off the crops during the harshest days of winter.

And when spring came, so did his memories.

And so did news of Reki’s death.

Reki was gone. And Langa was eternal.

He was a God, he knew then. A young, lost one, who after straying too far from his realm had gotten stuck in mortal lands. And then, after meeting Reki, he couldn’t leave.

Because a God that forgets themselves and loves a human might not return home as long as their dear heart remains in life.

But now Reki is gone, the warmth he shared with Langa taken with him, far beyond where he’d ever be able to reach.

He was a God. He could blow mountains away with a single breath, destroy villages with the swoop of a hand, could will the cruelty of winter away or force it to stay with scarcely a thought.

But he couldn’t bring his love back, couldn’t keep that heat blaring brightly inside himself. Without Reki’s warm palms protecting the flame, it died off like a candle left outside during a storm.

Langa’s pain, his broken heart, brought fore disasters previously unheard of. Lands freezing so completely, life couldn’t survive there. Winds so cruel and cold they’d cut anyone stupid enough to brave them. The battlegrounds in which Reki’s blood had been spilled were promptly destroyed, the strength of the blizzard he sent there opening the earth below worse than an earthquake. The only place left untouched, after Langa’s rage simmered down into heart wrenching despair, was the Kyan’s household, abandoned but for himself after their scared inhabitants had decided to migrate away from all the destruction.

Reki was gone, and Langa’s hands (and his heart) were cold again.

He had forgotten just how painfully numbing the chill in his bones was.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Eventually, Langa’s despair became too much for anyone to handle. Life on earth was going to be no more, unless someone stepped up and did something about it.

But there was only one thing that could melt the God of Snow, and Winter, and Cold. A person that was long gone, lost forever.

But what’s forever for a God?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was the God of Dreams and Nightmares that searched in Langa’s memories for his beloved. The God of Youth and Strength the one who built his mortality, piece by frail piece. The God of Spring and Beginnings that breathed life into it. The God of Tricks and Determination who travelled far beyond anyone else’s reach, to steal back the soul needed to tie it all up together.

(Because Langa wouldn’t accept it, unless it was real. It was no good, if it wasn’t this one.)

And so they worked together for the first time ever, resolutely, tirelessly. Until they could softly place this new human (this old being) on Earth and will it to live.

Until one bright August 8th afternoon, thousands of years after his death, Kyan Reki, all of ten seconds after his second birth, opened his eyes and cried.

And all the way across the world, a God heard him. And his heart started beating again, slow but steady. And his love, his never dying love, drove him (eager and willing) away from his Godly lands and into mortal ground again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He didn’t recognize him by looks, but touch. So it wasn’t until hours after their introduction (hours after Langa, itchy mortal skin covering his godly one, had entered that classroom, tired and cold and still so fucking lonlely), when this bright eyed boy had offered him a hand to get back on his feet after falling off his skateboard, that he felt it again.

When their hands touched, the warmth in his fingertips traveled fast and vicious through his arm and shoulders, until finally settling over his chest. Surrounding a heart that was beating wildly, desperate to reach out to its other half.

And Reki, who was mortal but also a little bit more (built by the Gods themselves, from pieces and ashes and stolen remains), gasped in syntony with Langa.

Trying times would come, the presence of a strong God and an existence that wasn’t fully human nor godly drawing the attention of other powerful beings. Beings that, following Langa’s example (curious as to what exactly was tempting enough, to drag one as grand as him down from his frozen throne), donned mortal skins and meddled with their affairs.

Some would try to help, some to harm, others just to observe. It really didn’t matter, to Langa.

Because he had Reki’s hand in his again, his flame now a burning fire in his veins, and he wasn’t going to ever let go.

#my writting #Renga #Kyan Reki #hasegawa langa #reki x langa #langa x reki #langa is WHIPPED #but what else is new am i right?#I don't even know what's this #reki is a ray of sunshine #renga fanfiction #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 the infinity fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

greyaceupyoursleeve · 4 years

Text

Off Limits | Namjoon x reader one shot

“I was gone for what, 20 minutes?” “15.” “Okay, 15. He managed to cheer you up in 15 minutes?”

Fluff, humour, slice of life, comfort; 3k words

Summary: Namjoon goes to kiss reader (Yoongi’s cousin, off limits for him) - finds her upset - fluff - Yoongi finds out - awkward lunch follows.

The moment the main door bangs shut, Namjoon shoots up from his table to poke his head outside his dorm. All clear. He tip-toes across the hall and stands at the threshold of Yoongi’s room, peering inside. There’s pin-drop silence in the apartment as he’s trying to sneak up on you, to steal that kiss he would have had yesterday. The thing is, everyone knows that there’s a thing between you and Namjoon but since Yoongi declared you, his cousin, off-limits, you only exchange moony smiles, winks and flirt off-handedly on the rare occasions you meet.

Stealthily, Namjoon pushes the door ajar, and stands in the doorway with a big cute-ass smile on his face, expecting you to notice him. But you just lie in the middle of Yoongi’s bed, limp, facing the ceiling, disconnected from reality.

For the umpteenth time, your mom had called you up and given you flak for spending more time at the theatre than studying for that degree you hardly cared about. You had got into college only so your parents would quit bickering. The fact that you are an adult now with full control over your life did not stop them from saying discouraging things to you, every now and then; and no matter how strong you made yourself, they always made you cry angrily.

“Can you not see what is better for you? Not everybody gets as lucky as your cousin.”

“Ma… I don’t have the energy to do this again.”

“I wish you’d stop being selfish. We raised you up after all.”

“I’ll just go, ok? I can’t… keep… doing this. Bye.”

You tossed your phone on the far side of the bed and crumbled on it, and felt the hot tears coming out. This was why you were staying with Yoongi and not at home for your break. Today you were going to head out with Yoongi to get lunch, who had witnessed the whole call from the edge of the bed.

“Will you get take out, please? I’m sorry… just let me… cry for a bit.” you whined as your eyes clogged with angry tears and your chest became tight.

“It’s okay, (y/n).” He gave a reassuring smile and rubbed your knee. ”I’ll get ice-cream.”

Normally, he wouldn’t leave you all alone with Namjoon, not after seeing you two huddled together in the balcony at 1 am last night. But it was getting past lunch-time. He grabbed the keys and his wallet and walked out. “Be back before you know it.” Seeing Namjoon’s closed door, he thought, nothing will happen—she’s crying and I’ll be back quickly. He felt sadistic, but on his part, the boy didn’t think you and Namjoon would go anywhere; and he didn’t want both of you to deal with that kind of heartbreak.

You sigh with your eyes closed, and picture calming things—a calm beach, cherry blossoms, a hillside lodge, your childhood. Your personal reel gets cut off when you feel the weight on the bed shift and open your eyes to see the boy next door. “What’s up, babe?”

He’s crouching on all fours over you, face-to-face. You turn your face to your right, covering your face to wipe your eyes. The sly smile on his face becomes a frown when he notices the streaks of tears. He lowers himself on his elbows to brush aside some stray hair with one hand and wipe your cheek with the other. “What’s wrong?” he whispers, inches from your face. You shuffle, trying to catch your breath as he shushs you.

“Has Yoongi… ever, um… told you about stuff at home?... My home?”

“He said something about you fighting your own battles the last time you came. And asked me to, uh, stay away.”

You snort. He snorts. He presses his face against your neck and nuzzles you with his nose. “Mom called… disappointed… wants me to study and... all that jazz.” You force the words out through your clenched jaws. Namjoon’s appearance has washed away some of your tension already, and you feel your heart rate recede from thumping like mad. Wait, wasn’t it supposed to be the opposite when someone you like comes into the picture?

“(y/n)… you keep up the hustle.” He says, in his comforting, deep voice, looking straight in your eyes, “As that boy group had put so profoundly, “I know what I am, I know what I want,” he raps softly in your ear.

“Never gon’ change, never gon’ trade. Yeah.” You giggle and nod. He gets more comfortable on the bed by stretching out and straddling you, pulling your head into his chest as you both lay on your sides. His hands trace soothing circles on the back of your neck. You wrap your free arm around his waist and crane your head up to get a look at this soft boy. He leaves a peck on your forehead, and then slides down to your eye-level. “Stay strong, (y/n). You know how badly you want your dream job.” You break eye contact but he delicately makes you look back. “It’s okay; you’ll prove them wrong when you get through. I believe in you. Yoongi believes in you. Hell, we all do. You know that!”

“I will.” You nod with sincerity and snuggle into his warm chest again. “Thanks.” You lay entwined in silence as the clock sweeps three long albeit peaceful minutes.

“Hey, when will Yoongi return?” Namjoon asks. You sigh.

“I don’t know, a few more minutes?”

“That bastard.”

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

This is unexpected. We have the entire apartment to ourselves and, in my head, I was going to rush to (y/n), pin her against the wall (gently) and redeem that kiss we missed last night, which I have been craving ever since I first saw her. But here we are, cuddled up. Over the last few minutes, her heart rate has come down radically, her shoulders have become less stiff, and she’s breathing easy. She’s not crying anymore either, and I think I am the reason. I grin. As much as I would like to make out with her right now, I don’t want to ruin this moment. She needs support; but who knows when I will be alone with her like this? I push that thought aside and focus on massaging on her shoulders. She seems to like it.

(y/n) raises herself on her elbows and faces me. “Remember, you were going to kiss me last night?” she tilts her head and asks coyly. The mischief in her eyes makes me forget how speech works.

“Please don’t say no, that would be awkward.” Her lower lip twitches as she says this and she bites it. I know that it’s natural but, fuck, it gets me going everytime. My throat goes “uhhhuhhh” and I nod my head like a puppy. Shall I say something or just kiss her?

Just then, she gets up and slides off the bed. I try to reach her arm but she’s too swift. Without looking back, she heads into the bathroom and locks it behind her. I sit up on Yoongi’s bed, dazed. Was I too slow?

The sound of water running in the sink replaces the silence. I get off the bed, and wait for her to come out. Shit, did I screw this up?

When she comes out after a minute that felt like eternity, her face looks fresher. “(y/n),” What am I planning to say? I follow her as she heads into the kitchen without looking at me again.

She downs a glass full of water, then another. I stand in the doorway; not going to let her go this time. She puts down the glass, walks to me with a shy smile and drags me out of the kitchen by my hand. I tug along like a balloon, feeling lighter than air. I wasn’t this nervous last night.

“I didn’t want to kiss you with tears on my face.”

My panic disappears.

I pull her face to meet my lips. Her eyes flutter shut, as do mine, reveling in the sensation as my heart picks up pace. She wrings my t-shirt collar, withdrawing to catch her breath and resting my forehead on hers. With fingers in each other’s hair, it feels electric to meet her eyes.

She parts her lips to kiss me again, a smile ghosting across her features when a key turns in the lock.

Dammit, Yoongi.

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

He walks in with take-out boxes to find me on the couch in the hall. I take some boxes from him and smile. Can he smell Namjoon on me? I remember him smelling clean, nothing in particular. My whole face must look mushy right now, so I avoid looking directly at him and make conversation instead. To compensate for the raised pitch of my voice, I look for the ice-cream, sure that he got my favourite flavour. “Ahhh, black currant! Yoongi, I love you!” dragging the vowel sounds.

“Feeling much better, huh? Where’s,” he turns his head to Namjoon’s room, “Namjoon?”

“Yeah, I had a moment of *dramatic pause* epiphany. Joon’s in his room?” I reply, emphasising the rhyme. I just happen to say stuff like this.

Yoongi pokes his head into Namjoon’s room and announces, “Lunch’s here, Joon.”

“Coming.”

Yoongi goes to his own room, and returns with his jacket off.

Meanwhile, I get the cutlery from the kitchen (less plastic, folks) and take in the aroma of the food. This food would be a great cover because, boy, do I get high on good food. It was almost good enough to stop my thoughts from lingering on the kiss. Almost.

“Alright, what do we have?” Namjoon makes a big show of acting nonchalant, but the loudness in his voice says otherwise. Yoongi shoots him a look. Namjoon joins us on the floor, as we dig into our food on the table. Yoongi across from me, Namjoon on the side between Yoongi and I.

It’s awkward, alright? First, there’s Namjoon and I, pretending like we weren’t necking each other a few minutes ago. Then there’s Yoongi, whose gaze moves between me and Namjoon like he can sense something. He looks like a surveillance camera. It’s possible that he smells one of us on the other. I washed my hair today.

After the boxes are opened and just as I wish for this to just end, Yoongi breaks the silence. “Namjoon, what were you upto?”

“Uh, I was in the room. Reading.” His voice cracks.

“And your phone was there, too, right?”

“Yeah… of course.” Pretty boy’s voice cannot hide the nerves and his head bobs unsteadily.

“Yeah, noticed it on your table… I called you twice but you never picked up.” Yoongi continues. Is he taking a shot?

“Really?” Namjoon kind of chokes on the dumpling.

“Yeah. I wanted to ask what you wanted. Forgot before I left, you know. You didn’t see it?” Yoongi studies Namjoon. Yoongi looks like a cat sharpening its claws now. Namjoon bites his lip as his cheeks redden slightly. Boy, no, don’t do that.

“Wow, these dumplings are... something else! Thanks oppa. You’re the best oppa.” I blow a kiss at Yoongi. He eyes me with suspicion.

“You had an epiphany, right? What was it?” Okay, we’re getting straight to the point.

“It’s pretty mediocre…”

“Still wanna hear it.”

“Um… you’ve seen that cherry tree from the balcony, right?” I don’t know where I’m taking this.

“Yeah.” It’s like all my theatre experience was the build-up to this specific moment. Inspiration hits me.

“I was looking at it, when, I saw myself in that tree.” Namjoon and Yoongi both look at me funny.

“You what now?” Yoongi set his food down.

“I could relate to it.”

“Oh. Okay. Go on.” He picked up his box again.

“That cherry tree, naturally, grew from a sapling. It braved the sun, rain, storm and hail alike and grew up. It survived. And it blossomed into this amazing adult tree.” I pause to read the room. Namjoon is seriously nodding along to my words. Yoongi, on the other hand, looks unconvinced. He’s not buying it.

“You see, I’m the cherry tree. And right now, I’m small and vulnerable, like a sapling. I don’t know if I’ll bloom like those other trees. What if I get blown in the wind? Some nasty kid uproots me? What if my stem breaks before my cherries pop?”

Namjoon chokes on something again. Yoongi passes him some water and looks terribly unimpressed. He looks like the casting director at auditions now. I act as if I didn’t just say that last line and go on.

“But one day, I will go through it all and emerge like a beautiful cherry blossom tree,” I rack my brain for lines like a desperate auditioner, “that everyone will admire. Not for the looks, of course, but for my talent. I will grow resilient, no matter what-“

Yoongi flings his chopsticks in the air. “Oh, shut up (y/n). Enough.” He sounds unsure of his own tone but looks at me hard.

“Yoon-“ Namjoon tries to intervene and gets shushed by both Yoongi and I. Sorry, leader.

“You two were upto something, and I know it. Stop acting.”

I stare at Yoongi poker-faced and beat a tattoo on the table top with my nails. Namjoon swallows without eating anything. I cock my eyebrow at Yoongi. His expression softens.

“I know it. Let me guess, he walked in on you crying?”

“Maybe he did.” I say blankly.

Yoongi’s expression softens and there’s no iciness in his tone anymore. “I was gone for what, 20 minutes?”

“15.”

“Okay, 15. He managed to cheer you up in 15 minutes?”

Namjoon tries hard to not smile but the subtle pride on his face is evident. I’m still not sure where this is going but I nod stiffly.

“Wow. That’s an achievement, Joon. She looked like she got sucker punched when I left. It usually takes her a 5 hour nap or really good food to get back to normal.”

The corners of my mouth turn up slightly. Namjoon grins unabashedly. A silly grin flashes across my face too and Yoongi smiles with his eyes. “You make me sound like a grizzly bear.” I say.

“Point being, you should probably stick around with (y/n) if you make her so happy.” Yoongi bumps Namjoon’s arm.

“So cheesy.” I snigger and roll my eyes.

“Are you serious?” Namjoon asks and the boys look at each other.

“Yeah.”

“What, just like that?” I ask, still unsure.

“I thought you kids were just fooling around last night, but if it means more than that to you,” Yoongi’s pitch drops, “who am I to stop you?”

“It’s just that, you know,” he trails off and fiddles with his palms,” (y/n), you’ve got so much on your plate, and Bangtan never seems to stay in the same place for more than two days. Neither of you deserve to suffer with that.” There’s maturity and truth in his tone. The room falls silent again.

”Hey, it’s not like we’re getting married.” I reply, finding my voice “I mean, I just, really… like him, you know. I love being around him.” I bite my lip, unsure of what to say next. Namjoon looks at me and his gaze hovers over my lips momentarily before clearing his throat. “I really like you too. Really do.”

I knew that, obviously, but hearing it made me feel warm and fluffy. I gushed.

“And, Yoongi, if you get awkward about it, don’t worry. We won’t make it awkward. Promise.” Namjoon says sincerely.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Yoongi smirks.

“Don’t be a jerk to her. I know you won’t but it’s kind of ceremonious for me to say it.”

“Hyung, if there’s a bully here, it’s your cousin. Please ask her to be nice to me.” Namjoon says cheekily and takes my hand.

“Oh, please” I glare at him with adoration.

“Yeah, kid, don’t hurt him. Unless you want a diss track.” Yoongi says. Namjoon cracks up leaning back.

“Hey, Joon, let go of her for now. She has half a bowl of noodles left.” Yoongi says. With a squeeze, Namjoon uncurls his fingers from mine and I focus on my bowl. He smiles at me flirtatiously through the rest of the meal, dimples out, as I bite my lip and try not to blush.

Yoongi finishes with his food and goes to his room with his cup of ice cream. The door closes behind him.

“Yah, Namjoon, I can smell you on my sheets!” he yells from inside.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to anymore,” Namjoon yells back and winks at me.

Photo from a. g. a on weheartit

32 notes · View notes

herald-divine-hell · 4 years

Text

A Foolish Notion

Summary: Alexandra almost gets into a duel, and Leliana is having enough of it.

Words: 2,083.

Tags: Angst, Fluff

Jaw tightening, Leliana narrowed her eyes at the sight before her, urging down with cold strength the desire to rage. Light spewed down from the windows, long-length and wide, blushing the stone a softer grayish-white. Wind rattled against the sealed windows, a gentle tap that echoed in the stillness of the war room. Shrill cries groaned distantly behind the barrier of stone walls, but she could still hear the mournful whimpers of the Frostbacks; promises of pain and memories long passed and to soon occur.

But the pain now bubbled beneath her own being, forming at the center a fire of worry, outrage, and fear. It hurt more seeing the long, jagged lash sprawling from the underside of Alexandra’s jaw down her neck, and running further beneath the high-necked suit. The golden embroidery burnt bright by faint touches of sunlight, shimmering as if it was golden clouds streaking across a sea of darkness. The military uniform fit the Free Marcher more than well enough - with its emphasis to highlight the curve of her hips, the slimness of her waist, the fullness of her bust, and yet it contained still all the influence of a near-omnipotent force, unchallenged and domineering. Alexandra was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt there, either. Her long locks of black fell in a thick mane of curls, flowing down to the small of her back. Strands fell and were stark-contrasted by the green-gold of her eyes, long tendrils seeping into one another, seemingly blending and swirling. More often than not, a tiny smile formed at the corner of her lips; but there was none formed there now, only a line that was distant, almost apathetic. Even the flames burning within those eyes of gold and green were harsh and cold; it was not the sensuous glaze of a visionary, but the clear watchful and understanding of an experienced general—one who’s wraith had been tested.

“Don’t stare at me like that, Alexandra. You know what you did, and the riskiness it could have put you and the Inquisition in.” Leliana despised the strident tone that her voice held, but she was in no position to relent against it. Alexandra needed to hear it, to understand the idiocy that she nearly drew herself into. An idiocy that nearly had gotten her killed. “Why did you do it?”

The fire which burned in Alexandra’s eyes was terrible to behold. The woman was too stubborn for her own good, most times—too arrogant to believe that she could be in the wrong when it concerned her own safety. Leliana wished she knew what the woman was thinking. At times like these, the Inquisitor’s thoughts were as understandable as a marble statue. She hated her for that; and she hated how she wanted to draw Alexandra into her arms. Those eyes could burn entire mountains into nothing but molten pools of flames, yet they sent a shiver up Leliana’s back all the same. At last, the Inquisitor finally spoke. “It was my duty, Leliana.” Her melodious voice was stern and hard, a tone filled with authority and power unquestioned.

Leliana’s own voice tightened and grew frosty on its own. “Your duty is to lead the Inquisition—to remain alive.” And stay with me. Alexandra had promised she would stay with her, now and forever, and Leliana believed her to be a woman of her word. Maker, she trusted her more than anything else in the world. Alexandra had to stay alive. She just had to. I won’t lose her, too. Turning to Cullen and Josephine, both who looked abashed and red-faced. “Leave us, please. I will talk sense into her,” said Leliana, making sure there was no room left for arguments or discussion. Especially from Cullen.

Surprisingly, and kindly, the two other advisors nodded and departed without any word, though Josephine gave her look of reassurance...and sympathy. Their steps echoed into the silence of the hall, the pressure thickening each boom, growing as the two opened the door and sealed it shut with a louder bang, like bouts of thunder.

Suddenly, the War Room seemed far larger than it had been before, as if Leliana was little more than a speck in the world’s vastness. The expanded hall where it loomed behind Alexandra, with the large bronze doors, strapped with bronze and iron hinges, glimmered pale beneath the whitish-golden light. The shadows lengthened and spread across the pale gray stone floor, whirling about like black tree-limbs.

Leliana returned her gaze back to Alexandra, which seemed to not have lifted from her face since the silence overtook the chamber. Tightening her jaw, Leliana straightened her shoulders and pulled herself to her tallest height. She would not be turned into some foolish, mushy mess, merely because she loved Alexandra. She grasped at the facade of Spymaster and Left Hand, lifted up, and pulled it over her features, a skin so old and familiar that it almost seemed second nature; but how long since she had last truly worn this face? The face that had sentenced so many to death to protect Justinia? Too long, she thought, graciously. Too long because of the woman who leaned against the war table with palms pressed against the reddish-brown wood, eyes trained on to Leliana, only interrupted by a flicker of a blink. Because of that woman she loved more than her own life, who had brought light and color back into her life, when all was shrouded in gray and black and sorrow and misery. And to think she could have lost her again...No, she would remain hard for the time being. Alexandra will listen to her. “You better have a good enough reason to go throw yourself in danger like that—unprovoked and unnecessary, need I remind you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned on her left leg, waiting.

For a while, Alexandra did little more than blink and stare. Her eyes were calculating sun-twined green flames, controlled and yet raging. Only the snapping cold wind against the windows were the only sounds to fill the war room, alongside the chirping torches that were little with amber flames, thin wisps of pale gray smoke flowing up toward the high ceiling. At last, Alexandra spoke, though she never lifted herself from the table. “It was provoked, Leliana. My honor had been on the line. The Inquisition’s honor had been on the line.” A growl escaped from those lovely lips, a marring change to the sweet words that often flowed from her mouth, like a river struck with a stone to leave its water running sporadically compared to the smooth swiftness it would have usually flowed. “What would you have me do? Allow it to be smeared and buried in the mud?”

“Josephine would have handled it.” Leliana met the fierceness and fire of Alexandra’s voice with her own coldness. Narrowing her eyes, Leliana clenched and uncleaned her jaw, and pushed down the urge to scream. How could she not have seen the foolishness of it all? “And he was a mere corporal within the Inquisition’s army; our own soldier, Alexandra! You are the Inquisitor. If you would have wished so, you could have dismissed him from his position!”

Alexandra flung herself off the table, the fire within her eyes blazing bright. The flames spun about the torches also erupted, shooting long flaming lances toward the ceiling. And the air felt colder, thinner, as if Leliana stood at the peak of a mountain. The wind’s rattle grew harder, fiercer, like claws scraping a shriek across the clear surface. “His second was able to negotiate with Fendarn. I did not get hurt, and my honor is intact.” Her eyes flowed close, and she whispered in a voice that Leliana could barely register. “My honor is still intact…”

Maker, why did she have to look so vulnerable now? It was harder to cling to the coldness when Alexandra looked half-folded into herself, shoulders drawn inward, as if seeking to hide her. Leliana wanted to draw that foolish girl into her arms, and to whisper that she was right. She was still here with her. Instead, Leliana asked, “Why do you care so much so about honor?” In stories, honor had enshrined heroes, but Leliana was old enough, wiser enough, to separate stories from reality. Once, she had not, and that had caused her more pain than she had ever so desired to feel again. She swallowed, pain slicing through her heart, seizing it with sorrowful pain. “Is it worth more than me?” And it was her turn to close her eyes, to contain and pull back the tears that threatened to escape.

The warmth and coldness that had filled the room like air snapped away, and the roaring of flames died down sudden and quick, like light flashing out from existence. Even the wind had ceased it knocking. “More than you? Maker, no, Leliana.” Light footsteps, swift and few, filled the air as she felt hands, cool and warm all at onces, and so, so smooth, but with a hint of callous, cup her cheeks delicately. “Please, Leliana, look at me.”

She had not realized that she had failed to keep back the tears. Warmth wetness flowed down her cheeks in tendrils, and Leliana could feel Alexandra’s thumb drying and drawing circles over them. Opening her eyes slowly, Leliana had to bite back a cry. Alexandra’s eyes were wide, searching, and shrouded in worry. The gold within her eyes had mellowed, growing softer, a gentle glow filling and brightening them. Now they looked like a sheen of light over a calm emerald sea. Leliana could stare within those eyes for eternity, if she could.

“I love you so much. Not even words could pen them down upon parchment, though I have often tried.”

Leliana raised her own hands up and pressed them against those cheeks, rolling the pads of her thumb across the straight sharpness of her cheekbones. “Why, then? Why put yourself in so much danger?”

Guilt plagued those eyes, and Leliana was filled with unmeasurable sorrow at that. If there was anything more Leliana had hated to see Alexandra’s eyes, it was guilt. It was a sight that was growing too common and accustomed to, for her liking. “Because honor is all I have, Leliana. Nobility I may be, I am still a mage. And though the mages have won their freedom, perhaps in the eyes of most, I am still legally not allowed to inherit any land that my father could bestow upon me. I have nothing else, save my honor. Nothing else, before I had met you.” She laughed, and it was bitter, self-loathing. “I am a bigger fool than Maferath.”

“You are a fool, Alexandra Trevelyan.” Leliana could not stop herself from laughing and taking in the refreshing glint of confusion within her beloved’s eyes. “But you are my fool.” A leather-gloved hand flowed away from a cheek to entangle themselves within the thick locks of Alexandra’s hair. “And I would fight demon and darkspawn, man and god, to have you in my arms every morning and to keep your smile forever alive.”

Tugging at her head gently, Leliana tilted her head back and captured those lips she so adored with her own, and kissed her heatedly and lovingly. Leliana took in everything: the feel of Alexandra’s body pressed against hers, the softness and plumpness of that talented mouth, and the sweet scent of vanilla and something else she could not quite name fill her senses.

A grunt passed through Alexandra’s lips against Leliana’s. The edge of the war table. A wicked thought came to mind, and her grin grew into the kiss. I’ll be sure to remind her what she would be missing if she dare even think about going off to do something as foolish as a duel again. And Leliana had not been jesting when she had said she would fight gods and demons to be with this foolish Free Marcher. But a part of her knew that Alexandra would have done the same for her. Well, let us be sure that neither of us gets into something as tangible and foolish as death. Though, knowing the both of them, Leliana doubted it.

But she made a promise, and it was a promise she would keep, until the sun bled away into ash and the world turned shattered and broken, Leliana would hold onto that promise, as hard as she could.

14 notes · View notes

sirkkasnow · 5 years

Text

09 Catch Your Breath When You Can

Ao3 link

07/17/13 Wednesday evening

Stan was shoulder deep in the Fairlane’s engine compartment when the kids finally made it home late that afternoon. Dipper waved and headed straight inside; Mabel came over to lean casually against the front fender. “So?”

“There’s a meatloaf in the fridge for dinner an’ we’ve got potatoes, and I guess the fixins for salad if you’re into that kinda thing.”

Mabel pressed both hands over her eyes and groaned in protest. “Nooooooo. I mean did you call her? Did you get to do your something nice whatever it was? You’ve gotta be almost done with the car!”

“Yep, almost done.” Stan straightened up with a sigh and latched the hood. “Gonna fire it up in the morning, see where we’re at. Probably a day, day an’ a half to finish up, then she’s free t’go.”

“You’re not just gonna let her walk out of here, right?” She was peeping out at him between fingers now, looking horrified. “I know you’d both regret it.”

Stan pinched his lips against a smile - his poker face was cracking. “Well, I maybe mighta lined up a flick after dinner. So if you could help keep the nerd brigade occupied that’d be great.”

Mabel produced a whistle-shrill hypersonic squeal of delight and flung herself at him for a hug. “I knew you could do it! Consider the nerd brigade well and truly distracted! You report to me on everything, got it?”

“Mabel, c’mon, it’s just a movie.” He was grinning anyway as he swiped down his hands.

The five of them gathered for what proved to be a noisy meal. One tiny nudge from Mabel was enough to derail the conversation into DD&MD worldbuilding. “Clary’s about to leave,” she said firmly, “she hasn’t gotten to play one game and we need to fix that.” Within fifteen minutes the rulebooks were scattered across the crowded kitchen table and both Ford and Dipper were talking scenarios and taking notes.

Clary had spent most of the afternoon napping. She looked crisp and refreshed, a froth of peony pink silk knotted off-center at her throat, tossing an occasional suggestion into the chaos. Mabel vanished for a minute or two as the plates were cleared. When she returned it was with arms full of scrapbooking supplies and an unsubtle jerk of the chin towards the living room.

Stan took the hint and slipped out unnoticed, setting up a dinette chair next to the recliner. He tracked down a couple of pillows and a light blanket to make the whole thing a little more comfortable. Clary showed up a few minutes later, hands in pockets, still smiling to herself. “I’ve been banished,” she murmured over the background conversation from the kitchen. “So they can surprise me in the morning.”

“Damn shame, too bad, movies are under the TV.” He punched the pillows in a mostly-futile effort to fluff them up as she knelt to sort through the cabinet. He’d tracked down the remote and gotten comfortable in the recliner by the time she waved a worn black-and-white cardboard sleeve at him: Captain Of Her Heart.

“Old-school okay?”

“Um. It’s mushy.”

“I can handle mushy.”

“It’s sad.”

“I can handle sad and I’m not in the mood for nature documentaries.” Clary slotted in the tape, fiddled with the channels until trailers for twenty-year-old New Releases! began to play, and collected a box of tissues before settling into her seat.

“You a crier?” Stan nudged her tissues with a knuckle and she gave him a dirty look.

“Insurance. Settle down.” Clary stacked pillows against the recliner’s back corner, propped her elbow on the arm near his and made herself at home. He’d seen this one a million times, an obscure classic in his opinion with some really good on-location seaside shooting for its era. Familiarity never seemed to make this one hit any less hard.

He found that it was hitting maybe a little harder than usual. The bookish harbormaster’s daughter and the rough-edged first mate she’d spent the last hour falling improbably in love with walked the shoreline under a spotlight moon, switching to closeup against a painted backdrop for their wrenching scene of farewell.

Stan stole a couple tissues while she wasn’t looking. Clary already had one clutched to her lips, tears welling up at the corners of her eyes in resolute silence. Maybe she was a bit of a crier after all, though she held it together pretty well through the last ten minutes or so.

Once the ship had departed and the harbormaster’s daughter had slipped down to the docks in the night, dressed in a man’s traveling clothes and bound for parts unknown, Clary blew her nose in an undignified honk. He would have teased her if he weren’t busy trying to do the same without her hearing him. At last she settled close to watch the brief credits. When the tape ran out and the screen went to static he grumbled and jabbed at the remote until the TV snapped off.

They rested together in the near-dark. Stan listened as the rhythm of her breathing steadied. “Good flick,” she murmured at length, in no apparent hurry to move.

“One of my favorites,” he admitted, equally quiet. “I did warn ya. If, ah, if it’d help, there’s a sequel...or I could maybe get Soos to write some kinda fix-it, he’s good at that fanfiction stuff….” He felt rather than saw the subtle shake of her head. “What, no?”

“It’d be cheating.”

“C’mon, now, there’s nothin’ wrong with chasin’ a happy ending - “

“They’re hard to catch.” He heard her swallow thickly and felt her shift to turn a little more into him. “Why the heck don’t you have a couch? I don’t want to move yet but this is uncomfortable as hell.” Stan considered bolting to leave her some privacy, then held his breath and wriggled his arm free to lay it lightly around her.

“This a little better?”

Clary drew up her legs and nestled into his side without hesitation. “Much.”

“So - we don’t have a couch because we didn’t need one until everyone was leavin’ at the end of last summer, anyway - “ He was cursing the lack of a couch right now, because the arm of the damned recliner was wedged between them and this would be a very nice post-movie snuggle without it. “I’m not sure Ford an’ I ever really thought we’d be back for more’n a quick visit. Soos hasn’t had time to update the place much.”

“You said you’d been running the Shack for thirty years. Alone?”

Stan hissed softly, dragging his free hand through his hair. “Yep,” he said just before the pause went beyond recovery. “More or less. Kids first visited last summer an’ that changed a whole lot.”

“From what I’ve gathered in town last summer was pretty lively.” He felt her smile against him. “Funny, no one really wants to talk about it.”

“It was, uh.” He groped for the right word and finally said, frustrated, “Weird.” Clary laughed softly. “Listen. I am not the one who should be givin’ pep talks, you get that? But I can promise that sometimes y’catch the happy ending.”

The house had gone quiet around them, the kids retreated to bed, Ford probably downstairs. Stan flinched in surprise as her cool hand covered his at her shoulder. “I’ll take your word for it,” Clary murmured. “And thanks. For today. Not everyone handles - “ She tugged at her silk scarf with a fingertip.

“We both got history, kid, I got no right t’pry.”

“I’ve been preemptively dumped over this, you know.”

“Hah! Just as well. You don’t strike me as the type t’date idiots.”

“No. I’m not.”

A minute or two drifted by like that, comfortable, the warmth of contact something he hadn’t slowed down to enjoy in an eternity. Stan had about found the perfect angle to pillow his cheek against her hair when she stirred. He rumbled in protest before he could stop himself, arm tightening for a second then relaxing as she sat up straight.

The wan wash of light from the hallway gilded the slope of her cheek; her shadowed eyes held a determined glint. “I’m in too good a mood to talk about ancient history, but I’d like to trade stories with you sometime.”

“Sure, but I don’t know when - “ She tilted her head in reproach and any further protest stalled in his throat.

“Stan. You made the fatal mistake of giving me your phone number.” Stan cracked a crooked grin and she went on, low-voiced and all velvet persuasion. “Let me know when you hit a port I can get to. Anywhere in the north Atlantic’s fine. If you end up someplace warm, like say Gibraltar or the Azores, so much the better. Drinks are on me.”

He almost barked out a laugh, a startled little huff like she’d just sucker-punched him. “You askin’ me out? Your treat?”

“Yes.” The practiced look of light amusement on her face faded by degrees into something more apprehensive. “If you’d like. I’d hate to never see you again.”

His brain locked up hard, spinning off into logistics and complications and the overwhelming desire to not fuck up the good thing he had going. Mercifully his mouth got out ahead, as usual. “Yeah. Definitely. I’d - really, really like that.”

She lit up in a split second of unguarded happiness for maybe the first time since they’d met. Clary leaned in too quickly to intercept, her lips grazing the stubble of his cheek as a fleeting whiff of her faded peony perfume curled into his nose. “Great. So would I.”

Stan’s hands twitched once with the sudden impulse to snag her by the waist and drag her into his lap before common sense shut that down. She couldn’t quite look him straight on as she withdrew and this time he laughed in earnest. “Oh, c’mon, counselor, y’can’t make a pitch like that an’ then go all shy on me.”

“Sure I can.” Clary’s fingers tightened in his, then slipped away as she rose. “I’d better go to bed before I say anything else incriminating. See you in the morning.”

“What, alone?”

“Stan.”

“It’s gonna be chilly, want me to drop off a couple extra blankets - “

“Stanley.”

“I got a sideline in personal furnace services - “

“Oh my god. Don’t make me regret saying anything.” The chuckle she was trying so hard to suppress laid a husky note under the words as she headed for the hallway.

“G’night, sweetpea.”

She slipped through the door with a last backward glance. He sat back to think it over, eyes closed, horrified and delighted all at once.

Mostly delighted, he decided, pressing fingers to his cheek where she’d kissed him.

tumblr: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

Ao3: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

“I’d hate to never see you again.” She looks anxious, jittery with anticipation and a little sad all at once.

Definitely.

Maybe.

I just can’t.

#Gravity Falls #gfdatingsim #DDtMMW #Swooning Over Stans #Stanley Pines #OClicious #fanfic

1 note · View note

jakeremake · 6 years

Text

Parts of the Whole pt 3 - a rizzles fanfic

It's five in the morning and by all rights, I should be asleep. She is, at least I think she is. And there's a moment when I think that this will be it, that this time she'll stay, that this time it will be different. I've been tossing and turning all night, afraid that the moment I fall asleep will be the moment that she will take her leave. Where I hope that she will leave because that will mean that things don't have to change between us. That it will make me admit to things that I don't want to. But all the same, I need her to because I need to know what this is to her. I'm sick of being Maura-the-doormat, who lets her walk all over my heart. But I'm scared to death of pushing her away.

I've been restless all night, completely unable to sleep. But she hasn't left yet, even though it's getting close to the hour that she usually does. I was always to work by nine, and up by seven, and it's getting closer and closer to that time, the edges of dawn just starting to peek through the curtains. And I figured that she gave my usual wake up time a wide berth, lest she risk my awakening a half hour early.

I finally find a comfortable spot on the mattress, and I don't fall asleep, but it's enough to let my body find some rest. As I slow my breathing slightly, I hope that I can find at least some bodily rest to be able to survive the day. I know I cannot get to sleep, but at least a little bit of comfort will make it easier to last until a respectable hour to leave the office.

And that's when I feel her stir. I was unaware that she had been lying awake next to me, and I cannot help but wonder for how long she's been lying their, feigning sleep, waiting for me to slip into at least a brief slumber. It takes a moment for her to get out of bed, carefully removing the arm I've draped around her waist in a half-hearted, futile attempt to get her to stay.

My eyes snap shut when she sits up, not wanting her to know that I'm awake. It's an act of pure cowardice, but I cannot stand for her to know that I'm awake. I'm not ready to push her away. Not yet. I haven't had enough of the pain yet to get me to do something. I'm not like she is, able to endure the suffering of shooting through her self to be self sacrificing. I can still keep going through this, with nights like the last one feeding an addiction I had never known I'd had before her.

Eventually it will get to the point of being unbearable, but it's not there yet. Right now it's just a deep throbbing ache that I know I can get rid of if I try to focus on other things. And I accept it for what it is, just another part of this entanglement.

I feel her presence at the foot of the bed, hesitating for a moment,, the soft sound of cotton scraping against skin. And then that presence is next to me, and I hope she thinks I'm still asleep. I feel gentle lips brush against mine, "Goodbye" she whispers. "I'll see you later." There's an almost sad note in her voice, as though she actually feels regret at leaving. My eyes flutter open, but her back is to me, leaning on the edge of the nightstand to pull on her pants.

"Jane-" I call, and she freezes, and even from behind I know she has a deer-in-the-headlights stare.

"Good morning," She says, and I can tell that she's trying hard to sound cool and collected as she shrugs into her bra.

I can't break my stare from the bedspread, unable to look up at her and see everything I'm afraid of reflected on her face. I know the rejection is coming, and I feel as though I'm going to be sick but I speak anyway. "Jane," I repeat taking a deep breath to bolster me. "I'm sick of this. This isn't working." Her knuckles turn white as she grasps the end of the nightstand, but I push forward. "I'm sick of waking up alone every morning." The air is thick, and the bile is rising in my throat as I continue to speak. This is it, the breaking point. The point I knew would have to come eventually, the other shoe dropping. This is a part of the relationship that I knew had to come, and I'd accepted it. A painful, hated part, but one that I accepted anyway. All relationships eventually ended

"I'm sick of trying to remember which me I'm supposed to me. The one who comes over with pizza and beer and lets you steal things off my plate, or the one that's here, in bed with you, mewling for more. I'm sick of what we have, Jane. I want - I need something. I need for this to end, or I need more, but what we have - it's not working."

There's a long pause, and I'm afraid to look up. I'm afraid that I will see the fear, the rejection, the pity that I know is coming. I'm scared that this is it, that this is the last time I'd talk to her beyond the forced interactions of work. Perhaps I'd find somewhere else to go. I had options, I could go anywhere in the world if I wanted to. I didn't need to stay in Boston. I only stayed here because she drew me in. I could leave, and I knew that I would have to. It's only after a minute that seems like an eternity that I break my eyes from the bedspread and slowly look up.

My gaze stops at elbow height. She's still shirtless, but she's pale, as though all the color has drained from her. This wasn't good. The bile rises in my throat again, and I know I'm going to be sick, but I hold my composure for the moment. I get up and reach for my own underwear, not wanting her to see how desperately needy I am for her. I don't want her to see the effect she's had on me. I don't want her to feel guilty, because this is all on me. I'm the one that's ending this, the one that decided that good wasn't enough. I was the one being selfish.

"Maura-" I'm trying to figure out what that is in her voice. It wasn't quite anger, but I don't know what it is. Sadness, perhaps. Maybe regret or pity. "What you want-" This is it, and I brace myself for what I know is coming. I know it's not going to be good, and I want to cut her off now, tell her that I'll be leaving, that she didn't have to worry about any awkwardness at work. That I was sorry, sorry for things ending this way. "I'm no good at it."

I feel her close the distance between us, and there's a hand on my cheek. I pull away from it. I'd rather have the memories of last night being the last touch between us. But she persists, follows the jerk of my head. "Don't - I don't want this to be the last-"

There's a hoarse chuckle, and I look up. I still can't read the expression on her face. It's one I've never seen before. But I understand the look in her eyes, have seen it before when she's talking to her mother, but her face is still tight with tension, and the color is slow to return. "What do you want?" For such a simple question, it's hard to put into words what needs to be said.

"You." It's whispered, barely spoken, barely more than a breath, but I know she hears it.

"Thank god, I was starting to think you expected chocolates and mushy valentines." The hand is still on my cheek and I look at it rather than at her as she continues to speak. "But me, I think I can handle that."

"Not just you. All of you. I want to be able to kiss you while we're watching bad movies. I want to wake up in our bed next to you. I want to know you're not going to pull away from my touch and tell me to do it some other time. I want to -" I didn't even know what else I wanted, just that I needed something more.

What I needed was to love her and be loved in return. "I want you to stay. Here. Now."

Her thumb brushes across my cheekbone, and smears a trail of wetness across it. I hadn't even realized I started crying, and merely shut my eyes to avoid the look that I knew was coming. Knowing that this was it, that was the end. That this part of my life was over. But there's her lips on mine again, kind, gentle, loving. I open my eyes to see that look in hers again, and wonder what it means. "I'm not good at this." She repeats and I'm feeling confused and lost and helpless. "I don't even know where to start with this. I don't know where to go next. I don't know what more is." There's a pause, and I open my mouth to cut in but her lips gently silence what I'm going to say. "But it doesn't mean that I'm not willing to give it a try."

It's my turn to have the deer-in-the-headlights look and I meet her gaze, and it doesn't have the usual detached coldness reserved for her work persona. And I know she means it. The only thing I can think to do is kiss her, and she responds. This is just another part of the relationship. An accepted one. A painful, horrible part, but a part of it nonetheless. I know that there are going to be future moments of confusion. Of not knowing what she wants. Of not knowing what I want, but for the moment, what I want is clear. "Stay." I whisper, barely trusting my voice.

And she does.

#fanfic #rizzles #rizzoli and isles #jane rizzoli #maura isles #jane and maura

2 notes · View notes

space-lions-and-imagines · 6 years

Text

A Very Merry Voltron Valentine’s ft. Pidge

Alternate title: Lance is a little instigating shit and pidge is a huge sappy nerd

A/N this was done with literally no editing or beta so mistakes be damned! Take my trash and do what you will with it lol

~1900 words

“There is no capitalism in space Lance,” Pidge said with a roll of her eyes as she tried to find the perfect ratio of alien ingredients to make the brown sludge in her cup taste like coffee. “And even if we were on Earth I would still try to fight the good fight against corporate schemes that disguise themselves as holidays. Its evil to try and trademark love,” she said pushing herself onto the counter and taking a long sip. Still terrible but if it was giving her at least some sort of buzz so worth it for the time being.

Nothing, however, was worth seeing that horrible ‘I know something you don’t know’ look that Lance wore so proudly. Pidge frowned, tapping her fingers against the ceramic mug trying her hardest to not ask. Asking would mean giving in and admitting she was curious in whatever gossip he had. Even if she was dying to know why he even brought up the subject of Valentine’s Day she didn’t want to feed into his teenage soap opera ways. Lucky for her though he wasn’t very good at keeping things to himself.

“That is very noble. I’m sure you must have been very popular amongst all your tech nerd buddies who also never had dates. But things are different now pidge! You do have a date and maybe they don’t share the same fight the system inclinations you do,” Lance said with what he must have thought was a very casual wave of his hand as he leaned on the counter opposite Pidge “But if you don’t care that s/o got you something well then that’s none of my business,” he continued looking down to pick at his nails.

Pidge’s first thought was that with the right forward momentum she could easily knock Lance to the floor and force him to tell everything he knew about the gift. Of course that’s probably what he wanted judging by his eyebrows lost somewhere in his hairline and toothy smile. So instead she cleared her throat and said “I have to go. Right now. Immediately. And you still can’t pressure me into this …. No matter what may happen in the future know that you had nothing to do with it!” as she ran out of the kitchen.

Pidge’s time off was supposed to be spent working on some personal projects, mostly working on some of her language courses before the castle started beeping at her and projecting holographic reminders in her room. Now she was desperately trying to figure out exactly what romance was even supposed to be. She had visions of hearts and fat babies with bows dancing around her head as she tried to remember what Valentines was like back home. She groaned, pulling at her hair and slumping onto her bed. “Sure Pidge you’re suuuuuuch a genius. Alien tech, no problem. Giant lion weapon system, no problem. Get your date mate a nice present and suddenly I’m as intelligent as a snail. Ugh no … that’s an insult to snails!” she mumbled grabbing a pillow to scream into.

She did nothing but simmer like that for a long time, the wheels turning and turning in her head to the point she was sure there was smoke coming out of her ears. Then suddenly she sat up right, the fire moving from her brain to her eyes. “I’ve been looking at this all wrong. I can’t figure this out the way Lance would. I have to solve it my way. Besides my way is going to end up being much more efficient and not only help myself but all other romantically troubled people to come!” she announced to her audience of scattered tools and crushed energy drink cans before setting to her new task: finding the scientific solution to the perfect Valentine’s Day.

It was at best a show of her dedication to s/o but at its worst, and somewhere a little closer to the truth, it looked like a conspiracy theorist wall. Pictures and words taped to the wall with multicolored string creating a makeshift obstacle course. Several people had tried to come check on her only to look at the mess, decide it wasn't their problem and walk right back out. Even s/o had been warned about Pidge’s strange project and hadn’t been around except to leave snacks and the occasional ‘remember to drink lots of water!’ note. At long, long last though she was certain that she had the key. A fool proof plan she had gotten all of the details perfected at three o’clock in the morning.

Well almost perfect, she had neglected one detail in her pursuit of scientifically backed romance; she had absolutely no idea where to get any of it. They were currently trying to lay low which meant there was no guarantee of the next time they would be going off ship. The only option she had was to work with what was around the castle … it was going to be a long day.

~*~

Pidge had looked rough before, forgetting to sleep for a couple days could do that but it was nothing compared to how she looked and felt now. It seemed like it was just disaster after another, she tried to not think of it as a metaphor for her life. First it was the flowers, a classic and what she assumed would be the easiest considering Allura had a greenhouse tucked away in the upper stories of the castle. Pidge had found the most appealing colors and shapes, trying to match those she knew from Earth, to create the ultimate bouquet. It was going great until she broke into a rainbow of rashes in some equally as colorful places on her body. That dream was quickly squashed.

Pidge thought that at least she could have a nice dinner and some chocolates to give to s/o, Hunk was a sap for that mushy kind of stuff. Heck he had been making everything heart shaped for month in preparation for the big day! Yet Pidge had all but been laughed out when she brought her requested menu. “Dude I would love to help you and I can do what I can buuuuut this is not Earth. I don’t have anything that’s even close to, what was it you wanted steak? Really, steak? And truffles? Oh man I wish I had access to some chocolate! It’s a nice thought but the best I can do is like a trio of space goo,” Hunk said before Pidge kicked that damned goo machine and left.

The rest of her tasks when just about the same. The closest thing to a stuffed animal she found was the training robots. The shiniest thing she could find to try and make jewelry was scraps of galra tech which just seemed ominous. She had managed to blow up something resembling a balloon but discovered whatever gas she used was very unstable finally leaving her empty handed and half an eyebrow short.

She trudged back to her room late into the night, worse for the ware and completely down in spirits. “This is what I get for turning my back on my morals, karma apparently works over time in space,” she snorted as she belly flopped onto the bed wondering if she suffocated in the sheets if she would be allowed out of the Valentine’s celebrations that she was sure Lance had planned for later the next day. She was perfectly willing to wallow in her own sadness until she was dragged out to see what amazing thing s/o had gotten her when suddenly there was a knock on the door.

Her heart fluttered, knowing who it had to be but almost hoping that it wasn’t. The soft footsteps could only belong to one person and despite the fact nothing was going right Pidge was happy to hear them. After all the trouble and disappointment they were the only person she could think of that she would want to be around. Even if she had nothing to give in return. “Hey there stranger, I didn’t realize we had someone new living in the castle. I have heard a ghost has been roaming as of late though,” they teased as they sat on the edge of the bed with legs crisscrossed. “I did try ghost hunting but haven’t had much luck …. Ya know I missed you Pidge,” they added with quiet sincerity.

It wasn’t posed as a question or even with the air of sad guilt for which Pidge was eternally grateful. It was something she appreciated with their relationship; there was never any need to explain her weird habits until she was ready to talk. “Im a weirdo who doesn’t deserve your patience but I will selfishly accept it,” Pidge said slumping and twisting around until her head was resting in their lap, her arms hugging their waist. “But good news is ghostbusters have stopped by and eliminated all ghosts. I’m back to being my usual annoying goblin of a person,” she said grinning up at them.

“Mmm you are definitely more of a troll but whatever you decide to be, as long as you’re mine again, I’m happy~” they cooed down at her, rubbing her arm and bending down to kiss the top of her head. Pidge gave a content sigh and wanted to bury herself in this moment, get lost in the warmth and serenity of being reunited with them. “Aaaaaaan because you’re mine I kinda got you something. Lance has been on my case about Valentine’s Day, which I personally think is a sort of emotional cop out but I couldn’t resist a chance at arts and crafts,” they grinned, gently scooching Pidge over to reach for something in their pocket.

Pidge expected to be a nervous wreck, feeling so low that she would want to puke but she instead found herself actually anxious to see what it was. The earlier disdain of not being able to make a perfect gift a shadow in the back of her mind, almost laughable in that moment. She held out her hand to accept what she now saw was a card, pushing herself up to get a better view of what it said. On the front there was a cartoonish picture of a galaxy, stars and planets dotting the shimmery blue paper, and bubble letters that read ‘Are you stuck in space Valentine?’ then opened up to a very crude sketch of what was undeniably a butt surrounded by all capital letters in harsh red print ‘BECAUSE THAT ASS IS OUT OF THIS WORLD.’

There was silence for a minute, while s/o sat biting their lip, opening their mouth stuttering about how they weren’t a great artist and that she didn’t have to like it she just thought the joke was funny but they could totally forget the whole thing. Only shutting up when Pidge crashed her lips against their own, laughing into the kiss so hard they seemed to be vibrating against each other, tears wetting their cheeks before they pulled away gasping for air while the last fit of giggles left their systems.

“This is perfect. You’re perfect,” Pidge said, arms wrapped around s/o’s neck with her forehead resting against theirs. They giggled again and kissed the tip of her nose “Only cause I have someone to be perfect for,” they replied with another smile which Pidge happily returned. Again she didn’t deserve someone this amazing but she wouldn’t want anything else.

#pidge #pidge x reader #voltron x reader #pidge fanfic #im not super happy with the middle #but i like the beginning and end #*shrugs*

56 notes · View notes

pikapegasus · 7 years

Note

Starmora 53

53. “Sit down. I’ll get it.”

bc what’s life without some peter hurt and gamora comfort????? aka starmora hurt/comfort muahaah but don’t worry friends, this one’s pretty angst free for once (sh00k)

send me a ship + a number!!!

Peter can’t move.

Well, yes, actually, he is still very much capable of movement, but not without asteep price. Even the slightest movement results in an aggressive, explosivepain in his head, and he has to screw his eyes shut to stop the world fromspinning every time. He’s always hated head injuries the most. He’d take death by stabbing over death by blunt force trauma to the head, to be honest—because at least then, his head wouldn’t threaten him to completely implode, then explode, then implode again, like it is now.

And it’s all because of a stupid situation caused by his stupid friends.

He loves his team dearly—really, he does; they’re hisfamily, and he wouldn’t trade them for the world, or an eternity, like a certain celestial jackass had thought, the dick—but as fun as their chaotic, supportive environmentis, he has his limits.

His new limit: Rocket and Drax starting bar fights withinfive minutes (at most) upon entering a bar.

Even after a year together, this is still a recurringproblem whenever the team goes for a night out. Peter’s not really sure why; it probably has something to dowith the duo’s deep, underlying issues from their respective traumatic backgrounds, or justexpending frustrating energy after spending so much time in such a small spacewith such obnoxious people, but,whatever, because either way, Peter’s still confined to his bed after getting straight-up decked while trying to break up thescuffle they’d caused.

(Although, there is hope that this will be the last time, forat least a while, that the Drax-and-Rocket-bar-fights will continue to happen regularly,because Gamora looked just short of absolutely pissed about it from what Peter saw before he passed out, and if hecan’t stop Drax and Rocket, then Gamora might be able to scare the problem outof them.)

Then he came to in his bed to the sound of hushed, furiouswhispers outside his door in what sounded like a one-sided argument (scolding) between Gamora and Rocket andDrax.

Whatever. The two bastards deserve it for dragging him intotheir mess, anyway.

“Peter,” comes a soft voice, contrasting the harsh whispersfrom earlier, “I need you to wake up.”

He gives a little grunt to indicate that he’s still alive,but she lays a soft hand on his face, stroking his cheek gently, and, seriously, if it was literally anyone else asking him, he’d have turnedover and ignored them completely.

But he complies, opening his eyes to the sight of Gamora,standing over him with a small smile.

“It hurts to talk,” he whispers, struggling to get the wordsout.

“I know,” she says, removing her hand. “I need tocheck up on you every few hours; I think you have a concussion.”

He groans, but that hurts, making him groan again, and just—

“Shit,” hemanages, screwing his eyes shut.

“Is there anything you need?” she asks quietly, probablycontrolling her volume for his sake. “Food? Water?”

Debating between the pain of shaking his head and the painof verbally answering, he finally settles for a noise through closed lips thathe hopes sounds somewhat like a “no.”

But if anything’s improved in their time together, unlike Rocket and Drax’s stagnant coping mechanisms at bars, it’s Peter’scommunication with Gamora, because she just understands things, and heunderstands her, and it’s pretty great, being able to have silent conversationsvia facial expressions over the heads of the others, leaving them all wondering whothey’re talking about and what they did wrong.

(“It’s, like, a totalparenting thing,” he’d told Gamora one time, and she seemed cool with it.)

Gamora, predictably, understands. She nods, offering him asoft smile. “Okay. You can go back to sleep now.”

He stares up at her with big eyes, blinking slowly.

“I’m staying with you,” she reassures him. “I’m not goingto leave you to die in your sleep. If you do that, I’ll be here to kill you forit right away.”

It hurts to laugh.

Sometime later, Peter wakes up on his own, tangled up inGamora’s arms and legs. They usually rotate their cuddling—the first time Peterhad mentioned their cuddling toGamora, she insisted she threw up a little in her mouth at the mushy idea, buthe knows she loves it just as much as he does—positions, with her curling intohim some nights, and vice versa. Apparently, tonight, they’ve just been amutual mess, unconsciously trying to latch onto each other.

His head feels a bit better from earlier, but still nowherenear normal. Judging by the lack of noise from the rest of the ship, everyoneelse is probably sleeping.

Despite the idea of a (for once) quiet Quadrant appealing to his lingering headache, thesilence puts him on edge. There’s the comforting sound of Gamora’s breathing,yes, but he needs something else, something specific.

…Where’d his Zune end up during the fight, anyway?

At some point after returning to the ship, Gamora had helped himchange out of his clothes into proper pajamas, so his Zune might be with hislaundry, unless Gamora took it and moved it somewhere else.

Carefully, he pulls away from Gamora, watching her for somesort of reaction. When she remains asleep, he takes a deep breath,steeling himself to sit up in the bed and pull the covers off. Heturns his legs to the side of the bed, placing his feet down on the floor. Countingdown in his mind, he manages to push up into a standing position whileholding onto the nightstand to steady himself.

The Zune could be in a number of places, but he’s willing tolook. Sometimes, he just can’t notlisten to the music from his mother—and now Yondu—and he typically puts downwhatever he’s doing to fulfill that need.

He makes it about two steps forward before Gamora sleepilycalls after him, “Why are you up?”

Busted.

Turning back carefully, he finds Gamora now sitting up inbed, rubbing at her eyes.

“You should still be in bed,” she continues. “You need to rest.”

He stays in place. “I wanted my Zune.”

Now she’s up on her feet, gesturing to the bed. “Sit down. I’llget it.”

Though her tone is far from impatient, he frowns. It sucks that she has to dopractically everything for him whilehe’s hurt, but he does as she says, making his way back to the bed andcarefully sliding back under the covers.

She walks around the bed to a set of drawers, from which sheprocures the Zune and his earbuds. While walking back to the bed, she fiddleswith it—probably scrolling through his songs to choose one for the two of themto listen to—but then she stops, cursing under her breath.

“The battery needs to be charged,” she says with a sigh.

“Oh.”

He tries not to sound disappointed, but everything’s pretty shitty right now. She hooks it up to thecharger on Peter’s nightstand before returning to her side of the bed andcrawling in with him.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” she murmurs, facing him. He turns toface her. “I should’ve checked if it was charged earlier when I took it out ofyour pocket.”

“’S’fine,” he mumbles. “I don’t need it.”

She presses her lips together thoughtfully. “What song didyou want to listen to?”

“I was just gonna putit on shuffle.” He shrugs.

“Well…” she pauses, searching his eyes. “I know a few of thesongs.”

He raises his eyebrows at that, ignoring the way his brainprotests the sudden movement, grinning a little. Her words give him a second wind, revitalizing him a bit. “Do you take requests?”

“On special occasions.”

“And this is…?”

“I suppose it is, indeed, a special occasion.”

His head still hurts like a bitch, but as he curls into Gamora with this stupid smile on hisface, he forces himself to ignore it as much as possible. She wraps an arm aroundhim, holding him close to her. He sighs, resting his head against her chest. “Inthat case, I have a song in mind. A special song. For this special occasion.”

“Yes?”

“Y’know any Elvin Bishop?”

Though he can’t see her face, he imagines her rolling hereyes in her own Gamora way, accompanied by her typical smirk. As she startshumming the familiar tune, Peter relaxes his entire body, closing his eyes andfocusing on her soft voice.

Before he completely loses himself to sleep, he manages tomumble a hasty “thank you” to her.

send me a ship + one of these prompts about your ship sharing a bed!!!

#starmora #gamora #peter quill #star lord #guardians of the galaxy #mcu #fanfiction #tumblr exclusive #yodels bc the wifi here sucks so hopefully this posts #btw the song is fooled around and fell in love!!! obvi #just wanted to fyi in case anyone missed that #Anonymous

19 notes · View notes

homoerotixx · 7 years

Text

And I'll Pluck It From the Sky Just For You

[ONESHOT]

pairing: wontaek notes: my wrists are dying please save me words: 3,609

The starlight above shines brighter than before, blindingly so; the way it gleams on Wonsik's skin makes it look like it was crafted of the stars themselves.

"Do you wanna see something?" Wonsik suddenly asks. His voice punctures the thick silence around them and it startles Taekwoon just a little, though he hopes his jump hadn't been noticed. He looks owlishly in Wonsik's direction. Wonsik stares back at him intently.

"Hyung," he starts again, "do you wanna see something?"

Taekwoon tilts his head.

"Come with me."

Wonsik stands, dusting off his back and then offering out his hand. Taekwoon glances between Wonsik's face and it, his own tingling with the need to clutch on for dear life. He only tentatively reaches out instead. With the strength of an Adonis, Wonsik pulls him up.

They jump down from the wooden patio and suddenly, Wonsik sets out into a sprint in the tall grass. Taekwoon gasps, nearly stumbling over himself but jumping forward to catch his footing. Despite the bright moon and twinkling stars above, Taekwoon isn't sure how Wonsik can see in the night as they practically fly towards the treeline.

They pass the treeline before Taekwoon can protest—"You're too careful, hyung!" he hears in his head—and he fears tripping over tree roots and forest ground. Wonsik's impossible sure-footing, however, guides him easily with the reassurance that he won't hurt himself on anything. He wonders where they're going; the thickening forest all too quickly shrouds his home behind them.

"Where are we going?" he asks meekly, worry seeped into his tone.

"I won't hurt you," Wonsik replies. "I won't let you get hurt."

Taekwoon bites his lip.

With over-stretching lungs being crushed to their limits and a heart working double-time because of adrenaline and nerves, he's tiring out fast. But Wonsik would never let him get hurt. He trusts Wonsik. He may be a bit weird—other-worldly, even—but he always puts Taekwoon first.

But, "W-Wonsik, please, I'm—" he pants.

"We're almost there, promise!" Wonsik replies, and he doesn't sound anywhere close to breathless.

They must've run an eternity before Wonsik finally begins to slow. Taekwoon's leg muscles burn and scream at his mushy mind; he's ready to clock out. Wonsik guides him a little further until the treeline breaks again.

Taekwoon gasps, exhaustion forgotten. The revealed clearing is lined by tall trees that reach up into the sky for a sun that abandoned them, as if they want the moon to take its place and feed them. They prickle at the dark violet peppered with diamonds, shining the brightest Taekwoon has ever seen—he didn't even know it was possible for stars to illuminate like this.

The smell of pine scratches at his nostrils and he hardly pays attention to Wonsik until he begins to strip.

"Wh-What are you doing!" he worries, quickly covering his eyes.

"Hyung, no, watch!" Wonsik almost begs. "Please, you have to see me."

Taekwoon's hands tremble in front of his eyes; apprehension and fear are tight in his nerves because he's so far out of his comfort zone. With reluctance, he peeks through his fingers, only to yelp at seeing Wonsik's bare backside. He clamps down on his bottom lip to smother the hesitance so he can force his hands away from his face; he should at least try what Wonsik wants so badly to show him.

Wonsik smiles over his shoulder at him a bright and exciting thing and then turns towards the pond center of the clearing. Taekwoon follows in a worried step forward.

"You don't know how deep it is," he cries, eyes beginning to burn.

"That doesn't matter," Wonsik laughs, continuing without a care in the world.

Just as Taekwoon is going to rush to stop him, Wonsik steps into the pond—onto it. The calm water is solid under his feet; he walks on it as if it were frozen. Awed and terrified, Taekwoon cuts short, stinging eyes wide enough to pop from his skull.

The starlight above shines brighter than before, blindingly so; the way it gleams on Wonsik's skin makes it look like it was crafted of the stars themselves. Taekwoon rubs at his eyes, wondering if he was dreaming or not. Every inch of Wonsik's skin shimmers and the moon bathes him in such a radiant sheen that it could be nothing more than a mirage.

All Taekwoon's breath leaves his lungs. "Y-You . . . You're . . ."

Again, Wonsik beams over his shoulder and pure joy is alight in his sparkling eyes. "Here, you try!" he beckons. "But you need to take off your clothes first."

Heat floods Taekwoon's face at the thought and he wraps his arms around himself in embarrassment. "B-But . . . I'm not like you . . ." Not that he knows exactly what Wonsik is—what can walk on water and shine like the stars?

Wonsik turns around and Taekwoon has to cover his face up all over again. "I promise," he says, "it's okay. You can do it."

Taekwoon peeks through his fingers like a child. Wonsik stares at him with such earnest that it would be a shame to let him down just because he's horribly flustered.

He's not sure what else compels him—Wonsik's astonishing, baffling beauty or maybe he wants to feel it for himself—but his trembling fingers reach for the hem of his shirt and then pull it over, exposing his pale skin to the night air. His eyes widen at the sight of his arms beginning to shimmer under the moonlight.

"Wh-Wha—"

"You're doing it!" Wonsik cheers, hopping.

Shock is too locked into Taekwoon's system for embarrassment to stay set, and his pants are shucked off next. The revealed skin takes on a glowing glaze, blessed by gods themselves. He spins around excitedly in his spot, mesmerized as light refracts off of him.

He looks to Wonsik, his face reflecting the joy on the other's. Wonsik is laughing brightly, absolutely delighted, and he quickly shakes his hair out like a wet dog.

"Your hair!" Taekwoon exclaims, pointing with a rounded mouth.

Wonsik pulls at a lock expectantly, eyes lighting up even more at the sight of it glowing white. "It's happening!" He's almost vibrating with excitement. "C'mon, c'mon, you gotta hurry!" He motions at Taekwoon's underwear.

Some shyness and nerves return because Taekwoon still isn't sure what Wonsik is going on about—but he seems so excited and he is so beautiful, still stealing Taekwoon's breath away, so he can't do anything else but join him.

When his last piece of clothing is gone, Taekwoon's first step up to the shoreline is wobbly. The water grazes his toes as a hint that it wants nothing more than to pull him under; and surely if he tries to step on top of it like Wonsik is doing, his foot will only go right through.

"I-I—I can't." he whimpers, taking a step back.

Wonsik shakes his head. "You have to. Please, hyung? For me?" He peek up to the sky, eying the stars with urgency. "Please?"

Why is he so insistent? Taekwoon is merely human and Wonsik is . . . not. They aren't the same. Taekwoon will fall through the water.

"I promise, you can do it. Don't think about it, and you can do it."

His insistence wells frustrated tears in Taekwoon's eyes and he clenches them closed, setting his jaw. Why does Wonsik think he can do this? He can't. He can't.

"Hey."

Surprised, Taekwoon opens his eyes. Wonsik stands in front of him, apologies written into his expression. "I'm sorry."

Up close, his bronzed skin lined with patterns of stars from up above is even more dazzling. Taekwoon blinks a few times to get his bearings back. Wonsik's warm hand trails down his forearm to gently grasp his wrist.

"I'll help you."

Taekwoon's tears have accidentally spilled over but he nods dumbly. Wonsik steps back.

"Just close your eyes and let me lead, okay?"

"Okay." he whispers. "Okay." He wipes at his face, feeling silly, and then lets his eyes close again.

Wonsik steadily pulls on his wrist until his arm is fully extended. There's no choice but to follow forward. Fright launches his heart into his throat, but instead of his foot going right through the water, it's like he stepped onto midair.

Every horrible feeling comes to a halt. He opens his eyes again and looks down; under their touches is the calm water that reflects the sky, without ripple as if neither of them exist. He feels light as a feather at the sight. Wonsik takes another backwards step.

Dazed in amazement, Taekwoon lets himself be led forward. His brain simply can't process the fact that he's walking on water as if it's normal ground, as if it's the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing. He looks at Wonsik.

Wonsik grins ecstatically, the luster of diamonds reflecting in his dark eyes.

When they finally stop in the middle of the glassy pond, which seems far more vast all around than before, Wonsik looks up into the sky. Taekwoon marvels at his lovely countenance—like he's looking towards home, or a place he so longs to be. Wonsik looks back at him, determined.

"Do you trust me?" he asks.

Taekwoon blinks, caught off guard. "Do I . . ."

"Do you trust me?" he asks again, ardent.

What's he supposed to say? He doesn't not trust Wonsik. There's never been a reason not to trust him, but has there also ever been a reason to trust him. In fact, Taekwoon becomes aware of how out of his depth he is with Wonsik, how he doesn't know a single thing about him. He backtracks on his thoughts from before the forest, when they sat together on his porch and pointed out impossible shapes in the constellations: Wonsik won't hurt him, not ever. He believes that wholeheartedly, as real as the shimmer on the bodies, the vibrant glow from their clasped hands.

He trusts Wonsik.

Wonsik wouldn't hurt him.

He nods.

Wonsik's expression changes as if Taekwoon's response had been the very best thing in his whole life.

"You better hold on tight then, hyung." Wonsik weaves Taekwoon's arms around his waist and a hyper-awareness spreads through Taekwoon at their naked bodies pressing together almost too much. Heat begins to take over his face.

"H-Hold on for wh—"

Before he can finish, the water starts to ripple around them. The entire earth shakes to life, the trees sway back and forth in a synchronized dance only they know, praising the skies that held their life in the stars. The stars shine brighter and brighter, glow spanning so wide that it eats away at the dark violets and indigos. Goosebumps begin to overrun Taekwoon's body at the extraordinary display.

Wonsik's luminous hair flares around him and more swirls, lines, and stars manifest, claiming his skin for their own. It strained Taekwoon's eyes and he's almost afraid that he'll be burned to a crisp, but instead of white-hot pain, a soft warmth envelopes him, the kind one feels when coming home after a long winter's day. It soothes him right down to his core.

"You're so beautiful." he whispers in reverence.

Wonsik, maybe no longer Wonsik, glances down at him with icy, starlit eyes, a grin somehow visible on his face. "No, you're beautiful."

Taekwoon wants to reply, but they're suddenly jerked upwards, so rapid that all their bones should've snapped. Not even able to scream, he keeps his arms circled tight around Wonsik's waist for dear life and screws his eyes shut.

"Hyung," Wonsik's voice sounds fuzzy and distant in his brain. "Hyung, you can open your eyes now."

Taekwoon fervently shakes his head. He's so sure he'll die if he does.

"It's okay."

Gentle fingers grasp his jaw and lift his face.

"Open your eyes."

He does. His eyes flutter open.

He gasps.

They're surrounded. An endless sea of stars circle their every side. Taekwoon whips his head from all around—even if he had the rest of eternity to see it, there was no way he'd be able to see all of it. This is a face of the universe he's never known or seen before; home seemed like such a small and faraway place in this moment.

He hardly has the words to speak.

Wonsik's arm is slid securely around his waist, holding him close. "What do you think?" he asks.

Still in utter disbelief, Taekwoon slowly shakes his head. "I. . . It's . . ."

Wonsik laughs a warm sound that soaks into Taekwoon's skin. "Do you like it?"

All he can do was nod stupidly.

Wonsik is even more pleased and nuzzles against his neck and cheek. It brings Taekwoon back to himself and he looks at him—his skin has regained its natural tan, but patterns are still etched into it like ancient runes that gods wrote sacred prophecies on him for safekeeping, and his hair strands still seem spun from the purest, white gold starlight.

"You're still . . ." he breathes, raising a hand to run his fingers through it. It's so soft. "Are you human?"

Wonsik laughs again. Maybe it's a little late to be asking that. "You know the answer."

Enchantment with his hair and skin has Taekwoon completely wrapped around him. "You look like a star." he whispers, entranced with tracing a swirl down his cheek with a single finger.

"Close enough."

Taekwoon has to look away from Wonsik's staggering beauty. "Why did you want to show me this?"

The question sobers Wonsik's face just a little, smile faltering. "I . . . There wasn't a lot of time left." he says.

"Time?"

"For me."

"You?"

Wonsik sighs, but his face picks up a little more. "You should talk this much all the time."

Taekwoon can't stop himself from pinching him in the arm. He whines playfully. "Time for what?"

"I . . . I was being called home." he explains. "They were calling me." He looks wistfully to the stars, eyes dimming unnaturally. Taekwoon thinks that if his eyes went completely dark, he might die.

"Who?"

"The stars. They're my family. They want me home."

Taekwoon wants nothing more at that moment than to wipe the somberness from his face and return his radiant smile to where it belongs.

"So you have to leave?" he asks, trying not to sound unhappy. "And you wanted to show me . . . ?"

Wonsik turns back to him, determined. "I wanted you to see this. To know what it's like. I wanted you to feel this with me. Just one time . . ." His next laugh is tinged with bitterness. "Actually, I'm kinda breaking some rules by doing this. Humans aren't allowed out here like this. I'm sure I'll be made an exception with a little slap on the wrist." He winks.

A blush tickled at Taekwoon's cheeks. "I . . ." He looks to the expanse of glittering stars again, eternal in their spread. "Thank you. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Wonsik chuckles, and Taekwoon turns back to him. "Not for me." He shakes his head. Taekwoon tilts his in confusion. "It's you. I've seen so many things, but it's you, hyung. You're the most beautiful being in existence."

Taekwoon doesn't have a chance to sputter or refute because Wonsik's tender hold is on his jaw again and he presses their lips together. There's such compassion in the way Wonsik kisses him, like anymore and he might accidentally crush Taekwoon. His wide eyes close in a new bliss and he kisses back, sliding his arms around Wonsik's inscribed neck.

There it is again—the warmth of coming home, filling Taekwoon's lungs, flooding through his veins, blanketing him all the way to his fingertips. It feels perfect, right.

When Wonsik unfortunately pulls back—it seems like far too soon—Taekwoon is breathless with rosy cheeks and pinked lips.

"I've always wanted to do that." Wonsik murmurs almost shyly, sliding his fingers along Taekwoon's hairline.

"Thank you." Taekwoon blurts.

"For what?"

"For showing me this. It's more than I could've ever dreamed of."

"Heh." Wonsik lets out. "I could say the same thing about you."

He's going to continue, but a chime sounded off in Taekwoon's head and they both stop. By the way Wonsik's face falls, it means something.

"It's time . . . You have to go."

"Me? I thought you had to go home." he asks, confused.

Wonsik shakes his head, simpering. "Taekwoon . . . I'm already home."

There's no room for Taekwoon to reply. Wonsik presses a last, soft kiss to his forehead and then simply . . . lets go.

Taekwoon's scream catches painfully in his throat.

He begins to plummet down, limbs drawn out in front of him as he falls backwards. Wonsik's figure shrinks into the ocean of stars, smaller and smaller until it's nothing but the brightest twinkle. Taekwoon doesn't have time to think about that as his stomach folds in on itself, freezing air slicing against his back, more being sucked from his exhausted lungs.

He's going to die. He plunges at faster and faster speeds, ones that will ensure he won't survive this. Time suspends because he can't tell how long it goes on, but it's an endless terror of existence, knowing this is the last part of his life he'll ever live.

Calm down.

A soothing voice graces up in his ear canal.

It's okay.

It triggers his pounding heart into steadily beginning to find its normal pace. He's still dropping, but the voice had pacified some of his dread.

The sky begins to morph into something more familiar—dark violet, only the stars aren't as luminescent as they were before. They're still plentiful, but have more numbers than shine. He'll hit the ground soon. It'll be over. It will end.

His peripherals show him just a single glance of the pine treetops, but they're still and low, having bowed under the moon's glory and calmed their unruliness. The moon must be happy to be free from being devoured. Overhead, he's able to catch a glimpse of a shooting star darting down from the sky sea.

After passing the trees, he meets with the water. It isn't a slam. It isn't bone-shattering. His body doesn't burst apart on impact. It's only falling into the water, a soft splash. It engulfs him like a freshly-laundered blanket.

Darkness.

And then, he opens his eyes.

⋆

Taekwoon sits up with a start. Dizzy and frantic, he glances around; it's his room, and morning light shines rays through the pulled curtains. He looks down at his blanket—yes, his blanket—warm and pooled around his waist.

Raising his trembling hands, he scrutinizes his skin and palms for any trace of the markings he'd seen before—before. Before, when? In a dream? A hallucination? Fever dream? He doesn't feel sick. He doesn't remember getting sick. His eyes trail up his arms. There's nothing there, no remnants of star shine.

He raises weak fingers to his lips. They feel . . . normal. At least, he thinks so. He closes his eyes and tries to recall; it takes a moment, but there it is: a warm feeling of assurance and safety.

It wasn't a dream.

Quickly, he pulls out of bed and begins searching the house. Both his parents worked in the morning and if his brain isn't failing him, the day is Sunday. They aren't around. He scours every nook and cranny for evidence that his mind hadn't fabricated such a fantastic dream.

He searches and searches, but there's nothing. He finally finds himself standing, forlorn, on the wooden porch, gazing longingly to the forest. He wants to go—but no. If it was a dream, then he needs to let it go. He wasn't a child anymore.

The realization doesn't stop dejection from weighing down his shoulders as he steps with a heavy heart back inside his house. He trudges to his room and then plops back down on his bed, wishing he'd never woken up to begin with. That falling sensation had been the worst . . .

As soon as he flops down, a tinkling noise makes him shoot right back up. He gazes alertly around the room—until something's glisten catches the corner of his eye. He looks to his nightstand.

At the corner is a mason jar, larger than average, covered with a silky mesh that's decorated with glitter and star-shaped silver confetti, and tied with a silver ribbon around the rim. His eyes widen—it definitely hadn't been there the day before. That isn't the most interesting part: inside of the mason jar is an impossibility, the shining, brilliant light of a star.

Taekwoon's breath is stolen.

Hurried, Taekwoon picks it up, having to wrap both his arms around it to carry, and then sprints through the house while trying not to trip over his feet. He breaks free of his front door and jumps over the porch, landing on the soft, tall grass.

With bright eyes, he looks up to the vibrant blue sky, eyes searching for something they won't be able to see during the day—he searches anyway.

Then, there it is: a star glimmering so bright that it shone past the veil of sunlight to greet him. His arms wind tighter around the jar as emotion swells through him, burning his nose and tightening his throat.

With watery, curved eyes he says, "Come back to me soon."

By the way the daylight star sparkles, Taekwoon doesn't have a single doubt he'll see Wonsik again.

#VIXX #Leo #Ravi #wontaek #oneshot #no warnings #fluff #starboy ravi #i hope it turned out as beautiful as i think it did because if not i'll cry a lot

69 notes · View notes

jf3co · 7 years

Text

I honestly forget what year it was - we would play around in tunnels, drainage tunnels, that were being laid down as part of new housing developments where once stood farms somewhere outside the city. It was gen-two "white flight" for the older cities, typically behind the original trend, and we got to graduate from the city to the suburbs; we were used to the city. The suburbs were foreign to us.

We saw the movie Aliens. We had plastic guns. And duct tape. And candles. And we'd tape the guns together to create modified weaponry. We taped candles to the walls of the tunnels. The rest you can figure out for yourself - crawling through tunnels underneath construction sites. But, it stands to mention, these were 'clean' tunnels - they were brand new; just manufactured and nothing to worry about. No chance for the old to creep in. No chance for history and the unknown. We know where they came from and why they were there. Just a group of young children entertaining themselves; being boys.

Speaking of generations - we lived in the 1st generation suburbs, the Levittown subdivisions. These were slightly older and established. They had, at least, some history; however unflattering.

The farms and woods were a different story. They had wonderful history. Like the kind of history that dated back to the beginning of America. And no small shit either - literally The Beginning of the United States of America started right here. So occasionally we'd come across some old shit in our exploring.

We were trolling through the woods with our BB guns when I shot a squirrel… I had no idea my aim would be that good… it was very far away - on a tree. But I shot him, gut shot. And when I found the thing it was on its' back and doing a half sit-up wheezing at me like "why did you shoot me, asshole?" with each little gut-shot squirrel breath it took: "why did you shoot me, asshole?" I had to make a big to-do about 'putting it out of its' misery'. I never shot anything after that again ever - intentionally, that is, as I know someone who would disagree that has the scars to prove it. But I do fuck up some fish fishing; weird right? My evolutionary empathy only goes back so far.

It was during one of these woodsy explorations that we came across what we affectionately refer to now as "The Tunnel"… thee… as in 'the tunnel to end all tunnels’. Somewhere deep in the woods where little light permeated we stumbled across it while ankle deep in mushy skunk cabbage. Sunlight filtered through only slightly like some accusatory fingers of angels to remind an insect why they became an insect. Cool despite the obvious haze of humidity. And deathly silent. The tunnel gurgled a parched trickle of water down a single green mossy strip; hardly the deluge this tunnel was designed for. This tunnel could comfortably carry a child on a water slide ride. Apparently for drainage. It's design of brick. Cement worn away from age and capricious deep-woods construction.

Billy was the first to approach. He crouched down low to the mouth of the tunnel: "Hello!" - "HelllllooOOOooo" - "Hey guys, check out this echo!" Billy turned towards us excitedly then back again: "ECHO, Echo, echo…" - "Doo Bee Doo Bee Doo"

Then BAM! It hit him. It being this giant green, scaly flash of teeth, bug eyes and prehensile arms. It reared out from the entrance. And the thing drags Billy straight into the tunnel! We never saw Billy again. But that was okay to us - Billy was a dick.

There has never been a time that I have run for so long and so hard in my entire life. And I guarantee you there never will be again. It will kill me next time. I'm old. My heart will explode.

As for Billy, well that was a whole another story. It was foreign for us to conceive that someone would grieve for him, being such the dickwad he was. And we even laughed at the thought of his parent's sitting at home blubbering about him missing and presumed dead. But, sure enough, everyone did care. We made the news. Big time. Cops. Investigations. Lie detectors. Spiritual mediums. Psychics. And the shells of Billy's parents that seemed to subsist only on PBR and Kools anymore. It all eventually passed after a few months. We surely didn't want to go to the tunnel again. Dogs could not find it. Nor trackers. To everyone Billy was dead; probably raped to death by a hobo then pickled in his own juices in a 55-gallon drum behind a rail shed. End of story.

But that wasn't the interesting thing - the whole random comically weird green monster in an old abandoned drain pipe followed by the media sensation surrounding the senseless loss of a young boy and one town's failure to yet again prevent much less remedy or find closure to such an event - no, the interesting thing is that we spent some time afterwards building a robot; yes.

Our robot was not one that worked on logic, per se, but that operated on an advanced oscillating wave core feedback loop. The core establishes a waveform, a pattern, feedback from the sensory inputs - any change to the input establishes a new pattern which in turn produces a different output. No memory. No hard drive. All it was, a little burning flame going around a bumpy track. And our robot had many tracks; we covered the delta, theta, alpha, beta and gamma frequencies - innumerable waveforms to accommodate what we thought would be all feedback from the sensors - with one mission: find Billy. And that flame went near light speed. One would guess we did feel a little bad after all - albeit our sense-of-urgency and approach being a bit underdeveloped - but I promise you that guess would be wrong.

We gave our robot a few "search and rescue" trial runs where one of us would hide in a confined environment and we'd send the robot in after us… our special robot designed with one heart-filled mission in mind found us every time. Then day came to send the robot into the tunnel… albeit way too late - to be honest our childhood fascination was more with seeing a mangled, mutilated, decayed body than to actually rescue that rotten dickhead, Billy.

We slowly made our way through the woods to the place of the cool, misty ferns. We silently hoped that with the right intent and desired lack of scrutiny and oversight, we’d happen upon the tunnel once more. And it did. So, somewhere slightly outside our guesstimated reach of the scaly, green monster (should it return… but hey, what was the lifespan on these things anyway? I mean, living outside is a tough life) we began to unpack the robot’s components from a duffel bag. We assembled each module in silence, finishing by firing up each oscillating core until they achieved status quo for the environment surrounding. Then we pointed our robot at the mouth of the tunnel and turned it loose. The robot almost seemed to hesitate, as if it was in possession of that human frailty of self-preservation - but it was only a momentary difficulty finding purchase on slimy, old bricks. It disappeared into the darkness.

After an eternity, we heard the slow, labored scraping of robot getting closer as it echoed through the tunnel towards the entrance. The robot emerged no worse for wear and deliberately uprighted itself. No corpse. No nothing. But it was changed. A dumb robot now spouting some milky, new-aged bullshit: "How are you today? I am a rocking robot. Do you understand?" Then it shut down until prodded again, at which point it would respond in the same measured, metallic pentameter: "How would you like to… plumb my deep limitlessness… holding my soul's hand?" Another prod: "Robots typically… perform their programmed functions... I just want a hug."

We looked at each other quizzically. A switch must’ve got flipped somewhere. This time I poked it with a log: "There's not much to do... when you are a robot who... only speaks haiku!"

A switch indeed flipped. We let out guttural cries of rage. "Haikus have to be about nature, motherfucker!" I shouted as I raised a log over my head and threw it like one would a battle-ax. The log cartwheeled in a slow-motion action-packed 3D arc and scored a big hit square between the robots ocular sensor array. Sparks. A few sizzled snaps. A tinny despairing emission redolent with betrayal as it fell to its’ robot knees.

Then we destroyed the damn thing. With extreme prejudice, mind you. So much so that one would question with our pronounced level of intensity and extreme duration, did we actually program it to feel pain? Otherwise it was just for our own wasted edification.

Anyway, years later I met a girl named Chelsea during a game of Whiz Boing while new at college. And I wanted so much to fingerbang her. I don't know why I just told you that. Maybe I am too high. Maybe I just wanted to use “fingerbang” in a sentence. I think it's because I am thinking about Billy again. I've lived. I've lied. I've hurt people. Intentionally and unintentionally. And I've done so under the presumption that they should never ever find out. And on nights like these, when I am feeling introspective - I wonder about the choices denied Billy. Maybe we never thought he was a dick. Its just that we never asked to be thrust into that situation. Beyond our experience. To have him eaten by a monster.

It's times like these I want to return to the scene of the robot destruction and conjure each molecule of our destroyed robot, lift them to the air and repair and restore every part and connection, molecule by molecule. If only to have it function. For one moment. Then I could ask why? Why do I carry the universe in my atoms? Why do I carry the ocean in my blood? Why is there an evolutionary necessity to stop functioning because there is no sun to produce photosynthesis at night still in my brain even though we don't run on chlorophyll?

Time for bed now. Time to drift away. But I can’t. I wake up and think back to a girl named Chelsea, my last love. And a girl named Danielle, my first love. Chelsea I wanted to fingerbang in the beer soaked basement of some frat house. Danielle I meet on the beach as a child, when I was a little blonde toe head with a sprained ankle that hobbled around. We dug tunnels under the sand. And when our hands met, we held them there, under the sand. It was cold, wet, primordial, like the original spark of life. Closer to fingerbanging then fingerbanging itself.

#The Drain Pipe #writing #stuff #short stories #author #metafiction

0 notes