#starters • do i speak my truth or do i filter how i feel?
Text
tag drop!
#moodboard • and we'll all be here forever.#thought • i've got dreams again.#hc • a minute from home but i feel so far from it.#musings • i spend nights stitching up the loose threads of my soul.#literally • don't take yourself so seriously.#tweet • you're here for a reason but you don't know why.#aesthetic • the weight of the world ain't that bad.#asks • i'm in the business of losin' your interest.#conversations • and my mouth was designed for my foot to fit in it.#instagram • inside the world of beautiful people.#text • if you reach with no reply… i'll see you when i see you.#face to face • let's go to perfect places.#starters • do i speak my truth or do i filter how i feel?#reflection • only getting older by the day.#mixtape • life is like a dance floor some of the time.#attire • out here drippin' in finesse.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
pick your filter - pjm | m
mix the colors in the palette, pick your filter. which me do you want?
the one to change your world, i'm your filter - filter, bts
↳ summary- You love turning Jimin on, and you’re desperate to make him punish you for it. Jimin loves punishing you while you listen to his music.
↳ rating- explicit / 18+
↳ word count- 5.1k
↳ pairing- jimin x reader
↳ genre- smut, this is literally just smut, there’s 1% plot and it’s pornographic too, there’s some fluff at the end but i repeat it is still smut. there is no god in this chili’s tonight
↳ warnings- buckle up pals. established relationship, explicit descriptions of sex, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), BDSM themes, spanking, belt usage, dirty talk, derogatory names, pain kink, daddy kink, face-fucking lol, unprotected sex, slight impregnation kink but like not really they just wanna have a baby together and talk about it lol, jimin is filthy and i cannot portray him as anything but filthy but then he has like cute babie syndrome at the end.
↳ a/n- hi i feel maybe 1% shame in how fast i wrote this but whatever. thank you to @carly-bean-blog for sending the prompt in! i loved it and went from a planned drabble to 5k words lolol. one day i’ll be less verbose 🥴🥴 plus enjoy and feel free to send in more requests or just a message to say hi bc as you can see i love talking. also RIP to the wine glass i broke while writing this fic because i hit my table to hard. wine glass 2020-2020
Turning Park Jimin on was a delicious challenge for you.
When you first began dating, all it took was a ‘come over’ text, and he’d be there in 5 minutes flat regardless of the fact that he lived 15 minutes away.
Now, a few years and a marriage under your belt, it took a bit more.
That’s not to say he wasn’t the same insatiable man you met at university; even after all these years Jimin could easily go 3 or more rounds a night.
But really getting him riled up, getting him hard and wanting and desperate for you was another thing. Sometimes, you just wanted him to come home and take you right against the kitchen counter, so turned on he couldn’t even make it to the bedroom.
You’re determined to win that challenge today.
To be truthful, the day was terrible for you, and you were seeking release in the form of your husband dicking you down until you were speaking another language. You were desperate to let loose, push aside the emotional and tender sex that seemed to be more commonplace in the bedroom recently (and you enjoyed equally) but today you needed to be treated like an absolute harlot.
The idea rolled through your mind while you were busying yourself with housework, laundry and dishes. Options of how to get your husband to take you on the floor, rip your clothes off, make you beg for more, simmered in your mind and made the low flame in your stomach burn. Lingerie could do the trick, Jimin definitely liked to see you swathed in delicate lace or creamy satin. You had a nice deep red set that was dying to be used and discarded on the floor.
It came to you as you set your speaker to play some music as you flicked around the house. Jimin’s sweet voice filled the rooms, causing you to pause as shivers raked your spine.
His music. There was always something Jimin loved about having his music on in the background of your sex that made him work harder on you, fuck you deeper. Maybe it was narcissism at its finest, but who were you to complain if it benefitted both of you.
You discarded all thoughts of cleaning the rest of the house as you stalked towards your bedroom closet, gathering the red bustier and panty set, with matching garter belt and stocking clips. You purchased it rather spur of the moment, a huge sale at your favorite boutique, and you wanted to save it for something special.
It appeared the special moment was now.
You took care to curl your hair, a gentle wave with not too much product. Jimin loved to tug his fingers through your locks, and grip them in a ponytail as you sucked his cock. Any product would unfortunately get in the way. Makeup was minimal, a dash highlight on your cheeks and inner tear ducts, light pink lip stain on your lips. Jimin had been the test subject of many a lipstick, as you determined to find the most blowjob-proof one. Needless to say, none of the lipsticks were 100% solid, but it was the best time Jimin ever had as a test subject. You preferred to stick with the stains, easier cleanup for the both of you.
You complete the visual as you swap your grubby cleaning day clothes for blood red lace lingerie, smirking at yourself in the mirror. The cups of the bra molded against you, encasing your tits perfectly. Jimin would surely lose his mind. The panties were simple lace, and you had the inkling that they would not remain intact tonight. Jimin’s propensity for literally ripping your knickers right off you was legendary. But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted your husband to be absolutely feral for you.
Step two of your plan was now underway as you slipped onto your bed, perfectly made now, and snapped sultry photos. You ensured your cleavage and smooth legs were in the shot, a finger on the mouth. You took a few more, exposing more and more of your body.
me 2:56 pm- hi babe what you up to?
mini 2:56 pm- baby!!!! Not much, just waiting for hobi to get back from lunch so we can practice this new choreo.
Mini 2:57 pm- what about you? besides being the world’s cutest wife :)
Me: 2:57 pm- oh not too much. I did our laundry and cleaned up the house a little. Now im just relaxing and missing my babe :(
Mini 2:57 pm- baby :( i’m sorry. I should be home in a few hours okay! I’ll order in pasta from your favorite place to make up for it
Me 2:58 pm- well, i was sort of hoping you could make up for it but… i don’t want pasta
Mini 2:58 pm- you don’t? What do you want? Pizza?
Me 2:58 pm- [picture attached]
Me 2:58 pm- no, I want you to fuck me until I can’t see straight.
Mini 2:59 pm- oh fuck
Mini 2:59 pm- baby you’re playing a dangerous game, teasing me like this.
You nearly had him, he was sniffing at the bait and soon he’d bite and you’d reel him in. You sent the next picture, showcasing your tits with one cup pulled down, nipple on display.
me 3:00 pm- you mean this kind of game?
mini 3:00 pm- christ
mini 3:00 pm- fuck babe, you’re gonna make me pop a boner at dance practice. You know I can’t come home for a few hours.
me 3:00 pm- hobi still gone? Go to the bathroom and i’ll send you a video.
mini 3:01 pm- holy fuck asdskadj okay
Time for the pièce de résistance. Ensuring the speakers blasted ‘Serendipity’, your husband’s full length solo, you clicked the record button and filmed your hand sliding down to your clothed core, rubbing over the mound with a rough hand. You breathed heavily, sighed, mewled a bit.
“Daddy,” you gasp. “Come home.”
You end it with a hand sneaking under the band and insertion of one finger. Leave him not just wanting more, but rabid for it. The video file is sent before you've even pulled your fingers from their spot resting on your clit.
Minutes passed, you were sure he was watching. The man lived for your exhibitionism.
mini 3:06 pm- you better have your hands behind your back and be on your knees when i get home, little one. In the middle of the bedroom floor.
mini 3:06 pm- i want you to listen to the music and think about me fucking you. Think about how i destroy your little cunt so good.
mini 3:07 pm- but don’t you dare touch yourself. Your pussy is only mine to play with, you got that?
me 3:07 pm- yes daddy
mini 3:07 pm- good. I’ll be home soon.
Congratulations, you smirk to yourself in the mirror's reflection across from you. You’ve won the grand prize. Please make sure you collect your prize from the man with the raging boner.
You idly realize that Jimin hasn’t told you when he’ll be home. You know that on any normal day he’d be home at 5:30. But was he leaving early? Could you chance it? As much as you wanted to disobey and face his delicious punishment, he also could just as easily punish you by not letting you cum at all. And the chances of that type of discipline tonight was high; Jimin would surely make you pay for teasing him at work by exacting torturous ache the same to you.
You’re spinning the pros and cons of preparing yourself now or later, when you are given your hasty answer by the sound of keys jingling in the front door. Your heart rate spikes dangerously, feeling like the muscle would force the blood out of your veins with the pressure.
You squirm off the bed and descend to the floor on your knees, resting back on your heels, and holding your hands behind your back. You lower your head to the floor, knowing Jimin loves it when you avoid eye contact until he tells you when and where to look.
His footsteps are heavy, slow and torturous because you know that he knows that you’ll be on the very edge of your sanity. The warmth in your belly is torched with tinder and starter and is flaring high. Jimin’s simple presence, just like this, is enough to get you to an incredible high. Nothing brings you to your knees faster than when he turns from your sweet, adorable and gentle husband into the sadistic and powerful dominating owner of your body and soul.
It takes 5 deep breaths from your belly before you hear Jimin enter the bedroom. He’s not saying a single word, but you can hear his soft footsteps on the hardwood floor. Your knees are aching at the pressure of the hard floor, but you ignore it. You’d ignore cauterizing wounds for the man hovering above you if he asked.
You’re trembling, you notice. Your thighs are quivering ever so slightly and the grasp on your hands behind you is weakening. You grip harder, determined to maintain perfect correct form.
Jimin is frustratingly silent. He walks around you, and you feel his eyes rove your body intently, as if looking for fault or reason to punish you. He seems pleased when he finishes his rounds, standing right in front of you.
“Look at me,” he states with authority, but his tone is gentle.
You finally tilt your head up to gaze at your lover and nearly gasp at the sight. Jimin is, on an average day, the most ethereally beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Today, he looks as if he descended from heaven mere minutes previous. His pink hair is pushed back, eyes darkened with desire, and wearing the tightest shirt you’ve ever seen, making his toned dancer’s body ripple under the cotton. Tight sweats that leave nothing to the imagination about what he’s packing between his thighs sit low on his hips and you spot just a hint of his lower abdomen, the v line of his adonis belt, and you’re sure you’re drooling.
“Look at me,” he corrects, a smirk on his face. Your eyes snap to his own again, and he winks at you.
“Have you been a good girl for daddy?” He asks, and it feels like a loaded question.
You play it coy. “Yes, daddy.”
He stands still in front of you, hand stroking his face as he watches you. His eyebrow arches.
“Are you sure? You have done nothing to upset Daddy? Nothing at all?” His voice becomes teasing, and the smirk on his features is sinister.
You bite your lip. “I sent Daddy a video of me, touching myself to his music.”
“That’s right, angel,” he murmurs and circles you again. You feel like his prey before he comes in for the kill. “You made daddy leave practice early. Don’t you think that’s not being a good girl?”
“No, I did wrong.”
“I’m glad you agree,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna make you regret getting Daddy hard and horny at work.”
He places his hands on your shoulders and you shiver. His hands are smooth, warm. You love the way you feel the cold steel of his wedding ring pressed to your skin, a tangible expression of his love and loyalty.
“Stand up,” he directs. You’re quick, thankful to be off stinging knees. He lets his hands glide down your back to meet at your clasped hands, pulling them apart and turning you to face him.
He threads his fingers through your hair and pulls you close, sealing your lips to his. His lips are soft and taste of chapstick, a hint of sweat, and something just so simply Jimin that is addictive. He’s gentle and tender in the kiss, the kind of kiss a husband gives his wife. It speaks miles beyond the simple action, and you chase it, revel in it, knowing it’s the last time he’ll be gentle tonight.
He breaks from the kiss, touches your nose gently and winks. It makes your heart flutter in your chest.
The control seeps back into his face; it's physically present in the tight gaze of his eyes and the coolness of his impassive features. It’s a stark opposite of who just kissed you, and you’re breathless at the sudden change.
“Gonna spank you with my belt, baby,” he murmurs. A hand slaps hard against your ass, surprising you and making you squeak out loud. “Lean over my desk like a good little slut.”
You obey immediately, jerking your body towards his grand oak desk. It’s gorgeous dark wood that matches the decor of your room perfectly and makes for a delicious spot for your sexual proclivities without being obvious. As much as Jimin wanted a sex swing, you would not cave to that.
You bend to fold your body over the desk, gripping the edge and pushing your hips back to allow for more access to your husband. The speaker system by your bed plays music, and you recognize the opening chords as one from his latest album with his six best friends. A smile slips to your face as the volume turns up, quiet enough you can talk, but loud enough it’s noticeable. His smooth, melodic voice is ringing through your bedroom and through your entire body.
He stalks in behind you and rubs at your soft globes.
“Mmm, you look so pretty in this,” he compliments. “You know I love seeing you in red.”
You turn your head to gaze at him, smiling. “That’s why I bought it, Daddy.”
“Good little bitch,” he sighs.
As expected, he rips the underwear from your body with one clean pull. You’re always surprised by the action. He never gives warning. Your eyes follow as the useless fabric soars towards the ground.
“Much better.”
He moves away from you, walking towards the closet. You train your eyes forward, keeping locked on the wall ahead of you, rather than staring. Jimin tells you when and where to look and you follow that.
The gentle clinking noise of a belt buckle causes your pussy to quake. You’ve been slowly moistening since you sent the first text, but you were now starting to drip as if you were overflowing. By the end of the night, you’ll be drowning in it.
He’s behind you again as quick as he left and he rubs the leather belt against your bare behind.
“What’s your word?” He asks, soothing at the skin with the device that will soon maar it. Jimin is ever careful, checking on your mental and emotional safety as well as your physical, and ensured a safe word was in place each time.
“Red,” you assert. He hums his approval and kisses your ass once, one quick little peck, before he lifts back up to standing.
“Count for me, little whore.”
The crack of the belt spanking your cheek electrifies you. You feel as if every muscle in your body clenches as the sting vibrates through your buttocks and down to your core.
“O-one!” You’re shouting, distracted by the pain in your ass to care about your pitch.
Crack. The next slap lands on the other cheek now, and you hiss at the pain. It bites at your skin, and it soaks your pussy.
“Two!”
He delivers the next straight in the center, hitting both cheeks and letting the sizzle melt its way to a pleasure that’s reverberating through your core.
“Three! Fuck!” you gasp.
SMACK. It’s the hardest yet and tears well up in your eyes at the initial whollop, before your hips are writhing and desperate for friction.
“Four!” You’re wailing and you know it makes your husband go even wilder.
“Stay still or I won’t let you cum for a month,” he grits. Your hips stay put, knowing he’s a man of his word and not wanting to face his wrath.
He continues his barrage, and you’re counting out 15 strikes before he stops. You’re sobbing, the pain and pleasure surging so forcefully through your veins that your cunt clenches around nothing and you’re dripping onto the wood of the desk.
His warm hands are soothing at the reddened flesh of your ass, the sensation stinging at first, but oozes away to a relaxing warmth against the punished skin.
“Good girl, baby,” he commends you, hands rubbing all over your flesh. “Took your punishment like such a good girl.”
You sniffle in reply and he pulls you up, making you stand on wobbly legs. He twists you around and pecks your lips again, a reminder that Jimin, your husband, is still there and loves you more than he loves life itself. It soothes you more than any salve could and it steels your resolve to continue. It’s easy to submit and thrill at the loss of control when you trusted the master with your entire being.
“Color?” He asks, checking in with you.
“Green,” you smile.
He’s pleased with your answer. He pulls away from you and pushes you towards the bed.
“Lay down on your back. Head off the side. I’m going to fuck your throat, and you will take it all.”
You’re giddy as you saunter to the bed and notice that Jimin is proud of the blooming red of your ass. It’ll be a literal pain in the ass to sit tomorrow, but it’s worth all the doting and affection you’ll receive in return for being such a good girl for him. The music has changed, another sensual track featuring your talented husband. It sends shivers down you, straight to your core.
You maneuver your body to lie on the bed, grateful for the soft blanket on your burning ass, and tip your head off the bed. Your mouth opens complacently and Jimin shoves his sweats down to reveal his hardened length.
You’re licking your lips like his dick is the finest meal money can buy, and he chuckles. His left hand strokes it, shivering at the cold press of his wedding ring mixing with the heat of his hand.
“You want my cock?” He asks.
You nod, captivated with the motion he strokes the shaft. You almost forget to speak, but his harsh gaze is like a whip.
“Yes! Yes, I want your cock Daddy!”
“Tell me what you want to do to me,” he hums.
Well, this would be too easy.
“I want to suck you dry, let you fuck my throat so I can’t breathe. I’ll let you cum down my throat and make my face so messy from cum and spit that it gets in my eyes and messes up my pretty makeup, daddy.”
His strokes have become faster, and he sucks in hard for air. “Such a filthy fucking mouth.”
You open said mouth again, letting your tongue hang out like a welcome sign to your throat.
He growls, it’s guttural, and it feels as if it’s positioned on your clit, vibrating the nub. Your bliss is cut short as he drives his thick dick into your mouth and directly to the back of your throat, leaving you no time to prepare. You whine slightly around it, and he tsks.
“Don’t you fucking dare whine. Take it all,” he sounds ruthless and your pussy quakes.
He sets a punishing pace, the tip of his dick ramming through your throat. It doesn’t take long for it to become messy, saliva trickling from your mouth, falling towards your eyes due to the angle of your supine head. Jimin sounds angelic, the moans that leave the dancer’s body should be recorded and played for an audience, you think. You’d suffer through hours of this for the reward of his sweet voice crying out your name.
“Fuck, my little cock slut loves it when I fuck her throat, hmm,” he asks, breathy and harsh. You nod as much as you can.
“Yeah, that’s right. You love daddy’s cock, don’t you? You love it when I fucking choke the shit out of you with my fat cock, huh?”
The voice of an angel with the words of the devil himself. The duality is intoxicating and you are head over heels for both Jimin’s inside of him, every aspect of the man you pledged your life to.
“Mmm, you suck me so good,” he’s groping at your tits through the fabric of your bra. You’re surprised that it’s still on, but you trust he’s aware and always has a plan.
“Are you crying, baby?” He asks mockingly. Tears and saliva mix and your face is completely ruined by it. You nod again and blink. “Good, fucking choke on it.” he goes even faster and you’re moaning. It hurts and the gag reflex is there, but the pain gets you off, and you know the second it became too much, your husband would stop in an instant.
“Little sluts get their face fucked when they disobey daddy,” he chides, emphasising each word with a thrust.
It’s as if you’re desperate for his orgasm, wanting nothing more than to swallow every ounce of what he spills into you, clean him up and ask for more. He won’t have that tonight, it seems, as he’s pulling out of you as quickly as he entered.
“I want to cum in this tight little cunt,” he bites. You slither up from your position and wipe at your eyes, resting against the pillow after he orders you to remove the bustier. He asks that you leave the belt and stockings on, however.
“Spread those pretty thighs for me, baby,” he’s discarded his shirt and is sitting ahead of you, watching you. His gaze turns you on and opens you up like a flower.
Your thighs are spread far and you lean back further onto the pillows to put the star of the show on display. You’re coated with your slick; it’s slathered up and down your thighs and dripping onto the duvet below you. He breathes out in appreciation.
“I think my favorite thing about you is how fucking wet you get for me.” He’s still not moving and you want to beg him to touch you, please do something, but refrain. “You feel like a fucking dream when I’m inside you.”
“B-baby,” you break character and freeze, but he ignores it and allows you to continue as you sigh with relief. “I need you.”
“Do you now?” he banters, and you nod with wide, needy eyes.
“Touch yourself for me, then. Show me how badly you want daddy’s cock in you.”
A hand flies to your cunt in record time and you’re desperately eager to spread the lips of your folds apart and rub at your slick and swollen clit. A breathy, heady moan escapes you at the friction you’ve been aching for since you sent the sexy photo hours ago.
“Fuck!” you shout, circling the bud. Jimin’s eyes are glued to your hands, and he watches with awe.
“Finger yourself,” he demands and you’re obeying before he’s even finished speaking, two fingers slipping down to enter your channel. You arch off the bed and grip a breast in your other hand, flicking at the nipple for extra sensation.
He coos at you as you fuck yourself with wild abandon, gasping his name as you slip deeper with each thrust.
“Add another.” His voice maintains its even quality, maintained and cool. But if you opened your eyes, you’d see that he’s salivating at the sight, desperately restraining himself. His cock is weeping pre-cum and he could explode in an instant watching this too long.
Your ring finger slips in with the other two and you’re keening at the stretch. The pain is gone in a flash, just a pinch that simmers to a desperate pleasure.
“You look so fucking good, baby,” he breaks his composure, momentarily. He’s so in love with you, every single fucking bit, that he can’t help it. “God, you’re beautiful.”
His words have you blushing, as if they’re the most lewd part of the evening and not the fact you’re fingering yourself in front of your husband while he watches and orders you around.
“Rub your clit with your other hand, love.”
The pressure of your added hand on your clit and the fingers thrusting into you has you soaring to your high and your throat chokes on the air. “O-oohhh fuckkk!” You whine.
“You close, baby? You gonna cum on those cute little fingers and get them messy for daddy?” He asks, voice violently serene.
“Y-yes! Please, I want to cum,” you beg. You know the rules, he tells you where and when your body receives its pleasure.
“You wanna cum?” He asks again, and you feel a spike of irritation. He’s already asked you that, haven’t you already answered?
“So badly, daddy! Please! C-close.” Words are escaping your mental capacity now. You’re there, nearly there, just one little tiny string holding you back from the edge of euphoria.
“Too bad.”
Your fingers are pulled from your cunt quickly and you’re crying. Tears are forming in your eyes as you feel an ache deep to your womb. You had been so close, so deliciously close. Jimin knows this, thrills at watching you edge further and further through the night. You won’t admit it at the moment, it’s pure torture then, but the buildup to the finale is indescribable.
“You don’t get to fucking cum until I tell you to cum. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, yes! Yes, Daddy,” you babble, nearly incoherent from arousal and denial.
He makes you writhe there, pussy so slick its soaking the blankets and you’ll have to change them later but the only thing you think about is your cunt, your weeping cunt that’s screaming to release.
You feel your breath slowing and know that Jimin wants you to come back down to earth before he’ll bring you up again.
“Good fucking girl,” he kisses your belly, licking at the navel. He whispers quiet words of adoration as he trails down your abdomen and end at the top of your mound. Your legs are shaking, no, they’re nearly convulsing from need.
He spreads your folds, and it’s pornographic the way he spits on your pussy, as if it needs any more wetness. It’s not about the wetness, though, and you know it. It’s about the message, the ownership.
“My favorite little fuck toy,” he murmurs, lightly tracing everywhere but the bud throbbing with need for friction. “I can’t wait to cum inside this little pussy tonight. Gonna flood your whole fucking cunt, babe.”
Jimin knows the way to your heart, and the way to your orgasms is through his words. Gentle whispered ‘i love you’s’ in the day and disgusting filth at night. It’s just another reason in a list of a million why you work so well together.
“Should we get you nice and pregnant tonight? You want to make a baby?”
You nearly sob at his words. He can fuck you harder with his words than his cock.
“Please!” You’re yelling, tears streaming down your face. “P-please! I want your baby.”
He leans down and smiles for a moment before speaking. “Well, my little wife will always get what she wants when she asks so nicely.” His lips attach to your clit, suctioning it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. It’s swollen and slick, and it feels like fucking heaven. His plushy lips are working for it, taking you so desperately close to the edge.
You’re gasping a symposium of his name and praising the ground he walks on. You’re sure if you died now you’d die a very fucking happy woman. The world around you is gone, and it’s just Jimin’s sinful mouth suckling at your cunt.
You’re close again, and Jimin knows it. You’re begging, pleading with him, but it’s useless as he roughly pulls away.
The music continues on in the background. It’s lighter, and Jimin croons in the speaker as he grunts in your ear.
He muffles your anguished cry with a messy kiss that tastes of you, and he’s thrusting into you. The slickness guides him in easily and he’s whining against you at the feel of your walls accept him and hugging him tightly as if they’ve missed his cock swelling within them.
“JIMIN!” You’re seeing fireworks as your husband fucks into you, holding you close to him. It’s as rough and kinky as it is intimate and sweet. He holds you, cherishes you, while he’s pistoning his thick member into your loud, drenched cunt.
“I love you,” he whispers, slipping a thumb into your mouth that you suck at eagerly, as skilled with his fingers as you are with his cock. “I love you so fucking much.”
His eyes align with yours, yours full of tears of absolute unrivaled pleasure, and his with full and never-ending devotion.
You’re both so close, and you pull him against you to kiss his lips. You want to connect completely to him as you cum, as he spills into your womb and creates something, someone there.
Your cunt flutters intensely, quaking in anticipation as it builds and builds and builds. Jimin breaks the kiss to breathe and warn you, “I’m going to cum soon, baby, please cum with me.” He’s gentle and sweet, the Jimin who cries at love stories and wears flower crowns now present inside you. You nod quickly, gasping as the coil winds tighter and tighter.
Your kissing is messy, passionate, and your hands grasp him everywhere. You’re tugging at his toned arms and solid back, seeking refuge as the tidal wave grows impossibly high, higher, so so high,
And crashes into you at 100 miles per hour. Your cunt is contracting and pulsing around him so intensely you nearly black out, crying loudly into his mouth. He’s groaning with you, the feeling of your already impossibly tight walls clenching down on him demands the orgasm out of him. He’s cupping your whole face in his hands as he spills into you and your walls suck him in further, so far he could disappear completely.
It feels as if you orgasm for hours, but it's merely minutes later that you’re trying to catch your breath and slip back into reality. You’re clinging to each other like last lifelines and the gaze between you is so intense it clenches at your racing heart.
The silence between you two is long and speaks an entire conversation before your lips even open. He’s singing so sweetly through the speaker, it sounds like he’s singing directly to you. “I love you,” you’re whispering to him.
He rubs at your cheeks in his palms, wiping away stray tears of bliss that have slipped down your face.
“I love you.”
You settle into him, unwilling to move a single inch away from your husband, and marvel at the beauty that is your life, your future.
Jimin holds you close, kisses you gently and sings softly along to the music as you fall asleep, and he adores the fact that he holds his entire world, his future, in his arms.
© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.
#bangtanarmynet#maknaesmutsociety#kwritersworldnet#btswriterscollective#btswritersnet#bts smut#bts fic#bts fanfic#bts jimin#bts park jimin#jimin#park jimin is a dom#you cannot change my mind#well maybe you could#but a girl can wish okay
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Before Us, the Deluge
[Touhou Ship Week Day 3: Surprise. KogaBanki, 1.4k, fluff]
---
It was, Kogasa decided, a very fine silver lining that she didn't have to worry much about getting wet in the rainstorm. It was the only thing going right with her day, anyway.
She had walked aimlessly in the wilderness for nearly an hour now, listening to the persistent drumming of endless raindrops upon her. Usually, night-time was more helpful for spooking humans than daytime, but now they all had scurried into their cosy, dry homes, leaving Kogasa behind. As usual.
Once again, her woes began circling her mind. For starters, she had surprised exactly zero people that day. She hadn't in fact received a single reaction stronger a raised eyebrow. And to make matters worse, disaster had struck when she had hidden in a tree to wait for passers-by. It was usually a relatively successful strategy, but the branches had been slick with rain, and she had lost her balance and plummeted into a puddle before she could even think of flying. To add insult to injury, she was pretty sure she had heard someone laughing at her from a distance. And to top it all off, she was starving.
It wasn't easy being a modern youkai.
She halted, suddenly conscious of how far she had strayed from the village. She was downstream of the Genbu Ravine, and the river ahead looked like it was about to overflow at any minute. She shivered and looked around for shelter. She should really find some relatively dry nook in which to lick her wounds and wait for dawn.
It was at this point that she caught sight of something scarlet further downstream. A person, so close to the rushing waters they were liable to be swept along at any moment.
Kogasa approached, curious, clutching her handle with fingers that suddenly felt numb. The person proved to be a very faintly familiar youkai in a red capelet, leaning against an ancient willow tree overhanging the river. Her position wasn't quite as precarious as Kogasa had assumed it to be from further away; the river curved next to where the youkai stood, leaving her boots dry for the time being.
Kogasa halted some feet away from her, wondering if the rain had drowned out the sound of her footsteps. She was about to leave when the youkai turned and raised an eyebrow at her.
"What? No 'boo!' this time?"
Kogasa hesitated, then stepped close enough for the raindrops on the willow leaves to fall upon her. "You're the rokurokubi who lives in the village."
The rokurokubi nodded. "Sekibanki. And you're the umbrella who tries to surprise everyone."
"And sometimes succeeds." Kogasa tried not to blush. She remembered now why Sekibanki looked so familiar. Kogasa had once stalked a strange human in a capelet for half an hour, desperate to surprise her, only for her target to eventually notice her and to dryly reveal that she wasn't human at all. In Kogasa's defence, she had been exhausted that day.
Much like she was now. When Sekibanki didn't appear to have an urgent need to continue on with the conversation, Kogasa turned to stare at the froth in the river, trying to distract herself from the hollowness inside her. "We're pretty far from the village."
"Aren't we just?"
"So... what are you doing here?"
"Waiting for the rain to end."
"Oh." Kogasa fidgeted with her handle. "I mean, what were you doing here before that?"
Sekibanki didn't answer. She kept watching the river as though Kogasa hadn't uttered a single word.
As the silence became awkward, Kogasa felt her earlier gloom grow even darker. She turned to leave. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."
"You're not bothering me."
Kogasa turned back in wonderment. The words weren't an invitation, not quite, but Sekibanki did seem to mean what she said. And even if it wasn't attention from her fellow youkai that she craved the most, she certainly wouldn't mind sticking around for a moment longer.
She hesitated for a moment longer. Then, feeling bolder, she ducked underneath the willow, sweeping against the sodden branches as she crouched beneath them. She settled next to Sekibanki, glad that the trunk proved relatively dry, and tried to see what the rokurokubi saw in the water.
It came as a surprise when Sekibanki suddenly said, even-toned and staring ahead, "I'm here because I thought I'd connect with my roots for a while. Act like a full-blooded youkai and all that rot. Of course, when I decided that, I thought the rain would abate soon."
"And now you can't go back?"
"Humans avoid heavy rain. I'm supposed to be undercover, remember?" Before Kogasa could point out that humans also avoided leaving the village after dark, Sekibanki continued. "Anyway, I don't like getting drenched."
"Maybe the rain will end soon." Kogasa peeked through the curtain of branches. The sky was covered in an all-encompassing, suffocating mantle of dark grey. If Kogasa had to guess, she would have said it would keep pouring down well into the morning. "Or maybe not."
Sekibanki shrugged.
"Maybe you could put your head under your cape to keep your hair dry, at least." Kogasa hesitated. "But I guess you would have to put it back on before you got to the village."
She fell back into silence. Sekibanki was difficult to read — what little could be seen of her face revealed nothing — but her posture was calm, almost philosophical. Even so, looking at her soaked boots and just how firmly she leaned against the tree trunk, she had to be cold.
"Or maybe... you could walk back with me. That way you'll stay dry."
Sekibanki turned to look at Kogasa. She said nothing. She didn't so much as blink.
"I'm gonna go back myself, anyway," Kogasa hastened to explain, putting on a smile. "And if anyone sees us and says that it's strange to see a human with a youkai, you can point out that youkai or not, I'm still an umbrella."
She half expected the raindrops that filtered through the leaves to wear her away before she ever got a response. She was therefore surprised when, after a moment consideration, Sekibanki shrugged again. "If it's you, I doubt anyone will even question it. Lead the way."
And without further ado, as though there was nothing unusual about it, she came to stand underneath Kogasa's shade, so close their arms nearly touched. Her clothes carried the scent of wet moss, curiously sweet and not at all unpleasant.
"Oh!" There was nothing put on about Kogasa's smile as she found herself warmed by half-forgotten nostalgia. "Okay, let's go!"
They left the river and the willow behind and soon found their way back to the path, now dotted with puddles of all shapes and sizes. It was surprisingly easy for Kogasa to adjust to Sekibanki's walking rhythm. Or perhaps it was that Sekibanki had already taken steps to adjust to hers.
They made their journey in silence until around the halfway point, when Sekibanki abruptly broke the cosy rainfall soundscape. "Speaking of humans, you probably know the foolish superstition they have about umbrellas."
"Which one?" Were there more Kogasa that hadn't heard of? And was there any chance it might be useful in scaring people?
"I doubt it works the same way when one of us <i>is</i> the umbrella. But if you believe them, we're going to end up as an item."
It took Kogasa a moment to understand what Sekibanki meant. Once she did, her face began to burn so fiercely she doubted even a maelstrom could have put it out. "Oh no! I didn't mean that when I—"
Sekibanki gave her a cool, assessing look. "I figured as much. But it doesn't seem too bad." She peeled back her collar to reveal a smile, subdued but sincere. "Assuming you don't mind, of course."
By now, Kogasa had to be red enough to glow. Would she mind? No, she wouldn't. The more she thought about it, the more she felt like she'd like to keep walking alongside Sekibanki no matter how bad the weather got.
Emboldened by the need to surprise Sekibanki at least as badly as Sekibanki had surprised her, she declared, "We should go on a date!"
"Sure. On a day when it's dry, please." Sekibanki returned her collar back in place, entirely nonchalant. Somehow, Kogasa didn't feel disappointed.
Neither of them said anything more as they continued on, allowing the rain to once again drown out everything but the sound of their footsteps. In truth, Kogasa couldn't hear those very clearly, either. Her footfalls had become so light she was almost flying.
Maybe there was something to being a modern youkai after all.
#thshipweek#kogabanki#mimic fics#i'm half asleep and even worse at proofreading than usual sorry#the ao3 version will be beta'd
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ask Blooper Fic/JamilxKalim Angst and slight jealousy
Ok ngl I started this fic in response to a Possessive!Jamil x Kalim ask but read the ask wrong and started writing Kalim as the possessive one (as best I could cause he’s a softie) then half way through I realised my mistake so I took a completely different route and put angst instead because that’s all I seem to do recently. Nevertheless enjoy and Anon that requested the Possessive!Jamil x Kalim fic, I’m sorry I messed up. The correct fic with your ask is coming.
And yes, I still don’t know how to properly end a fic. (Just pretend I do, lol)
I wanted to be with you
Parties were a large part of Kalim’s life. As the son and heir of a wealthy family with extremely high status it was normal for the teen to attend parties all the time. So he had become quite accustomed to socializing and being the center of attention. The sweet boy never realised that when he attended parties, his personal servant and in his mind, best friend, Jamil would never dress up or speak to anyone besides him. Despite never seeing Jamil as a servant in the back of his mind it was always apparent that they were different in many ways. Of course being preoccupied with a party his easily distracted brain often forgot that Jamil would follow him, but never too close, and make sure he didn’t trip, or would retrieve things for him at any time Kalim asked. Never had the white haired boy realised that before he was allowed to touch any of the food on his plate, Jamil would yet again put his life on the line and test all the foods for poison. He was so oblivious to these things growing up that he was surprised when they finally had the chance to attend a party together as equals.
Across the room stood Jamil, dressed in a stylish outfit with arabian accents that expressed his homeland well. He also wore gold pieces of jewelry that Kalim had never seen before. They went well with his round gold earrings which sparkled in the right light. His eyelids were painted in a dark bronze that faded as it travelled higher and his eyeliner made his dark eyes seem slightly more almond shaped, which gave them a mature, sexy appearance. In all he was gorgeous in a way that Kalim had never seen him, despite spending nearly his entire life with the teen.
Other people obviously noticed these good looks as well cause they flocked to him and spoke in ways that would make them appear more attractive to the listener. All night long women and men from every school that attended the dance jumped at any chance to spend time with the attractive young man. As a consequence Kalim was left alone to navigate the large room himself. Normally he would thrive under these types of conditions but without his friend and, regrettably, servant by his side the eccentric teen felt a bit more vulnerable than he was used to.
People still approached Kalim with interest since he didn’t look half bad himself. He never did, Jamil wouldn’t allow that to happen. Since day one he always got Kalim ready for the day and its events no matter what they may be. Kalim always looked amazing when he was done and Jamil would settle with appearing mediocre for the sake of rules and the lack of time he had to pay attention to himself. Kalim felt a pang of guilt as he remembered how obliviously he had stolen away Jamil’s childhood with his own wants and needs. He had ruined his friend's life simply because he didn’t know how to put on his own clothes. That had all been changed though, Kalim thought with reignited joy, because he let Jamil be free. He would learn how to get dressed on his own, bathe on his own, cook his own food, even tie shoes! He had already started to improve, deciding to put on his own clothes and makeup for the party so Jamil could dress up on his own. It wasn’t easy though, Kalim recalled with a sigh.
The brush and palette of black paint felt awkward in his hands as Kalim attempted to apply a reasonable amount of eyeliner to his face. “Ouch!” The brush slipped again and slid across his eye. Dropping the brush and palette Kalim clutched his irritated eye and hissed as it started to sting. He pulled his hands away from his eye and looked down at the palette which now lay broken on the floor. Tears slipped down his cheek on one side to clear his sight, but it only succeeded on smudging more makeup into the delicate pupil. He stood and approached the mirror slowly. Taking in his appearance, Kalim felt a jolt of frustration. Why wasn’t this easy for him like it was for everyone else? How come he couldn’t get his shirt to button properly or his wrap to lay correctly on his head? Why wasn’t putting on makeup as simple as painting?
In the end he had to ask for outside help from a fellow student who often helped Jamil when he needed it. It was almost shameful how he couldn’t do anything at all by himself, but at least his former servant had been allowed to give himself the attention he deserved.
Kalim sighed and shook his head to clear the thoughts about their recent dynamic change. Deciding he needed something to eat, he approached the buffet table and gazed at his options with excitement. Food from the land of the hot sands was always good and comforting, but occasionally switching things up sparked excitement at the new discovery. He chose a heavily seasoned meat dish, which he assumed came from the Afterglow Savannah. He munched thoughtfully and eyed the room around him once again to take in his busy surroundings, or at least that’s what he told himself. In truth the young heir’s eyes searched for one thing in the crowd and paused when they found what they were looking for.
The brunette stood in the middle of a small group laughing at something a pretty red haired girl said. It was unusual to see so much happiness on his face, or it was something that Jamil didn’t show Kalim very often. He felt a strange emotion bubble up within him. It wasn’t something he had never felt before but it was so rare that it was hard to place exactly what the emotion was. Scrunching his brows together he looked down at his food. Suddenly he didn’t feel hungry anymore. Still he placed more food in his mouth. The taste was no longer as flavorful as it was the first time. He frowned but kept eating. It distracted him from that feeling so it was worth it. When he finished his food he threw the plate away and tried to start up conversation with a few of the people around him. None of the usual starters worked however and Kalim found himself alone yet again.
Only then did he spot Jamil and the girl again. They were dancing together while talking and laughing. His hands on her hips and hers around his neck. They looked so happy together that Kalim almost felt guilty for wishing that it was him Jamil was dancing with instead. Kalim watched as the girl leaned up and whispered something in the brunette's ear. She pulled away giggling and he responded by pulling her close and whispering something back. Suddenly Kalim felt like the walls were closing in on him. Everyone was too close and he felt dizzy.
He weaved through the crowd trying to find an exit. The room was hot and the windows were fogged with the contrast of the cool night air and sweaty teenager body heat. When he finally found a way out he made a break for it and ran to the hall of dorm mirrors. Stopping only for a fraction of a second Kalim quickly found the Scarabia mirror and stepped through. His body quickly adjusted to the sweltering heat that the Scarabia dorm’s environment consisted of and ran through the dorm as fast as he could. The entrance to his room never looked so inviting before. He pulled himself inside and shut and locked the door behind him. He entered his private bathroom and did the same thing.
Tears came hot and fast as his body shook with sobs. Kalim collapsed to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself in a feeble attempt to calm himself. Whether it was from the running or emotions Kalim felt nauseous. Why was this happening to him? Had he not been good enough? Jamil had promised that he didn’t hate Kalim and never did. He also promised he would never leave him. All those kisses, hugs, and I love you’s. Were they just lies? Of course they were. He thought bitterly. He should have known that this ‘relationship’ they had was just another way for Kalim to guilt trip Jamil into staying. Would he ever learn? Even after all that happened he still hadn’t allowed his former servant the freedom he wanted. If Kalim thought he felt sick before he definitely felt worse now.
“Kalim? Kalim! Hey Kalim, open the door.” Jamil’s voice filtered into the bathroom and Kalim held his breath. “Kalim I know you’re in there. Please open the door so I can make sure you’re ok.” He didn’t respond. There was silence for a moment before Kalim picked up the faint sounds of footsteps leaving his door. The teen sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. He shouldn’t have left so suddenly, then Jamil would still be enjoying himself at the party instead of here worrying about him. The sound of keys in a lock snapped Kalim to attention. He had forgotten that as his assigned caretaker Jamil would have the keys to his room and bathroom. He heard his door swing open and Jamil call out to him again. “Kalim! Kalim? Are you alright? Answer me.” The panicked tone of his voice suggested that he had no idea if Kalim was ok or not. The keys jangled again and Kalim watched as the bathroom door opened.
“Kalim? What are you doing? What happened to you? Why did you leave without telling me? Do you not feel well? Please tell me you didn’t eat any food that I didn’t taste first?” Jamil knelt down in front of the white haired boy and continued his long list of questions. “No.” Jamil stopped speaking and frowned. “No nothing happened and it’s not the food. I’m fine so you should stop worrying about me and go back to that girl you were hanging out with earlier. It would be a shame if you wasted your night on me.” There was no bitterness in Kalim’s voice, only sadness. “Kalim,” Jamil said quietly, “if this is about that girl I can tell you that we were only dancing to get your attention.” Kalim looked up in surprise. “I know you were making an effort to give me more freedom so I didn’t want to babysit you cause I knew you would get upset that I wasn’t giving myself the freedom I deserved, but the truth is, I wanted to be next to you. I wanted to be at that party with you so when I caught you looking at me with jealousy I thought that maybe I could push you to come to me, but it didn’t work and I’m so sorry.”
Kalim stared down at the floor and tried to process what Jamil said. He was just dancing with her to make him notice. Cause he wanted Kalim to come to him and be with him. “So,” Kalim looked up again with watery eyes, “I make you happy. You want to be with me, I’m not just forcing-” “NO.” Jamil cut Kalim off with a shout but started again quietly when he saw that he had startled the smaller boy. “No. You aren’t pushing this relationship on me. I want to be here cause I love you Kalim Al Asim. Because you make me happy in a way no one else can.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly against Kalims, who in return smiled. “I’ll always love you. Nothing can change that, and there is no way I would ever leave you. No matter how amazing the other person seems, you are always gonna be better.” Kalim lowered his knees and allowed himself to be brought into a comforting hug. “I love you too” He whispered quietly before burying his face in Jamil’s neck. The brunette smiled fondly at the bundle of Kalim that laid against him. It was a smile that no one but Kalim would ever receive. It was one that was made of more than happiness.
#twst#twisted wonderland#jamil x kalim#kalim x jamil#twst jamil#twst kalim#jamil viper#kalim al asim
117 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Angel of Death Pt23
Inspired by this Story Starter by @someone-ev
AO3 Prologue Beginning Previous Next
Tris spun around, knives appearing in both hands without thought as she dove away from the voice. Once she was facing them she froze in shock. She couldn’t make out the person in the dim light, but she could very clearly see the string connecting them. Her mind however refused to wrap itself around the fact that they of all people could be here.
“You have changed. I remember a time when nothing could keep you quiet. Come my fairy, give your Nonna a hug.” Tris couldn’t think. Every time she tried it was like whitenoise took over and all she got was a buzzing feeling. Her body reacted anyway. She heard the knives hit the floor, felt herself lurch towards the arms outstretched to catch her. When those same arms wrapped around her the pressure in her chest seemed to burst and she heard her own sobs.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” She heard her own voice but still didn’t feel connected to any of it. It was like her mind had completely shut down and the rest of her was acting on instinct. Her Nonna made calm shushing noises and ran soothing fingers through her hair. In the end she could do nothing but let herself be comforted while she waited to come back to herself.
“My poor sweet fairy, you have nothing to be sorry about.” That statement seemed to shock her system back into focus. The panic started almost instantly. What would she think and do when she found out the truth? Her mind supplied thoughts of being spurned and a look of disgust on her Nonna’s face as she was left alone again. Her entire body stiffened and her guilt made her pull away.
“I have far more to be sorry for than you can imagine. I do not deserve your sympathy.” Her tone was flat but even she could hear the exhaustion under it. This meeting was one she’d been dreading and avoiding for three years. Now she would lose the last family she had. She could see in her mind the string connecting them turning from the deep purple it now was to the same black as the string that must connect her to Talia. Gentle hands on her face brought her out of her thoughts.
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. If I had convinced your parents to let me take you like I should have, none of this would have happened. They insisted on keeping you with them though, and because of that we had to suppress your powers and that would have been the one thing that may have saved all of you.” Tris could only blink at her in confusion.
“What?” She had powers? And her parents knew about it? There was far too much to unpack in that thought. Her Nonna offered her a sad smile and continued to run calming fingers through her hair.
“Let’s go downstairs so we can talk. You deserve to know everything and it isn’t going to be a short conversation.” As she turned to the trapdoor Tris couldn’t stop herself from latching onto the woman's wrist. When she turned back with a concerned expression it almost kept her from speaking. Almost.
“Do you know who took me? What I’ve become?” Her voice cracked and tears blurred her vision. She didn’t want to get too comfortable if there was a chance she’d still be rejected.
“I know roughly where you were after you were taken, and I know the name you’ve been operating under for the past three years. I have my assumptions as to why you were taken, but I don’t know exactly by who. If I did I would have come after you.” Tris couldn’t get a proper read on her tone. There was anger but she knew it wasn’t aimed at her. There was something underneath that reminded her of the tone Talia used with her anytime she was particularly enraged with someone. It put her on edge.
“If you know what I am, how can you stand to even look at me?” Her confusion caused her grandmother’s look to soften.
“We all do what we must to survive Marinette.” She flinched at the use of her real name and was pulled into a hug. “Even now you worry about others more than yourself and you’ve never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it. Given some of the things I’ve done I wouldn’t have any right to judge your actions anyway.” Tris looked up to see a gentle smile and for the first time in forever she felt like things might be okay. “Now, why don’t you pick up your knives and come downstairs. We have so much to talk about.”
She watched her Nonna walk out of the room and stood there staring after her for a long moment. The four Kwami were suddenly floating in her line of sight, all looking concerned. She could only blink at them for a moment before she turned and went to retrieve the knives. Everything was happening so fast and she didn’t know how to handle it. Should she tell her about the Kwami? What if Nonna wanted her to travel with her? Could she put her in so much danger, and what about Fu and the rest of the Miraculous? She never thought she’d lament the days when she was only an assassin, but it would make all of this so much simpler.
“Just breath Tris. Take it moment by moment. You can do this.” Tikki’s words made sense. All she could do now was see how everything went. She didn’t have to decide anything tonight. At least she hoped she didn’t. As she walked back towards the trapdoor the Kwami returned to the hoodie she was wearing and cuddled against her in support. Without understanding why she did it, she pulled Plagg’s ring out of her pocket and put it on. The only thought that filtered through her head was, ‘just in case’. Plagg moved to the back of her neck and she could feel him purring in an effort to calm her. He wasn’t making any noise though which meant he could be a grounding force for what was to come. She was almost certain she’d need it.
AO3 Prologue Beginning Previous Next
Ko-Fi
Tag List
@kceedraws @theatreandcomicfreak @krispydefendorpolice @magic-miraculous @chocolatecatstheron @mooshoon @northernbluetongue @interobanginyourmom @rebecarojas07 @dast218 @abrx2002 @damianette-is-life @yin-390 @fontegagrilledcheese @bigpicklebananatree @tbehartoo @nobodyw8s4evr @linim2503 @ladybug-182 @marinettepotterandplagg @daminett4life @thethirdwheelfriend @corabeth11 @emotionalsupportginger @shizukiryuu @toodaloo-kangaroo @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @sassakitty @my-name-is-michell @multplelifes @sassydepression @danielslilangel @winter-gardenflower @animegirlweeb @romanoff-queen @nanakeid @paradoxal-occurance @theg0ddesspersephone @hinata3487 @irontimetravelflower @the-real-gingakid @heaven428 @peachedpocky @justafanwarrior @gentlemanoftimetravel @18-fandoms-unite-08 @kittycatwowmeow @pale-lady-dreamer @i-is-mysterious @captainartsypants @write-for-your-life2 @queengeorgiaaa @schrodingers25 @thecaptainthunder @elspethshadow @stela-likes-drawing @loysydark @lozzybowe @renscorpio @elmokingkong @the-fusionist @tis-i-beanbandit @smolplantmum @iwantwhirlledpeasandlotsatrees @colorfulmongerpsychicranch
209 notes
·
View notes
Text
Intrusion
– 3: level 5 of friendship (wc: 1.8k)
prev ; next ; m.list
a/n: a filler-ish type of character. according to my ao3 a/n i kinda felt out of this chapter by the time i sat down to write so yea,,, + the text copy pasted from ao3 again so bolds and italics may be gone.
>[Hey I’ll go to the café a little earlier and sit around for a while. I’ll send you the address and you can meet me there.]
>[btw they don’t only serve pastry so if u r hungry after practice, you can eat there.]
>[k bye see ya]
You were up hours before you received a message from Iwaizumi. A simple “Good Morning.” blinking at you from the corner of your eye. Sending a short reply, you went back to your book. The house completely silent, save for your creaking footsteps; your parents have already left, typical as always.
It was odd for you to be up before your alarm. You brush the possibilities off, trying not think too much about it. The air feels nice and the chirping of birds isn’t exactly distracting, I might as well do some reading. That is how you decided to begin your day, pushing all your thoughts aside and entering a brand new world.
The heavy silence starting to weight on you after a while, you change your clothes, send these texts to Iwaizumi and head out.
Finding a good spot to sit by the window side, in case Iwaizumi cannot find the place, you order a drink as you pick your book up where you left off. You must’ve dozed off because you don’t realize him until he sits down.
“Hey.”
“Oh, hi. Glad you could make it.” It’s weird to see him without the school uniform now. The tshirt looks like he changed into it after practice. The jacket hanging from his seat and the bag by his side, both carrying the trademark colors for Aoba Johsai sports clubs indicating your assumption further. His face seems redder than usual, he must’ve left a short while ago.
You stare at one another for a moment. “So, how was practice?”
“As usual. We tried switching positions and had some 2-against-2 matches a little.”
“Ah, that… sounds good? I think. No, maybe a bit intense too? I’m not sure.” Shaking your head as you speak, you can hear him chuckle, probably at you.
“How about your morning?”
“As usual.”
“So you do wake up before noon on weekends, huh.” You can’t help but smile at that.
“Except for that part, then.” You look up to find him smiling at you warmly. This only makes your smile bigger.
One of the staff approaches your table and drops a single menu between the two of you. When will cafes stop assuming two people of the opposite sex as a couple and bring only one menu?..
Iwaizumi makes a gesture, signaling you to take a look and choose first.
“You go ahead, I have some inside information on their products.” You say with a smile as if you really are sharing a top secret. What’s up with the never ending smiles today? It couldn’t possibly be because of meeting with him, right? No way. And yet, the smiles appear before your face all natural, feeling familiar; so you let it keep happening. Change once in a while never killed anybody.
Eyes wandering around, examining each furniture, each plant, the expressions people wear; trying to distinct the source of each smell, guessing what it is, you wait for Iwaizumi to choose. The air is calm, no one is too loud and you can hear relaxing songs playing through the speakers. I hope the harmony of this place isn’t disturbed during the rush hours, you can’t help but think.
Getting tired of the pastel ambiance after a while, you divert your gaze back to Iwaizumi. Only to see a frustrated face staring at the menu he’s holding. He almost looks like it insulted him or better yet, attacked him. Your hand reaches to it before you can realize. You lower the menu a little.
“Need help?” He almost looks embarrassed to nod does it any way.
“Yeah, I’m torn between Americano and filter coffee… But what exactly is the difference between the two?” The excitement inside you hard to conceal, your hands jump into the air, digits spread wide.
“Oh, oh! I know this!” The look Iwaizumi gives you makes you stop. He seems… at ease. He has one of these small smiles you’ve witnessed before. There’s also a hint of something in his eyes, a gleam is there sure and a little bit of playfulness, but also something else you can’t put your finger on. Whatever it is, it suits him and you’d like to see him like this more often. You shake your head at your last thought.
“No, don’t give me that look. I only know about types of coffee because one of my friends is a caffeine addict.” And so you start to talk about different types of coffee, milk and espresso ratios, all in detail.
Five minutes into speedtalking about coffee and you give up at the look of defeat you are met with. “Just order Americano, you seem the type any way.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” You ignore the question.
A minute of waiting and awkward stare passes, then another minute of ordering is added to the pile. Iwaizumi, following your advice and ordering Americano, you asking for chai latte and the ‘cake of the day’. You two fall back into silence.
No conversation starters coming into mind, your eyes keep wandering around. Stealing glances at him once in a while, only for the both of you to make eye contact and immediately diverting your gazes, the unsettling silence starts to take its toll.
“I… I need to use the restroom.” You dash out before he can say anything, hoping the door you saw earlier does lead to the restroom. Splashing water to your face to calm your nerves, why would my nerves even be not calm in the first place??, you slowly head out and pray to whatever force out there that your orders have arrived.
You’re either lucky or you’ve used up your daily dose of luck because your prayers seem to be answered. The steam coming from your beverages is numbing and the cake looks heavenly to you. Light cream between the layers and on top, surrounded with fresh fruits and some jam spilled over the plate to make a twirling shape for a good presentation…
There are two sets of cutlery.
Because bringing a single menu was not enough and they just had to bring two sets of cutlery, still assuming you’re a couple. Not to worry, it’s not worth losing your cool over. You take a deep breath and sit as you breathe down, a not so genuine smile plastered on your face.
“So, how is the coffee?”
“Good. I suppose you were right about ‘my type’” he does air quotes as he speaks. Another smile breaks free of your mask.
“If it’s any consolation, I usually prefer coffee without sweeteners, so it is a little my type too.” A knowing nod at that.
“And the cake?..”
“Well, it looks good. You can try if you want, they did bring another fork anyway.” He doesn’t too eager at that. Cutting a part of the cake and putting it to one side of the plate, you shrug and start eating.
An easy flow of conversation comes after.
It starts with something that catches your eye in the street, starting to look through the window and creating fun little scenarios, the air around you gets warmer.
Excitingly pointing at a cat passing by, Iwaizumi learns how fond of cats you are, even so that you have one at home.
Inspecting the trees nearby and trying to guess what species, you find out he has an eye for it. He knows most of the trees and flowers out there.
He asks you your favorite genre to play on piano and in return you ask him his preferred sports drink. It goes like this. Beverages already drunk, cake long eaten, you two get lost in small things and what-nots.
The sun at the top, shining through and drowning the world under its golden light, everything seems to be at peace. Not a single customer around talking too loud, or maybe they do but you’re too out of it to notice… The temperature just right, your thoughts at bay, all harmless. Almost as if it’s a regular weekend day-out, the way it feels so familiar.
Feeling relaxed and loosened up, ready to doze off to sleep at any given moment, you slowly find yourself getting lost in pale green eyes, and vice versa.
Whatever unseen force that was holding the entire place, including you, in a calm trance, falls apart at the sudden sound of an unwelcome beep.
Both of you reaching out to your phones, you see a notification alert
Staring at your screen for a while, a sincere smile blooms on your face, giddy with excitement and happy, you feel unstoppable at that very moment.
“Good news I hope. Care to share?” Iwaizumi’s words reach your ears a few seconds too late. Still holding your phone with both hands grinning like an idiot now, you shake your head a little.
“You need to reach level 5 of friendship with me to access this story, sorry.” You can see him laughing lightly at the back of his hand.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh nothing. It’s just… I expected at least a level 10.” It’s your turn to laugh now, and so it seems.
“You’ve listened to me playing the piano. That gives you a 5 level headstart already.”
“You’re really that secretive about that?” All that joy from a moment ago has died down and replaced with confusion. You avoid his eyes and focus on a spot near him again, just like the first time.
“Secretive is not the best choice of words. More like… insecure? I guess, I’m not sure.”
“Well, that’s just dumb.”
“I- What? Excuse me?!”
“I’ve said what I said. You already play well and only a fool wouldn’t notice the way you give your all as you play. There is no logical reason for you to be insecure about that.”
“Yes but- you see…” Words die out at your throat, hand hanging in the air.
Another thing you learn about Iwaizumi Hajime right then and there. He is honest and as harsh as truth can be.
You wonder if he is like that all the time, if he is as open when it comes to himself. Or does he hide behind a façade like the rest of the world.
Noticing how tense you are getting, Iwaizumi ends your misery at last, asking about the book you were reading and you two fall back into another quiet chatter of everything and nothing until you call it a day.
#intrusion#haikyuu!!#haikyuu#iwaizumi hajime#iwaizumi hajime x reader#iwaizumi hajime x you#iwaizumi x reader#iwaizumi x you#slow burn#iwaizumi fanfic#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x you#haikyuu!! x you#haikyuu!! x reader#im lazy to tag so#thats all
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Gonna annotate about Leon’s entire character to y’all because he’s so so good, and every time I see someone say he’s a bad character for crushing on a man who doesn’t like him back i’m >:(
An archer born in a Zofian town. His manner of speech and conduct are unmistakably similar to a young lady's. He grew up care-free thanks to his parents and their laid-back environment. He was often teased for his effeminately good looks, and he always responded with a test of skill--which he would win, improving his reflexes. He joined the army to search for someone he could devote his heart to. When Valbar decided to accompany Celica, he naturally tagged along, and provided much assistance during the journey. He has a frank personality, saying what's on his mind; he's also the type of person who wears his heart on his sleeve. After the war, he became a merchant and it's said he lived a free and happy life.
The area of Zofia do follow Mila who is known as the goddess of love so considering how Leon is sappy and having the title “True of Heart”, Leon would totally be into lovecore aesthetic.
He may act feminine, use female gendered words in other languages, and would call himself a maiden, but as far as everything else he’s crude and mean and doesn’t hold back on filtering himself even if he’s talking to a kid.
Leon left home when he was young, so considering how this game series does have a thing of making 15 year old kiddies soldiers I’m guessing he left home at around that age.
To ‘wear your heart on your sleeve’ means to be honest and openly show your feelings or emotions. He’s painfully honest and drop hints he’s not straight.
"...Blerg. I don't like sea travel, and it sure doesn't like me. I'm nauseous, I'm sunburned, and I'm wind-beaten. I look like death's damp leftovers. But YOU look fresh as a daisy, Priestess! What's your secret? ...What? Nothing? NOTHING?! But you look like a dew-dappled angel! Augh, that's so annoying... Well, youth is great and all, but don't expect it to last."
There’s that painful honesty.
He sure does focus on his looks. He’s 24, smh Leon don’t think that you’re not gonna last past 30.
"Great. We finally get off that infernal boat, and now it’s the desert. Are you doing this on purpose, Priestess? Is it personal? *sigh* I want to get out of here before I dry up like a mummy. If I turn hideous and Valbar abandons me, it’s your fault. …What did you say? …Valbar isn’t the sort to judge people by their appearance? You think I don’t realize that? I know him FAR better than you! Gods, it really throws me when you’re so rational and correct…"
Still trying hard to get noticed by Valbar.
I like how he’s saying this particular line to a 17 year old, like chill, dude. Be nice.
"When I was a kid, there was this guy that I was head over heels for. He’s the reason I enlisted, actually. Just so I could stay close to him. He died in the first battle we fought. I cried so hard, I thought my eyes were going to float clean out of my skull. Valbar saved me from that. Every time he saw me, he’d take the time to say something. Cheer me up. What can you do with a man like that but fall in love? You’re thinking I’m a tramp, aren’t you? Well, I’m not. It’s hardly my fault that the world is full of wonderful, lovable people. Such a thing really motivates one to get out there and save it."
He made a big decision to leave home and enlist to follow a guy.. Now that he fell in love with Valbar he’s doing anything to follow him, too. I guess what’s different is it had been an unrequited love, even when it was suggested that Valbar knew about it it remained as a crush. Leon loves him at a distance so then he wouldn’t get badly hurt as he once had.
Him saying he’s not a “tramp” is a bit of info I like because people tend to wanna characterize effeminate gay characters as being touchy and wanting to peek at lotsa guys (which isn’t bad but there’s more than one type of guy), but not Leon, he’s more of a yearning for a soul mate kinda guy. He’s not big on lots of physical touch unless he really likes ya. "Hey, hey, now. No more of that." “I'm a friendly fellow, but not the touchy-feely type. All right?"
talking to Valbar “Heh heh. But it's fine. Emotions come in many forms, and as you say, there's no point in hanging on. I'm still glad I have these feelings, and nothing will change that.”
A crush is totally different than being in a relationship so like... I don’t like it when people say he’s a bad character for it. It totally happens to like someone but they don’t swing that way. In Leon’s case he keeps the crush because it feels safer and sappy to have it. Even if he tries his darnest to let Valbar get the hint he Loves loves him, when nothing happens he just accepts that.
talking to Valbar “Just realizing I've been a fool for feeling sorry for myself. Compared to what you've gone through, my worries are nothing.”
Despite the ol’ “keeping his heart on his sleeve” thing Leon has a knack of keeping negative feelings to himself. Probably the type who wouldn’t admit it because it doesn’t feel as big of a deal compared to other’s. This guy needs a hug so bad.
Kamui: “Oh, you're a laugh riot. But anyway, what do you think makes a good man?”
Leon: “Hmm. That's not easily summed up in a few words, but... for starters, he should be kind, strong and mature... while maintaining a boyish innocence. He also needs to listen, but be ready to tell the hard truths when necessary.”
Kamui: “Oh, come on. No one's that perfect.”
Some people take their conversations as being odd or random information or just to express again on how Leon’s gay but I wanna turn more attention on Kamui’s motive for asking in the first place. For someone who tries to not make people take him as gay, and explicitly so in the manga, he sure do wanna know what Leon’s type is if he’s got his eyes on Valbar.
Kamui is kinda right that no one could be perfect but Leon had been describing Valbar, when like,, they’re not even in a relationship… Leon honey… don’t hurt yourself like this. This leads to their next conversation;
Kamui: It's about… what you said before. So what would you do if Valbar ended up being.. the opposite of your ideal?
Leon: Well, that's an absurd question. But in the interest of humoring you and passing the time... Well, I suppose I'd set off looking for a man who met my perfect ideal. A journey like that might actually be kind of... fun.
Kamui: I think that's the first time you and I have agreed on anything.
Kamui could probably tell that Valbar isn’t ever going to return the kind of love Leon wants, and tries to learn what Leon’s thoughts are about that. Because even if he says he doesn’t care much about anything he seems to care about Leon. On the battlefield given his specific quotes for Leon and in these conversations. Kamui tells how his luck went south ever since joining in this journey and he’s only sticking around for the money, but that job he was paid for was done a long time ago at his recruitment quest. So he seems to hang around anyway for his sense of completion on things it seems.
The word ‘journey’ is like music to Kamui’s ears considering his history. It would be a fun writing idea actually of them traveling across Valm picking guys to speed date, well, like in the manga lmaooo but wider ranged.
This would be the first time Leon speaks nicely to Kamui instead of being standoffish and harsh. Kamui sounded really relieved for that. Then when Leon says he doesn’t like him that way Kamui instantly tries to back track lol
"Hello, Kiran! I've prepared some tea. Would you care to join me? I must admit, I was anxious when you first summoned me here. Ugh, don't laugh—it's rude! I may not look worried, but I have my fair share of concern, same as anyone else. Anyway, you've proven yourself more than capable, so I suppose I don't mind sticking around. To be honest, I am eager to return home... But that can wait, I think... Care for another cup?"
He says this when level 40 in FEH. So by this point he’s well acquainted with the player. Him admitted that negative feeling is once again that thing he has of keeping feels in to not seem it’s a big issue. And him wanting to go back home…. boohoo..
(If Valbar lives) Welcomed into the One Kingdom's Brotherhood of Knights, Leon remained at Valbar's side until an injury ended his fighting career. He then took up work as a merchant in the city market, where he lived free, happy, and dauntlessly true to himself to the last.
He better keep that good happy ending 👊
(If Valbar dies) Dealt a grievous blow by Valbar's death, Leon disappeared for a time before returning to join the One Kingdom's Brotherhood of Knights. There, he fought with the strength of a hundred men, and later served as an instructor to new recruits, contributing greatly to the order.
It’s messed up to think of Leon losing someone he loves again….. He should not go through all that again… Where did he disappear to.. Did he turn himself from twink to a bear to take the place of what would’ve been Valbar’s job if he lived (since Valbar ending would’ve been him becoming the instructor)
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
Yo that anon with the Bianca/Dency 👌🏻👌🏻 but like ohhh Dency coupd totally meet a cute Phoenix in her universe tho!! 👀 Or maybe a dark Witchlighter? Idk I think her falling I love with a more “neutral” witch hybrid would be cute!
And like do you think her little agency would work with neutral magical sources like phoenixes to find people? Because like Dency could be like a Penn but for the opposite side? If that makes sense?? Like Penn is bringing all the “light” witches together but Dency is really the figures head for the “dark/neutral” witches like the witch hybrids and the phoenixes…like Dency is kinda like the unintentional beacon of light for that side…just by being herself? Like maybe she doesn’t actively campaign for more acceptance for hybrid witches but her mere existence alone and the good she does is enough to get the ball rolling?
tbh as far as dency love interests go i'm a little bit torn because i have this mortal rashid idk if i've talked bout him before but like. he and dency have a classic rivals to lovers arc going on in college liek they fucking Hated each other blah blah blah she definintely gaslighted him a lil with her powers nothing malicious jsut like. teleportation like ha there's no way she'll beat me 2 the best spot in the library bc i just saw her walking up the steps while i am already inside and then boom he walks over there and she's there how?? the fuck>? teleporation fuck u. the point is thru their quasi spy vs spy antics i think they start to gain a sense of respect for one another than and he goes political journalism did this question even mention love interests idk That's Not The Point rashid does politics while dency's a bit more of a muckraker kinda more on a corporate side fraud and all that so they no longer are competitors and um. like they can finally appreciate the other as they are no longer and opponent as with most dency characters they have hooked up a couple times i shouldn't say that because as far as characters that have been introduced dency has slept with none of them bc they are all her besties u should never sleep w ur besties only ur homies but i think. i've stated this before? for starters dency doesn't do a lot of long term relationships just because you know that level of vulnerabilty and like if u really like someone then it's just leverage thatcan be used agianst u Or if u die then ur gonna break their heart but i think she does casual relationships with literally anyone but witches i. haven't posted the chaapter fuck i'll post it now because i've been sitting on it for so long and like i'm worried i'm gonna back myself in a corner w a it's not a plotline i don't like maybe just a plotpoint but i've like. written half the next chapter anyway. i'm also sitting on about 10k i think not only. 7k? unpublished w&s because it's like ending the narrative is ending i really need it to be coherent Speaking of incoherent. dency. i'm gonna post the chapter. but dency hangs out a lot at p3 which has changed hands piper owns her restaurants the backstory for this is.
paige has a charge back in the late aughts she's in a coven the point is her bestie has some traumatic incident happen to her and she wants revenge and it's something that (imo) totally justifies revenge like a killing her rapist type thing and like. it depends how we're going with charmed morality but i've established before i think (?) it's canon that if a witch takes an innocent's life she becomes a warlock like it's possible for witches to defect and become warlock if they take a life Specifically an innocent's life and even tho like that guy would be a mortal he def doesn't get innocent status because he's fucking evil she's allowed to murder him but i think she would murder someone else in the process and then causes her to lose her witch powers and gain a couple warlock powers and the rest of her coven shuns her for it which could have easily sent her down a dark path but paige's charge her bestie like stood by her thru all that like. like it's shit cosmic rules tbh. maybe. for legal reasons: i am not endorsing murder. please for the love of god don't make me admit to a grand jury i have a tumblr that'll be so cringe bro do not murder anyone. but paige's charge stands by her and idk maybe paige gets her a job at p3 all that the point is when piper sells the club to open her restaurant she sells it to paige's charge and her gf the warlock. so p3 kind of becomes a neutral power for magic no vanquishes allowed and it's one of the few places dark magic has on the surface just to vibe u just have to be able to tolerate being served by a witch like she owns the place so that kind of filters it. idk if this is more rambly than it normally is. i promise i'll go back in later and add periods. maybe. i am also a liar. but the point is i think p3 is one of the few places dency can really be hersefl because herself is half demon!! and at magic school she really is suppoed to feel ashamed of that like she hates it or something wishes it gone and Yes. it does scare her. being the source's heir all that. she's always worried about giving in to dark magic but like. she's a demon!!! there's no changing that there's no fighting that pushing it under the rug like. she can't change it she does want to spend her life hating herself like. it's who she is. fuck. so i think she doesn't date witches but like the regulars at p3 some warlocks the occasional like darklighter. dency has had romantic trysts with.
beck to rashid her mortal homies who she has hooked up with who they've always had this rapport they have this thing. bc rashid's smart okay that's why he's at dency's level (respectfully she gets her brains from her father i love phoebe but she's intuitive not intelligent cole on the other hand passed the bar exam (i think) so like.) rashid knows something's up. the point is they each give the other three questions. three questions you ask that the other has to answer fully honestly cards on the table no half truths nothing just the answer. rashid used one of those to find out dency's a witch, but she made him work for it. nothing vague like what are you strange things happen around you why like she's like ask your question but you better be specific about it and he's like fuck it. whatever. magic. that's my answer i think magic happens with you and no i'm not flirting i'm dead serious is magic like. are you magical? and the answer was yes. and rashid like while he was asking while he was like confident enough to admit that out loud to ask that to her face Did not see that coming. of course. there's a difference between like yes i can cast a couple spells and yes i'm the antichrist so. : )! but i think that's like a rapport thing between rashid and dency like whenever they ask hard hitting questions like "is that one of your three questions?" but idk if he's gonna. if he's gonna be it for her. there's also jack dency's childhood bestie so there's the childhood friends to lovers thing but like. i just don't see jack being in love with dency in that way like they're best friends. but not lovers. (but maybe they are??? idk)
But. third potential love interest is if i weren't goign for those two i was actually thinking.
two options here a cupid who reocgnizes dency as "the demon with the cupid ring? yeah that's gotta be the source's heir". so there's that i like the idea of. yeah. : )
but also. and i came up w this in an ask which i will not evne attempti to find. i'm sorry i can't spell you guys but it;s not happening 2nite beloeveds. but if u'vemade it this far. i do love u w my whole heart. dency. love interests. old ask about a squad a half-grimlock. appeal of being able to see auras see good people. this was originally in the ask. a love interest for billie?? maybe. idk. but just like. for dency someine who's always known htey have this immense dark side like. hmmmmmm okay i just thot of somehting. for lili. whish is phillipa. which is the prandy thirdborn. she's phsycics. however tf u spell that sykick. that's not the point dency who has. the source on her soul. falling with someone who can literally see the good in her. i'm picturing the half grimlock just ot like like a normal albino human. and they run a halfway house for those born of evil. because he or she or they idk>??? maybe neorponounds idk!!> whoever they r they run a halfway house for these kids born from demons warlocks darklighters bc they can see the good in them and that shouldn't. you get so scared gifted with these powers you don't understand they need a place to turn to. and the grimlock grimmy offers that place. def not their name but like. grimmy lmoa. ao. yeah. i think jsut opening i think integating magic schoolesp in a dency timeline what with penn and the elders and their pomp and circumstance i think it'd be a pain in the ass. but at the very least A magic school for kids wihtout light magic like they deserve it. evil shouldn't just be their default option. like they're just kids man they're jsut kids they deserve a shot at not even good man not everyone has to go on to be exceptional cure cancer and save the world just like. a chance to understand themselves not be scared. not be hated, jsut be/ like. do they not deserve that? so if grimmy's not a li for dency at the very least they are homies and they like pull together a magic school for neutral/dark beings.
#i don't know what this says!!!!#ahaha lmao#i'll read this later i hope this answers the question#i love u#charmed#dency halliwell#just like. do u guys know how much it fills my heart when u guys ask me this shit>#like#like like like like it's like. like these are/ i've said this before but liek these are just lil guys and they live in my head#but they live in your heads too!! and i'm like wow <3 like. like like when you're like how would dency warren sheridan penn dove anyone lik#like like i'm like wow.#i am from california if is was not obvius from how many times i used the word like to convey my feelinfs but like. wow 🥺♥#next gen#charmed next generation#💌
1 note
·
View note
Text
Merry Christmas, @juus-ess!
*****
Alec lied to every single girl he met.
There was no malicious intent behind it. It was always an innocent lie. Maybe lying about the time by a few minutes or faking a yawn and claiming he was tired when he knew he was wide awake.
But he always had to check.
He had to make sure it wasn’t them.
And, honestly, he didn’t really know which response he was looking for.
There was always a moment of terror when he’d be introduced to a girl and his stomach would tie itself in knots and he’d sweat, trying to think of a good, simple lie to tell her. What would he do if he couldn’t tell it? What was he supposed to do if she wound up being his soulmate? What then?
But there was the same terror when he was able to lie.
He almost wanted to not be able to lie, to finally find the girl that was his soulmate so he could get it over with and not have to worry every single time he met someone new.
But so far, nothing.
Just a mix of relief and dread when the lie passed his lips and he realized for sure that she wasn’t his soulmate.
He’d lied to all of them so far without a problem.
With guys it was different.
Alec avoided lying to them because he just didn’t want to know.
If another man wound up being his soulmate, he’d rather stay in the dark about it. He knew he was gay but nobody else needed to know he was gay.
Jace and Izzy knew and that about covered the expanse of people who needed to know anything about his romantic life.
Either way, meeting anyone new made him nervous of what might come out of his mouth.
But he was always able to lie.
Always.
Until he met Magnus.
It didn’t happen right away.
He barely knew the guy aside from their initial introduction and there hadn’t been much conversation between them that would have required him to lie.
It wasn’t until the third or fourth time he met Magnus that it came up.
“Alexander, before you go, I wanted to ask you something.” Magnus stopped him on his way out of the loft, Isabelle and Jace’s footsteps already out of earshot as Alec tentatively hung back.
“What is it?” Alec’s voice was tense, his full attention not on Magnus. He needed to follow his siblings.
“Would you like to get drinks with me sometime?”
“I’d like that a lot.” The words were out without his permission and Alec had to resist the urge to clap his hand over his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say that. He had meant to tell Magnus no thank you.
“Wonderful. How’s tomorrow night?” Magnus asked, his tone still casual as Alec’s brain tried to work out why on earth he had said that.
“I’m busy. Patrol.” That was the truth at least.
“Well what about-“
“You know I should really get going. I don’t like to let those two out of my sight for too long.” Alec cut him off and gestured down the hall and Magnus nodded.
“Of course.”
It had been small, but Alec found himself laying in bed that night thinking about it.
Why had he said that?
And, of course, he knew why. He knew exactly why. You couldn’t lie to your soulmate.
But he refused to even entertain the thought of the idea that his soulmate could not only be a man but be a warlock man. No matter how stunning or intriguing said man was. No matter how much he took Alec’s breath away or made his heart pound.
Sure, Magnus was probably the most beautiful person he’d ever seen and Alec might have had to stop himself from daydreaming about him several times but that didn’t mean Magnus was his soulmate or anything.
It was just a slip, Alec finally decided.
He hadn’t been fully paying attention to Magnus because he’d been looking after Jace and Izzy, he had been tired from the mission, it had just slipped out. He had forgotten to take the time to lie and had accidentally answered honestly.
He’d make sure to be on his guard more next time Magnus was around. He couldn’t let something like that happen again.
---
The incident was still on his mind a few days later when his phone started buzzing.
Alec set down the water bottle in his hand on the bench next to him and reached for his phone.
It was Magnus.
Alec toyed with the idea of not answering it, but his curiosity got the best of him.
“Hello?” Alec picked up a towel, wiping the sweat from his face after the greeting.
“Alexander. I was hoping I’d catch you. Where are you?” Alec shivered at the sound of Magnus’s voice but he’d choose to blame that on the cold air against his bare, sweaty skin.
“The training room at the institute. Why?” Alec didn’t even consider lying.
“Perfect. I have something I’m dropping off at the institute and I was hoping you’d be there.”
Alec glanced around, hesitating a moment before responding. “Why?” It was an honest question.
“Well for starters, the view. But I wanted to talk about those drinks. Maybe some dinner.”
His breath caught in his throat and he opened his mouth, wanting to tell Magnus that he wasn’t interested in something like that, but the words wouldn’t come out.
“I-“ No matter how hard he tried; he couldn’t force the words out. “Why?” He just repeated in lieu of the truth. It wasn’t a lie, so he was still able to get the word out.
“Those abs are a good reason.”
This time, Alec heard the words both in his ear, and from the other side of the room.
He whipped around to see Magnus standing in the entrance of the training room.
Alec rarely wore a shirt when training on his own and tons of people- usually other shadowhunters- had seen him like that before, but there was something very different about the way Magnus was looking at him. It made him feel almost naked.
“Hi.” Alec said dumbly into the phone, his eyes on the man across the room.
“Hi.” Magnus said back as he walked towards Alec.
He didn’t break eye contact and Alec felt hypnotized.
“I thought you had something to drop off.” Alec was still talking to the phone.
“I already did. A few minutes ago.” Magnus was definitely in talking distance by now, but Alec continued to speak into his cell.
“Oh. And you’re here. Now.”
“Alexander, I think you can hang up the phone now.” Magnus was only a few feet away from him.
Flushing a little, Alec pulled the phone away from his face to end the call.
“Yeah.” He said lamely.
There was a moment where neither of them said anything and Magnus’s eyes certainly weren’t on Alec’s face. Alec reached for a black jacket he had sitting on the bench to pull up and zip up and he didn’t miss how disappointed Magnus looked.
“Taking away the lovely view?”
“I still get to look at you, don’t I?” It was like Alec couldn’t filter his thoughts before he spoke, and he clapped a hand over his mouth.
Looking mildly surprised, Magnus moved even closer to him, a different look in his eyes now.
“Would you like to have dinner and drinks with me?” Magnus asked though now his tone was less flirty and more like he was testing out something.
“Very much.” He said from behind his hand. God, he wanted to stop talking.
“Alexander, can you lie to me?”
This was it. There was no dodging the direct question. He wanted to say yes but there was no way for him to force the word out of his mouth.
“No.” The word came out muffled, but the answer was still obvious.
Magnus looked over him for a moment before speaking.
“I hate acid washed jeans.”
That wasn’t what Alec had been expecting.
He moved his hand away from his mouth and looked at Magnus quizzically.
“What?”
“Sorry, I was testing a theory. If I could tell you I liked them then I would have proved I could lie to you, but I can’t.” Magnus said, trying to appear casual but there was a hint of nervous excitement to his words. “So how about that dinner?”
The two of them stood there for a moment and Alec wasn’t sure which one of them moved in closer first but before he knew it, there were inches of space between them. And then, before he could think about it, Alec was closing the distance between them, his lips crashing into Magnus’s with the sudden eagerness he felt at the revelation that Magnus couldn’t lie to him either.
Of course, it made sense. If Magnus was his soulmate, he was Magnus’s too. But for a moment the sudden excitement of fully discovering his soulmate made him forget everything else.
It made him forget the fact that Magnus being both male and a downworlder could cause problems. In that moment, all Alec could focus on was that not only had he found his soulmate, but his soulmate was absolutely drop dead gorgeous.
Magnus’s arms wrapped around Alec and pulled his body flush with his, apparently willing to ignore the sweat that was still glistening on Alec’s skin in favor of being closer to him.
Alec returned the gesture, one of his hands finding itself in Magnus’s hair, kissing him like the world was moments away from ending.
So much for being on his guard this time.
Two sharp knocks sounded from the doorway and Alec jumped away from Magnus, hurriedly looking around for the source of the noise, his heart pounding both from excitement of kissing Magnus but anxiety over being caught.
It was Izzy.
“Sorry to interrupt but, Magnus, my mom has a few questions over the billing you just dropped off.” She said, the beaming smile on her face not quite matching her words.
“And it has to be now, dear Isabelle?” Magnus looked regretful as he looked away from Alec and turned towards Izzy.
She nodded and he sighed.
“I’ll call you about that dinner?” Magnus said to Alec who nodded.
“Yeah.” He said, a bit breathlessly, watching Magnus as he walked out of the room.
Magnus was barely out of sight before Izzy was in his face.
“Can I help you?” Alec asked, zipping up his jacket further for something to do with his hands and avoid looking at her.
“Are you going to tell me what was happening in here just now?”
“Nothing.” Alec said but it only took a few moments for Izzy’s stare to break him. “Magnus is my soulmate.” He blurted out, moving away from Izzy and sitting down on the bench.
Izzy clapped her hands together in excitement.
“Alec! That’s incredible!” She sat down next to him.
“Is it? He’s a guy, Iz. And a downworlder. I don’t even know why I just kissed him.” Reality seemed to be crashing back down around Alec. What had he been thinking?
“When I met Clary, it was like I lost all my inhibitions. It was like, I couldn’t lie to her, which I knew came with the whole soulmate package, but it was also harder to control myself around her. I couldn’t keep myself away from her. It’s like, this feeling of euphoria when I’m around her and with her. It’s normal, Alec. You’re going to lose control at least a little bit.” She said, putting an arm around her brother. “And who cares if he’s a guy? You’re gay, what did you expect?” Izzy said it so casually and Alec looked at her.
“Mom and dad are going to-“ He started but Izzy didn’t let him finish.
“Not care. In case you’re forgetting, they’ve known my soulmate is a girl for a long time now. I already got them used to it.”
“At least Clary is a shadowhunter. Magnus is a warlock.”
“Yeah, the high warlock of Brooklyn. I never knew you were so into men in positions of power.”
“Fuck off.”
“Alec. It’s going to be fine, I promise.”
---
And it was fine.
It took Maryse a bit to warm up to Magnus but once she did, it was like he had always been a part of their family.
Robert took longer, but Alec didn’t see him nearly as often.
Izzy and Jace both were both instantly supportive and while it took some of the other shadowhunters a bit longer to come to accept his new relationship, they eventually did.
And Alec was happy.
He had never really cared for the idea of soulmates much before but now that he had found his, he couldn’t believe he had ever doubted the idea. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to come home to Magnus’s loft and find his boyfriend busy working creating a potion or translating an ancient text.
Tonight was no different.
“I was starting to get worried you forgot about our movie night and were sleeping at the institute.” Magnus voice rang out from the other room as Alec shut the door behind him.
“I’m sorry, I got held up with paperwork. Jace did his usual don’t ask for permission ask for forgiveness shit and it gave me an extra hour of forms to fill out.” Alec explained as he hung up his jacket by the door and tugged off his combat boots.
Even as he walked into the room where Magus was lounging on the couch, he felt a sort of warmth envelop him. When this had first started happening, he had assumed that it was Magnus doing something with his magic but he soon learned from Izzy that it was part of the whole soulmate thing.
It just felt good to be around Magnus.
Magnus was laid across the entire couch, leaving no room for Alec.
“You’re more than an hour late.”
“I still had to get here, Magnus. Now move.” Alec rolled his eyes but Magnus didn’t move.
“I’ll forgive you this time.” Magnus said, the words a mock threat. “In exchange for a kiss.”
Alec leaned down to kiss him and before he knew it, Magnus had pulled him down on top of him, deepening the kiss and running his fingers through Alec’s hair and down his back.
Alec let out a muffled moan as he situated his body on top of Magnus’s to make sure they were both comfortable. He reached down to grab for the hem of Magnus’s shirt but Magnus suddenly broke the kiss and smacked Alec’s hand away.
“Movie first.” He said and Alec sighed.
“What’s on the menu for tonight?” Alec asked, gesturing at the TV.
He tended to let Magnus pick out whatever movie they were watching for the night since he’d seen so much more than Alec had.
“Star Wars Episode four.” Magnus said and Alec gave him a look.
“I haven’t seen the first three.”
“This is the first one.”
“But then why’s it episode four?”
“Darling it’s bad enough you’ve never seen Star Wars but you seriously don’t know anything about it? What do they even teach you shadowhunters over there?”
“They told me that warlocks are tricksters.” Alec teased as he settled his body so that he was only laying half on Magnus, half on the couch, his head resting on Magnus’s chest.
“Would I lie to you?” Magnus asked, pretending to be offended and Alec laughed.
“You can’t.”
---
Magnus’s sheets made Alec’s back at the institute feel like sandpaper. He was sure Magnus had told him the thread count at some point, but that was the furthest thing from Alec’s mind when he had Magnus’s body on top of him.
“That was incredible.” Alec panted while Magnus pressed kisses against his neck.
“Your wrists okay?” Magnus asked against his skin and Alec nodded, rubbing one wrist with his other hand. Magnus almost always used his magic when he decided to pin his arms above his head, but they’d gone with handcuffs this time.
“Yeah. Sore but all good.”
Magnus rolled off of him and onto his back. Alec followed, turning on his side to drape an arm across Magnus’s impressive chest, resting his head on it as well.
“Hey, Magnus?”
“Yeah?” Magnus ran his fingers through his hair before tracing his fingers over the runes on his back.
“Have you ever had one before?”
Magnus frowned, clearly thrown off by the question.
“Are you talking about sex because we’ve talked about this-“
“No, not that, I know about that. I mean a soulmate.” Alec said, pushing himself closer to Magnus.
“Alexander, a soulmate is a once in a lifetime thing. It wouldn’t make sense for there to be multiple ones.” Magnus said, his voice soft.
“I thought it might be different for warlocks since, you know, the immortality and all that.”
“Alec. I’ve been alive a very long time and I’ve had many great loves, but you’re the only one that I’ve never been able to lie to. You’re the only one who makes me feel that,” Magnus paused, looking for the right word.
“Warmth?” Alec supplied and Magnus nodded.
“Warmth.” Magnus agreed.
“I never thought I’d find mine. I’d resigned myself to simply falling in love. Which when I say that out loud, sounds ridiculous. Because falling in love is a wonderful feeling no matter what. But it doesn’t compare to finding you. My soulmate. I don’t think any past love could have prepared me for how I feel about you.”
Alec held him even tighter as Magnus spoke.
“How did you know it was me?” Alec asked before rethinking his question. “I mean, besides the obvious. You said a long time ago, that thing about acid washed jeans and that you were testing a theory. How did you know to try?”
“I hate to break it to you, but it was pretty obvious pretty quickly that you weren’t able to lie to me. But aside from that, there was just this feeling you gave me. Like you’d unlocked something in me that had never been there before.” Magnus tilted his head press a kiss into Alec’s hair.
“I love you, Magnus.”
“I love you too, Alexander.”
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
holding on (and letting go) | Ethan Ramsey x MC
WC: 3k+
Rating: T
Warning: major character death
+
He’s late for work.
That’s all he can think about -- that and his car not starting and the last service check he had and how they surely would’ve noticed something wrong with the starter if this is happening and how it’s a newer model, doesn’t even have five-thousand miles on it because he only drives it to work and back (and that spur-of-the-moment trip to Bar Harbor they took) and it shouldn’t be acting up like this. It gave him a similar problem last week and Sloane told him to get something from the auto shop, that it was an easy fix, but he was reading the latest medical journal and doesn’t remember what she said.
He’s scrolling through his contacts for roadside assistance to see if they can help him at all (he went to medical school, he knows the ins and outs of the human body, but he can’t tell a loose belt from a blown gasket) when his phone brightens to life.
“I know,” he answers with a sigh. “I should’ve been there four minutes ago, but my damn car won’t--”
“Ethan,” Harper says and he stops whatever he’s doing, drops whatever wire he’s been fiddling with. He knows her tone; he’s used it many times over the years. For a brief, frazzled, stupid moment he glances down at himself, sure that she’s going to tell him that his blood result tests came back and that he’s a dead man walking -- but then, he realizes, that he hasn’t gotten his recommended check-up. For another brief moment, even more fleeting than the last, he hopes that she’s calling to reprimand him about that. It’s a hopeless, stupid wish. “Where are you?”
“I’m home -- well, in my parking garage. My car won’t start.” He tries not to ramble, because he needs to prepare for what’s coming. Staring at the components underneath the hood, he focuses on the greasy streaks on the tubes and on Harper’s breathing on the other end of the line; he is a house on the coast, building up its sandbag walls and bolting down its shutters, preparing for disaster.
“There was an accident this morning,” is what she says. It’s too vague, though, because there are thousands of accidents every day, typically eleven within the city limits. “In front of the hospital.”
“Okay,” he tells the coolant reservoir.
“A car ran a redlight as Sloane was crossing the street. She was hit.”
“Okay,” he tells the oil filter. His free hand grips the edge of the hood. There’s the ring of a phone and it takes him a moment to realize it’s on her end and then she’s talking to Kendra, the ER’s charge nurse. If he could hear past the rush of blood in his ears, he might have been able to understand the muffled conversation.
“You need to come,” Harper says and it takes him several seconds to realize she’s talking to him again.
He pictures Sloane rolling over to snooze her alarm that morning and the pillow he put over his head when she started the shower and waking again to her minty kiss on his cheek and her purse poking his side and her promising that there would be coffee waiting for him when he woke up. Slipping between those recent memories are older ones: of her preparing her speech to the committee in his living room; of her pressing close to him on that balcony at the opera; of her pulling the stuffed frog out from that storm drain for baby Hudson; of her shaking like a newborn deer over Mrs. Thompson in the hospital lobby on her first day.
“You need to come,” Harper repeats.
“Okay,” he tells the closed hood of his car.
+
Everybody knows.
He gets the sad eyes from every colleague as he passes through the atrium and down the hall to emergency, where he’s redirected by Kendra to the ICU on the third floor.
Before he reaches her room, he already knows what everybody else does. The nurses catch him as he comes out of the elevator and herd him into the closest office, where two doctors are waiting for him. Because they knew he would want a second opinion. Which means he isn’t going to like their first one.
They force him to sit and explain the situation to him; the level of trauma and the severity of her injuries. They use the word ‘comfortable’ too many times for Ethan to count. They talk about leaving voicemails with her sister, her only living next of kin.
What they don’t actually talk about is the treatment plan. It pisses him off to no end, listening to them talk around it, as if they’ve already given up on her. He doesn’t understand, not really, until they lead him to her room.
And the bruising and the ventilator and the swelling and the bandages are all he can see at first. For a brief moment, he wonders if it is Sloane -- hopes that maybe they got it wrong and this is just a woman who looks like her and maybe she’s late from getting coffee down the street and she’ll pop in any moment now and clear this mess up.
Then he steps closer to the bed, and it must be the angle change, but he can finally see her. That bright hair poking out through the bandage and the curve of her nose and the sparkle of her nail polish.
“We’ll give you some time,” one of the doctors says and closes the door behind them.
Ethan feels trapped, like the space is too small and he’s going to take all of the oxygen right out of it and there will be none left for her. His hands reach out, but he can only make it to the foot rail, afraid to touch her. He thinks of all those sob stories he’s heard from patients, that their loved ones hung on until their family could be there, that they waited on death’s door until they knew they weren’t alone. If he touches her, she’ll know he’s there.
So, he hovers like a bad omen, lurking just at the edge of her space. Close enough to keep watch, but distant enough to be safe. He thinks superstitions are a crock of shit -- but he doesn’t want to test that theory, not with Sloane’s life in the balance.
Since he’s avoiding the clock on the wall, he doesn’t know how long he’s been there, watching these machines breathe for her, when the door opens.
“What are you doing?” Jackie asks as she steps into the room and pulls Sloane’s chart out.
“I’m not sure,” he says, frowning when he realizes that he’s telling the truth.
This morning he was yelling at his engine and now he’s standing over his girlfriend in a hospital bed, slowly accepting with a sort of teetering certainty that it is likely the last time he will spend with her.
“How long have you been here?”
“I’m not sure,” he repeats.
The thick stack of papers slap against the clipboard; Jackie makes a noise of disgust that trails off into a sigh as she moves to stand next to him.
“She needs you.”
Ethan wishes he could laugh at that.
“What she needs is--”
“You. She loves you, so she’d want you with her,” she corrects, motioning to the empty chair at Sloane’s bedside, “sitting in that, holding her hand.”
He clears his throat twice before he speaks, though his voice still breaks on the words.
“If I do that, then it will -- she’ll… it’ll be real. And then it’ll happen.”
“She’s going to die,” Jackie says, so matter-of-factly that he’s jealous of her, that she’s moved into acceptance while he’s still at stage one. Her statement tears at him, because below all of the naive hope, he knows she’s right. The talk shows and the news articles may talk about miracles, but they are few and far between in the real world.
“I know.”
“Then hold her fucking hand.”
Ethan hovers for another moment, before stepping over and dropping like a stone into the chair. Reaching out, he takes Sloane’s hand in between both of his. Moving to the other side of the bed, Jackie leans down to kiss her forehead and whisper something in her ear. When she pulls back, there are tears in her eyes that she quickly wipes away before leaving the room.
Scooting closer, he turns Sloane’s hand over to press a long kiss against her wrist, trying to stall before he tells her what she needs to hear.
“You’re not going to wake up,” he says, trying to keep his voice level as he curls his body around the bed to get as close as he can to her. “And studies are skewed on exactly what patients can hear, if anything. But maybe you can hear me.” Pausing to clear his throat, he reaches up to trace his thumb along her cheekbone. If she were conscious enough, she would demand that he not pull any punches, so he lists out every fracture and every complication in detail.
The only other noises in the room are the hiss of the ventilator and the ragged breaths that work out of his throat when he runs out of things to say.
People drift in and out, their eyes red and their hands shaking as they say their goodbyes. Ethan glances down at his own hands and watches them tremble as he clings onto Sloane. He talks when the people leave, telling her stories about college and roommates and medical school, things she’s probably already heard when they laid on the couch together, but he can’t think of anything else. He avoids talking about the future; it would be too cruel for the both of them.
Her doctors return sometime after nine, looming at the back like a pair of ravens. Ethan ignores them in favor of resting his head on her hip. His eyes burn from trying not to blink, not wanting to spare a moment of her time by wasting it with his eyes closed.
Naveen arrives shortly after the other doctors, giving Ethan a long look before he crosses the room and puts a hand on his shoulder. The tears he’s been keeping in check spill over and onto his cheeks as Naveen slips his arm around him and hugs him close. Ethan is telling her how beautiful she looked on that pier with him in Maine last month when she goes into cardiac arrest seven minutes later.
“It’s okay, I’m here,” he assures her, forcing the words from his throat and clutching her tightly. “Go on. It’s okay.”
And, as if she can still hear him, she goes.
+
He’s late for her funeral.
He’s on his bed, in his suit, watching the television cast blue flickers across the ceiling. It’s morning and the sun should be shining in, but the drapes are closed, making the bedroom resemble a tomb. Jenner lays beside him, her breathing a steady, comforting thing.
He can’t get out of bed. He can’t sit up. If he sits up and puts on his shoes and walks out the door, then he’s going to her funeral. Then she’s properly Dead. Then he’s officially entering the next stage of his life that started Tuesday morning, into the After Sloane Died. Statistically, he wasn’t ever supposed to be in this stage of life. He’s a man with a history of alcoholism and a family medical history of heart disease and pancreatic cancer. It should be him, then, turning into tiny bits of ash and getting stuffed into jars and being poured into the bay and all the complicated things Sloane wanted down with her body. Why did she have a will already written?
He’d like to ask her.
“I’ll just ring her up, then,” he mutters, tacking a dry chuckle on at the end that soon turns wet with the tears he won’t let fall.
If her dying was a natural disaster, the after of it is much more labor intensive. His sandbag walls have turned to stone, rising high against the storm of knocks at his door and missed calls on his phone. He doesn’t want their well-wishes and sympathy, their casseroles and their bouquets of flowers. What he wants is impossible and unattainable and her -- he wants her, goddamnit, and no baked spaghetti or peace lily is going to fill that void.
If she knew she would die young, then she should have told him. He wouldn’t have wasted so much time, finding her charming, wanting to befriend her, falling in love with her, letting her carve out a space in his heart. It would have saved him a lot of time and heartache if she had been up front with her impending doom.
“I’m going to die four days before you propose to me,” is what she should have said to him in front of that vending machine outside Barbara’s room. Because then he would have been just a respectful colleague who dropped in during the visitation of friends and who left before the ceremony started. He wouldn’t have bought the ring that’s still sitting in his nightstand.
(He doesn’t want to consider that she might not be dead at all if he’d gotten up with her that morning and made her late, or if they’d never agreed to move in with each other and she was walking from the other direction, or if he’d never laid his heart on the line on that balcony in Miami. Those thoughts are far too painful to contemplate.)
He wants to worry if he kept the receipt or not, wants to practice how he’ll avoid a pity party from the sales associate when he takes the ring back, wants to stress about practical things.
Instead, he can only seem to want to pull the covers over his head and let the earth swallow him whole.
“What are you doing?” comes a voice from the doorway.
Ethan jerks upright, heart racing. Beside him, Jenner lifts her head and wags her tail.
“How did you get in?” he asks, squinting at her as if she’ll go away if he focuses hard enough. “And why are you here?”
Jackie takes another step into the room and props her hands on her hips.
“You gave Doctor Banerji a key, and I came with him to pick you up.” She motions with her shoulder back down the hall, where Naveen is no doubt picking up his debris from the last two days. As if on cue, Ethan hears the kitchen sink turn on. “So, it’s time to go. Get your shoes on.”
“Are you going to play good cop, bad cop with me?” he grumbles, passing a hand over his face in an attempt to collect himself. “If I don’t say yes to you, will Naveen come in and be nice to me?”
When he glances up, he’s surprised at the heat in her glare.
“Did they tell you what happened to her?”
He’s taken aback by the question. “What do you -- of course they did, I--”
“No,” she cuts him off, shaking her head. “They told you the results of it, distracted you with the medical details. But did they tell you what happened?”
“I -- yes, she was crossing the street and was struck by a car--”
“But they didn’t tell you how it hit her; how it ran over her and dragged her until the guy finally came to a stop; how she was still conscious when we were lifting her onto a gurney and how she had a double pneumothorax but was still trying to tell us about one of her patient’s treatment plans needing to be changed.” Sucking in a breath, Jackie pauses for a moment before continuing, her voice steadier, “Because she knew. If she didn’t know by the amount of pain she was in, she could tell by the looks on our faces when we wheeled her into the OR. None of us expected her to live through surgery, let alone hang around for two more hours. But she did. Because she knew that letting her loved ones say goodbye to a corpse in the morgue would be more difficult, so she stuck around. And she waited -- for you, for me, for Elijah and Bryce and Sienna and everybody else she cared about -- so that we could have that closure.”
She stops again, longer this time to catch her breath and to pull a tissue from her purse to dab at her cheeks. Ethan sinks his fingers into Jenner’s fur in an effort to get the shaking to subside as devastation batters his walls, his foundation of stifled grief splintering as this holding pattern of burying his emotions threatens to collapse. “So, if she can go through what she did and still hang on for three hours, you can sure as hell go to her funeral.”
He takes the tissue she offers him and wipes at his eyes. When he opens them, Naveen is standing in the doorway and watching him with worried eyes. Jackie disappears into the en suite and rummages through the mess on his bathroom counter, before returning with a lint roller and a tie and instructing him to stand. Obeying, he moves to the mirror to wipe off Jenner’s fur and put on the tie. When he can’t seem to get the knot centered, Naveen steps over to help him, holding him close when he’s finished.
They both take a long look at the photo on the dresser, of Sloane and him standing on a lighthouse platform, the railing at their backs and the open sea spread out behind them. She’s in that green sundress and those big sunglasses she loves, the wind catching her hair; he’s not even looking at the camera, too busy looking at her to face forward like she instructed him to do.
“I love her,” he says, speaking around the lump in his throat, wanting to say so many other things but being unable to get them out. So, he settles with tacking on a pithy, “A lot.”
Naveen squeezes him tighter.
“We’re going to miss her, too,” Jackie murmurs, stepping up beside him and resting a hand on his arm. “Are you ready to go?”
“No,” he sighs, shaking his head even as he straightens up and sets his shoulders back. “But let’s go.”
+
He’s late for work.
He’s grumbling about lying mechanics and cheating snakes, fighting with the glovebox for his insurance card to call roadside assistance when he couldn’t find them in his contacts when something falls out onto the floor.
Then he’s cursing and stretching down to pick it up, curiosity outweighing frustration when he sees Prime Auto Parts stamped across the bag. He dumps the contents out onto the passenger seat. It’s a package of spark plugs for his make and model, along with a printout of how to change them.
Scribbled on a note on top of the directions is a message:
Happy early birthday.
Please make sure to roll your sleeves up. I don’t want to hear you complaining about grease marks on those fancy shirts of yours.
P.S. the tools you need are in the trunk
P.P.S. if you still can’t figure it out, come get me and I’ll change them for you and only tease you a little bit
P.P.P.S. I love you
Tracing a thumb over her handwriting, Ethan snorts at her postscripts and wipes at his eyes. He wonders when she hid this in his car, if this was the bag in her hands that he faintly remembers poking his side that last morning in May.
It’s July now, only two months since she passed -- so he takes a few minutes to himself, like his therapist is always drilling into his head, and works through the emotions of finding her gift.
And then, listening to her warning, he rolls up his sleeves and pops his hood.
+
+
AN: I know the patient they resuscitate is never given a name in chapter one, but since she’s the same FC as the president from Perfect Match 2, I gave her the same surname. Ethan referring to himself being in ‘stage one’ is a ref to the Kübler-Ross model, though it should be known that the model is more for those coping with their own illness and death, and not for those who are grieving. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and let him have it.
#ethan ramsey x mc#ethan x mc#choices#open heart#open heart fic#f: holding on (and letting go)#stand-alone#Kaila writes things
59 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ink Florets, Modern!AU
My gift for @mosaic-marquise for #FieldsOfVesuvia and @fieldsofvesuvia! I am so sorry this was so late!! Thank you so much for your patience! I've been... so sick,,,
It perhaps took a little longer than he initially thought, to decide on another tattoo. There was a gentle chime of bells as he lightly pushed past the glass door, delicate and soft, yet loud enough to alert any worker of his arrival.
This tattoo shop, was one he long saw each morning to work. Tucked nicely away, Gil could quite honestly walk on over to it each day from the greenhouse nursery if he so chooses! His own shop was but a few stores down, holding seeds, flowers, bouquets and bulbs alike.
He lingered in the doorway for just a little longer, before gathering himself to shift towards the waiting room. There was a lingering smell of chemicals, most likely sanitation to prepare for the inking process, but it was a smell he somewhat recognized.
"I'll be right with you!"
It was a relaxed voice, one in which kind of both reassured him, and heightened his nerves. He could deal with acting professionally, but sometimes things like this make a little nervous and shy.
"Of course!" He called back in return, hesitating in his spot.
It wasn't a very long wait, and Gil wasn't exactly sure who to expect when he ducked in from the backroom. With fluffy white hair, and crystalline, vivid eyes, Gil found himself momentarily taken.
“The name's Gil, I... Hello, I wanted to... book an appointment for a tattoo?” Gil asked, after deliberating over his words for a second.
Asra, he saw from the nametag, smiled, friendly. “Welcome! Of course, what can I help you with? Is there anything you have in mind?” He spoke with a customer service mannet, which, understandable, but his voice was friendly, and smooth, perhaps even a little airy, and Gil found it pleasant to listen to.
"Oh, I was thinking about a flower inspired tattoo? Like a bouquet of sorts, that had different flower meanings?"
"That's fine," Asra paused, gesturing over to a nearby seat so they could converse more. "I can sketch out some concepts, and we'll see what we can do?"
"Yeah! That sounds uh, good." Gil hummed, before pausing when Asra looked expectantly at him, as though waiting for him to speak.
"Oh, uhm, I was perhaps thinking of something with marigolds, dahlias and foxgloves?" He began, "maybe with... marigolds being a focal point? Like, uh, with aloe as well, and..." he spoke uncertainly, and soon began stumbling over a few of his words. It continued like that for a little longer, before clamping his mouth closed shyly.
God, he knew exactly what it is that he wanted, truly, and he could remember them clearly, but he found that maybe actually describing the flowers individually were a bit more difficult, huh?
“...Hey, uhm...? I’m not, the very best, at uh... describing these flowers.” he paused, thinking, "I... I think I could do much better if I had them?"
Asra paused, a patient, yet slightly teasing air to him. "Is that so?"
"Yyeah," he glanced down, "Though, uh, let me check the reference book first, maybe?"
Asra blinked, "Sure."
It was a little bit of an awkward, little subtle and shy sort of silence, but his posture began to relax as Asra's gaze softened.
Flipping rather urgently through the book, Gil deflated when nothing quite came up.
“Hey, uhm, actually?” meeting new people was difficult, “I... I’m going to be honest, but describing them is really difficult..."
"I can... stop by the greenhouse and get you some references? Though uh, by the time I get them to you, they might have wilted..." he offered, though grimaced.
"Maybe if you come with me...?" He was only muttering at this point, but Asra perked up at that.
“Is that a date?” He asked, with a hint of a sly smile, yet there was a gleam of surprised hopefulness in them.
“Oh! Oh, uhm, no...?” he flushed, though didn't miss that hopeful look. “You don’t have to consider it that, not unless you want to? We just met after all.”
"Hmm, haha~? Maybe I'm just teasing," he hummed mysteriously, though gave a nod of acknowledgement to Gil's words. "I wouldn't mind that. I have time before my next appointment." He reassured, brushing his hands against his pants momentarily.
Mind what?? It being a date or going to a greenhouse with a near stranger?
"Oh! Great!" Gil laughed uncertainly, though watched in a slight giddy apprehension as Asra removed his apron. It was a bit embarrassing, and he felt almost like a teenager going on a blind date.
Well. Blind dates are a thing, as long as they both saw it as that, and they're mindful of each others boundaries.
"Just give me a moment, we can talk a bit before we go."
___
The walk to the greenhouse was rather quiet, with soft conversing about just the weather, about each other. If it was okay and comfortable for them to be doing this. Asra even admitted to having seen Gil walk past the window each time he went to work.
It was awkward at first, but... it was nice.
"Oh, this is a nice place!" Asra commented idly, and Gil brightened up at that. It truly was, with gentle sunlight streaming in from glass walls and ceilings, and a lush growth of lovely plants and vines alike.
It was colorful, and the scent maybe overwhelming sometimes, but also amazingly gentle too. It was nice, here. It was familiar.
"Really! I'm glad, haha," he hummed at that, gesturing in onwards. "It really is. I hope you like it."
And... they continued to walk about, idle chatter here and there, soft, gentle laughs to body shaking guffaws. It was delicate and it was light, but the tension of what was initial a shy and awkward invitation between an artist and their client became a fun little outing with a new friend.
"See? These are marigolds, they're really pretty, aren't they?"
"Mhmm, I think they'd look good on you." Is he laying on the flirting?
Each time he may have felt a little at a loss for words, bumbling, trying to keep the conversation going, Asra would ask a question about a certain plant here, and certain bloom there, and truthfully? Gil appreciated that. Talking about his experiences, and being surrounded by so many lovely flowers really allowed to be a conversation starter.
"Hibiscus," Asra interrupted suddenly, though he sent a flash of an apologetic grin at Gil, "I mean, I think Hibiscus flowers would look nice in the bouquet."
"Oh? Really?" Gil responded automatically, before taking a moment to consider his words. He brightened up, though, and with his fingertips, brushed against a delicate petal of a hibiscus.
"Ooh, yeah! It really would!" He hummed excitedly, and Asra watched as he peered about, thinking. “Oo, and! The foliage from the dahlia would look so lovely??” He was delicate with the flowers, but with experienced hands he gathered them, the bouquet growing and feeling more and more complete as time progressed.
“I think the colors could work well in general, being on the darker side, it could be a pretty nice backdrop to the rest of the flowers, especially since they’re so vivid!”
And, he was rambling, perhaps a little more than he wished to admit, and he paused. “Oh, sorry, I—”
He glanced up to meet eyes with Asra, only to freeze, taken. There was such a fond, odd gentleness in the other’s gaze, eyes prettily glinting in the filtered sunlight of the greenhouse.
"Oh." He mumbled, before adverting his gaze. And they fell silent, an almost unreadable, but not at all unpleasant atmosphere draping over them.
Almost as though he was reading the situation, Asra cocked his head almost thoughtfully. "...Say, what made you decide to become a florist?"
Gil rose an eyebrow at that, surprised, but took the way out of the silence, smiling almost excitedly once more.
"Well," he hums, fiddling with the flowers in his hand, grip loose. "I've always loved gardening. Growing things, helping things grow and thrive. It's very pretty, too."
He shot Asra a curious glance. “And you? What made you become a tattoo artist?”
“Me, huh...?” He seemed to deliberate that, and Gil wondered if he was considering half answering his question once more. “I do wonder." He began, "You meet a lot of people like that. Little glimpses of them. It's nice." He admits, smiling wryly.
"It sounds nice." Gil responds softly. "Of course," he starts up, snickering a bit, "Working like this, we're bound to get some pretty awful customers, huh?" He joked, knowing it jabbed the both of them with an awful bit of truth.
"Pfft, haha! True." Asra admitted, a wry smirk on his face. "Though, you're not a bad customer."
"Good! I'm glad." Gil laughed warmly, though paused, "Is this... Do you still consider this a work sort of thing?"
Asra peered down at him, "If that's what you're comfortable with."
He hummed in response, smiling, "I think... I wouldn't mind if it was more than me being a client. I'm having fun, and... I think you're cool."
"!!" Asra flushed the slightest at that, and it rather startled Gil. "Is... Is that so? Haha, well, I wouldn't mind if it was more either." He laughed, "Though uh, what day would actually work best for you?"
"Oh! Yeah!" Gil smiled, feeling oddly giddy. It was like an odd little hangout, a date of sorts, even? "How about next week, Friday?"
Asra hummed. "Isn't that a holiday?"
“Oh, is it? Lemme google that...” Gil grimanced, reaching into his pocket to slip out his phone.
“Oh, I was wondering about that, actually.” Asra mentioned, “You could have googled the flowers, too? Instead of having to take me here?”
Wait, what?
Gil froze midtype, a frantic, embarrassed and mortified smile spreading on his face.
“Oh,” He, uh... never really thought about that, huh? “Oh! Oh wow, I really could have oh! Gosh, I’m sorry about that, that.... Really slipped my mind.”
“It’s fine, I enjoyed this. Getting to know you was nice.”
Oh.
He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, not initially, but, "Then, I'm glad. Getting to know you was... really nice for me, too."
There was a soft pause, and Gil found himself somewhat regretting those words out of sheer embarrassment. "Uhm!" He raised his head, though Asra laughed amusedly.
"I'm glad too. Perhaps we shall do this again, hmmm?"
It was a lovely smile, careful and with a gentle touch, Asra cupped his hands over Gil's, fingers furled lightly around the flowers he held. And the motion was short, quick, and Gil could only blink when he felt the feathery touch of Asra's hair when he pressed a light kiss against Gil's cheek.
"Well, perhaps next time, it could be an official date."
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
@LUNARSILENCED SENT : " there was nothing more you could have done. "
( if you want... more angst ... )
the promising career path of a young , aspiring hero isn’t one that comes without an asterisk tacked onto the job description , there to denote all the ugly , omitted matters deemed too indecent to serve as a proper icebreaker into the lifestyle . the duty it inherits from the blacklist of heroes forced into early retirement is one to remind the children that , despite best intentions , no good deed was ever destined to go unpunished .
it’s not like they really show you in all those early , saturday morning cartoons what happens when the good guys end up failing --- when the consequences go far beyond that of what a speedrun elevator pitch of some cheesy , family friendly plotline can cover , when real , nonfictional human lives are put on the line ---- and , in denki’s present reality , what happens when they aren’t .
in these circumstances , the only way to preserve a sound mind is to wholly believe that there’s always something that can be done . pour all blind faith into the idea that , at the end of the day , there’s always something .
everywhere he looks is swathed in the guard of a cautionary yellow . streams of criss - crossing tape vein and weave through the backalley he’d run down just moments ago ( or at least what felt like moments , and simultaneously , years ) as if to forbid ever looking back , barricading the public from where the asphalt is scorched with black blood .
if he pulls back far enough --- when he’s pulled back far enough --- the words donning various lines of tape all intersect to come together in the single , concise message printed clearly across them .
CRIME SCENE : DO NOT CROSS .
beneath those words lies the refuse of human life , an impromptu street chase having cleared the environment of anything to ever resemble that much again . you can’t exactly be held personally accountable for what a bomb can do in the eleventh millisecond , but all the pity and reassurance in the world still can’t convince denki that that’s anything near truthful .
closed confines of the car ride home would provide him with little comfort whether he were actually cognitively aware of them or not . even the firm grip on his shoulder , with how it clenches / unclenches every few minutes , feels a thousand miles away , gap of conversation impossibly large between himself and the veteran doing his best to spare one more child from bearing the dregs of loss .
aizawa may work hard , but the devil works harder to rest upon his student’s shoulders tonight .
❛ ... it’s so pathetic , ❜ the guilty speaks after a while , quivering smile a lateral result from anything genuinely mirthful , ❛ how bad i want to believe you . even worse that you’re saying it at all . ❜ you , you of all people , his eyes seem to say when they drag into view , clouded and dark despite their golden touch .
minding a mental filter , no matter how it pertains to the respect owed to one’s elders , seems to be about the very last thing on his mind . ❛ it’s my job to be the one who takes all the hits , all of them , and you’re gonna sit here and tell me that there’s nothing more i could’ve done . that all this training still leaves room for casualties , and i’m just supposed to fucking do something with that . ❜
having long since stopped caring about being the bigger man , denki doesn’t bother to mute the ensuing sob .
there’s always something . at the end of the day , that’s all we have .
ANGST STARTERS / NOT ACCEPTING .
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
You look like a movie
(Oh god this reminds me of when we were young)
Warnings: Alcohol mention, past abuse mention, homophobic fathers, rocky relationships.
Ship: Logince
Plot: Successful movie director Logan Sanders, runs into successful actor Roman Prince at an awards ceremony. This isn’t the first time they’ve met, and the night holds the possibility of igniting an old flame. (Based loosely off the song When We Were Young by Adele)
--
Roman’s breath was nearly knocked straight from his lungs when he saw him, dressed in an elegant Prussian blue suit, complete with a white shirt and black tie. Too Roman, right now, he looked like heaven just walked onto the earth with a halo full of dark brown curls and a smile made of sunlight. “Shit,” He mutters to himself.
Logan had aged well in the past fifteen years, he was no longer a skinny and scrawny boy, but tall with lean muscle and a firm jawline that almost had the younger man spinning (”If I slapped him, I would literally cut my hand on that jaw,”). He looks away, down at his hands, his glass of champagne, anything but those dazzling blue eyes and...dear God, he could hear his laughter from here.
He grabs a handful of the tiny buffet sausage rolls and shoved them in his mouth miserably. He’s wallowing in his sadness before Virgil is collapsing in the seat next to him “You saw him didn’t you?” The ebony haired man mutters, seeing the other man nods through his sausage diversion. “Why don’t you try talking to him? You’re not kids anymore Ro,” Roman looks at his friend like he’d grown an extra head “Anything is better than you eating all the sausage rolls whilst pouting like a three-year-old,”
Roman tells Virgil to fuck off, Virgil confiscates the remaining sausage rolls.
He paces around the room, talking to different people for a good hour, but his gaze always wanders over to the dark-haired, bright-eyed man. He smiles now, laughs even, when they were younger Logan frowned at almost everything, but he’d been dealing with a lot too. Roman always assumed that once Logan was better, he just didn’t need Roman anymore.
“If you stare at him any harder, you’ll be shooting lasers into his head,” his current companion giggles, a bright young actor with bright blue hair and a wide smile. He’d worked with him before, his name was Patton, and 90% of the time he was a ray of sunshine. The other 10% he was tired. “He’s actually really sweet, I know he seems intimidating, but he’s actually a big softie,” Roman blinks, Logan? Soft? What exactly had changed?
He blames it on curiosity in the end.
“Hello-Oh,” Roman shoves a champagne glass in his hand by way of a conversation starter. Logan stares at him, taking the glass and trying to register who exactly was right in front of him. Roman had changed a bit too, he’d filled out his muscles, grown a little and if you ask Logan, he’d have said that Roman’s skin looked like it was physically glowing. “Roman, hi, how...let’s take this on the balcony perhaps?”
The younger nods as the two weave through the crowds of people outside to where a handful of guys were smoking a cigarette and sipping champagne. They lean against the railing in the fr corner, away from others prying eyes. “Hey Logan,” Roman says softly, his heart trying to make a grand escape out of his chest as he takes in the other up close. “How have you been?”
“Good,” The director speaks with a slight shake in his voice, his cheeks flushed and his liquid confidence shaking in his hand. “I’ve been...better since we last saw each other that is, and you? You’re an actor now right?”
“Yeah, I’ve been...Okay look, I’m not going to lie, I’ve got a lot of questions that I don’t know if I should ask but, you know me, there are aspects that even now haven’t changed,”
“Still obnoxious and have no filter?” A chuckle escapes the two of them, the actor nods, looking down before meeting Logan’s light blue eyes with a wide smile (Logan thinks his heart stutters in his chest because dear lord, he doesn’t remember Roman’s smile being quite so beautiful). “I expect your questions are about our past, or perhaps me now?” No matter what, the darker haired man still talked like a textbook, a very pretty textbook, but his voice is softer now, there’s emotion there, happiness.
Roman nods, sinking into Logan’s eyes, as he tries so hard to remember that night.
--
15 years prior
“I’m leaving,” Roman starts with panic, eyes wide as he stares up at his boyfriend “I have to...go...I’m sorry Roman,” The younger tries to protest, tries to get more out of him, tries to understand why the love of his life had a suitcase in his eyes and why there was nothing in his voice that indicated he really was sorry.
In truth, as the door closes, and the young man collapses to his knees, his heart falling right into his tears, Roman thinks that Logan never really loved him at all. Why would he just leave? With no explanation?
--
Present
Roman blinks back into the present, swallowing dryly. The boy that had left that day was not the man who stood before him, who had laughter lines and sparkling eyes and stubble. That boy had been cold, tired, angry all the time. That boy would never have noticed his discomfort and offer that they perhaps say their goodbyes and go for a walk in the air.
When Roman says goodnight to Virgil, he was munching on his second platter of tiny sausage rolls, the younger man winks and tells him to stay safe. Roman doesn’t really have the energy to crack a joke back, he just hugs his friend and tells him to text so he knew that the other got home safe.
Logan waits for him outside, outside the door, looking up at the night’s sky like there was a secret it needed to tell him. Perhaps he was talking to fate, asking her why this cruel trick needed to be played.
They walk in silence for a little while, before sitting at a bench in the lukewarm air, watching the night turn. “I didn’t want to leave you,” Logan finally says tiredly, rubbing his eyes, for a moment Roman sees a little bit of that scared 18-year-old boy, and he wants to hug him. “I had too, for your safety, and for mine,” The younger swallowed, somehow he knew where this story was going.
--
16 years prior
“Logan, you need to talk to me,” Logan’s eyes are a blaze of anger, there are tears in his eyes as he shakes his head, his hand flies at the wall, adding more bruises to the collection.
“Fuck!” He shouts, gripping his hair, his cheeks are red, his lip is bleeding, there are tears pouring over his cheeks like a waterfall. Roman hugs him, as he tries to lash out at anything or anyone again, but stills and just sobs into Roman’s chest. “My fucking father,” He heaves through his tears “I hate him,”
Roman had never met Logan’s dad, and he never wanted too, the man had a whiskey temper and an attitude towards gay people that no child should have to enjoy. But as anger coursed through his spine, realizing that Logan’s words were the answer to the bruises on his neck and arms, he has never wanted to meet the man so badly.
So he could put him in hospital.
--
Present
Roman, out of instinct, an instinct that has been buried for fifteen years, takes Logan’s hand “Was it because of him?” The elder nods, swallowing his pride for a moment. His lack of vulnerability had lost him Roman in the first place really, always refusing his help.
“I had to leave, until his trial was over, and by the time that came around I didn’t want to go back to a place that made me feel...like there were ghosts living in my chest, and I didn’t think after my abrupt exit you would want me to come back, in truth I didn’t feel like I deserved you, but I never forgot you once, I made myself into the man I wanted to be, and the man you would want me to be,”
“I wish you could’ve told me, I wish you’d come back, I missed you, for years afterward you were an entire person that I felt like I’d lost,” His hands are cold, but they’re in Logan’s, trying to find a piece of what he’d left behind. “I tried so hard to move on, in the end, I just focused on my career because no one could ever, ever replace you, you were such a unique person, you still are, different, but there’s certainly no other Logan Sanders in the world,”
Logan breathes like his lungs have only just found air again, he smiles with tears in his eyes, and Roman thinks, this is the man I could’ve loved. Fifteen years later, and nothing still stings like a first love.
“If it helps I could never move on either,”
It did help.
Roman hugs him, he hugs him and even this is different, Logan melts into his arms like hot chocolate, his eyes fall closed and he hugs him back.
--
16 Years Prior
Roman doubted many things about he and Logan’s relationship. The first is that Logan very rarely says he loves him, he always looks and sounds and acts like his emotions are switched off, like there’s nothing in him to love with. But Roman loves Logan, so he deals with it. When they hug, Logan looks tired, blank, when they kiss, the other man holds no passion or lead.
He wonders if it’s him if he’s doing something wrong or if Logan doesn’t like it, but when he brings it up, Logan noncommittedly shakes his head and makes a noise that he supposes is “no,”.
So Roman deals with the fact his boyfriend doesn’t, or perhaps can’t, show him affection.
--
Present
“I missed you,” Logan says unabashedly, and the younger man feels his heart soar, or perhaps ascend into the astral plane. “I don’t know if you want too, or if we can try again, but you’ve been the only thing that drives me into getting better, years after you were no longer there, I guess somewhere, somehow, despite all science, I knew this day would come,”
Roman kisses him.
It seems like the only answer he can give because his heart is pounding and words are all getting mixed up in his head, whilst tears brim in his eyes. He kisses him with every missed year, and every cold night alone he kisses him with all the ‘i wish you hadn’t left’s he’d been shouting at empty walls. Logan kisses him with tired nights, with therapy sessions that he’d wished the other had been there to see, with the hospitals he’d been in for days and weeks that he’d never told the other about. He kisses him with the last fragment of a broken heart that needed to be fixed.
The part where Roman belonged.
Then Logan holds him. And Roman holds him, and they both try not to cry. “Don’t go, this time, please don’t go,” He can hear the tears in the younger man’s voice and it’s a thunderstorm straight to his heart.
“Not this time,”
--
Logan didn’t leave. He never left again.
Taglist:
@analogical-mess // @unikornavenger // @mycatshuman // @creativity-killed-thekitten //@theresneverenoughfandoms//@charmingprincey//@aclickonapostwillchangeyourlife//@heck-im-lost //@k9cat//@stilljittery//@romansleftshoulderpad //@sanderssideslibrary //@max-is-tired//@therealmoshar//@punsterterry//@trashypansexual //@miserykillme
Add yourself to my taglist: Sanders Sides/Thomas Sanders
Support Me?
60 notes
·
View notes
Text
Forget-Me-Not {Min Yoongi}
Words: 5564
Notes: This was inspired mildly by Jimin's song, but not really. But kind of. I'll probably end up writing one entirely dedicated to Jimin's song with Jimin, but until then, here's the fake version with Yoongi.
Summary: You and Yoongi are in a private relationship. So private, that Yoongi has to deny it. What happens when you can't take the denying of such strong feelings any more?
Warning: Fluff + Angst.
Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader.
That's Jung Hoseok's girlfriend.
That's Park Jimin's girlfriend.
They got praise.
That was all you ever noticed when you were out with them. Fans would stop them, ask for pictures, ask about Jimin and Hoseok and have a real conversation with them about love lives they quite honestly didn't feel like talking about.
You watched it happen on an almost daily basis. As you paraded around Bangtan Sonyeondan with a camera in your hand, stopping each boy for individual interviews every now and then, you heard it all. You heard them complain, heard them laugh, heard them get angry, heard them get overjoyed at the simplest of things. It was Jin with his food, Jimin whenever Jungkook did something even slightly wrong, Jungkook with Overwatch.
It was them with their girlfriends. Laughing, enjoying their time together that was so limited yet always so treasured.
Not many people believed you when you told them you were Min Yoongi's girlfriend. But why would they? You rarely ever spoke about it. People asked you who you were and you always replied with your name – never your relationship status.
But then there was the odd time when people would ask you why you were with Yoongi all the time. Why Yoongi looked at you like you were sun. Why you were so special to him, but the truth never filtered through their brain. Why would it? You weren't an idol – Yoongi wasn't even allowed to publicly talk about your relationship without getting a slap on the wrist from his management.
You had liked it for the first few months. The privacy. The intimacy that the odd moment between you and Yoongi would be, because they were so rare. You two weren't allowed to be seen giving affection when there were cameras around, though that barely ever bothered you due to you being one of the staff who were forced to haul the cameras around.
But then it got more serious.
When asked who was single, Yoongi would always raise his hand. When asked why, he would just say, “I'm not really looking for anybody right now,” and it was the way he said it that pulled at your heart strings. The way he said it so casually and with so much truth behind every word made you want to curl up in a ball and cry.
And then it got worse. Date nights were cancelled. He would barely look at you if there were cameras in the room. You weren't allowed to film him – it was only ever the other camera staff who got to interview your boyfriend, and it hurt. It hurt and it pained you to see him put up with it so casually and easily, but it wasn't your place to say.
That was your excuse. This was Yoongi's life, Yoongi's career. You didn't see an area where your opinion was needed, or where your feelings could be taken into consideration at all.
So you let the topic drop. You didn't bring it up – you showed up to work with him every morning, let him go off to hair and make up or to greet the members, and you went to work with your camera, hoping to distract yourself. Like Yoongi with music, filmography had always been your outlet. Setting up the perfect shots and backgrounds for the number of interviews you were doing was always something that cleared your mind.
Today was no different. Yoongi had merely grazed his lips against your cheek before he was waving goodbye to go and get his hair and make up done for the interview line-up he had today – one of which, you were in charge of.
It didn't take long for you to walk into the production room, being greeted by your usual array of 'good mornings' and 'hellos' coming from every corner of the room. Eunji, the beloved girlfriend of Park Jimin, stood up and gave you one of her usual pecks on the cheek, before the two of you were stowing off to fix up your camera equipment.
“I saw you and Yoongi walking in this morning,” she commented when there was nothing else to talk about. You were unsure what it was with people and they're conversation starters, but it was always relationship speak that filled in a silence.
You shot her a glance over your shoulder as you dragged your camera from your bag. “As we do every morning.”
“Yes,” Eunji agreed. “But there was something about this morning that made me feel a little – I dunno.”
“Made you feel like you had to bring it up,” you suggested. Eunji frowned, your lack of filter leaving her unimpressed.
You sighed and shook your head as you kicked open your tripod, setting it up around the lights which you would soonn have to detangle in order to make the set look nice enough for the boys of Bangtan Sonyeondan.
“At least they're letting you film him today,” Eunji offered. “It's a step in the right direction. Soon, you two will be able to basically have sex in the middle of the town.”
You rolled your eyes. “I don't care about going public, Eunji. Remember when you and Jimin did it and those people added you to that group chat? Yeah. I don't want that.” You hollowed out your cheeks, silently praying that the conversation wouldn’t go on any longer than it had to. “I'm perfectly fine being the lonely, forgotten housewife.”
“You're not a housewife. You're smoking hot, and you need to be appreciated.”
“You and Heejin get enough appreciation that it basically melts onto me. You don't need to worry. My lack of attention doesn't hurt me.”
And it didn't. You didn't need the public eye to be on you for you to feel welcomed in a relationship – neither did Eunji or Heejin, but the two of them were just lucky enough to have it as an added bonus. They had started going out with Hoseok and Jimin long before BigHit got strict about relationships. They were already public, meaning nobody could take that back and BigHit didn't really care enough to make the effort.
It still hurt talking about it, though. Eunji and Heejin were both on the hair and make up team, meaning they were close to their boyfriends almost the entire day. You were tucked away behind a camera, not even allowed to give your boyfriend a second look.
You often thought you were overexaggerating, and the thoughts didn't die down as you prepared the set for the boys to finally enter and get ready for the interview you were due to film. You weren't speaking – god forbid somebody saw you conversing with Yoongi – but you were in charge of angles, making sure the boys looked good on camera through the entire interview. It was difficult working with somebody like Taehyung, who insisted on making ugly faces every three seconds in his attempts to make your job that little bit more difficult.
Eunji watched you closely, letting the subject of you and Yoongi drop. You were thankful for it – you weren't sure how long you could hold the rant off for, because there had been plenty of times where you had gone off and just started yelling about your troubles, how lonely you felt. That was one of the reasons you and Eunji were so close – you told her everything, whether she wanted you to or not.
An hour or so must have passed before the boys were finally entering into the room, greeting the interviewer in their usual kind manners. Hoseok came in yelling about how Jin had dropped a bag of powder that Heejin had to clean up and Jin followed after him, beetroot red even under the make up Heejin had just applied to his face. You shook your head at them, folding your arms as you leaned against the wall in the corner.
Always in the corner. Out of sight, out of risk of looking at Yoongi in that way you weren't supposed to.
“So loud,” you heard the familiar voice of Yoongi grunt from the door. Your eyes broke off to look at him, intaking his attractive looks in the quick way you had trained yourself to do so. One glance and you knew exactly what he was wearing, exactly what his make up was like, and exactly how much you wanted to pounce on him.
He wasn't exactly dressed up. This was a casual interview, after all. The interviewer, Jaehyun, was only dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, meaning Yoongi had matched up with the casual attire with a simple white jumper from Puma, jeans and his Puma trainers which had been kindly given to him as part of the ad campaign.
He still pulled it all off though. The way his black hair was styled to cover his forehead, the way his blue contact lenses made his eyes pop with the way the lights shone off of them. The way he smiled that gummy smile whilst messing with his microphone pack. The way he just radiated Yoongi in a way that reminded you why you had fallen for him in the first place.
You inhaled sharply, half tempted to let somebody else do the directing for you. You weren't sure how long you could last being in the same room with Yoongi as he lied about having a relationship.
But you couldn't just walk out. Not without looking weak. Not without the risk of your job being lost because you 'couldn't handle the simple rules.' So you stayed, grinning as the boys took their seats in the order they had always sat in.
You kept your eyes off of Yoongi. He sat on the arm of the white sofa you had set up, the maknae sat beside him, cracking his usual jokes which had everybody laughing. You looked at them through the view finder of the camera, stifling your laughs with your hands.
The interview began all too soon for your liking. You felt the stress building up in your body as Jaehyun sat down and rattled off his questions one by one. You got to work, losing yourself in the camera angles and the way you zoomed in on their faces every one in a while, getting those shots which fans would screenshot and post with heart warming captions which always seemed to make smiles appear on your face.
The boys answered each question naturally, sounding like they had met Jaehyun years before the current interview. The way they passed jokes, the way Hobi sometimes hopped up to show us a random dance move, the way Taehyung did his own thing in the back ground – all of it is just Bangtan. It made you grin, chuckling quietly behind the face mask you were wearing.
But then talk of love life came up, just like it always did.
“So, enough games,” Jaehyun said, still calming down from the burst of laughter he had released after one of Jin's dad jokes. “Let's talk about love lives. I know some of you currently have girlfriends, and have had girlfriends for quite a while. Tell me, for them boys, is it difficult working your schedule around the intimate times? Like, can you two go for a date and just enjoy yourselves?”
Hoseok answered first, Heejin standing beside you with a small smile and a blush adorning her features. You gave her a comforting smile when her eyes met yours, though her gaze instantly dulled when she saw who she was standing next to. The Forbidden Girlfriend.
“I think it's only difficult if you let it become difficult,” Hoseok said. “I've been with my girlfriend for nearly two years now, and we've never really had issues with schedule's and stuff. She's a busy girl, just as much as I'm a busy man, but we always find time to wind down together and just ask about each other's day and how it all went. It's easy if you love them enough.”
Oh, God, no.
Jimin nodded along to Hoseok's reply. “I wish I could add something more, but that's really it. I don't want to go a day without talking to my girlfriend, so I don't. People tend to think we're, like, cramped in this bubble all the time, but it's really not true. We work hard to create the stuff we do, but we still have lives outside of the cameras and outside of Bangtan that we enjoy just as much as anything else. As Hoseok said, you'll make time for them if you love them enough.”
You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or not. You had never once heard Jimin and Hoseok talk openly about love in the way they just had, and by the looks on everybodies faces, neither has anybody else. It made you feel wobbly, like you could throw up then and there. You avoided looking at Yoongi, pulling your face mask further up your cheeks as if doing so will hide your embarrassment, will hide the way your eyes were darting around the room, looking for any place bar the camera.
Any place bar his face.
Heejin reached a hand out, placed it lightly on your shoulder as Jimin continued to talk about love and dating and his love life like it was the air he breathed or the music he created. He talked about it so naturally, so easily, whilst Yoongi sat at the side of him, pretending you didn’t exist.
“I need fresh air,” you whispered. Heejin looked at you, raiseed one of her brows.
“You can't just leave. Nobody else knows how to get the camera angles like you do. Can you not just wait a minute?”
You bit your lip, turning back to the camera. “Fine.” You didn’t want to be there. It hurt. It was clenching against your chest like a weight, your cheeks flushing a bright red colour, because you knew Yoongi felt it to. He felt the weight of the words weighing down on him, too. He was just better at hiding it.
Jimin finisheed his speech about love, proudly sitting back and giving Eunji a sly smirk which you refused to catch on camera.
“That was sweet,” Jaehyun said, grinning. “And to the single boys; does your busy schedule ever do anything to your love life? Do you find it more difficult to find genuine girls now that you're massive, award winning stars?”
Namjoon replied first. “I mean, I think you can just kind of tell when somebody wants you for your money over your personality, you know? Being in this line of work, it definitely strengthens your senses to that side of things.”
Jin, Jungkook and Taehyung all agreed, giving their own little proposals of speech. And Yoongi stayed silent, because for once, you were in the room to hear all about it. You were standing right in front of him and he could barely look at you because he knew you wouldn’t have that happy smile that always adorned your face. You would be frowning, trying to hold back tears and pretending to be happy when he could see right through every fake emotion you had been putting on the entire interview.
Jaehyun nodded to the boys responses, before turning to Yoongi. “Yoongi-ssi? Any thoughts?”
Heejin squeezed your hand. “I think you can go and get that fresh air you-”
You shood your head, pulling your hand out of her grip and folding it over your chest. You stood up straight, focusing your gaze on Yoongi as much as you can, but he barely budged. It's the boys who looked at you with uncomfortable and sorry glances, whilst Yoongi simply shrugged to the question.
“It's as Namjoon said – I think it's simple to know what somebody wants from you when you meet them.”
“And what about your schedule? Does it give you less time to go looking for that other person?”
“I'm not really looking. I'm just not interested in dating at the moment.”
That was it. That was always the kicker, but the other times, you had at least been absent from the room before you had heard it. Now, you were looking him in the face as he completely dismissed the seven month long relationship you two had been in, and it hurt. It hurt more than you'd ever admit, hurt more than you'd ever believe, because god do you just want him to love you.
Those three words had never even passed between you two before. It was swift kisses, smiles, asking if you'd eaten or if you were okay – at least, it used to be. Now, it was just smiling to each other when you got home, having a laugh at breakfast before completely ignoring each other for the rest of the day.
Ignoring him was better than hearing him say those words, though, and the tears were building up in your throat before you could tell yourself that he's just protecting his job, doing what he does best.
You turned to Heejin, shake your head and walk out before anybody can see you cry. You tried to play it off as a bathroom break, but nobody would believe that. Not when you were the director of todays interview. It had taken weeks for you to finally persuade them to let you do this very job, and now you were just walking out like it was nothing more than your daily routine.
But everything hurt, and you couldn't take it any more. Something was swelling in your chest – something had been swelling in your chest for over three months now, and it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore it, let alone deal with it in the way everybody expected you to.
You stormed through hallways, ignoring staff members worried calls for you to slow down or you'll trip over something. You hopped over wires, trampled over cables and pictures and cameras. You just needed to be alone.
You crashed through the back doors of the studio, a gasp of air escaping your lips as you finally let yourself go. Crying over a boy in the back alley of a studio had never been something you wanted to do, but here you were – completely destroyed over a man who you weren't even sure loved you or not. He hadn't said anything – in fact, he seemed to be doing everything in his power to make you think he hated you.
And that wasn't what you wanted. It wasn't a relationship. It was toxic, and as you pulled your knees into your chest, ready to completely let go, you couldn’t help but realise that very fact. You had played right into the hands of the man you thought you would spend the rest of your life with. He had played with your heart, let you think he cared, but if he truly cared, he wouldn't have let you go so easily.
Right?
“If you love them enough...”
You would do anything for the person you loved, right? Maybe that very fact answered your question.
You slid down the wall of the studio, tears falling from your eyes as you bundled your hands in your jeans, tugging at the fabric. Anything to distract your mind from what was happening inside. Anything to let you get engulfed in your own world all over again – alone. With nobody to mess with your feelings, nobody to break your heart or make you feel like any less than what you were.
“Y/N-ah!”
You closed your eyes, leaning your head against the wall as the door to the back alley opened, revealing a flustered looking Min Yoongi. You hated yourself for a moment, your heart doing it's usual skipping a beat whenever you lay eyes on him. He didn’t look like his usual, monotone self. He looked flustered, red faced with his large hands bundled in front of him as his face slowly moulds into nerves upon seeing you curled up in a ball outside of the studio.
He knew what he had done.
You shook your head and looked away. “Please go back in there and do your job.”
Yoongi closed the door. “What are you doing out here? It's freezing.”
“I'm warm enough.”
“No, you're not. You left your jacket in there.” You didn’t get a chance to reply before he threw your dark red jacket onto your knees, he himself still hovering over you with his hands folded over his chest.
“Thanks,” you muttered, plucking the jacket off of your knees and setting it beside you. “You can go back in now. I'm not gonna freeze.”
Yoongi peaked an eyebrow, though he knew why you were acting like this. He knew why you were crying.
You heard him sigh before he sets himself down beside you, pulling his own knees into his chest. “I'd rather stay here, to be honest. Beside you.”
“What if somebody sees you?” Your voice drew out, clearly meant to tease him, though not in a good way.
“Then they see us,” he replied, so casually it makes you half-angry. “I prefer being with you, anyway.”
“You fooled me.”
“I wasn't hiding it.”
You narrowed your eyes, more tears slipping from them. You didn’t know how you were keeping yourself so calm with him so close to you, with his shoulder pressed against yours and his body heat moulding with your cold skin.
“I'm just not very good at showing affection,” Yoongi continued, looking out at the rubbish bins in front of the two of you. “I thought you knew that.”
“I'm not asking for you to get down on one knee and propose, Yoongi,” you sighed. “I'm just – I dunno. I'm not looking for anything, really. I know it's not your fault our relationship is like this, but it just hurts.”
“What hurts?”
“Hearing the other guys talk about how they'd do anything for the person they love, no matter how hard it is to do that certain thing. Yoongi, you can't even look at me in public without getting in trouble. How – How can you just expect me to feel comfortable with that?”
Yoongi took a moment to reply, his mouth open slightly in that pout that used to playfully press kisses to every part of your body when you were upset. Those were the early days, though – days when you two could leave the house together and not be scolded for being 'irresponsible.'
“I didn't – Jesus. I didn't know you felt that way.”
You closed your eyes, finally ducking your head into your hands as the words fell from his mouth. “I didn't make it obvious?”
“You never look at me either, jagiya,” he insisted, and his voice became persistent, as if needing you to listen. “You went along with the rules, too, so I just thought it was all going to be okay. I thought you didn't mind.”
“Do you not mind?” you exclaimed, shooting your head up to look at him. So perfect, yet he looked so broken in this moment. His cheeks tinted red with the cold, his contacted eyes wide and his mouth hanging open a little bit.
“Of course I minded. You know I minded.”
“Do I know? Because for the past four months, I've genuinely thought you were just going to drop me one of these days. It would make the most sense, since we barely fucking talk any more! You look people dead in the eye and say you're single! Do you know how that feels?”
“I wasn't thinking. I thought we were strong enough to get through this.”
“This?” you barked, throwing yourself forward so you were standing above him. Tears were pouring down your face, heating your cheeks up as your hysterics began to heave at your chest, making soft sobs escape your mouth through the violent words leaving alongside them. “This isn't a relationship, Yoongi. This – This is toxic. It's hurting me, and I hope I mean enough to you that it hurts you, too.”
Yoongi nodded swiftly, standing up alongside you. “This speech doesn't sound good, Y/N-ah. What are you-”
You shook your head, shoving his outstretched hands away from you. “I don't want to lose you, Yoongi. I really, really don't, but being with you is making me lose myself. Making me lose my mind and I need to put myself first sometimes. I don't want to be in a relationship with somebody who isn't even allowed to leave the house with me.”
Yoongi blanked, looking down at you like you had just slapped him in the face. The look he gives you breaks your heart in so many ways, but you couldn’t back out of it now. You couldn’t just say “Actually, you're cute. Never mind,” because you knew your reasons for doing it, and if he cared about you, he would know them too. You weren't doing this to smite him – it was for yourself, and sometimes, that was the only reason a person needed.
He opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it soon after. You watched him as his eyes filled with subtle tears, his lip going between his teeth where he nibbled on the skin, clearly trying to fight off any sign of emotion.
“Ah, really” he whispered, ducking his head down and brushing his hand over the back of it. “I fucked up so badly. I didn't – I should have told them to go to hell with their policies, shouldn't I?”
“It's not your fault. I don't want this hurting your career.”
“It's not hurting my career.” His voice broke when he looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours for the longest time they had met since the policies were given to the two of you. “It's hurting my life. It's hurting you. It's hurting-” He inhaled, cold air filling his mouth before it came out in a cloud of fog. “It's hurting the girl I love and I can't let it happen any longer, okay?”
You went to reply, a heartfelt comment about how you two can still be friends playing on the end of your tongue, but it disappears amongst his word choice.
You nearly choked on the freezing cold air of winter as you realise what he had said. For the first time in seven months, he had used the word 'love' when speaking about you. For the first time in seven months, he was looking at you like you were his world, and it was making you warm up from both shock and happiness.
“What did you just say?” you questioned, unable to stop the words. Yoongi looked back at you, a look of dead seriousness on his face that makes your small smile drop, going back into the frown you had placed it in when you had run out here in the first place.
“Christ, you make me insane,” he grumbled. “I love you, okay? You. Y/L Y/N. Light of my life. My world. My girlfriend. Hell, I'll scream it from the god damn rooftops if that's what you want.”
Your eyes widened, but Yoongi didn’t stop. He stepped away from you, arms open wide as he looked up at the sky and started yelling: “Everyone! Y/L Y/N is my girlfriend, and I am the luckiest man alive!”
You yelped, diving for his arm and pulling him back to look at you, your eyes wide in shock. “Yoongi, sh! Bang PD's in there and he'll-”
“You're still worried about him?” Yoongi questioned. “I just confessed my undying love to you, and you're worried about PD-nim?”
“He's going to fire you.”
“He can.” Your jaw dropped. Yoongi simply smiled, gums and teeth and that cute little dimple in his chin showing all at once and it made your knees feel weak and your mind go foggy. “Jimin and Hoseok said it during the interview – if you love someone, you'll do anything to make time for them. If that means quitting-”
“Don't scare me like that,” you hissed, hitting his shoulder. Yoongi furrowed his brows. “You will not give up your dreams for me, Min Yoongi. I won't let you.”
“Then let me have one more chance.” You blanked, looking at him in shock all over again. He stepped closer to you, and you allowed him to take your hand in his, holding them close to his chest as he gently rubbed the backs of your palms, heating them up. “One more chance. I'll tell the world about us. I'll – I'll take you on a date. Tonight. Fuck what the company says. You need spoiled, because I have a lot to catch up on. And you can come to the studio, and you can film those stupid video diaries you film that I'm never in because they would look too cosy.”
He smiled down at you.
“I remember I used to watch you and Namjoon when you two would do that game where you catch the food in your mouth, and you'd film it for your video diaries. I would have killed to be the one doing that with you – absolutely killed, but I was too worried for your reputation and my own career to do it. So I just let you and Namjoon get on with it. I want to be in one, though. A romantic one. One that's cute and I'll kiss you on the cheek and hold you from behind and you can post that. If you really want people to know about us, you'll post it.”
You looked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribcage. You didn’t know what to say. Your mouth had run dry, the only thing you could hear being the thumping of your heart in your chest and Yoongi's skin rubbing against yours as he heats up your hands between his own.
“You have a camera in your bag, right?”
He let your hands fall, and before you could object, he's reached into your over-the-shoulder bag and has ripped your mini camera out of it's case, fumbling with it for a quick overview of the buttons. You coukd barely move, keeping your hands clasped as if it were Yoongi holding them together. There was an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach – nerves? Confusion? Mild guilt? You didn't want Yoongi to think that all you wanted was publicity, because it was very far from that. You would live in perfect harmony if not a single person but Yoongi knew your name – you just wanted Yoongi to be able to communicate with you in the way he used to.
Yoongi let out an 'Aha!' upon finally finding the record button, and he was quick to wrap an arm over your shoulder, holding the mini Canon recorder in the air above the two of you. You blushed, hiding your face with your hands as Yoongi pressed 'record' and started to speak.
“Hello everyone! This is Suga from BTS, and I'm highjacking Y/N's video diary today. I don't know the last time she did one of these, because I'm not in them. Not until now, any way.” He chuckled, looking at you. He frowned upon seeing your flustered state, quickly pulling your hands away from your face. You groaned, closing your eyes, turning around and burying your head in his chest in an attempt to hide your burning face.
Yoongi laughed again, wrapping his free arm around your shoulders. “She's apparently shy in her own video diaries. I think it's just because I'm here and she doesn't quite know what to do with herself. Have we not got something to tell them, Y/N?”
“Yoongi-”
“This woman right here, ladies and gentlemen,” Yoongi interrupted, laughing a little at his own exaggeration. “Is the love of my life, and I haven't told anybody that. Not even her, until just a few minutes ago. But now that I've said it, it kind of feels like I'll never stop saying it, so forgive me if I get repetitive. It's just – I've never really loved anyone. Not in a soulmate kind of way, so for a while I was kind of just scared of what I was feeling. Hence the reason I was a complete asshole and didn't tell you sooner.”
You grunted. Yoongi chuckled.
“She agrees.”
You looked up, rolling your eyes at your boyfriend. “Turn the camera off, you idiot. I forgive you. We'll sort this out.”
Yoongi grinned, bright and fresh faced and it made your heart beat speed up to a speed you were almost certain had put people into cardiac arrest before. “Why should I turn the camera off?”
“So I can kiss you.”
Yoongi shrugged. “I'd rather you do that whilst this is recording. Something to show the children.”
#sfwbangtan#bts writing#yoongi fanfic#yoongi x reader#bts angst#fluffy#yoongi angst#yoongi fluff#idol verse#suga x reader#suga angst#suga fluff#suga fanfic#bts fanfic#kpop fanfic#my writing#bangtan fanfic#suga imagine#yoongi imagine#suga scenario
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
aeon (2/6)
Pairing: Keith/Lance
Words: 11.5k
Rating: M
Warnings: mild violence, (minor) implicit sexual content, anxious thoughts
Tags: Post-Season/Series 07, quantum abyss, Flashbacks, Flashforwards, Prophetic Visions, Visions in dreams, Mind Control, Dimension Travel, Boys Being Boys, Falling In Love, Mutual Pining, Gay Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron) when the going gets tough… the tough write fix-it fics, Allura (Voltron) Lives, because fuck you jds and lm
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Summary:
Keith does not leave the quantum abyss untouched.
“Home can be anything, you know,” Lance says in lieu of a conversation starter.
Slivers of moonlight filter through the blinds above their heads, casting lines of truth across the sheets. Lance tilts his head forward and a band slides over his eyes, catching the ocean in them and drawing Keith into their rolling tides. And as distracted as he is, he doesn’t put up a fight when a hand clasps his own, reeling them heartward.
“Home is just something you can come back to.” His knuckles brush against the soft fabric of a nightshirt, the v-neckline falling loose to reveal a sharp collarbone, and Keith feels his breath hitching. “Something that keeps you grounded.”
READ IT ON AO3
The flashes grow more intense.
At first, they had been an inconvenience. A flash here and a flash there, arbitrary like flipping open a book to a random page. Aimless in its intent of stealing Keith’s time but an ambitious thief nonetheless, sifting through his cove of memories and hoping to strike gold amongst desert sand and bruised knuckles. Both passages of time, locked away in a tilting hourglass and behind porcelain skin, they are fleeting in thought and consequence.
That is, until they decide to stay.
Then it becomes a problem.
A problem he can’t fix because the scenes played out are narrated by some omniscient being, unreliable with its knack for embellishing the color of the sky and the clouds that ride the breeze, and wholly unwilling to take criticism. For somewhere between leaving the quantum abyss and stepping foot on Earth soil the universe had decided that Keith’s story was far from over and needed to be told. What had been weekly is now daily. Streams of them, disjointed and vague, bobbing in the shallow depth of his foremind. It takes over, dissolving reality in a current call to a life that couldn’t be his.
One minute he has his hand on the doorknob to Shiro’s apartment, twisting, and the next he is walking into a stranger’s home, steps faltering at the tinkle of wind chimes and the sight of Kosmo curled up on a plush armchair, fast asleep. Past the backdrop of the muted television is the sound of running water and soft humming, running lackadaisical fingertips over the threadbare rug under his feet and the bookcase bursting with scrapbooks and bent paperbacks. Gossamer drapes sway in a draft let through the open windows, refracting the sunlight through their soft lens. He squints, blinded, and—
A face shrouded in light, beaming with happiness. Welcome home, Keith.
—he’s standing in the middle of Shiro’s apartment, not knowing when or how long he’d been standing there.
The walls are pale and the furniture minimalist. It’s a bit too pristine for Keith’s taste, everything in a place and a place for everything. For someone like Shiro, who’s always needed to have everything beyond flawless to justify his own dream in the face of a chronic illness, the space is perfect, but Keith is cut from a different cloth. Worn and rough to the touch, he expects the world around him to reflect the same. Brief as it was, he misses the flash and nearly wishes it real.
“You okay?” Shiro is asking, turned completely in his seat at the kitchen island and staring at Keith, reading glasses slipping down his nose; they look suspiciously like Adam’s but Keith isn’t going to say anything about that. “You kinda spaced-out a bit there.”
“Uh, yeah,” he responds quickly, throat dry. He rubs at his eyes with the jut of his palm, willing the vision away for good. “I just”—a deep breath, even and slow—“forgot about… something. It’ll come to me eventually.”
“If you say so.” But the older man doesn’t look entirely sure, frowning that frown he does whenever Keith says something particularly dismal about his past. Thankfully, he seems to understand Keith well enough to know better than to delve deeper— yet. “Did you wanna get started on the security detail for the coalition conference? The Unilu are sending a party next week and want to know if Voltron will be there to escort them out of their solar system…”
Constantly standing at the cusp of something almost real, Keith waits to be pushed over the edge.
It gets tougher to keep things under wrap with the flashes manifesting whenever they like. Most of the time he can blame the lapse in concentration on fatigue or even mishearing, but Keith knows that people are starting to catch wind that something is— not wrong, per say, but that something is definitely going on. Keith is not known for his inability to focus, but, rather, his to inability to stop.
“People are getting suspicious,” Allura tells him the third night in a row he had snuck into her room on the Atlas. Scattered around her are countless scrolls, brittle to the touch and written in a language he can’t read. Her mice lay about; Chuchule hidden in the curl of white hair, Platt napping under the makeshift tent of a book and Plachu and Chulatt lounging on Keith’s knee. “You could be a little more tactful in how you go about things.”
Having already heard the complaint more than once, Keith simply rolls his eyes and focuses on the translator in his hands. It’s slow compared to the almost instant reaction time of those that had been on the castleship, but it’s progress nonetheless. “Yeah, well, it won’t matter once we figure out what’s going on with me. So if you could focus on reading and doing just that, that’d be great.”
Allura huffs up a storm but does what’s asked of her.
It’s a little easier having someone else know, Keith must admit. Makes him feel less like he’s drowning and more like he’s treading deep water. With Allura around and in the loop, Keith doesn’t have to pretend when a flash hits him, scrambling up a dumb excuse or making a hasty retreat. She merely sits next to him, hand on his arm and leaning in, and waits for it to pass. There is no pressure of secrecy when it is done, just a smile he haltingly returns and a murmur for them to get back to work; not that that stops him from keeping to himself anyway (though Allura has made her opinion on that blatantly clear), but the thought is still there.
As if sensing his want of confidentiality and purposefully scorning it, the device in his hand beeps, causing them both to jerk to attention. Match found, reads the screen and Keith nearly topples over a pile of dusty books in his haste to get the scroll he had been translating into the princess's hands, upsetting the mice. Allura is just as eager, ripping it from his grasp and shoving her nose into it, going cross-eyed as she reads its faded ink.
“What does it say?” he asks impatiently.
Allura doesn’t answer immediately, instead unrolling it further and frowning in her effort to make sense of the words bared in front of her. After a solid minute of reading her eyebrows rise up in surprise. “Wow,” she murmurs in wonder. “To think that all this knowledge was at my fingertips this entire time. How foolish of me not to delve into the archives sooner.”
“Well?”
“First off, we were right in thinking that there might be a connection to what’s happening to you and Oriande. The translator worked and this scroll details the supposed creation of the realm.” Her eyes start glittering, wide like full moons. “It’s a realm, did you know that? Not another dimension like we originally thought. There’s a difference: a dimension can exist in a limited amount of space, but realms exist in all of them. How fascinating.”
“I know this is all great and awesome for you, but can we focus here? What does it say about the abyss?” Allura doesn’t so much as twitch. “Allura. Hey— what does it say?”
Almost reluctantly, she looks up and away. But when they are finally level with each other once more her face takes on a specific expression, the one where she talks science and alchemy and diplomacy. Perceptive and fierce. It’s one of calculation.
Out of pure instinct, Keith leans away from it. “What is it?
“You haven’t come into contact with pure quintessence recently, have you?”
“Uh, no.”
“How about during your time in the abyss?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so or you don’t know so.”
The way she beats around the bush causes a spark of annoyance to run through him. “I’m not sure if you know this, princess, but I lived on the back of a giant, space whale and you don’t just find vats of pure quintessence lying around. I’m sure if there was any, we would know about it.”
Another eye sparkle, as if she’d been waiting for Keith to say as much. “Speaking of ‘we,’ how does your mother fair with the visions? Are they more taxing with her age? Do they happen just as often as your own? It’s possible that the visions are connected through you both, through familial relation. Maybe we could ask and compare experiences between the two.”
Keith twitches. “Ah, no, she doesn’t get them anymore. They stopped a few days after we arrived on the castleship.” He looks away, wincing against the guilt that ravages his insides when he recalls her relief when telling him of the news. She had been so happy and Keith hadn’t wanted to ruin it, so much so that the lie had rolled off his tongue without a moment’s thought. “She actually doesn’t know that I still get them. I haven’t… well, I haven’t told her.”
Her brows turns downward. “Keith.”
Keith shakes off the chide, clearing his throat. “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t need to know, not when we finally have this.” He gestures to the scroll still held loosely in her hands. “You said there’s a connection, right? And that it’s got something to do with quintessence, I’m guessing.”
Allura looks as if she wants to talk more about Keith and his choices in life, but doesn’t know how to continue without upsetting Keith himself. Eventually, she sighs and nods, laying out the scroll between them and placing her ever-compliant mice at the corners as paperweights of sorts. They squeak up at them, watching Allura’s perfectly manicured finger trace a line. “It says here that realms are tied directly to the quintessence that makes up the world. It is the beginning of what was and what is and what shall be. The quantum abyss is a precursor to even that. From it or another like it, Oriande was made and from that, our universe. Just as I was tied to Oriande, it seems you are tied to the abyss.”
“But… why me?”
She tilts her head in thought. “Only selected Alteans can enter Oriande, a criteria held by what the Life Givers hold true. But the abyss is older and run by more… archaic principles. You are the first galra-human hybrid in existence, something never before seen in this universe or that of another, so perhaps it is your physiology. Maybe the fact is making you susceptible to the flashes in a way full-breeds and other species are not. Kinship in the form of novelty. It would explain why you are so sensitive to quintessence too.”
He nods. “Back when— before all this and Voltron was even a thing— I was able to find Blue. At first, it was just a feeling, but then it turned into some kind of obsession. I always thought I was going crazy, you know, chasing after some obscure cave drawings, but then we actually found her and…”
“It became real.”
“Yeah.”
She must notice something in his tone, because she leans into him and smiles. “It’s a good thing you trusted your instincts. Without it, we might have never met and the universe would be a much different place.”
“Yeah,” he says again. “You’re right. I’d rather deal with this than never meet any of you.”
Allura brings her hand to her heart, mimicked by the mice, all obviously touched at his words, and Keith flushes in embarrassment. He’s gotten better at conveying his feelings since being launched into space, but the action of voicing them still causes his stomach to flip erratically. It’s ridiculous, he knows, because they’ve had enough group hugs and heartfelt reunions to sufficiently define themselves as the makeshift family he’s always wanted, but the abandonment of his past has a way of following him into the prospect of his future and it’s a battle he’s raging even today.
“So,” he says louder than necessary, “let’s get back to… this.”
Allura clears her throat. “Yes, well, if we are to assume that you are still linked to the quantum abyss despite leaving its bounds and that link is quintessence based then it would stand to reason that quintessence might be the solution.”
“I don’t follow.”
Her hand cups his own. “I want to induce a vision.”
It’s not what he was expecting and he says as much. “You want to— the flashes aren’t something I can control, Allura. They just happen.”
“You forget that I study alchemy and, though my knowledge is nowhere near complete, I am one of the leading experts on quintessence in this universe. If there is anyone who can guide you through a vision, it is me. I am a Chosen of Oriande.” Seeing his reluctance, she takes on a quieter tone, almost pleading. “Keith, let me try, please. This is all I can think of and I want to help. Something obviously went wrong when you and your mother breached the quantum abyss, and these visions could be attempts to realign what has been broken. If guided we could delve what they mean to fix and bring an end to this madness all the quicker.”
It’s the eagerness that does him in. Selfless in intent and utterly devoted to do the right thing, Allura is at the ready to prove herself in any way possible. Willing to give everything and more, guileless, she offers an upturned palm, putting the choice in his hands.
Hesitantly, he takes it. “Fine, but if anything goes south, you pull back immediately.”
“On my honor,” she promises.
When her other hand settles on top of their clasped ones he does his best not to jerk away, spying the faint glow that emanates from the princess just as a low hum vibrates the air around them. Reminiscent of how his friend’s eyes blazed with power when she had cradled a husk of a man and brought life to it, he doesn't dare look up, fearful of what the act might induce— days, weeks, all of it lost in the possibility of a single moment. So he lowers his gaze to his knees, outlining the definite wrinkles that pull at the fabric of his pants and letting Allura take the lead, riding the wave as she dives into the caverns of his psyche.
There is no fight against the intrusion, Keith allowing her to tread deeper as he floats upon its deceivingly shallow surface. She dips a finger into the water that fills his mind, studying the ripples it makes with avid interest. A breeze of energy passes and he breathes deeply with it, eyes fluttering closed as something bubbles deep inside him.
At first it is a tentative thing, a mere whisper floating along the outskirts of thought. But then Allura pushes and it reacts, creeping ever closer; a shudder and it crystallizes into something real, a reflection of self. The apparition, colored red like a dying sunset, stares him down, face blank and hand spread over the transparent barrier that lies between them. Voiceless words channel through the connection and Keith, still aware of the projection of Allura at his back, goes to echo the gesture. Fingertips touch and—
—a flash, blinding light that rolls down the inverted buttes of his irises and tightens the coils of every muscle. Pupils dilate, widening until they are a chasmic gateway to the soul.
He falls and it is a timeless motion.
Like Icarus to the sun, he aims too high and burns upon exposure. Once gliding on vitreous wings, they shatter and break, condemning him to fall eternally. Images fly past him, telling of scenes already passed and yet to come. They are solar flares, arching high above the scope of his vision, assembling into a life that lies far beyond his ability.
Hands that are not his own stretch farther than he can reach. Stained a divine pink, they spread wide and seize at the images, pulling them inward. A pulse of quintessences and then his axis is tilting. For there is no up and down, no left and right, no back and forth. Simply a directionless force, reticent and resolute. Transcendental impressions, waiting to be acted upon. Ever waiting. Waiting for creation, for aspiration, for vitalization, for—
—a field of flowers, white tablecloth and champagne glasses, an altar christened with tuxedos and vows—
—the heat of a fire raging, plumes of smoke rising from the ashes of a stranger’s home, clouds over the tombstone of a father buried—
—the roar of a lion—
—the weightlessness of falling, golden eyes in the shadows, a sword cutting through the air, the slumped form of a body in armor—
—a warm hand clasped in his own, golden ring glinting in the morning sun—
—absolution.
He resurfaces, gasping.
The world snaps back into place. Gone is the rush of predetermined destiny, leaving only the barren truth of now. He is back within the thrumming walls of the Atlas, surrounded by dusty tomes and military grade furniture, time resuming its reign and taxing him heavily as he regains control over his own breathing.
“We,” he pants, sweat already cooling at his neck, “are never doing that again.”
Allura is no better. She has her hands curled on the back of her thighs, leaning forward as if she can’t even support the weight of her own thoughts. The mice chitter worryingly, pawing at her ankles and wrists, only quieting when her altean marks flicker with residual magic and then die out. “Agreed.”
Phantom hands intertwined with his just as lips ghost over the corner of his mouth and Keith jolts to attention, muscles spasming as he catches the tail ends of the flash fading into the air. Head still aching and heart running a mile a minute, Keith forces himself to his feet.
The movement causes Allura to stir. “Where are you going?”
“Bed,” he says quickly. He feels ready to crawl out of his skin. “It’s late and I’m tired.”
She pushes herself to her knees. “But we haven’t yet determined the purpose behind what we saw together. If we are to believe that these are preeminent visions, then some of those images were your future. We may be able to use them to our advantage.”
The thought of delving deeper into what just transpired is nauseating. Some of the images had been nondescript enough for them to ignore, while others were in excruciating detail. There’s no way either of them had missed the significance behind some of the scenes, like the altar or wedding bands, and he dreads the questions that’s going to be asked of him
“There isn’t much to talk about. It didn’t give us anything to stop it or the war with, so.” He shrugs, hoping she’ll drop it.
Of course, it isn’t that easy. Allura thrives off knowledge and Keith is a treasure chest of hastily kept secrets just waiting to be plundered.
“I wouldn’t say that we didn’t gain nothing from it…” Her eyelids lower with her brows, giving him a side-eye that’s reminiscent of Hunk when he spies fresh gossip, only worsening when the mice begin to reenact some romantic shtick on the floor. Her voice is coy and has the impression of a cat that’s just got the cream. “Some of those visions were… quite telling. You have a bright future ahead of you, wouldn’t you say?”
Heat rushes to his face.
“Come now. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. This war won’t last forever and when it ends we’ll be free to live out our lives, finding the happiness we so rightfully deserve. If that means finding another to live it with, then I hope we are all as lucky as you.”
Keith’s stomach flips. Mouth suddenly dry, he tries to think of something to say but can’t; trapped in the confines of his throat, they stay.
Love had always been a fickle thing for Keith, an almost affair that leads to heartbreak and broken promises. It’s something he can’t control. It rears its head in the most unlikely of places; in deep space, in between bubbling laughter and gunfire, a something settling behind his breastbone, refusing to disappear even as the years pass. It takes many forms, sliding along the cradle of his mother’s arms or curving with the brotherly hair ruffle Shiro bestows, easy to swallow because they are things he has always yearned.
But what the flashes depict… it is a love that runs deeper. A cluster of stars tied with a cosmic ring of infatuation, born in an instant and lasting an eternity.
His shoulders hunch and his fists clench, contorting in the equivalent of a full body grimace. “Yeah, well, it’s just… whatever.”
Allura frowns. “Are you not pleased with what you saw?”
And how does he even begin to explain? Explain the concern, the trepidation, because nothing is set in stone and letting himself hope is one step away from being let down.
For the flashes hadn’t really been a choice, not in this fold of time. In them he is stuck between yesterday and tomorrow, walking into a fate that might be deprived from him; he’s seen so much, flashes that blind him to what can be and what really is, painting him gray with longing. It’s years, months, week, days, seconds down the line, a tropical illusion amidst a desert of truth, blurry and just beyond reach. Tantalizing but deadly, because what he wants isn’t what he gets. And that’s the thing that hurts the most, the uncertainty.
Not that Allura would understand, he realizes. Love had never been in short supply for the princess, lavished onto her by a father, mother and kingdom. And he doesn’t blame her for that— would never compare the love she deserves to the love he lacks—but it still leaves him crippled.
So he takes a breath and clears his face of all emotion. “It’s late. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He ignores her shocked face as he leaves, feeling the pinch in his temple and twist in his gut. Bitterness is an all-encompassing thing, but he runs from it all the same.
“Dad?” an eight-year old Keith asks on a summer night long past. “Why did mom leave us?”
Crickets chirp among the blooming cacti, loud in the stillness of the desert. Dust coats his boots and clothes from their hike into the canyon that day, rough against his skin but warm against the cold air that whistles over the dry grass. Faintly, from inside the shack, he could hear the low hum of the refrigerator. The moon, yellow and waxing crescent, hovers low over the distant horizon, highlighting the rugged features of his father’s face and throwing his nicked eyebrow in direct relief.
An ashen gaze is pulled from the heavens back to earth.
“Your mother,” his father starts with that smile he always gets when speaking about the woman he loved, soft and sad and wistful, “left to protect us— to protect you. She couldn’t stay, not if it meant putting us in harm’s way, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t with us now. She’s up there, somewhere far beyond, looking at the stars and thinking of us just like we’re thinking of her. And it might be tomorrow or next week or even next year, but she’ll be with us again. Some day.”
It’s the same answer he always gives and just like all the times before, Keith doesn’t believe it.
Keith fools himself into thinking that the world wouldn’t catch up to him. Thinks himself so far ahead and with time to let the dust settle that when things do come crashing down it’s like a hammer to glass. A shatter so abrupt that it cracks him wide open.
It starts with a thinly veiled interrogation from Shiro on the Friday following his talk with Allura, stuff packed with good intentions and gentle probes. A you okay there, champ? here and a how about we go out for lunch today and talk? there, slipping past the bitten lip of concern. And when he ultimately declines, it shifts to blatant coddling. Helpful hands and calm words, aiming to guide and resolve, but only succeeding in bringing the thoughts inside his head to a steady boil. Enough so that Keith not-so-subtly excuses himself from the apartment and heads to the training facilities on the Atlas.
It’s early and his class doesn’t start until another ten minutes and, as a result, he doesn’t see any of his students when he swipes his keycard to enter. Which is fine with Keith, because he’d rather not have to force out some half-baked nicety between people he barely knows. However, the thought is torn in two when he realizes that he recognizes a face doing drills with a kendo stick at one of the mats.
“Lance?” he calls out without thinking, loud with surprise, drawing the attention of said boy along with the few bodies that are already stationed at the machines.
Quickly and ignoring the stares that follow him, he makes his way to his teammate. The mat sinks slightly when he steps on it, putting him at the same level with the boy when he straightens from the fighting stance he had been practicing. He looks to have been there a while, sleeveless shirt sticking to his sides and stretching the width of his chest as he takes deep breaths, face flushed from exertion.
The blue paladin doesn’t appear at all surprised to see him, leaning onto the stick as he pushes his hair back. There are earbuds hanging from his collar, playing some muted pop song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey, buddy, fancy seeing you here.”
But Keith doesn’t register the banter-in-motion. “What’re you doing here?” he asks, abrupt and rude.
The teasing smile on Lance’s face dims slowly and it’s a painful thing to watch, more so when he realizes belatedly it was his doing. “Training,” the boy explains, scratching his neck and taking a quick sweep of the area before returning to him. “I, uh, missed my evening session yesterday and didn’t want to fall behind, so here I am.”
“I didn’t know you trained.” Rude again. Why can’t he stop?
A flash of annoyance. “Well, I do.”
Keith backpedals momentarily. Tries to remind himself that Lance hasn’t done anything to deserve to bear the brunt of his frustrations. “Yeah, of course, I… sorry.”
Lance purses his lips, passing quick judgement. Eventually, he shrugs and loosens the slope of his shoulders. “It’s all cool. I don’t exactly make a point to live here like you do. Hear you took up a class teaching dudes how to karate chop bad guys. How’s that going for ya?”
“It’s going.”
That brings a smile back to the other boy’s face and Keith feels the cool water of relief run through his body when he lets out a small laugh. Not everything is entirely hopeless, it seems. “Sounds riveting. I might just stick around and watch.”
There’s an unspoken challenge that Keith can’t quite decipher, but before he can even ask there’s the familiar swish of the door to the training room opening, a gaggle of his students filing through, dressed in sweats and activewear. Hunk is with them, shouldering his own pack and chatting amiably with two girls, one dark-haired with glasses and the other blonde and freckled. Rizavi and Leifsdottir, if Keith remembers their names correctly.
Keith takes a step, then stops.
Seeing his hesitation, Lance punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Go on. I’ll still be here when you’re done.”
So Keith goes, passing by Hunk on his way and sharing a wave.
Back into the routine of things he acknowledges his students, waits for them to line up, guides them through some basic stretches, and finally starts demonstrating their first move. It’s one he learned during his time with the Blades, efficient when needing to get out of a sticky situation. Duck, lunge and roll. Simple and easy to be coupled with other maneuvers, best in close quarter situations.
Pairs are made and Keith walks among them, stepping in and adjusting stances whenever he sees the need, but watching for the most part. His students take his offered advice seriously, fine-tuning their movements accordingly and only ever needing one or two demonstrations until they get it right. It’s impressive and entirely reflective of what he’s read from their files, all picked from the cream of the crop with the scores to prove it.
However, it’s not twenty-five minutes into the class, just as Kinkade executes a perfect lunge, rolling out of Leifsdottir’s surprisingly aggressive assault, that Keith gets distracted.
Amidst the flurry of fists and grunts, he spies Lance and Hunk. There’s nothing exceptionally ostentatious about the pair that rightly explains the way his gaze is caught so suddenly; they follow the basic pattern for a spar, circling and engaging at appropriate intervals, unassuming in how they exchange blows and playful words. Nothing to justify why he ignores his students and instead focuses on how Hunk’s burly left arm swings in an arc so wide that Lance has to duck out of the way or be gifted a black eye, the lanky boy slipping back into range with his fists at the ready in a decent boxing stance. Nothing but his own prying eyes to blame, ensnared onto the the sharp angle of shoulder blades as Lance twists into a kick that catches the bigger boy straight into the gut.
He chalks it up to his own restlessness. It’s been a while since he’s allowed himself to do anything outside the Garrison’s work-out regimen, too busy with restoration of Earth and his classes, and his body longs for the familiarity of close combat. To hold a sword in his hand once more, to feel that extension of self, pointed and dangerous and in control. In the throes of gunfire, a soldier, first and foremost, falling back on instinct alone.
Idly, he wonders if Lance would say yes to a spare if he asked.
“—tch out!”
Pain erupts in the back of his head, sudden and sharp. A noise between a grunt and a yelp erupt from his mouth, skewed as he attempts to twist himself and face the attack, only to trip over his own treacherous feet; the weight of it strikes him down, jaw smashing to the floor, unforgiving.
There’s a flurry of activity around him, voice rising in shock. Distantly, he feels more than one set of hands make to touch him, gripping his biceps and shoulders, and haul him onto his back. White spots dance in his vision, floating just above the harsh lights of the room and the fuzzy outlines of the people that crowd him, flickering in and out of existence as he tries to get a hold of his bearings.
A few seconds of dazed existence and he can actively decipher the muffled noise into words.
“Hey, is he gonna be alright?”
“Wow, Curtis. I can’t believe you just drop kicked a paladin of Voltron.”
“That looked like it hurt.”
“I didn’t mean to, I swear! It was an accident! I didn’t see him and— and who just stands in the middle of a sparring zone? Plus, Jason did the move way too fast and I couldn’t stop my spin in time!”
Another voice, lowered in an effort to soothe. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. I’m sure you didn’t meant it— no one’s blaming you, okay? Breathe. Just give him some space, yeah?” A little louder. “All of you, back up and give him some space. Back to your drills. Hunk, could you…?”
They must follow the order because things go quieter. Quiet enough for Keith to focus on his breathing and the throb that pulses at the back of his neck, wincing when he feels a faint touch to the tender area. He groans deep in his throat and shifts uncomfortably on his tail bone, forcing his eyes to open and squint past the pain until the world sharpens into clarity.
Front and center is Lance, brows furrowed in worry. “You okay, man?”
He offers a hand and Keith takes it, sitting up. The immediate rush of blood to his head makes him dizzy and he sways just a bit, fingers tightening around Lance’s even as his other hand rises to prod at his temple.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I didn’t actually see it but apparently you took a mean one to the head. Caught you when you weren’t looking— just a good ol’ heel to the face. Judging from the size of Curtis’ feet, I’m betting it’ll bruise.” Lance looks to him, frowning. “You need an ice pack? I can run and get one. Or I can take you to the infirmary myself. I know I joke about your mullet, but not even bad helmet hair can stop a concussion.”
The infirmary is the last place Keith wants to end up. The risk of being found out and having his flashes the focus of scrutiny is too high and Keith would rather suffer possible head trauma than deal with that. Not to mention the unbearable mothering Shiro would dote onto him once he realized his worry was justified, accumulative tenfold by his own mother once she heard of the news herself.
“Yeah, no, I just zoned out for a second— totally my fault. Just need to walk it off.”
“Are you sure?”
Slightly disoriented and a bit bruised, but nothing a good rest couldn’t fix. He’s seen worse, been through worse, and can take care of his own. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
“I don’t know, you’ve been lookin’ a bit scruffy the past few days. Me and Hunk were just talking about how maybe something bad is rolling through the base, like the space flu or yalmor pox— I’m not sure the second one actually exists but Coran didn’t technically say no when we asked, so…” He shrugs, like it’s water down his back.
“I’m fine, really.”
“I really wouldn’t mind going with you. We can catch up while we get you checked up.”
He’s not sure what exactly, but something about that has his hackles rising in defense. Maybe it’s the fact that Lance is so obviously pushing something he doesn’t want. It’s insignificant and well-meaning, but Keith has been living in a constant state of anxiety for the past couple of weeks, strained under the pressure of the flashes and keeping them locked away, and the words eat away at his fortitude. He can’t even pinpoint the reason this moment is the breaking factor— can’t even explain the fuddled mess of thoughts prior to the embarrassing kick in the head or why the pressure of Lance’s hand in his feels too much. Doesn’t know why and hates it.
“I’m fine, Lance.” he snaps prematurely, biting his tongue by accident and tasting copper. Lets the taste fuel him, push him past what he knows to be right. “Why are you asking? Did Shiro put you up to this? Is this why you’re really here? God, I already told him—”
“Woah, woah, woah. Hold up.” Lance looks taken aback, palms outward in a gesture of surrender. “Shiro didn’t say anything to me. This is me asking all on my own, okay? No need to bite my head off.”
Keith breathes hard, looks away, and attempts to get up. He can feel Lance watching him, struggling to get his feet underneath him, eyes narrowed as he makes no move to aid his clumsy limbs; it’s a look that sticks, seeping into his pores. Tension, high and thick, fills the space between them, but Keith, for once, doesn’t rise to the bait. Lance, unfortunately, has never been one to let things go.
“Why would Shiro need to talk to me about you anyways? Is there something I should know?”
“No.” Finally, he makes it to his feet, knees popping in protest. The ache in his head is worse when standing, but he ignores it. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Lance rises too and pushes forward in a way that is solely them, challenge-like, close enough that Keith can see the speckles of brown in his eyes and feel his breath when he speaks. “Does it have something to do with how you and Allura are hanging out every night?”
His chest pinches tightly and it’s an oddly familiar feeling.
It furrows his eyes and thins his lips. Hard like stone he becomes. “Let me rephrase that. It’s nothing that concerns you.”
A pause.
Then, “Ah, okay. I see.”
It doesn’t immediately process that he’s said something wrong. It’s not until the other boy makes a face, scrunched up and twisted like he’s just sucked a lemon, that he’s even aware that something could go so wrong. But it could and it does. For there's definitely something wrong about the quiet chuckle that comes out of Lance's mouth, too much like the gurgling end of a drowning man.
Lance rocks onto his heels and shakes his head in this genuinely uncomfortable manner. Usually, the close proximity of the blue paladin wouldn't phase him, as used to it as he is by their constant squabbling, but something about the other’s face— the hard angle of his eyebrows maybe, or even the pressed line of his mouth— puts him off kilter. It's enough to have his mind stutter to a confusing stop.
“I don't know why I thought…” The boy looks up at the ceiling, closing his eyes and somehow making Keith feel like there’s miles between them. A deep breath, “Fine.” Then he straightens and smiles something self-deprecating, gaze sharp enough to cut glass, walking past him so abruptly that their shoulders knock together. “Look alive, Team Leader. Your class is waiting for your orders.”
Keith stumbles, turning with the move so as to watch Lance head toward his gear and pack everything away. Watches him mutter something to Hunk and the other gym goers, hiking his bag over his shoulder and head straight to the door. Watches Hunks casts one, last worried glance over at him before following his best friend, door sliding shut with a quiet swish.
Watches him leave.
Hidden under a blanket of shooting stars, he lets himself fall— in body, in mind, and in love. Arms of the sea cradle him, lifting him above the surf when the dark depth threatens to drown. Glistening, ever bright, it leans in close and presses a secret into his skin.
You can have your place, a starlit ocean whispers, but first you must want it.
It’s Hunk who finally corners him the next day, appearing just after Keith returns from an afternoon jog around the base with Kosmo, exhausted as he leans against the wall for support and unable to escape. For he is a wanted man, running from the many and the few, desperate to succumb to his own self-inflicted wounds. Lips cracked and throat parched, he swallows the sticky saliva that coats his mouth with increasing discomfort, watching his friend walk toward him from under the curtain of sweaty bangs.
Kosmo has no qualms about the company, wagging his tail when he gets a ruffle of the ears and a piece of jerky from the the boy’s stash of snacks. It’s betrayal in the most truest sense.
“Hi,” Hunk says, taking a seat on the ground next to him.
Keith gives him a small nod, using his towel to wipe away the sweat clinging to his heated skin. “Hey.”
“You have a nice run?”
“Yeah, it was good.”
“That’s good.”
It’s quiet between them. Keith bent over his folded knees, still catching his breath, and Hunk just sitting, staring straight forward. There is no pressure in the silence, the yellow paladin’s easygoing nature lulling any and all tension just with his mere presence. Though, like all things in Keith’s life, it's only a matter of time before it breaks.
“I talked to Lance.”
And there it is.
It may be selfish, but Keith doesn't want to have this conversation. Doesn't want to be here, in this moment, in this position. Doesn't want to play this game of telephone with his teammates. Doesn’t want to be the reason this problem exists.
“How… how is he?”
“He’s a bit upset. Wouldn’t really tell me all of it and got really quiet when I pushed, but I think he’s more frustrated that it took such an ugly turn than anything else. Probably wasn’t expecting you to be so… you.” Something about it doesn't sit well. Hunk shouldn't be the one saying this— it should be coming directly from the source, from someone else, from Lance. “He did promised to behave, so that’s something.”
Internal dissent parts his lips. “He doesn’t have to… It’s not his fault, not really. I’ve just got— a lot going on, okay?”
“Figured as much. Still would’ve been helpful to know though.”
He lets out a frustrated huff. “It’s my stuff and I don’t want to…”
Hunk hums.
“Plus, you know how he can be.”
Another pause and it’s nice, to have someone there that just gets it. Keith has never been one for words, has never excelled in stringing thought into something more concise. Not like Shiro or Hunk or Lance. And the world doesn’t care for boys like that, like Keith, who would bite the hand that feeds him.
“Look…” Hunk starts and Keith feels it like a kick in the gut. “Lance is one of my best friends. He’s the reason I went to the Garrison in the first place— begged me for weeks to register with him, saying that I was too smart to waste it by staying on the islands. Always been like that, in case you were wondering. Loud, pushy and full of opinions.” He chuckles, the sound peeters off into a tired sigh. “I’m only saying this because I know sometimes he can be… a lot, especially with the rocky start you two had. But he’s a good guy, I promise. He’s just— sometimes he’s got these ideas of himself and everybody else that don’t really represent reality, and it makes him… sensitive to things.”
“Are you saying Lance is sensitive to me?”
Hunk gives a pointed side-eye. “Lance has always cared what you think of him.”
Keith frowns and shifts so that his ankles cross, wrapping his arms around his shins and wiggling his toes until Kosmo growls softly at him. He had known that people had envied his intuitive skill in piloting, no one being discreet about the words they said to his face and behind his back, and maybe he had distanced himself because of it. But it hadn’t matter, not when he had Shiro. Not when he could count on his friend-turned-brother to have his back, to listen when he talked, and to inspire him when the rest of the world let him down. To think that someone out there— and Lance of all people— had been admiring him in that same light, looking at his retreating figure and wishing for just a single glance back.
“You’re a hard guy to read, Keith, and an even harder guy to impress.”
He winces. “I don’t mean to come across that way. You guys have nothing to prove to me.”
“Lance doesn’t see it that way. You guys have always had this— thing, and well, old habits are hard to break, I guess.” He shrugs and Keith sways with the force of the motion. “We’ve spent a lot of time together up in space. Got to really know one another. But I think sometimes we forget that we aren’t all the same and experience everything differently.”
Keith thinks of Allura and his flashes. How something so anxiety-inducing for him had been celebrated.
“I’m not asking you to share your life story or for you to apologize, cause I know that you didn’t ask for that made-up rivalry or whatever it is you’re going though right now, and it’s not your fault that Lance feels like this. It sucks that you’re in the cross-fire and I would change it if I could, but this is just something he has to figure out himself and until then— if you could just lay low for awhile.” He must see his responding grimace because his tone gets a bit frantic, evidently distressed at the thought of distressing Keith. “I don’t mean it like that, I promise. Just— like, you know, not do anything in retaliation. Even if he starts it.”
He remembers Lance in the beginning, unreasonable and needlessly challenging, and dreads returning to it.
“Yeah,” he still says. “I’ll keep out of it.”
Hunk sighs in relief. “Thanks, Keith. You’re a good friend.”
Keith gets a pat on the back and then the yellow paladin is leaving, back to his family and Shay and the rest of the resistance. Kosmo whines a little, obviously missing the company he’s gotten so used to during their long travel back to Earth, but settles down when he pets his flank. In a move that forces Keith’s knees apart, the large wolf settles his head in his lap, ears alert and eyes focused on his face.
“I thought things would be easier when we returned,” he tells the wolf quietly, knowing the animal doesn’t have the answers to his problems. “But things are all mixed up now. I kinda wish we had stayed in space— everything was so much more simpler.”
Kosmos licks the pad of his thumb.
“Thanks buddy.” Keith smiles, fond when a bushy tail thumps against the floor. “Lance probably just needs some space. I’m sure this will blow over soon.”
It doesn’t blow over soon like everyone says, not even within the next few days. It gets worse, slowly and deliberately, enough so that he starts resorting to desperate measures. First and foremost, avoiding Lance.
It's not the most mature thing he's done and there is no denying the nauseating shame that comes to a boil in his stomach, but Keith doesn't know what else to do. Usually, if there had been a problem between him and another student back before Voltron, Keith would force it into the light and hash it out right then and there. But this is different, feels different, because Lance isn’t just some vague face roaming the halls anymore; he can’t just swing a fist and call the score settled, not if he wants to retain what they’ve made together. Friendship with Lance— with the entire team, really— is something he cherishes and has grown accustomed to, leaving him reeling without its easy grace and sincere intentions.
No more secret smiles or casual arms draped over his shoulder. No more thoughtful water bottles found by his practice gear or dumb challenges over who can finish the warm-up sprints first. No more playful banter or dumb puns.
Instead, he gets to watch as Lance stands to leave a room he just entered or purse his lips in a frown when he can’t, folding his arms and looking anywhere but at him. There are no heated arguments, no snippy comebacks, or even quips at his expense. Lance doesn’t speak to him at all and it’s that much worse, Keith decides. The silence is a pike between them, glaringly obvious to their friends and anyone who remotely knows the two of them, killing conversations and moods dead in their presence.
It’s nothing like Hunk said it would be and he can see the other boy sending the blue paladin concern looks throughout the days, always ignored and always brushed off when confronted. This puts Keith even more on edge and he falters in his next move, wanting to take action and wanting to keep the peace. Because if even Hunk doesn’t know what to do, then what hope does Keith have?
So Keith does the one thing he knows how. He ignores it, pushing forward and past with a single-minded focus, training in the hours not spent sleeping or teaching his class. He pretends that Lance isn’t there, forcing his eyes to glaze over his stooped form and to keep away when the silence starts to become too suffocating.
It’s unhealthy, he knows, but it’s familiar.
Strangely, while Lance makes himself scarce, it’s Axca who takes his place.
The half-galra, now working alongside the MFE pilots, seems to have worked her way around the Garrison Galaxy base. He sees her around constantly. Roaming the hallways of the Atlas, lingering outside the tech labs, sitting alone in the canteen, unloading fresh shipments of scaultrite at the landing docks. She’s everywhere, always aware and looking up to meet his questioning gaze with a twitch of the lips and sharp nod.
She starts joining Keith in his workout sessions, quiet as she greets him and focuses on the weights she lifts. There is no exchange of words, just the muted thuds of metal meeting polyester and their huffs of breath— and it helps, surprisingly enough. It helps to have someone there. He never says why he’s there so often and she never asks; no burning judgement or well-intended advice, just two people existing within proximity. It’s the understanding of two outcasts, bonded through blood shed, allies lost, and debts repaid.
Eventually, they start sparring together and it’s a breath of fresh air. Axca is a challenging adversary, quick and rational as she parries his blade and aims a short jab at his left side that’ll definite bruise. It reminds him of his time with the Blade, learning to use the weapon of his birthright and parrying the strikes of his fellow Marmorites when they practiced. It didn’t leave a lot of room to talk, but it did leave him stronger.
People come to watch them, sometimes. Peering through windows and beyond door frames, individuals of every kind of life and species watch them. The gazes of many tack onto their forms, ever curious of them and the Galra empire they supposedly represent. Keith ignores it to the best of his ability. Axca, for her part, appears to not notice their accumulating audience, focused solely on the fight at hand, sliding through the forms with ease and deadly precision acclimated with experience. She matches Keith’s every swing, expects every lunge, and parries every strike.
Shiro stops by whenever he’s not busy, watching with thinly veiled pride and offering constructive criticism on how to better their form. Pidge and Hunk visit too but only so that the former can sass them from the sidelines, ignoring the scandalized looks received when she cups her hands against her mouth and makes an obnoxious farting noise whenever Keith takes a hard tumble. Romelle likes to come with his mother, cheering when Keith gets in a particularly impressive hit. Only once does Allura show up, giving a beatific smile to those present before wiping the floor of both Keith and Axca in a record breaking minute and forty-two seconds.
It would almost be as if nothing was wrong if not for the blatant absence of a certain blue paladin.
And it isn’t as if Lance is indisposed. He’ll see the boy walking with Matt and his new alien girlfriend or the princess somewhere, obviously on break from his duties, matching their strides like he used to do with Keith.
It always brings forth a particular memory. The universe’s last chance drifting, five nobodies linked together by the arms of necessity, crusted with frost and one hysterical outburst away from splintering. Overcome by thoughts once locked away, slipping to the forefront with an edge that promises fracture, they are exiled, launched out of the mouth of a deity. Desperate, afraid and wishing to be swallowed whole.
Like cosmic dust, they float aimlessly in a sea of stars. Insignificant and dwarfed by the extensive scope of space, they are paladins without a righteous cause. Run through by their own failures, self-inflicted and refusing to heal, hoping that no one sees that they are less than what they are; but the damage is done and they pounce on one another, exploiting weakness in the name of preservation.
Maybe you should have stayed away, and it’s sharp canines digging into the vulnerable flesh of his jugular. A snarl, vibrating with malice intent, and he is left in pieces. Broken.
It hurts like nothing has hurt before, but he takes the pain and makes it his. Braces himself for a fight, brandishing sword and teeth just to survive. A thousand moons light the sky and he howls to every one, bristling under their pretense of companionship, knowing he does not belong.
For he is a wolf in a lion’s den, desperate and alone.
And when he’s pushed himself past his limits and is a moment from collapsing, can no longer stand the sight of the empty space beside him, he retreats to the stillness of solitude. Shoulders hunched and muscles aching, he makes his way to the Black Lion; the large cat lets him in easily, silent and solemn in the wake of leadership.
It’s a week into his self-isolation, things change.
The Garrison officials are gearing up for some big symposium, puffing out their chests and marching down the hallways with self-crowned importance oozing from every salute. It causes a rippling effect across the base, because suddenly more and more coalition ships are descending into the stratosphere by the day, bringing with them convoys of resistance fighters and the idea that soon their way of life will be no more; it seems everyone everywhere has things to do and no time to do it. It’s hectic and loud and everything Keith hates.
Hates it so much that he retreats to the library on the Atlas. Pristine as most new things are, the grand room is filled wall to wall with journals and tomes and star maps from planets all across the universe. Shelves run perpendicular to the main entrance, broken only by the holo-database that sits in the room’s center, organized and tended to by small drones. Humans and aliens walk through the scaled-down labyrinth, chatting quietly to themselves and the crisp pages they turn, nearly overshadowed by the low hum of the AI librarian cataloging new arrivals.
Settled in a tight-spaced alcove on the second floor, Keith finds himself curled on one of the many spherical chairs with a holoscreen held loosely in his grasp. It pings with the notification of newly received messages, but they go ignored as he stares listlessly at the open email, text glaring in the lamp light.
Mandatory team meeting, the screen reads. It’s time to end this war for good.
The quiet of the library is in direct contrast to the loud buzz in his ears. Only the books are privy to how his thumb runs anxiously over the side of his knuckle, the only indicator of the turmoil that churns inside. Though Keith was never one to let his things like feelings of doubt stop him from doing what he wanted, the storm inside his chest does put a damper on his resolve, binding his muscles in transparent chains that left him paralyzed at the very thought of seeing the face of the person he’d been actively avoiding for days. Forced through shared responsibility, this meeting would bring the two together in close proximity and Keith doesn’t know if the world would survive such a collision.
It’s then that a voice, distinctively feminine, breaks through his internalized frenzy.
“Can you believe how things turned out?” the bodiless being says from just beyond the nearest shelf. Close enough that it has Keith looking up sharply, turning off his holoscreen like he’s got something to hide, and leaning slightly out of his seat to get a look at the person who’s disturbed his bubble of privacy. “It’s wild, isn’t?”
“So wild,” another voice agrees, accompanied by a bob of blonde hair through the spines of Puig encyclopedias. “I wonder how it happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, what do you think set them apart?” Another flash of hair, cinched in a high ponytail and a bright red bow. “Those cadets. Why do you think it was them that got launched into space and not some actual pilots.”
“Professor Shirogane was with them too, you know.”
“Yeah, but you know what I mean. Plus, he was already MIA when it happened. Which, totally sketch, by the way.”
It takes a long moment for Keith to connect the dots and realize that the strangers are talking about him— him and his team. There’s some irony to it, he thinks, that the Paladins of Voltron, legendary defenders of the universe and wielders of the most powerful weapon seen in this world and the next, can be reduced to something so juvenile as hearsay. Brows furrowing at such a distracting thought, he shifts so that he’s facing away from the pair, ears perked despite the voice in his head advising against it.
A third person is talking now, a boy. “Didn’t you have fighter class with them, before? What were they like?”
There’s the shuffle of books being taken off the shelf, opened, flipped through and returned. ”Well, Kogane didn’t talk much, though he got caught in a few fights. But that was before he started his private lessons with Professor Shirogane.” A huff of thinly veiled glee, slightly muffled like it was being pressed against the back of a hand. “No one knows what they did, but that didn’t stop people from guessing.”
“No way,” the first girl gasps, scandalous.
“My roommate says that she would see them go on rides outside of Garrison grounds— wouldn’t return until after hours sometimes”
“They are pretty close…” someone else Keith can’t see murmurs. “But wasn’t Professor Shirogane getting married to Professor West? Full offense to Kogane, but I wouldn’t even hesitate dropping him for a taste of Professor West, or even Shirogane for that matter. Have you guys seen the size of his arms?”
A low rumble of agreement follows the declaration and Keith makes a face in disgust. It was hard to see the two men in such a light since he had been thirteen at the time and had been privy to their shamelessly domestic habits. There was no going back once he’s seen Shiro nearly burn down the kitchen trying to make premade lasagna and Adam’s arm blindly grasping outside the bathroom door for toilet paper he himself had forgotten to replenish.
“Okay, okay, so Kogane is just emo and a charity case. But what about the rest? I hear McClain was a cargo pilot, and he still got chosen as a Paladin. Garrett too, only a mechanic. If I was some sentient space robot, I’d at least pick a batch of decent pilots and not some wannabes.”
“You’re just salty it wasn’t you. Plus, Garrett is the sweetest guy out there. Same with McClain. Cute too.”
A bark of laughter. “Now who’s projecting?”
There’s the sound of a hand meeting skin and someone’s half-hearted squawk. “You know that’s not what I meant. He’s way too annoying and high maintenance for me. Don’t you see him always in the other paladins’ business? No thank you.”
Vwoop. The librarian materializes next to the group, outside of the shelves and directly in Keith’s line of sight, causing everyone to jump in sight and at least one book to be knocked over. “If you’re going to be disruptive,” the pixelated voice tells them, humanoid in shape and colored a neon blue, “then I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”
The group, scolded, leaves with not another word, the watchful eye of the AI following them before it too flickers out of existence and Keith is left alone once more.
He sits there for a long time. Long enough that his legs start cramping badly and the occupants of the room start to thin, going quiet and solemn like the only way inked pages can. It leaves room for thought, chaotic and introspective, fixated on the idea of life and what it means to share it. To stand at the edge of an infinitely large gorge, look to the other side, and actually cross it.
There are no bridges in space, nor is there a concept of time and what it means to lose it, and Keith is suddenly hit with understanding of what's been taken away from him.
A hand on his shoulder startles a gasp out of him. He looks up through his bangs and meets the gaze of the blue paladin, steady and clear like a lake. They stand in the shadow of the Black Lion, waiting to crown a leader.
It’s the start of something new.
A transition from Lance and Keith, neck and neck to Lance and Keith, back to back. A partnership of equals, pushing to the pull and rising to the fall. Where one falters, the other is there to take the slack. It’s the sound of a pistol charging a mere second before a soldier’s blade can meet its mark. It’s the sight of Red’s hull in the middle of a rolling maneuver, shredding through the fighter jets tailing him with one swipe of a massive paw. It’s the hands tugging at his forearm, accompanying exasperated words for him to put down the holoscreen and join the team for movie night. It’s the solemn I respect the Black Lion’s choice, loyalty given wholly and irrevocably.
It’s them.
It’s purely by chance that he runs into Lance later that day, seated at an antique piano pushed to the corner of an empty room in the Garrison’s north building. He’s not in his armor or usual get-up and it throws Keith off, blinking in muted surprise at the sight of a short-sleeved hoodie and dark jeans when the boy turns to face the door he had just barged through. Dark navy meets gray obsidian, painting a thunderstorm on the canvas of the moment.
Keith stands awkwardly in the doorway. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Lance responds out of reflex, tone polite even with the tension that vibrates between them. “What’re you doing here?”
There’s no backlash at his presence so Keith takes a chance and finishes walking into the room until he is standing right at the piano’s bulky edge. A quick glance around reveals the room’s roots as a recreation center, complete with a three piece couch, television set, and foosball table; it’s unfamiliar like most things that are vaguely related to community are, unfrequented in his past because of their breeding grounds for possible social interaction. It’s almost uncomfortable to be there, out of place as he feels, especially so when seeing how natural the blue paladin looks framed by the domesticity of the late afternoon sun. So uncomfortable that he fixes his gaze resolutely on Lance’s hands, slender fingers still poised atop of the keys and at the ready to continue what Keith had rudely interrupted.
“I didn’t know you could play the piano.”
Keith must have done that thing were he goes too long without blinking again because Lance squirms a little in his seat, retracting his hands and hiding them in his lap. “Oh, uh, yeah. My mom’s a big fan of Einaudi and, well, you know how it goes. First it’s one piece for her birthday and then another for mother’s day and then boom, you’re stuck in lessons every Saturday afternoon while everyone else kicks it at the beach.”
Inhibited curiosity stirs within him, rolling with the image of a young boy whose feet don’t even touch the floor, practicing his scales just to see his mother smile. It brings forth a longing that Keith hardly ever feels nowadays, one where it is his own juvenile self that bashfully holds out a newly-drawn picture of his family to his mother, happy and not torn away from him by war. A cycle ensues, one where curiosity turns to longing to jealousy to acceptance and back again, endless like the thrum of a piano string.
Lance opens his mouth, as if to say something to fill the space between them, but suddenly thinks better of it and presses his lips tightly together.
“What?” he asks, because he has to know.
“Nothing. You just look ready to deck me. The staring is… it’s just— kinda intense.”
“Oh.” Keith shifts from one leg to another, grimacing, and looks away. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s fine.”
A short silence follows his words and it's a weird one. It isn't uncomfortable per se, just… loaded, like someone crammed the world’s entire supply of pillows in between them and was surprised that they couldn't breathe. Keith isn’t sure if he’s supposed to speak up, to fill the blank page of this chapter with the ink of words, so he watches Lance’s leg start bouncing in rapid fire instead, knee making a soft thud whenever it bumps into the underside of the key bed.
Lance clears his throat. “Do you… want to sit down?”
“Uh, that’d be— yeah.”
He sits on the corner of the bench offered to him, careful to keep space between them. Uncertainty seeps through his skin, coloring him with its vacillations, and it’s frustrating because touch is one of the many things that Lance excels in. A nudge to his calf, an impromptu hug, a brush of their shoulders as they walk. Effortless, like few things are.
“You can…” He makes an aborted gesture at the keys. “… if you want.”
Eyelashes flutter and Keith watches their shadows billow over the slope his cheeks, combating the highlights that the sun cast through the open window. A balance of two worlds, night and day, coming together to form wondrous twilight. He thinks of being seven-years old and trying to outrun the setting sun, one leap away from skipping today and landing in tomorrow. It’s a finish line he had never crossed.
Slow, like the sun and stars and moon will wait forever, Lance places his hands back on the board. Weightless, they hang there, letting gravity bead together a string of notes. It’s soft, the song he plays, and Keith listens as it grow into something bigger; profound as the universe’s birth had been, a cacophony of collisions and violent chance, it is its death that will be remembered, a lull into a oblivion so sweet that it’ll have the cosmos sighing.
As if compelled by some higher power, his gaze drifts back down to the boy’s hands. They’re nice hands. Long fingers with wide knuckles, the jut of his thumb straight and his nails cut even. Tendons rise under smooth skin, a parallel to what must be happening under the piano’s lid, and it’s enthralling to watch. There are no music sheets anywhere in sight and Keith marvels at the idea that these fingers are moving on memory alone; from nothing— something, a paradox that only a soldier’s hand, molded to the grip of a pistol and a single squeeze of the trigger away from snuffing out a light, can know.
Lance hums as he plays.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology pushes past his lips and takes with them a great weight from his shoulders, silencing the music. He knows that he can’t stand much more of this but is more than willing to bend in order to end it. He misses Lance. Misses what they had, stupid rivalry and all, and is willing to set the world on fire for a chance to get it back. All he needs is a chance, just a single chance to make it right. He wants to make it right.
“Lance,” he says, swallowing hard. “I miss us.”
Truth makes the words heavy, filled with everything Keith can’t say but means. It’s one of the sincerest he’s ever been, second only to Shiro, you’re like a brother to me and I love you, Mom, and he thinks there’s going to more to it. More begging and more heartfelt turns of phrase, milked for all that it’s worth. But none of that happens and he’s left with Lance, solemn-eyed and soft, just nodding once and saying, “Me too.”
And for once, he thinks, that’s enough.
That night, a flash hits him while he sleeps.
Long fingers trace the grooves nestled between treasured ivory and reflective black, teasing at a melody that skims the mind. A single note sings, the precipitate of a feeling long in its coming, harmonizing with the delicate pitter-patter of the rain that knocks on the window pane. It’s peaceful, cool in the absence of worry and responsibility.
“Any requests?”
Movement, languid and infinite. The sweep of hair as he lowers his head, lips parting, breathing a burning declaration into the skin of another as his hands explore; the body in his lap shivers as he bears down with venereal intent, inhaling and exhaling in time with the world. A gasp and nails dig deliciously into the meat of his thighs.
“I… I don’t think I can play that on the piano.”
“I can help,” he murmurs.
The music that comes after is like nothing he’s ever heard.
#voltron#dreamworks#voltron: legendary defender#vld#vld lance#vld keith#voltron keith#voltron lance#lance mcclain#keith kogane#klance#laith#leakira#written post s 8#fix it#fanfiction#vld fanfic#aeon#writing#chomp chomp goes the raptor
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Hard Lesson in Incrimination: Chapter 2
Authors’ Note: Happy Saturday everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the very first chapter!! @rauliskafan and I so loved the feedback from chapter one and it feels so good to be back!! Now, let us check in on the Barbas! As always your feedback is very much appreciated!!
“I don’t know how it’s possible, but they get cuter every time I see them!”
With Hazel in her lap as Dodds cradled Holly, Maggie pinched the twins’ two pairs of rosy cheeks one after the other, her giggles growing louder when Hazel reached past her sister and tried to take hold of the sergeant’s nose.
“Hey watch it!” Dodds gently chided the baby girl. “I need that.”
“Another girl with a thing for Roman noses!” Maggie chimed in. “Must run in the family. Right, Natty? Natty?”
From her seat at the other end of the table, Natalia traced the rim of her wine glass with one finger and stared into the pool of scarlet liquid at rest in the crystal. Her sister had to bring red wine; Natalia could only picture the apartment from five nights ago stained with Eve Selby’s blood… with her husband’s. Five nights… five sleepless sets of hours in bed. And Rafael was faring no better, his green eyes bleary, the sheets twisting and turning as he struggled and failed to find rest. At least he found her; even now, Natalia clasped his hand under the table as she had throughout the meal she barely touched. The feel of his flesh against hers was one of the few things keeping her grounded.
“Earth to Natty!”
Along with her babies.
Releasing Rafael’s hand and managing a smile, Natalia reached for Holly and cuddled her close, kissing the top of her soft head and basking in her clean scent. Maybe it would all come out alright in the end. Rafael had done nothing wrong, and with each second that went by, trails had to grow cold…
“Now, now, Hazel,” Maggie said to the other twin. “Tio Mike does need that big, beautiful nose. He has to sniff out the bad man who took an even worse woman down.”
Holding Holly tighter, Natalia saw Rafael fidget in his chair, and Dodds took a quick drink as he waved one hand in the air.
“Come on, Maggie,” he started. “Not tonight.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “SVU is unofficially on the case since no sex crime was committed. But you’re being so unfair! What’s the point of being married to a cop if I don’t get the gory details now and then? Especially when it comes to the likes of her.”
Dodds’ face flashed a brighter shade of pale. He laughed nervously and played a version of keep away Hazel’s nose which made Maggie chuckle. Just as quickly her eyes seemed to narrow, and Natalia bit her lip, fearing another litany of questions…
“Look what we do!”
A voice from on high or at least knee level when standing entered the room with Ashtonja at its side. Sighing in relief, Natalia saw Violetta balancing four cupcakes on one platter.
“Easy, V,” Ashtonja cautioned. “Let me help.”
“I got it, Ash.”
Her words came true as she stood on the tips of her toes and placed the pastries on the table, sighing when the job was done and wiping her little hands together.
“For dessert, these are the blue velvet cupcakes!”
“Blue velvet?” Rafael echoed. “And the summer of David Lynch continues.”
Natalia had to smile at that, and she watched him take a bite followed by her brother-in-law.
“Delicious!” Dodds commented. How'd you manage it, Little V? Make it with some magic?”
“Oh, Tio Mike,” Violetta moaned. “Please. It done with food coloring. Next thing you say that Hazel and Holly bake them. But they can no even hold anything yet.”
“His nose would beg to differ,” Maggie quipped while lifting a treat to her mouth.
“What you mean by that?” Violetta asked.
“Never mind,” Maggie said, her lips tinged with frosting as she leaned in to kiss her husband’s cheek. “But when he’s right he’s right; this is scrumptious!”
Looking beyond proud of herself, Violetta raised her small hand and slapped Ashtonja high five.
“Now you, Mami,” Violetta insisted. “You not eating enough lately.”
“Natty, why’s that?” Maggie asked.
“It’s nothing,” Natalia said. “Time to take a taste.”
Not magic… all in the food coloring. In the darkness, it would pass for red velvet, and in another time, she would have popped the entire cupcake into her mouth and asked for another. But nothing tasted right with a belly full of fear.
“Natty,” Maggie pressed. “Is there something wrong?”
“All good,” she said. “It’s wonderful. You girls did a fantastic job.”
“But you not finishing it,” Violetta observed.
“More for me then!” Rafael said as he polished off the cupcake and hugged his little girl when she raced forward to wrap her arms around his ankles.
“You really like, Papi?” Violetta knowingly asked with the smallest, slyest of winks.
“Everything you make is magic,” he stressed before mouthing a quick thank you to Ashtonja.
“Tell Mami to eat more!” Violetta demanded, bouncing up and down before Ashtonja placed one hand on her shoulder.
“Come on, V,” Ashtonja tenderly warned. “A good chef never puts pressure on the patrons.”
Natalia followed her husband’s lead and smiled. For Violetta’s sake, she was willing to try to at least finish off the frosting…
…but again, her eye caught the glass of red wine. Which she sipped while trying to push away other images cloaked in crimson. The wine did nothing but rush to her head, and she shuddered where she sat, taking some comfort in the feel of Rafael’s fingers just dancing across her thigh.
“No pressure needed here, Violetta,” Maggie said, finishing her cupcake and taking a dollop of Dodds’ frosting with one finger. “Does my Hazel want to try some?” The baby’s eyes grew wide, and she made for Maggie’s hand as if it was Dodds’ nose when Natalia passed one twin to her husband and grabbed her other baby.
“It’s not good for her,” Natalia said.
“You’ll make Violetta even sadder,” Maggie said, and Natalia’s shoulders started to sag.
“I’m not trying to do that.”
The wine began to take over, and Natalia wobbled when Maggie dropped the joke along with her plate.
“Hey… I was only kidding,” Maggie said.
On her feet, she heard Hazel fuss and felt Maggie take her back into her arms.
“Are you really okay?” the ballerina asked.
“Hermosa?” Rafael quickly said, his hand at the small of her back.
“Fine,” Natalia swore. “We just need some coffee. After the twins… go to bed…”
“Let me help, Natalia,” Ashtonja said, taking up Holly.
“Me, too!” Violetta chirped. Blinking fast, Natalia watched her babies in other women’s arms. For a second she was seized with the fear of being ripped away from them, the sounds of doors closing as she was cast into darkness.
“Mami?”
Shaken from her shadowy reverie, Natalia glanced down to see Violetta standing before her with arms stretched towards the ceiling.
“Don’t look so sad,” Violetta said. “I a big girl now, but you can still carry me if you want.”
“Oh, sweet pea…”
She sank to her knees, gathering Violetta in her embrace and trying to keep her tears at bay when Rafael’s hands settled on her shoulders. He helped her to her feet, and they exchanged a quick glance.
“Alright?” he quietly asked.
For his sake, she had to be, and Natalia started for the steps.
“I’ll put the coffee on,” Rafael called out.
“Thank you, Atticus,” she murmured, glancing back, hating seeing him scared when Violetta tweaked her nose.
“Don’t drink a lot of it, Mami,” Violetta said. “You up too much at night now.”
“Something you need to tell me, Natty?” Maggie asked before her lips curled into a smirk.
“No,” Natalia remarked, her eyes cutting back to Dodds. She saw the sergeant as good as his word when it came to keeping the secret for Maggie’s sake, for theirs. Staying silent, she carried Violetta up the stairs and wondered if this might be the night when she could give into sleep once more.
“So… coffee?”
Rafael waited and watched until Natalia ascended the steps and disappeared into the nursery, turning slowly at the sound of the door closing to see his brother-in-law searching for filters.
“Not there,” Rafael said. “To your left.”
“Ah,” Dodds declared, opening another cupboard to reveal several bags of black walnut, toasted almond, and vanilla cream. “Someone’s moved a few things around.”
“Violetta speaks the truth,” Rafael said, fishing through the fridge for the cream and milk. “We’re not sleeping.”
“I get it,” Dodds said once the coffee began to brew, and he gestured for Rafael to follow him to the balcony. The breeze scattered a few fallen petals from Natalia’s untended flowers, and Rafael looked over the railing, sighing heavily at the stars when Dodds stood at his side.
“What can you tell me?” Rafael asked. “I’m completely out of the loop.”
“Not forever,” Dodds assured him. “Which is why we’re doing this. Bet you’ll get a call from Cutter any day now.”
“Wishful thinking,” Rafael snorted. “Tell me something.”
With a quick look over his shoulder, Dodds spoke in hushed tones.
“Here’s what I know,” he said. “Liv is going to call you.”
“She is?” Rafael asked. “Haven’t heard anything from her since that day at---”
“You have to see it from her side,” Dodds cut in. “Eve was our ADA when this went down. And no one knows the Frost case better than we do.”
“Except maybe for me,” Rafael challenged. “So is the director a suspect?”
“Waiting for a new trial and on the list,” Dodds said. “So is Marcia Brown.”
“Guessing her show is a non-starter,” Rafael said.
“Not happening,” Dodds confirmed. “Had to be one of them. And Liv wants this all above board. When she reaches out, you should go and talk to her.”
“Giving me orders now, Mike?” Rafael asked. The sergeant stood up straighter and folded his arms across his chest.
“Would you have rather I called her to Eve’s place when her body was barely cold?” Dodds asked.
“Thought you said you didn’t think I---”
“I know you didn’t do it,” Dodds said. “But we got to stick with this story. Any day now, we’ll make an arrest, you’ll get back to work, and everything will be fine.”
“But not yet,” Rafael said. “My wife is a wreck. She can’t sleep.”
“Maybe listen to your daughter and cut out the coffee.”
Meeting his weak attempt at a joke with a sad smile, Rafael longed for a cup but stayed on the balcony and shuffled his feet.
“I hate that she’s caught up in this,” he muttered. “And you.”
“I’m touched, counselor,” Dodds sincerely stated. “But you’ll do none of us any favors if you crumb the play.”
“I hardly know what that means,” Rafael said, raising his eyes.
“Have Violetta explain it to you when she wakes---”
“I said no more, Maggie!”
Looking towards the crack in the French doors, Rafael saw Natalia’s silhouette staring Maggie down. With Dodds at his heels, they rushed back inside to find the sisters locked in a kind of combat.
“Natty, what is wrong with you?” Maggie demanded. “I mean sure it’s sad… I suppose…”
“You so sound like your mother right now,” Natalia sneered.
“Low blow,” Maggie shot back.
“Someone has died!” Natalia exclaimed, and Rafael tried to shush her with a quick look up the staircase.
But Natalia would not be swayed.
“I don’t appreciate you making a party game of it,” Natalia continued. “It’s unseemly.”
“Um… sorry, Natty,” Maggie said. “Maybe I should take a page from your book and be a horrible hostess. Of course, you were all smiles when Eve Selby came around.”
“Maggie---”
“Same goes for you, Rafael,” Maggie said. “Why? Even then I knew that she was bad news.”
He said nothing and hurried to Natalia’s side as her lip quivered, her hand rolling into a frustrated fist and unfurling just as fast.
“Good on you,” Rafael said.
“So why does this whole night feel like a wake?” Maggie asked. “Why are we in mourning?”
“For Christ’s… I didn’t wish this on Eve,” Rafael said. “I want whoever did this to pay.”
“Does Rikers have a luxury suite,” Maggie joked. “Because the killer deserves the best---”
“Stop it!” Natalia screeched. Turning on her heel, she hurried up the steps, and Maggie cried after her when Rafael caught the ballerina in his arms.
“Let me---”
“No,” he said. “She’s tired.”
“She’s my sister,” Maggie said, her eyes fixed in determination, Rafael feared that he would lose the battle and the house of cards would come toppling down until Dodds took his wife’s hand.
“You can give her a call her later,” Dodds said.
“Now you’re telling me what to do?” Maggie asked with eyes blazing. Holding his breath, Rafael watched the sergeant bring Maggie’s hand to his lips. He kissed her tenderly there, and pressed his brow to hers.
“Never,” he said. “But Rafael has a point. All that red wine and… and blue cupcakes.”
“I can’t just go without saying goodbye,” Maggie protested
“I will have her phone you,” Rafael promised. “Thank you for helping get the girls to bed.”
Raising an eyebrow and stamping her small foot, Maggie sighed dramatically and pushed Dodds towards the door.
“If you did something, you have one night to make it up to her,” Maggie warned. “Fix it.”
“Will do, little sister,” Rafael said, and Maggie rolled her eyes before blowing him a half-hearted kiss.
“Maybe let’s try this again some night next week,” Maggie murmured.
Waiting until they were gone, Rafael locked the door and slowly climbed the steps. Peeking in on the twins and kissing them one after the other, he proceeded to Violetta’s room where Ashtonja sat on the edge of the bed, braiding the younger girl’s hair.
“But why they fight?” Violetta asked.
“Who knows?” Ashtonja said. “I’m sure it wasn’t the cupcakes. Because they were fabulous.”
“I know that, Ash.”
Laughing, Ashtonja looked up and met Rafael’s eyes in the doorway. Her gaze told him that a million hairdos and as many sweet words could not keep this at bay forever. Better to talk to Liv when she called, to tread lightly and hope that she would solve the crime. But that was for tomorrow. As for this night…
“Hermosa?”
He found Natalia huddled in the tub, and he pushed the shower curtain aside to join her in the bath.
“You need to call your sister,” he said. “She’s gone but---”
“She thinks it’s all a gag,” Natalia said, rubbing her hands over her face. “But she has no idea.”
“A good thing,” Rafael tried to reason. “Dodds said we have to see this out.”
“Even if it kills us?” Natalia asked.
Seeing her pale and choking back tears, Rafael quickly pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.
“Mike says that Liv is going to call,” he said.
“Are you going to…?”
“To feel her out,” he continued. “Mike swears there are other suspects.”
“And you didn’t do it,” Natalia said. Cuddling closer, she winded her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. His lips met her fallen hair, and he kept her near until their eyes locked and he wiped the tears from her lashes.
“You should get some rest tonight,” he said.
“You, too.”
“Me, too.”
Helping her to stand, they made their way to the bed and shed their clothes. Easing her into a nightgown and wearing nothing but his boxers, Rafael joined her under the sheets. Their hands locked together, and Rafael looked up at the ceiling. The sounds of Violetta’s giggles courtesy of Ashtonja made him smile. Then there was only silence.
“Are you awake?”
And then there was the sound of Natalia’s voice nowhere near a dream. Pulling her to his chest, he kissed her, stroked her sides.
“Te amo, mi hermosa flor,” he repeated over and over again, his heart falling when he heard her sniffling, whimpering. And when the dawn started to peek through the window and the twins stirred---
“I have them,” Natalia said, beginning to leave the bed. He watched her slip into her robe as rays of sunlight streamed through her hair.
“I’ll come with you, hermosa,” Rafael said, taking her hand and grabbing his own robe. She lingered in the doorway and helped him cinch the belt before kissing his lips.
“Never leave me, Atticus,” she whispered.
“Never,” he vowed.
Because even a sleepless night with Natalia was still a dream come true.
#rafael barba#raul esparza#law and order svu#SVU fanfiction#natalia barba#mike dodds#maggie dodds#violetta barba#ashtonja abreu#rafael barba x oc#raúl esparza#a hard lesson series#a hard lesson in incrimination
32 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
anthrodyniacoms
🌜 Zacarius 🌛
ehecatotlol
Sin título
celestial-otter
anthony
seaxnymph
paradise lost
anjela4
Без названия