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kdelarenta · 3 years

Text

envy

pairing: mason x f!detective (josie valentine), also bobby is in this

note: after the bakery incident (because I’m still not over it), things are tense and bobby only contributes, a lot of confusion lol, bobby and josie kissed in book 2

Mason didn't like this, he didn't like this at all.

In theory it made sense with Josie's whole 'all for Wayhaven, town spirit' shit but did it really have to involve that stupid fucking reporter?

Even though Josie went on and on about how it was nice of him to promote the blood drive and how him covering it will draw people in, he saw that she wasn't indifferent to the idea of having him there. Something happened, he was sure of it. All he knew was that the two were best friends in college and somehow fell apart. Josie might be an open book but she was particularly stingy with the details whenever he was involved.

Him. The reporter. Bobby.

The same Bobby who was at Josie's apartment that night, the same Bobby he caught her visiting almost every day at the Agency's hospital wing. The same Bobby that keeps harassing her at work, no matter how much she tries to play nice and ignore him. He knew the shit face was getting to her, the way she was playing nervously with the sleeves of her yellow shirt and that worried look on her face were evidence enough of how much she was dreading this meeting, he thought briefly about having a little chat with him. But why should he? Josie could handle it, besides it's not like they were on the best of terms right now — he'd only make everything worse.

Josie still hasn't spoken to him except for a brief 'yes' when asked if she was going to be working late again and a 'no' when he asked if she needed him to walk her back to her car.

Both questions work related, as all their conversations were these past few weeks. But whatever. She'll get over it. Mason didn't care, or that's what he kept telling himself, but that still didn't stop the regret from coiling deep in his stomach.

When Bobby finally arrived he was greeted only by Nate and Felix, with Nate giving him a polite nod and Felix looking between him and Mason as if he's expecting the two to jump on each other any second. Adam simply gave Bobby a curt nod while Mason didn't bother to hide his eye roll. Bobby didn't seem too bothered by it but still stayed at the doorway as if waiting for something, Josie shifted on her feet unsure of what to do. The tension in the room was nearly impenetrable and the quiet was only interrupted by the sound of the station's printer. This meeting couldn't end soon enough.

"Hi." Josie blurted out before snapping out of it "Welcome, thanks for coming."

Bobby simply smiled and with a shrug stepped into the office.

"Well I wouldn't be a good reporter if I didn't cover the town's newest event, would I?" He steps further into the room, his attention completely on Josie.

"Especially when it's hosted by Wayhaven's dearest detective."

Mason almost growls at the sultry tone he lets casually slip in the compliment, Josie's eyes widen briefly before she looks away from him, blushing slightly. Mason frowned — what was up with her? She simply offered Bobby a small tight smile, lifting her shoulders to her chin in something akin a shrug. A tell that Mason knows means she's shying away and wants to shrink but Bobby doesn't miss a thing, his eyes gulping her down, hungry.

"Right. Thank you. Well, we should get started."

Josie busies herself with lifting the files from the table to make room for the blueprint of the event. Once she lays it down, Bobby joins her on the other side of the desk to examine it thouroughly. Josie's yellow shirt, with which she replaced her turtlenecks and pressed shirts once summer started, clashes with Bobby's white one causing Mason to avert his eyes every once in a while. The bright yellow should be even more unbearable to look at but somehow on Josie it didn't bother him that much. Bobby's shirt was also slightly unbuttoned, on purpose Mason assumed, since judging by his reaction earlier he didn't expect Unit Bravo to be there at all. He wanted them to be alone.

Mason smirked. He can forget about it.

After a few moments Bobby whistles. "This is the Mayor's idea."

"Yeah." Josie slightly leans on the desk "Flashy. Colorful. Fun — the brighter it looks, the more people it attracts."

"Sounds about right." he says giving her a conspiratorial smile.

Josie shrugs. "It's the best way to get people interested."

"Yes I know Jo." Bobby rolls his eyes "You don't have to jump to everyone's defense all the time."

Mason didn't know if it was the nickname or the almost irritated tone he used that made Josie uncomfortably shrink again.

"Just get on with what you came here to do." Mason interjects impatiently "No one asked for your opinion."

They both finally look up at Mason and acknowledge that the rest of Unit Bravo are still in the room. Bobby makes to probably sass him back before Josie cuts him off.

"Stay out of this Mason." she orders in a strict tone so unlike her usual gentle one "Bobby was kind enough to help us out with this so you should treat him with respect."

Bobby seems just as surprised as Mason at the outburst before turning towards him with a smug smirk.

"Yeah Specialist Agent Mason." he almost spits out the title "Show me some respect."

He simply crosses his arms, stifling the urge to grab him by the collar and teach him some 'respect'. Felix throws him a worried frown but he shrugs it off, he wants a smoke but he doesn't want to leave.

Choosing to move on from the conflict, Josie and Bobby agree to get started with crafting the article. Mason watched with interest as Josie took initiative, listening attentively to everything Bobby suggested and making her opinions strongly known when needed. The change in Josie's confidence didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the team who seemed really proud of how far she'd come since their first meeting. And Mason was glad, he couldn't help the small tinge of pride that lingered in his chest at seeing Josie be more sure of herself.

She was a great detective, Mason never doubted that and it was time for her not to doubt it too.

His senses haven't been acting up again, not with Josie's presence there to soothe them, but something was begining to set him off. A strong aroma, as he focuses on finding the source it immediately draws him to Bobby. Overwhelming. His face scrunched up when the scent finally hit his nostrils — juniper, Josie's favorite. Does he really think he's being subtle? Though he doubts subtle is really Bobby's forte.

He's onto the bastard and what's he's trying to do. It won't work, Josie's too smart for that. But as more time passes, the more unsure Mason becomes.

The two work in sinc, dancing around each other in a familiar routine that they only know the steps to. It's like they've done this a thousand times before and Mason briefly acknowledges that they probably have. The way they communicate through glances, the way they finish each other's sentences knowing what the other is going to say before they actually say it. It reminds him of Nate and Adam and he wants to extinguish that connection, they're nothing like Nate and Adam.

He's a bastard and she's—

She's Josie, she's Josie and he can't imagine how they could've ever been friends.

"Are they going to serve food there as well?"

"I guess, since there will be a lot of festivities."

Bobby hums in agreement before sliding his glance briefly over at Mason. He smirks again as if he's suddenly remembered something.

"They better not serve strawberry ice cream though, right Jo?"

Josie looks mildly panicked glancing from him to the team as if they're supposed to know what that means.

"Bobby you promised!" Josie pouts slightly but he can see it's more out of amusement than being upset. They both share a smile from across the table and Mason's sick again. He's throwing it in his face, isn't he? The fact that they have secrets, memories... something that her and Mason don't. Whatever. He doesn't care who she has memories with, he'll win her over soon enough.

Josie joins Bobby's side of the table as they both lean over the blueprint. Mason doesn't miss how Bobby's eyes never leave Josie's face as she talks, too engrossed in the blueprint to notice. He couldn't quite make out the look on the reporter's face and it irked him. Josie was pretty to look at, there was no doubt about it, but it wasn't just that. There was something else there; dialated pupils, fondness...

He's not staying for this bullshit anymore. Josie briefly looks up at the sound of him leaving the chair. He doesn't care — he's not thinking about this anymore. He's not thinking about the fact his hand is only inches away from hers and he's definitely not thinking about the fact that she's starting to forget herself too, leaning into him slightly, their shoulders touching.

"This is taking too long, I need a smoke."

He doesn't look back. He doesn't notice Josie watching him leave.

Josie offers a final smile to Nate as she closes the door to her office. She didn't know what exactly encouraged her to walk Bobby out, maybe it was because she wanted to thank him again or maybe it was because she wanted to make sure that everything was right between them. She had her reasons, there was no doubt about it. She prayed for weeks that he wouldn't remember the kiss they shared in her apartment. She wouldn't know what to do if he did. And so far, he hadn't mentioned a thing, so he must've really forgotten everything that had happened.

The meeting felt familiar. And it was familiar, so familiar that if she closed her eyes and let herself drift away, she could pretend that this was a college project. That they were partners, friends, best friends...

She bit her tongue.

"Thank you, again, for doing this."

'I couldn't have done this without you' she almost says, like she did before. But she learned that she could do it without him.

"No problem." he said giving her a friendly smile "I would've stopped by anyway."

Why? , she wants to ask immediately. But she knows why.

User.

"Oh." she simply states and finds herself avoiding eye contact. A small part of her was still scared that one moment he'll snap out of it and remember what happened.

The kiss had remained her own filthy little secret. She didn't tell anyone, not Tina, not Rebecca, not anyone. She was filled with such shame, how could she have been so weak?

What was she thinking? That he actually cared? She had finally stopped returning his calls, stopped turning around when he'd try and talk to her. Stopped treating him as a treasured person in her life that he once was. He decided to stop being that. Her best friend. It was his choice.

So she doesn't believe him when he says he misses what they had because what they had was so easy to throw away for a stupid article. An article that made sure she couldn't show up to campus anymore. Her nails dug into her palms. That was the thing with Bobby, he managed to bring out the worst in her, the worst that Josie desperately tries to keep inside.

"I had a weird dream about you, you know." his voice brings her out of it and she doesn't avert her eyes this time. The way his mouth shaped around the word 'weird' filled her with dread.

"What?"

"It felt so real." he utters somewhat to himself, his eyes laying solely on her lips. Breathing heavily, she reflexively took a step back but stopped the urge to run and lock herself in her office.

"People dream about all sorts of things. You shouldn't worry about it." her words are half-rushed, her tone is all skewed and she all but freezes when his eyes meet hers with intent focus. As he examines her face, she's almost sure he'll give her that content smirk, the one he uses when he knows he's won, and call her out on her bluff. But he doesn't.

Instead he simply looks away for a second and shrugs, visibly snapping out of it. She makes an effort not to let her relief show.

"Yeah, you're probably right. See you around Jo."

She doesn't trust herself to respond, after all, she'd never been a good liar.

And how can she respond when she can still feel his kiss on her lips?

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc m #twc mason #specialist agent mason #twc bobby #bobby marks #mason x detective #HITS POST AND DIPPS #i come on here once in a blue moon with a really specific fic idea and then it's back to radio silence #i haven't written fics in months ?#plz don't drag me #i'm sensitive aha ha ha

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tooruluv · 4 years

Text

Kei Tsukishima x F!Reader ( part 1 )

❝ they were the sun and moon, destined to be together but only ever totally meeting once every hundred years or so. ❞

description: in a world where you only see color when you're in love, you've grown frustrated of the greyscale. but falling in love with someone you barely know was never something you planned. and, him not returning the feelings definitely wasn’t planned.

genre: soulmate au... except not quite. everyone is born colorblind. you can only see color once you fall in love (and it grows brighter until you see full color as the love grows). however, that doesn't ensure a lasting connection. it simply means that love exists in that moment, until it doesn't.

word count: 1,855

warnings/notes: i would like to say that the "soulmate au but only when you're actually in love" thing is not my idea! i don't know who's idea it was, and i'm sure it was created by several people, but i just wanted to tell you all that i wish i was that creative but, unfortunately, i am not. so! i wanted to give credit where credit is do! moving on to the fic! <3 enjoy, loves

tag list: @vhskenma @elianetsantana @mini-eggs-reads

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masterlist

“ you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you ” - can’t take my eyes off of you, frankie vallie

┏━━━━━⋇⋆⋆⋇❦⋇⋆⋆⋇━━━━━┓

Kei Tsukishima did not believe in falling in love. Sure, he believed in loving things, but being in love sounded absolutely ridiculous. The entire basis of love, relationships… it just never made any sense to him.

You, on the other hand, very well might have your heart placed on your sleeve. You had a million crushes, a constant new person in your focus. The thing was, you had never seen color.

Color only came to those who fell in love. Through those crushes, through those varying false relationships and games of spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven, you had never actually fallen in love.

It was becoming frustrating.

While Tsukishima was perfectly content in living in a world without love, in the same greyscale life he had always known, while you were drowning trying to find someone to hang onto.

What strange friends you were.

Well, not friends, per say. But acquaintances for sure. A comfortable relationship between the two of you full of eye contact, your flirtations, and his constant coming into your coffee shop.

If we had to name a beginning, it started the first week of the summer.

You were working at a coffee shop, this little place called Blu. It was a simple corner shop, squished in between two other buildings. You just wanted a summer job to pass by time and get some money, nothing permanent.

Until, one day a tall boy with glasses walked into the place.

He looked bored out of his mind as his eyes scanned the menu above your head. He didn’t say anything when you greeted him (“Welcome to Blu! What can I get for you today?” in your best customer service voice), nor did he say anything when you handed him his coffee. He only spoke to you once, a monotone “I’ll take a black coffee” when he ordered.

You were absolutely infatuated.

One, because who orders a plain black coffee in the middle of the summer? And two, he was cute.

He had to be your age, you decided. Though most kids your age would never get a plain black coffee, and he was pretty tall, he had the youth you did. You just knew.

“Kei!” you called for his order. He didn’t even look into your eyes.

This was a repeat occurrence throughout the rest of the summer, every morning. Sometimes he would say something more, like add a little “Hello.” before ordering. Or he would steal glances at you, and there would be a staring contest for a moment or two.

Occasionally, he even muttered “thank you” when you handed him the mug. Call it what you want, but you called it “progress”.

One particular morning, he was dressed up. You didn’t know what for, you didn’t know much about him as it were, and all you could do was admire. He was stunning in a dark suit, the greyscale doing nothing but bring out how handsome he looked in it.

“Well, don’t you look ravishing today?” You flirted, already moving to get his black coffee. “The usual?”

He gave a small nod, not reacting to your compliment. He had his hands in his pockets, and a dangly earring in one ear.

“Well, here you go.” You handed him the mug. “One plain black coffee for Kei. Don’t spill it on yourself.”

“I would never.” He said. His voice was still monotone, but you caught it. A small quip in the corner of his lip. You almost got him to smile.

However, most mornings it was the same thing. He would come in, order a black coffee for “Kei”, and sit near the window and scroll through his phone through sips. You would watch as the sun created lighter greys along his skin and hair, you would watch as the glare gleamed off of his glasses.

Oh, how you wished you could see the color of his hair.

And, one day, you did.

It was a usual summer day. Autumn was approaching fast, so cool wind started to battle against the sun. But he came in nonetheless; Kei, with his black coffee. Except, this time was different.

“Welcome back, stranger.” You greeted, smiling as bright as you could. You didn’t even ask him what he wanted, you were already getting the black coffee ready behind the counter.

“I’ll take a black coffee.” he said, monotone and normal.

But, it wasn’t normal, not even the slightest bit. Because when you looked up to hand him his coffee, you were met with an array of colors.

You had to blink a few times, just to make sure that you were seeing what you were seeing. The colors were faded, newly forming, but they were still very much there. He had light yellow hair. No. “Blonde” was the word you were looking for.

He was frozen too, just standing there. But then you realized that you were just staring, his coffee in your hands. He must’ve thought you were insane.

“Kei, can I ask you something?” you asked, not wanting to hand him his drink yet. You weren’t one to let your questions go unanswered.

For a moment, he blinked at you. He definitely had to think you were insane. “What?”

“Do you see color?”

If you saw color as you looked at him, you hoped that maybe… maybe he saw color when he looked at you.

“No.”

Right. Of course not.

“Okay. Thanks! I was just wondering.” you handed him the mug, plastering a fake smile on your face (partly for the sake of customer service, and mainly to cover your disappointment). “Enjoy!”

He gave you one last look over, one last glance, before going to his usual spot by the window.

The thing was, you were hoping that he did. You know how ridiculous it sounded, being in love with someone who only spoke a couple of sentences to you. But you couldn’t deny that spending the entire summer excited to see that one person at work… it made sense that you would be.

You just weren’t expecting the colors to arrive right before you leave the job. The perfect time to fall for someone you will probably never see again once you leave and return to school and sports full-time.

Love really does come when you least expect it.

For the rest of that day, you spent your time finding as many colors as you could. You didn’t want it to go away, though it was a likely chance. The colors go away when the love does.

You had to look up what some of the colors were. It was strange to be taught the colors without ever seeing them, and your parents had explained how some colors look, but it was completely different. It was like each of them had their own feeling.

But, even then, you only witnessed the faded versions of those colors. The sky was a pale blue, hidden by the grey clouds. The grass was almost yellow, and the shop you worked at was a soft brown. Everything was still hidden by the greyscale you were accustomed to. And you couldn’t help but want to see more, see them in their full color.

Maybe falling completely and utterly in love would be an amazing thing.

It was comparable to the sun and moon, the relationship between you and Kei Tsukishima. You danced around each other, hoping to chase the light the other brought.

When you worked the next morning, your usual boy didn’t show up. Your eyes searched for him every time the small ding of the bell above the door announced someone entering. But it was never him.

Sighing, you ended your last shift there. Maybe you would come back as a customer, order a drink that has way too much sugar, and sit in his spot in hopes he would show up and sit with you. Or maybe you would run into him on your way out.

Or not.

As you hung up your apron for the last time, gave your manager your nametag and said your last goodbyes to your favorite coworkers, you accepted the fact that the colors would leave soon. They very well couldn’t stay if you end up falling out of love with a boy you would never see again.

It had been months.

Months, and the colors didn’t leave and didn’t grow any brighter. You were stuck in a world where everything was filtered to be faded, and you were growing annoyed.

“Just fucking go away already.” you spoke to the universe.

You would rather live in a world without color than live in a world of almost.

“Everyone!” Daichi called for the team to join him. They obeyed. “Now that Coach Ukai is our official coach, he’s come up with an idea. I think it’s pretty good, so hear him out.” Daichi announced. He turned to their coach, letting him speak.

“Alright, guys.” Ukai crossed his arms. “We have some tournaments this weekend. So do some of the other sports teams, specifically the girls volleyball teams and the softball and baseball teams.”

Tsukki was bored. What did softball and baseball have to do with volleyball? Their season isn’t for months, anyway. They have plenty of time before actual games.

“So, I’ve talked with the softball and baseball coaches and they think that it’s a good idea for us to team up for some fundraising things the next couple of weeks so we can get buses.” Ukai explained. “And, on top of that, someone from the softball team said that they would help us with volleyball practices after softball, since we typically end later than they do.”

“Wait, softball?” Tanaka gaped. “So a girl’s gonna be helping us?”

“A girl already does help us, dumbass.” Tsukki rolled his eyes. Kiyoko did too, but subtly.

“Yeah, she’ll be here in a couple of minutes so I wanted to give a warning.” Ukai said. “She’s in her first year, too, but I expect respect. Alright, now that that’s out of the way, let’s get on with practice.”

Okay, cool. Now back to practice. The reason they’re there to begin with.

They practiced for a bit, going through drills and did a bit of half-assed running (which Tsukki still never understood, why would he have to run miles if he’s just a blocker?). Until a girl walked in.

It was you.

You were here, at Karasuno, at his practice.

You walked in, still in your softball practice uniform. Every time that he had seen you during the summer, you never had your hair down. But, when you walked into the gym and greeted Coach Ukai with a smile, your hair was down and messy from the wind.

Everyone else had noticed Tsukki had stopped in his tracks and dropped what they were doing, turning their heads to see what he was looking. Or rather, who. Now you had the entire team’s attention.

That was when you caught his eye.

His breathing stopped. And so did yours.

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getitinbusan · 4 years

Text

Locked -

Taehyung

Smut with Taehyung in Paris what could be better? 19+

Happy Birthday Taehyung! You are my sun my moon and all of my stars.

Part of the The Juis Suis Fou de Toi Universe.

Artist Tae AU. 4213 words.

While convincing his girlfriend he should paint her, things get a little sexually abstract.

Contains sex (M/F), Oral (M) Mutual Masturbation (M/F), Swearing, Slight Dom Tae, OC is insecure. Do not be fooled before the read more, there is no cheating in this fic.

"We're almost home, please don't make me carry you."

Yeontan looked up with big eyes as he defiantly sat in the middle of the sidewalk. Crouching down to his level in defeat you tore a piece of your pastry off and began bargaining.

"It's strawberry your favorite, you can have some if you just stand up."

He let out a little bark seemingly in agreeance with the bribe and stood, tail wagging frantically.

"Tannie," Taehyung scooped the excited dog into his arms while placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Camille, this is my girlfriend Y/N and this," Yeontan wiggled in his arms while licking his face, "is Tannie."

"Oh, Hi."

Shocked you took in the tall gorgeous blonde who accompanied you boyfriend. Why Taehyung was walking around the streets of Paris with her you were unsure, and honestly not very happy.

"It's really nice to meet you Camille."

Suddenly feeling self conscious you pulled your coat tighter around yourself.

Taehyung, noticing the sudden shift in your mood wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Camille is helping me with the gallery opening. We were going to grab some dinner before we started. Do you want to join us?"

Your mind raced, what do you do? He hadn't invited you in the first place so obviously you'd be intruding.

If you stayed he'd be looking at you side by side, comparing Pomme to Pomme De Terre. But, if you left they'd be alone, getting to know one another or worse. Maybe they already knew each other better than they should.

In either scenario your insecurities would be winning.

"Tannie's getting pretty tired and I was going to stop at the Butcher to grab us dinner." Your eyes fell on his searching for guilt and found nothing but adoration. "But I guess you've already got plans so I'll just catch up with you later."

He passed the dog back to you, a new look of concern on his face.

"Okay, I guess I'll just see you at home later," he kissed your cheek.

"Bye Tannie, bye Y/N."

The woman smiled and looped her arm through Taehyung's as they walked towards the cafe.

"That doesn’t mean anything right Tan? It’s just a French thing I’m sure.” You must be going crazy standing in the street talking to your dog. “So, how do you feel about stopping for some wine?"

You frowned at your four legged companion and for once he seemed sympathetic offering a head tilt and a whimper.

"Don't worry, you can have his Steak."

Walking home in a daze you searched your memory, had he told you about this? Taehyung liked to work alone, surely you'd remember him mentioning he'd hired an assistant.

Your feet had suddenly become as tired as your mind. The blue mansard roof of your apartment peeked through the greenery of the blowing trees urging you forward, calling you home.

Rounding the last corner, the Pont Des Arts had been covered in gaudy yellow caution tape. In the hour and a half you'd been out, workers had begun pulling off rail sections of the love locked bridge.

You felt dizzy, was this a sign? The lock that you'd placed on it signifying your commitment was being taken away. Helpless you stood watching thousands of couples promise's to one another being disassembled.

Pulling your phone from your satin lined pocket your first instinct was to text Taehyung.

Y/N: I can't believe it, they're dismantling the bridge and taking away our lock 💔 I'm so sad Taehyung, It really meant so much to me.

Tears rolled down your cheek as you reevaluated the message. Instead of hitting send you deleted and replaced your words

Y/N: The bridge is under construction, maybe take a different way home later.

You hadn't heard him come home and had no idea how late he'd been out. With sadness and worry getting the best of your brain, sleep seemed like the only way to curb your anxiety. It had been quite an effective method until you found yourself wide awake tiptoeing through your house in the wee hours of the morning.

The worn floorboards creaked underneath your slow step, the vintage wood was cold to the touch of your bare feet. The old apartment was drafty on the best of days but 4 am carried its own specific type of chill.

A shiver ran up your spine, perhaps one of Le Marais famous revolutionary ghosts had joined in on the quest to find your boyfriend. Or maybe it was just the ominous feeling in the pit of your stomach that the universe was trying to tell you something.

A faint light glowed yellow under the warped door at the end of the hallway and the sounds of Thelonious Monk's piano drifted through the air the closer you got.

The painted metal door handle gave way opening to a wall of heat from the radiators lining the enormous windows.

"Go figure I'd find you in the warmest room in the house."

He was shirtless and seemingly debating the fate of the canvas before him. With his paintbrush clenched between his teeth he turned, a huge smile warming you instantly.

"Why aren't you in bed?" He set the brush down and walked over to wrap you in his embrace.

"I don't like sleeping without you, you're the only thing that keeps me warm in that freezer of a bedroom."

You stood on your tiptoes to place a peck on his lips.

"What are you working on? Is it for the gallery?"

He sighed heavily, "Just another Lavender Field I guess. I'm so uninspired. Why won't you just let me paint you, hmm?"

His fingers splayed over the lace covered small of your back pulling you in tighter. "What are you so afraid of."

"Tae," you buried your face into the crook of his neck. "Isn't the point of art painting things that people want to look at? You should be painting women like Camille not me."

Pressed to his chest you swear you heard his breath halt. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully before he spoke softly.

"Camille is pretty but there is absolutely nothing unique or inspiring about her."

He kissed the top of your head before tugging on your chin to make you look at him.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world, but you are a terribly uncooperative muse."

"I don't want to be Tae, I'm just afraid"

"What is there to be afraid of? It's just you and me, If you don’t like it I'm the only one who will see it."

"That's it though, what if…" a tear slipped from your eye, "What if you don't like what you see, what if painting me makes you see all my flaws. I can't stand looking in the mirror for 5 minutes and you want to immortalize my every imperfection on a canvas."

His face was soft and serious, the lights from the city streaming through the large windows across his honey skin.

"Sweetheart, how do I make you believe me? I never want you to be uncomfortable but I think if I can show you how you look through my eyes you'll understand what my heart sees every time I look at you.”

Stepping back from him you nodded. Sliding the thin straps off your shoulders you stepped out of the white lace puddle that now lay at your feet.

"Okay."

His face lit up like he'd received divine inspiration.

"I have an idea."

He scurried for a palate, squeezing colors on it like a man possessed. Rummaging for the right brushes he returned presenting them to you like a cat who'd dragged home a mouse.

"Trust me?"

You nodded, "I do."

Loading his brush with paint you stood waiting for him to lay the first stroke to the oversize canvas leaning on the wall beside you.

Raising the tool to his mouth he exhaled a warm breath over it as if trying to take the chill off.

"I've never seen this technique before"

"It's because I've only just invented it."

He ran the paintbrush down your torso sending a shiver from head to toe.

You gasped, "You're not just painting me... you're literally painting Me?"

The biggest smile overtook his face, "You said you trusted me."

Trying to remain still and not ask questions you watched him work. Diligently mixing colors and trading brushes his design slowly revealed itself.

"Are you painting me as starry night?"

He stepped back to admire his work. "Like the stars, you guide and inspire me. I think it captures your spirit."

He shifted the canvas so it was flat to the wall.

"Come over here." He reached for your hand, "Are you ready? I want you to press yourself against it."

"Here?"

Sliding in close behind you he raised your arms into position, holding them up.

"Like this, right here."

His breath felt hot on your skin and your nipples hardened with his words. Gently he used his body weight to press you onto the canvas.

"Now step back to me slowly."

Pulling back, the paint had transferred to the canvas. It was stamped with starry breasts, stomach and thighs, it was you and it was beautiful. He dragged his lips down your shoulder as you stood looking at it.

"Now let's do the right side."

You repeated the process but this time you could feel him growing hard against you. His hands trailed down your sides and his lips moved warm against your ear.

"You've never been sexier."

His rumbles of admiration set your insides on fire.

"Taehyung I want you."

All the gentle brush strokes and touching had left you aroused aching for him to fill you.

"Do you need me to take care of you baby?"

He slid his cloth covered cock over your bare ass, grinding, teasing, slowly torturing your needy cunt.

"Fuck you until you're screaming my name?"

Sliding two long fingers deep inside you he held them there motionless.

Leaning over you, dominating, he growled into your ear.

"Show me how you like it, fuck my fingers like you want to fuck my cock."

You clenched immediately around his digits and he laughed, "that's my dirty girl, now use me to make yourself feel good."

Throbbing wet and desperate you used his hand to pleasure yourself. Harder and deeper it felt good but it wasn't him.

"Tae, It's not enough I need your cock."

He snickered again, "why is that, maybe you should tell me."

He reached his free hand around to pinch your nipple.

The truth was, nothing could satisfy you once you'd had him inside you. He was huge and perfect and he knew how insatiable you were for him.

"I need you to stretch me, wanna feel you against my cervix fucking me so hard."

You sounded whiny and it flipped the switch inside him from teasing to wanting instant gratification.

Pulling his hand away from your breast he undid his pants and kicked them away. His erection fell against your ass as he pressed you back to the center of the canvas.

"Right here, arms up for me."

You did as you were told as he took a stance behind you lining himself with your entrance. He could be the most generous gentle lover when needed but right now you both wanted something animalistic and dirty.

Thrusting hard and deep your whole body slid in an upward motion streaking the paint vertically onto the canvas.

"Fuck."

It was pleasure, it was pain and it was satisfying to your core.

"Is that enough for you?" His large hand feel heavy against your ass.

"Harder."

"Such a greedy little girl you are."

Another thrust and you were seeing stars. Splayed across the canvas your cheek dragged through the midnight blue acrylic.

Trying to desperately catch your breath your mouth hung open panting the words fuck me and faster while he pumped furiously into you.

His fingertips traveled from their grip on your hip to the protruding bud engorged with arousal that lay starved for attention between your thighs. He pressed and rolled your clit softly in contradiction to the rough pounding your pussy was taking.

"Tae."

His name moaned out of your mouth and it was the only signal he needed to know he'd done his job. He slowed his hips and pulled you down impaling you onto his cock until your walls convulsed around him. He held you there, still for a minute until your senses had come back and you were able to stand on your own.

His mouth hung open in a grin while his erection still stood hungry for more.

Pulling the canvas from the wall he laid it on the ground.

"I think this painting needs some pretty little knee marks on it."

"Show me where." It was your turn to tease.

He pointed where he wanted you to kneel and shoved his finger into your mouth.

"Right there, and right here," he stroked your tongue with his thumb.

He pulled his finger away and rubbed his tip around your lips.

Opening up wide for him he gently began fucking your mouth. Head was always a challenge given his size so it was never rushed.

Gingerly you wrapped your hands around him stroking the length that didn't fit in your mouth. His head was thrown back, eyes closed as puffs of air heaved from his chest in pleasure.

He was getting close, his now careless thrusts began making you choke around him.

"Fuck, sorry," he pulled back.

You kitten licked and sucked at his tip while he wrapped his hand tightly around himself and began rubbing.

You looked up at him from the position on your knees. His beautiful body was covered in paint splatters everywhere it had connected with yours

"Fuck Tae, I love watching you touch yourself."

"Yeah?" he took a long stroke thumbing the tip.

"Yeah," you could feel yourself getting worked up again.

"Lay back. "He stood over you, "Can you see how beautiful I think you are now?" His hands wandered between his legs and he rubbed his balls with one while he resumed stroking with the other. "How sexy I think you are?"

His words washed over you, arousal peaking you nipples.

"When I can't find inspiration I imagine you just like this and I masturbate thinking about your perfect tits."

Your pussy was pulsing at the thought of him in here clearing his head by milking himself.

"Can you touch yourself for me? Give my imagination something to use next time I'm stuck in here?"

You nodded, breath heavy in anticipation of cumming again for him.

"Stick your fingers in your pussy for me."

You did, moaning instantly. You were sensitive, every nerve was lit like a fuse ready to explode. Pumping your fingers in time with his strokes you were both unravelling quickly.

His exasperated breathing got louder signaling his immanent release. Picking up speed he came in warm droplets that landed on you and over the canvas on which you lay.

So turned on watching him you finished your own orgasm mere seconds after he did.

Opening his eyes looking down at you shocked he smiled, "Did we just do that?" He held out his hand to help you up.

"Yeah, I think we did." you blushed.

Grabbing a clean drop cloth from the shelf he draped it around you as you both stood looking over the painting.

"It's really not bad, I can still make out the important parts. The way the stars smeared looks intentional like their shooting through the sky."

Laughing you shook your head, "It's definitely an abstract."

"As are you," he turned you to the mirror. Painted cheeks, wild hair, dried yellow stars flaking off the skin of your stomach.

"Let's go out!” He abruptly declared. “I want to see you all messy and fucked out with the Eiffel Tower as a backdrop."

"You're crazy Taehyung, What will people think?"

"They'll think they're in Paris and that an artist and his muse just made wild passionate love in the wee hours of the morning because they couldn't stand to keep their hands off of one another."

He grabbed his coat from the corner and tied the belt tightly around your waist.

Placing his hands on your cheeks and cradling your face his lips pressed and lingered against yours.

"They'll think, that must be what true love looks like and they’ll all be jealous."

Taking leisurely steps across the bridge the quiet of dawn was only broken by the water lapping beneath you. The absence of the locks amplified the little wakes and you tried to mentally record them as one of the many new memories you'd made tonight.

Coffee in one hand and Taehyung's in the other. He pulled pieces of chocolatine from the bag tucked under his arm and fed them to you as you walked.

"I don't think I'm ever going to get over the fact you don't like coffee." You took a big sip.

"It's strategic. If I had to hold a coffee and the pastry bag I wouldn't be able to hold your hand."

He stopped abruptly lightly jarring your arm.

"Hey, Did you know that right here, this is the exact spot we first met."

His dark eyes reflected the lamplight just like they did as he looked at you that night.

"You were leaning over the rail," he pointed, "right here, waving to the passengers in the boats."

"Ughh, I was such a tourist." You laughed in retrospect.

He took the coffee from your hand and set it on the base of the lamppost.

"Go pose for me, I want to take your picture so I can paint you from the night we met, I'll even add the locks back in."

"It won't be the same." You sighed, "I'm covered in paint, my hair's a mess and all I have on is your trench coat."

"You're crazy if you think I don't remember everything about the way you looked. How that loose strand of hair fell," he tucked your hair behind your ear, "and still falls over your eye. You had on that green sweater, I remember It was so soft against my fingertips when I reached out to hold your hand.”

He kissed you and whispered, "Let me have that moment again."

"You're such a hopeless romantic my love." You smiled fondly and obliged. Leaning over and looking down you re-enacted the opening scene of your meeting.

After a few minutes of waving to an imaginary boat you turned giggling. "Did you get what you wanted?"

He was kneeling on the ground a few feet away looking pensive.

"Almost."

"Do you want me to do it again?"

His smile grew as his hand reached into his pocket and he held up what appeared to be a padlock.

"No," He paused. "I want you and I to be locked together forever."

Turning back towards the rails you inspected them closely. "I don't think we can Tae, they pretty much made them lock proof." By the time you'd spun back to face him he was standing beside you.

His large hand was wrapped around the lock with only little glimmers of metal peeking out.

"But this is a magic lock. I'm going to give you the key and you're going to have to make a decision, just like when we first met." He pressed the lock's pronged companion piece into your palm while simultaneously unfurling his fingers.

"Marry me?"

Shocked floored, not even an ounce of intuition had told you this was coming. Hooked onto the shackle an enormous pear shaped diamond awaited your answer.

"Tae," your hand shook and tears blurred your vision as you moved to free the ring from it's restraint.

"Of course, Yes." Turning the key Taehyung pulled the lock apart and slid the diamond onto your finger.

Under the lamp, on the bridge in the middle of Paris it was like lightning had struck twice. You stood kissing the man who'd once again changed your life.

"But what are we going to do with the Lock?" The bridge was stark under the first rays of sunrise and heartbreakingly void of the promises it once guarded.

"So superstitious." He put the lock back in his pocket. "You're just going to have to hold on to that key until the time is right."

Fresh paint overwhelmed your senses. Guiding you with his large hands he steered you forward for what felt like forever.

"Is the blindfold necessary?"

"In order to surprise you, yes, yes it is."

He'd been working hard on his new exhibition and it had been kept tightly under wraps. One advantage of sleeping with the artist was the private advanced viewing from the curator himself.

"Are you ready?" he stilled you adjusting your angles. "Hold out your hand."

"Oh, it's an interactive piece?" you chided him. "I agree to do one painting and suddenly we're Marina and Ulay."

Placing something that felt like cool metal into your palm he slipped the blindfold off.

Before your eyes stood a huge section of railing, thousands of padlocks adorning it. Behind the rail, a life size painting, a girl in a green sweater. Leaning forward she waved, looking happy, as her hair blew softly. Her eyes naïve, not knowing she was about to fall in love.

The words on the wall named the piece, "Locked"

"Tae," a tear fell in awe at his recreation. "You made me look beautiful."

"No mon petite, you make you look beautiful. Do you have your key?"

Lifting the chain from around your neck you held it up for him.

"Let's find our lock. It was closer to the top if I recall correctly."

"There's no way? This isn't a recreation? This is the real bridge?"

He laughed, "I know what it meant to you. They were selling pieces for charity. That's what I was really doing with Camille that day. She's a broker for the auction house."

The memory of your insecurities came back in a flash and your cheeks blushed pink at how foolish the notion of him straying seemed now.

"Here it is!" He crouched down holding it in his hand, your inked initials a little worn but still visible.

Slipping your key into the new lock you popped it open and knelt down beside him. Hooking it through the original it stood out higher than the rest and you both smiled.

"You're stuck with me now, triple locked." He fiddled with your ring suddenly shy.

"I don't need metaphors to know we'll be together forever Taehyung." You kissed his soft lips. "but I really like them."

The gallery had been taken over by a hum of excitement, the air hanging heavy, was full of compliments and bids. Everyone was clamoring for the chance to own a Kim Taehyung original.

You hadn't seen the man of the hour in a while. You'd been kept dutifully in one spot regaling everyone with the romantic story behind the girl waving on the bridge.

Finally breaking away you grabbed a glass of champagne from the nearest waiters tray and made your way to the back of the gallery. He stood by a painting you'd yet to see with an eclectic looking woman in large red framed glasses. Her bangle bracelets chimed together as she theatrically asked him questions about his work.

Noticing you moving towards him, his face pleaded silently with you to come to his social rescue.

"Ah, the girl in the Green Sweater!" She pulled you into her side grabbing and holding your hand. "Are you also The Reluctant Muse?" she pointed to the secretly cum splatterd piece.

Taehyung held back his smile, biting his lip.

"Yes, I guess I am."

"The abstract way he displayed your body, it's very sexy. You know I used to be someone's muse." She patted the back of your hand. "From the size of this ring I'm guessing you're not nearly as reluctant anymore."

Knocking back your champagne you reached for another, "I'm currently working on lowering my inhibitions."

Focusing back on Taehyung she continued, "I simply have to have this painting, it reminds me so much of my younger days."

He shook his head to reinforce what he was about to say. "Unfortunately this one has already been curated to a private collection." He winked nodding discreetly in your direction.

"Don't be silly, I'll give you $20,000."

You choked on your drink surprised while he reiterated his statement.

"I'm sorry, It's just a very special painting to me."

You had to interject, "Let's not make any hasty decisions."

Taehyung raised a scolding eyebrow, "The piece is simply priceless, I've put too much of myself in it to sell."

You smirked at his secret admission. "What if," feeling emboldened with confidence you put forth the suggestion, "we make it a series?"

Taehyung's eyes lit up as you explained.

"It'll be one of a kind, just for you madam."

Her bangles declared her excitement as she clapped. "Yes, I love that! But I have two conditions."

Leaning forward you both eagerly waited.

“I want extra splatters, I really like the way they look. And I'm going to need it finished in time for my party next week.”

Taehyung shook the woman's hand and grinned proudly at you.

"No problem, we'll start working on it tonight."

#taehyung smut #tae #bts smut #bts #Tae #V #JSFDT series #This is part 2 to an unwritten part 1 because my brain sucks

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durotoswrites · 3 years

Note

For the writing meme thingy: 🍄how do you get yourself in the mood to write? 🍑 do you/would you write smut? 📒 any fics planned?

🍄 How do you get yourself in the mood to write?

Getting in the mood to write and actually wanting to sit down and start writing are two very different things, but they're connected, so I'll explain both.

To set into “creative mode” it helps me to do these things:

Listen to music that makes me think of a character/situation in my story/stories. I've got playlists separated by character and pairing. Sometimes I also just work on curating those playlists for fun and get my brain going.

Bounce overall ideas off of my friends and husband/editor (but he's my best friend, too 💗)

Reread old chapters or recent ones and future snippets based on what I want to do.

Once I actually want to put words down, I get a little more strict with myself. I get distracted verrrry easily sometimes and I have to fight the urge to open a million more tabs when researching a small detail.

I move to instrumental music (I have playlists for different moods like “emotional”, “soft”, “sad”, etc. I usually listen to “soft” as a general soothing background sound, as I can get pretty dang emotional when I write, especially with the stuff I've been churning out lately.

So, yeah, I need tissues within reach if I get upset. (Wow, I'm not making this sound fun at all, lmao)

After sound has been established, I like to eat a snack (something with protein) because I can be under for hours, lol. Eat it and finish it. Otherwise, I get distracted.

I also like to have drinks available. I always have a bottle of water, but I also like having a hot cup of tea. I think it's the time of year for me to switch to cold barley tea.

I write while seated on a recliner with my feet up. I have my laptop on a lap desk and it's a pretty cozy setup.

I basically try to remove any excuse I have to get up once I start writing, because I am the worst procrastinator I know.

🍑Do you/would you write smut?

Heheh... heck yeah, I do. Waaaaay more than most people realize. Stuff I've actually posted? It's pretty limited. I posted a couple pieces (Let Me Love You and You're Like the Sunshine) a few years ago, but I've been practicing ever since. One of my planned stories literally has what I refer to as a “smut dump” in the draft where I've been experimenting with writing different moods. I like the intimate scenes to play a role in the overall plot or have it be a bonding experience.

Despite that, I do have a shameless Gray x Mary story I should just get out there that has zero plot, just two cuties in love. In my mind it's so naughty and kinky and I get flustered thinking about it (Mary is hot, okay?), but it's probably hella vanilla, lmao. I really am grateful that people have been really supportive about my writing smut despite what I usually write, and they've been so encouraging, too! I honestly feel like the smut I've posted is really stilted because I was so self-conscious about it. I don't feel like they are terrible for first attempts, but I have definitely grown more comfortable writing it.

Will The Shy Newcomer become explicit? I kinda really want it to, but I might separate the chapters for those who don't care for that content. Overall, I'd like to write more and post more, and I want to write more than just male x female smut as well. I have some of those in my planned pieces (more about them later).

📒 Any Fics Planned?

Firstly, I'm super tickled more than one person was interested in this. I copied the answer I wrote earlier.

Short answer: Yes. I also plan to bring more of my stories over from ffn to Ao3.

Long answer under the cut, heheh. I rambled quite a bit.

Ask me about my writing processes and stories!

I have so many WIPs that haven’t been touched in years that I’d like to finish, so new planned fics aren’t posted yet. Some of them have more adult themes than most of the stuff I’ve been writing, so I get flustered sharing them. I’ve been at a crossroads, as I feel that you can’t have growth without changing things up. On the other hand, I feel like a lot of my readers associate my works with a specific “wholesome” feel-good mood. It’s kinda nice to be known for something, although that might just be my ego talking, thinking that people recognize my work as a “type”.

Regardless, in the end, I feel growth is necessary.

I don’t want to leave a lot of unfinished WIPs waiting because they stress me out and I have too many of them already, so I’d like to have a bulk of my new stories with a good chunk written before I decide to post them.

Among those include:

A longfic featuring Pete’s farm in Forget-Me-Not Valley (A blend of HMDS with the FoMT plugin and AWL). It takes place in the same universe as The Shy Newcomer (Claire in Mineral Town) and there are a few overlapping moments, although Pete’s story starts first. Pete’s personality is verrry different from Claire’s, and his story was kind of supposed to be the yang to TSN’s yin. Pete’s best friends in his story are Ruby (not sure if I’m adding Tim yet), Nami, and Rock. Readers will be treated to a poorly-socialized pre-Mineral Town Cliff (if you think he was bad at the beginning of TSN, well… heh… he’s a wreck here).

Another planned unpublished story is a crossover of Harvest Moon and the movie “In This Corner of the World”, based on a manga of the same name by Fumiyo Kouno. It was written as a gift for a friend. I have the entire outline figured out and have slowly been filling it in. My friend asked for an AU where Claire and Cliff have an arranged marriage and live with his family in Akiyama, the hometown I had created for Cliff in The Shy Newcomer. I took the opportunity to expand the characters in his family. I have it written during the same time period and society as “In This Corner of the World”, but had decided to write a spreading disease as an allegory for war, but then COVID happened and some parts of it just got really hard to write. There are also a lot of sexually explicit content as Claire slowly grows and learns from her spouse that it’s okay to express what she wants despite sex being a taboo issue. If there’s enough interest in the story, I’ll post it, but I worry it’s a little too niche for there to be many people into it.

Pastor Carter and Doctor Trent are one of my favorite rare pair ships. I’ve had a partial draft for a story about them for a few years now, especially focusing on Trent growing up and acknowledging that he has an unhealthy addiction for things that he knows he can’t have. There are some more adult/sexual themes in this piece, too, including the main character lusting after a married woman (who also happens to be his patient) and some lemons. (Does anyone call it that anymore or is it just referred to as “smut” nowadays? Haha) I always feel so bad for neglecting the folks at the clinic in-game and wanted to write a piece that focused more on them, Trent specifically. It’s a multi-chap fic, but I don’t think I’m going to let it get as long as some of my other pieces.

I also really want to write a short romantic oneshot for every marriage candidate in Mineral Town, around 1,000 words each. So far, I have one for Cliff and one for Gray. I want to write Claire with everyone, because I think it would be fun to explore all the different personalities.

I have more installments planned for A Single Day, including a day in the life of the following characters, all with drafts in varying degrees of progress:

Anna

Doug

Nora (yes, I’m writing from the point of view of the cat living at the inn)

More to come – I think Lillia and Thomas would be especially interesting to explore

I do still have that Legend of Zelda Majora’s Mask piece I’ve been pondering where Link befriends the soul of the deku scrub child while possessed by the mask. I don’t have much written about it, but I really love the world of Majora’s Mask. Such a fun game.

I also think about the lead carpenter’s son in Ocarina of Time and that weird side quest involving the blue chicken and the son being lost to the forest. Then that unique-looking kokiri girl explaining that all who get taken in the lost woods become stalfos. Like, did the guy die? Was he sick? Did he want to die? There’s just so much going on there that would be fun to explore.

I also have played OMORI recently and have like… A LOT of feelings about it. I don’t know what I’d write, but I’m still damn impressed at how well the characters are developed in such a short game.

Other games I’ve had vague ideas about writing for include the following:

The Flame in the Flood: I’m thinking a survivalist/action story fleshing out Scout’s backstory a bit more and her thoughts as she’s traveling. I feel like she’s a very lonely person, but isn’t given the chance to really dwell on it.

Night In the Woods: I’d love to write more about Mae’s dreams and what they mean to her. She doesn’t really talk to anyone about them openly, so it’s really hard to tell her feelings about them in some regards. We know that she’s distressed about them, but I’d like to dive a little deeper. Do the nightmares end after the games does? What about Bea’s new nightmares?

Hades (Supergiant Games): I think it would be fun to write more about the events that take place before the game starts, like Zagreus’s duties in the house of Hades, and expand on the strained relationship with his father.

#ask games #writing #jake-marshall

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sadoeuphemist · 4 years

Text

Stories I thought about writing, but didn’t:

my voice is poisonous, a gift from a strange god my parents once befriended. I’m careful not to speak, but I know they’re afraid.

A poison-voiced girl is born to deaf parents, but falls in love with a hearing boy. Their courtship is marked on her end by a thrilling restraint, biting her lip, knowing she could kill him with an indiscretion; he, on the other hand, longs to see her act without inhibition. He manages to make her laugh, sigh, gasp out in wonder - each time he falls ill from the poison of her voice, but is undeterred even in his convalescence, returning renewed in his goal to tease another sound out of her.

Her parents tell her to break it off; she’ll kill him. She reluctantly agrees. He refuses, pleads with her, grasps her hands so she can’t sign. In anguish she cries out his name — but lo! he does not sicken, does not die. It turns out his repeated exposures to her voice have mithridatized him against it. She can speak around him freely! They both agree that this development has taken a lot of the excitement out of the relationship, but it has been replaced with a greater casualness and intimacy that balances it out.

I can see the angels in their true form, a thousand splendid eyes and all. They think it’s funny, and have taken to hanging around my apartment

The angels start making excuses to keep showing up at my apartment, in the manner of the annunciation, but for increasingly trivial reasons. They come bearing tidings about how I should definitely get the turkey wrap for lunch, which brand of fabric softener I should buy, how that quarter I’ll find on the sidewalk is a sign that I am favored by God. They come bearing bad tidings too: The Lord has heard of all the evil in your printer, and has sent us here to jam it. Their presence becomes completely overbearing, but they are insistent. There’s a reason you see us in our true forms, they say, all their splendid eyes shining. Is it so hard to believe that the God that formed every atom of you in the womb should watch over you always, that every mundane moment of your existence in this world is shot through with the divine?

There was a body in the river, ice cold and snow white. Sometimes it was all the way dead. Sometimes it sat up and talked to me.

A king has declared that whoever can complete the following tasks shall marry his daughter: 1) to recover a lost treasure stolen from his family hundreds of years ago; 2) to name the start of the pact between men and horses; and 3) to find a cure to the plague ravaging the land.

Our plucky folk hero helps an old lady who sits by the river; she tells him of the snow white body within, who has sat up and spoken to her at odd times throughout her life. It is the spirit of the glacier: the glacier melts, and forms the river; layer by layer the past frozen in it is uncovered, parts of it living and parts of it dead. Our hero builds many bonfires and melts the glacier faster; the body lives and dies and lives many times over and tells him the three answers. 1) The thief fell into a crevasse and was frozen over; the ice is melted now, and the treasure can be recovered. 2) Iron horseshoes frozen in the glacier reveal the pact is many thousands of years old. 3) The plague is an old one, frozen and released anew with the glacier’s melting; it is carried in the livestock, and they must be slaughtered.

The hero solves the king’s tasks and marries his daughter. Presumably the new king is then faced with the challenge of the rising sea levels; no idea how that plays out.

“We’re all nice to each other here,” they told us, “we’ve got angels in the hills. They like it when we’re nice. And they see everything.”

This one’s tough to summarize adequately. Two men are going door to door, seemingly taking a survey of the religious beliefs in a small town. They finish, sit together in their car. People have been very cooperative. One of the men remarks that the local religious beliefs are disappointingly unremarkable: yes, they believe in angels watching from the hills, but most people believe in an omniscient God watching over them, and whether it is God or his intercessors, does it make a significant difference?

They sit in the car. Perhaps they smoke in the lazy sunlight. They have finished their survey ahead of time. One of them proposes: Suppose we have a picnic lunch up in the hills?

They park at the base of the hill and walk up. Lovely day. They spread out a blanket from the car, stretch their legs out on the grass, take off their coats, loosen their ties. They’ve brought their packed lunch, sandwiches, a thermos of lemonade. They talk about how pleasant all the people were. Their kind of religion seems so ... brittle, one of the men remarks. If I thought there was someone waiting to punish me the moment I stepped out of line, I’d want to do something horrible just to get it over with.

You think so? says his partner. I think just the opposite. The grand problem with religion is that there aren’t enough consequences for wickedness. I know if I saw the wicked being smote down on a regular basis, I would very satisfied in my religion indeed.

Well, of course you would; you’re a sadist.

Me? A sadist? Hardly.

You’re a sadist, his partner says teasingly. A sadist and brute.

They smile at each other. Idle conversation. There is a suggestion that they have visited many such towns and cities, asking the same question, but have yet to receive a satisfactory answer. At one point one of them notes that there’s something in the trees, but this remark is ignored and nothing is ever made of it. The conversation turns back to whether the angels in the hills are real or not. The ‘sadist’ stands up, declares his intent to do something wicked to test them. He marches around, swinging his arms, then looks around at the trees and puts his hands on his hips and laughs.

You know, up here away from society, he declares, I can’t think of a single wicked thing to do!

(Maybe a conversation here about how he could tear branches from trees, despoil the scenery, find an animal to kill; but then again animals in nature strip bark from trees, kill each other bloodily all the time, tear each other to bits, so how wicked could that be, really?)

He looks down at his partner still lying back on the blanket. Unless, of course, I were to do something wicked to you.

Whatever happens next, it is very leisurely. The scene is easy, very relaxed. Lovely day. Calm. Bright blue sky. Clouds float across it, white like feathered wings, and then pass, leaving not a trace behind.

None of us can imagine what life was like before the Clocks came, before clockwork cities, and all their technology. They rebuilt our crumbling society, in perfect, mechanical order.

Brief musings on a hypothetical pre-Clock society. A society built around the sun, all buildings roofless, everyone’s necks craned upward. Cities built running north to south so as not to block anyone’s view of the rise and set. A society built around hourglasses, everyone judging the passage of time by the sand puddling around their feet, knees, waists, clambering up onto growing dunes, waiting for the flip, for the sand to slowly drain away and the furnishings of their homes to be uncovered. Perhaps this was our unimaginable life before the Clocks came: sands stretching far away and bare, the hypothetical counterpart bulb of an hourglass reflected invisible above us, empty and vast with unrealized possibility, waiting to be reset.

When I was very young, I met a bear at the edge of the woods. Before I could play dead, it bowed to me.

Jokey little fic where a child is instructed on the etiquette of bears: when to bow, when to curtsy, when to raise your hands and make yourself as large as possible, when to climb a tree, when to play dead. (Note that grizzlies are territorial, so if they attack you and play dead they’ll leave you alone because the threat is neutralized; whereas black bears are not territorial, so playing dead will do no good because a black bear will only attack if it deliberately wants to fuck you up.)

I was given very specific instructions. Go to the rosebush on a clear night. As the moonlight turns the roses silver, feed them three drops of blood.

After years of trying for a child, a couple turns to an old witch to help. The woman is instructed to eat a rose from a magical rosebush. If she first pricks her finger and stains the rose red with her blood, then she will have a son, ruddy and robust and bold in battle; if she visits the bush on a clear night and eats a rose painted silver by moonlight, then she will have a daughter, as pale and graceful and elegant as the moon.

The woman is uneasy with the implications of this binary, and says so. The witch smiles and gives her a new set of instructions. So she pricks her finger at night, her blood painted black by the moonlight, and nine months later gives birth to a child as black as a rose, who is neither boy nor girl.

Never manged to come up with a plot for this one. The kid grows up to have a career fulfilling all those “Neither man nor woman” prophecies? Eh. Kinda corny. There’s something about gender roles in fairy tales here, but I couldn’t put it together.

Not for the first time, the company time loop drill had gone very, very wrong.

I did actually write a response for this one, but it got too long and I gave up on it. Summary of the rest of the idea I had:

Time resets. Nagle confirms that it is both an actual time loop and a drill; the company is doing a controlled time loop to prepare them for the real thing. People complain. What’s the point of a drill when an actual time loop would let you keep doing things over and over until you get it right? Nagle points out that could take years, subjectively, and that this is a controlled experience where he has a code to abort the exercise if anything seriously goes wrong. He insists they try to make it work.

They go through a bunch of loops. Don’t succeed. It’s highly technical stuff that none of them are trained for. Morale drops. People start complaining, they’ve spent hours at this, they should be off duty by now. Nagle points out there’s a ruling, established with VR training, that companies don’t need to pay their employees according to their subjective experience of time, and officially they’ve only spent 34 minutes at this.

More loops. Morale drops further. People start demanding Nagle use the abort code, threatening to quit. Nagle points out that while they’re in this time loop, their actions are consequence-free, but once he ends the loop they’ll have to live with their decisions for the rest of their lives. Are they sure they really want to quit?

At that point someone loses it and kills Nagle. Shock. Panic. Some satisfaction. He’s reborn the next loop, starts screaming about it - someone kills him again. Complete social breakdown. Eventually some people decide, fuck it, let’s just live in this loop forever. Killing Nagle becomes a standard thing they do at the start of every loop, so that he can’t input the abort code. They go through various reconfigurations of their social group - orgies, riots, open paranoia where everyone colonizes a different part of the building, regressing to primitivism, open warfare between various sects, rebuilding of society along different axes of thought. Everyone starts thinking of themselves as immortal, they start calling themselves things like ‘Chronobog of the Infinite Plane of Despair’ or whatever; the narration gets increasingly surreal.

After god knows how many cycles of this, everyone finally achieves an equilibrium of perfect enlightenment. They know what must be done. They leave Nagle alive, he watches as they move in perfect unison to unlock the server room and overcome all the obstacles and repair the tachyon servers, loop is finally terminated, normal flow of time resumes.

Nagle stands up, gives a speech, starts congratulating them on completing the drill. As he talks, everyone can feel the rapport they’ve built start to slip away - they no longer understand each other perfectly outside of the context of those 34 minutes. Time is moving forward again, and with it introducing unfamiliarity, uncertainty, an impossible onslaught of variables that they cannot predict or prepare for, and they are all moving inescapably further from each other even as they glance around and try to catch each other’s eyes and keep holding on to that feeling of perfect unity - but it’s too late now, they are strangers behind familiar faces, all of them heading in their own directions, going to be returning to their own separate lives; that moment of solidarity they had is past.

And then Nagle claps his hands at them and says, “OK, drill’s over, everyone back to work!”

#fiction #dumping grounds

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izlaria · 4 years

Text

Someone you like (part 6)

This is the final chapter of my “Someone you like” inspired fic. It’s also available on AO3 in case you prefer that platform.

Special thanks to @rueitae for betaing this chapter and to @onlysilvy for being a darling this whole time. Your support means everything. Also, sorry, Rue, I have no self-control.

Summary: Lance falls in love with Pidge on two different occasions. They eventually figure it out.

25 and 23 years old

The end of Lance’s first year as an MFE fighter saw him standing in front of Pidge’s room, wringing his hands. Anxiety clawed at his chest, but he had made up his mind to finally confess his feelings. With the anniversary of Allura’s death fast approaching – it was only two months away –, both Keith and Hunk had advised him to either spill his guts soon or wait for the new year. Lance had taken this to heart.

His work in the Garrison didn’t put him in direct contact with Pidge, but the two of them always made up excuses to see each other after hours. They would spend evenings in his apartment, playing video games or watching movies, or they would go over to Shiro’s for a round of Monsters and Mana, enjoying how excited Curtis got over the storylines.

Most of the time, Lance felt like they were already a couple, with how much they bantered. Even Veronica assured him that they were insufferable. So, every day it got harder for Lance to control his instinct to pull Pidge to him and kiss her, to finally let her know how much Lance wanted her in his life, forever.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Before Lance could make up his mind to knock, the door slid open to reveal Romelle. She stood there with a hand on her hip, her blonde hair pinned in a bun at the top of her head.

“You do realize there’s a sensor on the door?” There was laughter in her voice. “And a camera. I’ve been staring at your distressed face for almost five minutes.” Alarm must have flashed through his expression, because she snorted. “Don’t worry, she’s not here right now.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Romelle,” he said with little-to-no enthusiasm. The girl continued to grin at his misery, stepping aside so Lance could walk into the room. “When did you even get here?”

She moved to the bed, where several books were scattered around, and plopped back against the pile of pillows. Around the room, machinery parts and clothing pieces battled for the floorspace. It was an aspect of Pidge that never changed, the organized chaos of her room that no doubt reflected that brilliant mind of hers.

“Keith stopped by Altea to pick me up. Hunk wanted me to bring some produce from that quadrant, because Colleen’s last harvest was apparently jeopardized by a flood a junior botanist caused.” Romelle shrugged. “Katie didn’t know the specifics.”

Her use of Pidge’s given name no longer surprised Lance. People around the Garrison usually referred to the Holts by their titles, since their ranks within the organization demanded a certain level of reverence, but many of their colleagues from the war still called her Katie. Especially those who spent their time with Sam and Colleen, like Romelle.

“Have you seen Hunk and Matt yet?” Lance took a seat on the couch. It was old and gray, but comfortable enough. He and Shiro had dragged it into Pidge’s dorm after one too many nights of eating dinner on the floor.

The blonde shook her head. “Hunk and Shay are grabbing me for lunch and Matt is busy with his girlfriend.” She leaned against the headboard and, although her posture remained relaxed, the look in her eyes spoke of mischief. “Katie said I could chill –” she made quotation marks with her hands – “here while I waited, but if I’m interrupting something…”

Lance gave a spastic wave of his arms that probably did nothing to deny her suspicions. It was just his luck that Romelle was there again. She’d already witnessed his struggle when asking Allura out and now she could see right through him.

“Interrupting?” He forced a laugh. “Nah! It’s fine! Always good to see a friendly face!”

Romelle didn’t have the skill to emulate Pidge’s unimpressed look, but being best friends with Matt had certainly helped her get close to it. However, she also didn’t seem invested enough in his drama to pry, going back to digging through the books.

“I’m sure it was not

face you had hoped to see,” she commented nonchalantly, still looking down at the different covers. “Alas, it is what it is. Katie is in a meeting, so you might as well keep me company.”

Lance frowned at her, but chose not to follow through with the subject. “What are those books for?”

“It turns out that an education based around the teachings of a megalomaniac prince did not actually cover as much astrology as I had hoped.” Romelle looked down at her palms. There was an edge to her smile that Lance was sad to recognize as self-deprecation. “Hunk helps with what he can, but Matt and Katie are the real connoisseurs, apparently, so they gave me some material from when they were younger.” She heaved a sigh. “It’s a lot.”

“I’m really proud of you.” Lance smiled at her, a little awkward. “Allura would be, too.”

“What? Where did that come from?” Romelle made a face at him, but she was smiling as well. “I am simply trying to do my best. There is a lot I don’t know.”

“Yeah, but you’ve done your best since I met you and it’s always been enough.” Lance shrugged, shifting his gaze to the whiteboard that hung over Pidge’s bed. The equations there meant nothing to him. “Without you, we wouldn’t have been able to stop Lotor or Honerva. Besides, the Holts are very selective of the people they like. They don’t just take on hopeless cases.”

Romelle blew out a breath. Their eyes met tentatively, as they were both embarrassed by the situation. “You know, it is surprisingly easy to forget that you are a good person.”

“I’ve been told,” he deadpanned, much to the Altean’s amusement.

“Look, I do not need you to cheer me up. I appreciate it, but you can keep your compliments for Katie, who we both know would enjoy them more.” Even as she said this, it was clear that Romelle felt a little better. She picked up one of the books. “If you want to help, just quiz me on chapter ten.”

Lance got up from the couch to accept the book, grinning when he recognized the title. “Hey, I know this one!” He sat back down and flipped to the table of contents. “Yeah, I had to read this for a summer course I took when I was fourteen. That’s when I met Hunk,” he added for Romelle’s benefit.

“Hm, funny, that one is Matt’s.” She kneeled on the bed to look at the cover. “And there was one of Katie’s ribbons in it, so I believe she also read it.”

“One of her ribbons?” Lance frowned at her in curiosity. He had never seen Pidge carry ribbons around, but what would have been a ridiculous image in their teen years was now utterly charming. It was lovely to find out these small details about her.

“Yes. She used them to mark the pages when younger. There, there!” Romelle pointed to the book until Lance reached a page where a green ribbon laid across the words. She grinned. “Isn’t it adorable?”

It was.

At the same time, it reminded him of the difficulties Pidge had undergone during middle school and how she had only had Matt and her parents to rely on. Had she read her brother’s book as a way to escape the words of her colleagues? Or had she loved space so fiercely even then that her time of leisure was spent going through Matt’s training material?

“Do you think this is when their little feud over color-coding started?” Romelle broke him out of these thoughts. She had opened another one of the books and was flipping through the pages absent-mindedly. “I swear to the moons of Cobturg, if I have to listen to their arguments about this one more time, I–”

There was a beep and the door to the room opened once more, shutting Romelle up at once. Pidge took a second to look them over, before dropping her purse down at the coffee table.

“Why do you look so guilty?” She narrowed her eyes at Romelle, who let out a noise of protest, as if to say ‘Who? Me?’.

Lance went to her rescue. “She was telling me about the ribbons you used to collect.” He held up the green fabric, grinning. “Who would have thought? Our Pidge Gunderson was actually a normal, little girl once.”

Her hair was short again. It looked different, though, more put-together than the hairstyle she had used during their time in space. He supposed her responsibilities in the Garrison demanded a more polished appearance, but he kind of missed the disarray.

She looked very pretty like this. In fact, the overall effect of her wide-legged slacks, light-blue blouse, the hair and the boots left him feeling a little dazed.

Pidge rolled her eyes and made a grab for the ribbon, but Lance stood up and pulled it out of reach. She almost lost her balance from his sudden movement, putting a knee up on the couch to keep in place.

“Did you really come in here just to test my patience?” she asked, still standing in front of him.

Lance clicked his tongue playfully. “Nothing makes me happier than seeing you blush in anger.” He waved the ribbon around, smirking. “You make a beautiful tomato.”

“She’s more of a strawberry, really,” Romelle pointed out from her perch on the bed. She gestured towards her face. “It’s the little dots.”

“Those are called freckles.” Pidge pushed away from the couch and towards the Altean. “You were supposed to be studying, not ganging up with Lance to bother me.”

Romelle’s face dropped into an impressively effective look of anguish. “But it’s boring to study by myself.” She grabbed Pidge’s hands, swinging their arms lightly. “You promised I could do your hair before I left!”

Pidge glanced at him over her shoulder. Whether it was because she thought Lance might help her or simply because she was mortified by the idea of doing something so girly in front of him, he couldn’t tell. Before he could intervene, however, there was another beep from the door, then a knock.

“That must be Hunk,” Pidge declared, jumping away from Romelle.

The blonde rolled her eyes, but slid out of the bed and opened a small panel on the wall, where a screen was hidden. From behind her, Lance could see Hunk and Shay talking on the video feed.

“Saved by the bell,” he heard Pidge mutter under her breath.

“Aw, come on, Pidgeon.” Lance aimed a shit-eating grin at her, knowing it was easier to taunt her into things than to simply ask. “Now I want to see you looking all primped up!”

The girl did not back down. She puffed up her chest, lips set into a line, and turned to face him fully. “You’re supposed to be on my side here!” Then, in a lower voice, “I don’t want to set miss excitable over there loose with a brush!”

“I will have you know –” Romelle waggled a finger in the air – “that everyone in our crew thinks very highly of my styling skills. Is it not true?”

She whipped around to prod at her two teammates, who had just been let into the room. Hunk looked doubtful, but Shay nodded her head solemnly.

“Her hair is widely regarded as the most luscious and well-kept of our ship,” Shay declared with all the straight-faced earnestness that could be expected from a rock-person.

“She and Hunk are the only ones who have hair!” Pidge threw her hands up in frustration.

Lance felt himself chuckle. He barely ever got to see the interactions between this group. During his time at the farm, the only occasion when he saw everyone together was on the day they celebrated the end of the war. It hurt a little to think of all the events he’d lost while in Cuba or on his travels.

“How much harm can she really do?” He approached Pidge and ran a hand through her hair, letting the ends curl around his fingers. “I’m sure you’ll look beautiful.”

Pidge eyed him carefully and, though her countenance betrayed nothing, Lance was sure he’d felt her shudder at his touch.

“My hair is too short to do more than stubby ponytails,” she continued her objections. “It would be far from beautiful.”

“I don’t know…” He gave her a wink and, this time, red flooded her cheeks. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing anyone could do to make you not beautiful.”

“I changed my mind.” The interruption froze him in place, hand still on the nape of Pidge’s neck. “Get me out of here,” Romelle said to the other two, ignoring the glare Lance sent her way. “Before I scream.”

Hunk choked out a laugh. “Elle, you haven’t seen the worst of it.”

Lance pulled his hand back quickly. He hadn’t meant to act so impulsively, not in front of their friends at least. The only excuse he could find was that their antics had filled him to the brim with affection and now it spilled out, untamed.

“Don’t you three have a lunch to get to?” Pidge pushed her glasses up, moving away from Lance and further into the room. She stopped by her bedside table and fiddled with a tablet that had been lying there.

Surprisingly, Romelle let her avoidance pass without comment. She gave Pidge a long look, before voicing her agreement. “I’m taking these two to that coffeeshop you and I go from time to time.” There was something strangely emphatic about how she was speaking. “They have a new dessert I want Hunk to try and replicate.”

Pidge tensed, still not looking up from the tablet. “You mean the one we discovered with Allura.”

Lance and Hunk shared a look of confusion and dread. From the way Romelle’s expression twisted, it didn’t seem like that kind of despondency was what she had been trying to evoke. And Shay, bless her heart, appeared to be at a loss and kept shifting her gaze between the four of them, waiting for an explanation.

“Should we go, then?” she asked, uncertain. Romelle gave a quick nod and turned her face away from them. The frown she sported appeared out-of-place in the usually bright Altean.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Pidge had sat down on her bed and her eyes zeroed in on Romelle. “We can talk more then.”

The two girls nodded at each other.

As they traded goodbyes, Hunk sidled up to Lance, giving him an all-enveloping hug. They had talked earlier that morning, but Lance’s impending confession put him out-of-sorts. It was a nice hug, another aspect of the Garrison life that he’d missed: his friend, the support he gave, his unyielding belief on the people he loved.

Hunk held him in the hug for a second. “Don’t let her get away, dude.” They separated, but his friend kept going. “Not like this.”

And then he and Shay were gone.

Romelle stopped at the door. She turned to give Lance a considering look. “You mentioned Allura earlier. Wherever she may be, she would have wanted nothing but your happiness.” Her eyes shifted to something behind him and Lance could almost feel Pidge’s uneasiness at the stare. “That goes for the both of you.”

The door closed behind her, leaving those last words to hang in the air.

“Will you tell me what that was about?” Lance crossed the room to sit by Pidge. He poked her knee until she looked up at him.

“Can I pretend that it was just Romelle being Romelle?” Her eyes were sad as she said this. He almost gave in, but his worry spoke louder than his sympathy.

“I might not know her as you do, but I doubt Romelle would say anything to hurt you.” He grimaced. “Not intentionally.”

“Intentional or not, I just think she’s meddling where she’s not wanted.” The sharpness in her voice made Lance flinch.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I am sick of people acting like they know what’s best for me.” Pidge wrapped her arms around herself. It was such an uncharacteristic gesture for her that Lance wasn’t sure what to say. “I am happy. Who is she to doubt that?”

“Your friend?” he offered, keeping his voice soft.

Pidge normally handled obstacles with a bull-headedness that most feared. She and Romelle had this in common, the fierceness that had sent them travelling through the galaxies to ensure justice was made for their families. His friend couldn’t see the hypocrisy in her claim that the Altean was being meddlesome when Pidge’s own curiosity had often led her to intrude on other people’s matters.

She was a very private person and almost completely indifferent to gossip, true, but she went above and beyond for what did spark her interest.

“Romelle being my friend gives her the right to question my judgement?” Pidge sent him a fulminating look, before turning her eyes away.

“A little.” Lance chuckled to himself, despite receiving an elbow to the side for his answer. “C’mon, don’t act as if you guys didn’t question my actions after the war!”

“Aren’t our circumstances a little different?” Her voice was dry as the Arizona desert. “It’s not like I’m burying myself in work or something. I just…” She forced out a breath. “I’m satisfied with my life. I have friends and my family is safe and I’m respected in the Garrison. What more does she want from me?”

Lance just looked at her. In many ways, Pidge was right. She was still very young, despite having lived through so much, and there would be time for adventures or romance or whatever Romelle had wanted for her.

Still, the notion caused something to ache in his chest. He wanted Romelle’s words to be about him.

Since his return, many of their colleagues had insinuated that there was something more between him and Pidge, and Lance had allowed it. He loved her sincerely, but he’d spent the past year swallowing flirtatious remarks, afraid to scare her off. The rumors about them had seemed like a good way to put the idea into Pidge’s head, even as she grew more and more upset with the comments.

“She mentioned the coffeeshop because she wanted to remind me of a conversation we had when we first went there,” Pidge confessed as the silence stretched between them. “About something I wanted all those years ago.”

“What was it?” Lance frowned at her.

“Nothing that matters. I couldn’t have it then and I can’t have it now.” She didn’t look away from him, this time, and their locked gazes sent electricity down Lance’s spine. There was a heaviness in her eyes that made them look dark, even in the well-lit room.

Lance reached for her hand, pulling her arm away from her middle and onto his lap. He played with her fingers; the ribbon lied forgotten over his thigh.

“Pidgeon, I’ve never known you to give up on what you want.” He smiled at her, feeling a wave of fondness shoot through him. Her hand twisted in his grip, as if she’d meant to close it into a fist.

“I thought I was over it,” Pidge whispered, more to herself than to him.

Lance worked his jaw, hoping he hadn’t misinterpreted the look she was giving him. He could swear her eyes had lowered to his mouth for a fraction of a second. It made his whole body feel hot, like a burning star had settled in his chest and turned the blood in his veins into pure heat.

The implication was not lost in him. Had Pidge liked him back then? Had that affection survived the years of his self-imposed isolation?

“I think –” he started, eyes unable to leave her face – “that some things are worth the wait.” And then, without breaking eye contact, Lance lifted Pidge’s hand to his mouth and kissed her pulse.

The reaction was instantaneous. Color rushed up her complexion, an uneven redness that Lance had taunted her about in their younger years and that now seemed disproportionally attractive. In this bubble of heat they created, Lance felt he could see her brilliance clearer than ever.

Pidge was beautiful, not only because of how she looked, but because of who she was.

Because he was looking so closely, Lance could tell the exact moment her bewilderment dwindled. Her eyes hardened, her mouth curved down.

“Can you not?” she snapped, shaking away his grip to stand up.

“Not what?” Lance stared at her back as fear welled up inside him.

“Not stand so close. Not touch me like that.” Pidge waved her arms around as she spoke. “Not get my hopes up when I know you don’t mean it.”

“How could you possibly think I don’t mean it?” It was his turn to sound indignant.

“Because you’re loverboy Lance! You go after these bombshell women, with their long limbs and their poise…” She struggled to finish her thought, groaning. “I don’t want to be another one of your conquests!”

“Is that what you really think of me?” He felt angry at the possibility. This was Pidge, someone who should know Lance better than the average, Voltron-show-watching acquaintance. She knew he hadn’t really gone into relationships in the past few years, still healing from Allura’s death.

“I don’t know what to think.” She stopped moving, letting her arms hang at her sides. Despite the defeat in her stance, when Pidge looked at him, there was pride in how she held her chin. “I know who I am. I am intelligent and brave and reliable. But I’m not nice,” she said the word with a hint of repulse, “or patient or charming.”

“Of course I know that!” Lance had to hold back a grimace. That hadn’t come out quite right. “But you wanna know what else you are?” He didn’t wait for a response. “You’re the girl who always called me out on my bullshit. The one who has saved my ass more times than I can count, who helped me study for my piloting exams.” He lowered his tone, calming down a little. “You’re the girl who came to meet me at the farm every month to bring all the games I had missed in the US.”

Pidge still didn’t look completely convinced, but she didn’t dodge him when Lance approached.

“The releases always came out late in Varadero,” she interjected with a frown.

He laughed at her excuse. “You came because you wanted to make sure I was okay. Then, after I was done wallowing, you were the one who flew out to meet me in Greece and Korea and Chile.” He took her hand, feeling more confident. “And every time we met up, it was like my body relaxed. Ah,” he acted out, “I’m finally here. With my best friend.”

“That’s just it, Lance. I’m your friend.” Pidge studied his expression with furrowed brows. “You may be feeling – I don’t know! Moved by how close we’ve gotten?” She shook her head. “But I was in love with you for three years before I could accept that you’d only ever have eyes for Allura.”

“We’ve talked about this, Katie.” He kept his grasp on her hand, even as Pidge tried to move away. She had grown uncomfortable with his use of her name. “I did love Allura, but she’s gone. I deserve to go after what I want, too.”

“And what you want is me?” she sounded unconvinced.

“How can you be so smart and still so dense?” Lance threw his head back in frustration. “Everyone sees it. Hunk, Shiro, even Keith!” He sighed. “Even Romelle. Today, she wasn’t making fun of you or scolding you or whatever that exceptional and traumatized brain of yours came up with.” Lance had to hold up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “Romelle was trying to encourage me.”

Pidge stood there and, although she was quiet, her eyes remained sharp. Lance feared that he’d gone too far, but he knew rationally that Pidge had already exposed all she had to say and that it was up to him to erase her doubts.

He raised his unoccupied hand to cup her cheek. Pidge’s eyes fluttered shut.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “How can you be so sure that we will be fine after this?”

Lance leaned down to press a kiss against her eyelashes, then her cheeks, then the corner of her mouth. He heard her inhale sharply and hold the breath. Feeling her reactions to him right under his palm was a kind of inebriation he’d never experienced before.

“I know,” Lance let his lips drag against her skin, “because I’ve committed myself to seeing you happy.” He put some space between them so that he could look into her eyes. The flushed vibrancy of Pidge’s complexion made an image that stupefied him. “Even if that means I turn away right now.”

Her hands snaked up his chest to rest on Lance’s neck, pulling him down. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he couldn’t resist asking, a smile tugging at his lips. Pidge rolled her eyes but didn’t push away when Lance rested his forehead against hers.

“Don’t go.” She was the one to kiss the corner of his mouth, now. “Stay.”

They met in the middle.

Lance felt her hands curl into the collar of his shirt as they kissed, her lips pushing softly against his. The touch was unbearably tender, starting a tingle that ran up and down his back. In return, he used the hand that wasn’t on her cheek to hold Pidge against him. He drew circles on the fabric of her blouse, thankful that it was fine enough to feel the give of her skin underneath.

Pidge’s lips moved slowly on his, drawing out the sensation of that first contact. It was Lance who could no longer curb his want and he licked into her mouth, once, twice, until she was chasing his tongue with her own. Pidge sighed into the kiss, dragging a hand down over his chest.

He’d had kisses before – soft and passionate and frenzied and meaningless –, but the feel of Pidge’s body against him and the affection Lance held for her had ignited a spark inside of him that spread heat all over. It was the star, back again, now that there were no more secrets between them.

His smile broke the kiss and they parted, panting.

“So…” Lance let both of his hands rest on her waist. The smugness that grew within him must have shown in his expression, because Pidge looked immediately on guard. “When did you fall for me?” He traced a line down her back with his thumb. “I’m pretty sure I heard something about liking me for three years.”

Pidge pushed at his chest, walking him backwards. “Not telling.”

“Can’t I convince you?” He was trying to go for seductive, but the girl merely laughed.

“Don’t you have more pressing matters to focus on?” She continued to move them until Lance’s legs hit the edge of the bed. He blinked down at her.

“Think you can distract me?” He shot her a smirk. Despite the more sensual undertone it carried, challenges weren’t new between them. It comforted Lance that their dynamics had adjusted so easily to this new aspect of their relationship.

Pidge gave a final push, making him sit down on the bed. He had to brace himself against the mattress.

“I’m sure I can think of something,” she said, sarcasm thick on her voice. And then she climbed into Lance’s lap, a knee on each side of his thighs.

He felt his throat go dry and swallowed instinctively. The new position put her mouth just a little higher than his, making Lance tilt his head back to capture her lips.

“You know…” His voice came out strangled. “I always did like the way you think.”

When Pidge leaned over him, the feel of her hips lowering on his almost made him choke. A more conscious part of his brain was not surprised by her boldness, but it did nothing to calm his stammering heart.

“Just shut up, loverboy,” she muttered against his lips, even as their smiles made it difficult to really get into the kiss. Laughter bubbled up in him and Lance continued to kiss Pidge as her own giggles erupted. There was joy in her mouth and in his chest and in every point of contact between them.

“Oh, I’d forgotten about this.” Lance picked up the green piece of fabric that peaked out from behind a metal plaque.

Pidge glanced up at him, but her attention quickly shifted back to the code she’d been working on.

“Mom left a bunch of books for Romelle here. I think that’s where the ribbons are coming from.”

Lance smiled. He loved how casually they’d fallen into their relationship. As a young boy, he’d fantasized about girlfriends who fawned over him and his accomplishments, but, after so many years as an intergalactic authority, he had learned to appreciate how domestic they had become.

On moments like this, when it was just the two of them behind a closed door, each preoccupied with their own responsibilities, it was their friendship that he valued the most.

“They’re cute,” he exclaimed happily.

Pidge gave him a look of suspicion. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me.”

“I’m serious!” Lance squirmed on the bed until he sidled up to her. “My first love also liked ribbons. It’s one of the things I remember the most about her, the green ribbon in her hair.”

“Are you comparing me to your first girlfriend?” Pidge sounded completely done with him and Lance couldn’t really blame her. “Even I know that’s a no-no in a relationship.”

“I’m not comparing anything!” He waved his hands defensively.

Pidge knocked their shoulders together in teasing. They’d only been together for two weeks, but Lance doubted he would ever see her truly jealous, not due to his mindless chatter at least. She and Hunk had told him that Pidge had shown signs of jealousy during their time in the Castle, but Lance couldn’t recall them for the life of him.

It was endlessly frustrating.

“You’re lucky I like you.” Pidge lifted his arm and put it around her, burying into Lance’s side.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” He ran his fingers up and down her skin, feeling the goosebumps that formed at his touch. “Fate was kind when it put you in my life.”

Lance dipped down to nibble at her ear, then trailed kisses over the column of her neck. Pidge giggled in his arms, ticklish and embarrassed at her reactions.

“Down, boy.” She pressed a finger to his nose, pushing him back a bit. He pouted at her, trying to entice Pidge into another kiss. “Are you gonna be this tacky every time I say something sarcastic?”

“For as long as you keep finding it attractive,” he retorted. Lance knew he was being conceited, but he couldn’t help it. There was no ego-boost quite like the sounds his girlfriend made when she was underneath him in one of their beds, mouths and hands fervent in their paths.

In a quick movement, he’d captured the tip of her finger between his teeth, biting playfully. It sent Pidge into a bout of laughter, which had her pushing Lance’s face away as he continued to pepper kisses on her palms, her arms, anywhere he could reach.

“You’re so freaking silly, sometimes!” Pidge draped her legs across his, locking him in place. “Why are you trying to catch my attention, anyway?”

Lance leaned back against the headboard, putting his hands on her calves. She was still in her pajamas; an oversized t-shirt and blue shorts that reached mid-thigh. It was more skin than Pidge normally showed, just another sign of how comfortable she was with him.

“I’m a little bored.” He scrunched up his nose, knowing that wasn’t a reason Pidge would accept. She tried to kick him on the arm, but Lance held on. “Hey! I’m done with the flight plans and you’ve been on your laptop since I got here! I’ve been good!”

“You just tried to make out with me,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I was being good and now I want attention,” Lance corrected shamelessly.

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him, but closed her laptop and settled it next to them on the bed. She scooted a bit closer, until she was sitting on Lance’s lap with her arms around his neck.

“So quiet,” she taunted. One of her nails scraped just underneath his ear, making Lance groan. “And sensitive.”

“You’re a little devil.” He dropped his head on her shoulder.

“I finally found a way to shut you up.” Pidge’s carefree laughter rang right in his ear. Since their days as students, it never failed to bring him a sense of accomplishment. No one could distract Pidge quite like him. “I’ll use it how I see fit.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his nape.

Disgruntled, Lance straightened his posture and caught her lips more firmly, tracing the roof of her mouth with his tongue. Pidge responded with no hesitance and her hands dug into his shoulders to hold him in.

Despite the ease with which they fit, this was as far as Lance had tried to go. Kisses and small touches and gasps that left his entire body burning. Although Pidge had gone on a few dates while he was away, Lance was achingly aware that she was still somewhat inexperienced.

More than that, he knew two weeks could not erase insecurities that were born from years watching him flirt with other girls. He felt ashamed of how crass he might have been in front of Pidge, but he had been young and stupid and copying behaviors from men he’d once admired.

He was thankful for his teammates. Lance knew he was a better man for having known Shiro’s integrity and Hunk’s warmth and Keith’s honesty. Coran had shown him there was pride in being genuine. Allura had taught him about the reality of love. Most of all, he was thankful for Pidge and how she’d kept him in line.

They parted slowly, and Lance surged forward one last time to give a peck to Pidge’s lips. She smiled in amusement.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” She ran her fingers through his hair. “We don’t have to be at Shiro’s until dinner.”

Lance checked his watch. They still had a few hours, but he wanted to get something to eat before then. He’d come into Pidge’s room at noon to find she had just woken up, and his girlfriend had refused to go out before she made some progress on a program for Chip. She’d devoured a bag of chips while she worked, but that was not real food.

“We should grab a late lunch somewhere.” Lance disentangled himself from Pidge, much to her discontentment. “And then I need to get you some fruit or granola bars or something for this room.”

“If I need anything, I usually go to the cafeteria or one of the vending machines.” She shrugged, but accepted the hand Lance offered to pull her up.

“And you have the audacity to question my eating habits.” He sent her a sidelong glare.

“You might be able to cook, but it doesn’t count when the only thing you actually prepare is pasta.” Pidge continued to rifle through the clothes on the floor. Then, not finding anything she wanted, she moved to the wardrobe. “Before entering your pantry, I had only ever seen so much tomato sauce on supermarket shelves.”

Lance wanted to defend himself, but Pidge chose this moment to take the edge of her t-shirt and pull it out. It left her in only a bra and shorts, a sight that Lance couldn’t look away from. Her breasts were small but proportional to her petite frame and her skin was even fairer over her chest, ribs and stomach. The overall effect had Lance choking on air.

Pidge laughed as she pulled a dress over her head.

“That was on purpose!” Lance accused, once he’d found his voice.

“You wouldn’t take off my shirt yesterday, so I thought I would give you a taste, then leave you hanging. See how you like it.” She went to look herself over in the bathroom mirror.

“I was being a gentleman!” He puffed out his cheeks. Pidge loved to make things difficult for him, didn’t she?

“Lance, I love you.” She momentarily turned away from her reflection to look at him. “I have trusted you with my life and my heart. Do you really think I don’t trust you with my body?”

When Pidge said things like that, it always sounded completely logical, but relationships weren’t something one could rationalize their way through.

Lance went to stand behind her, resting his hands on the line where her grey dress flared out. Pidge looked very sensible and very beautiful in the high neckline, with how it left her arms exposed.

“I think I want you to believe how much I love you,” he answered, turning her around, “before we do anything you haven’t done yet.”

Her amber eyes were narrowed as she looked at him, but Lance didn’t back down. She eventually heaved a sigh and he could tell he’d won the argument.

“I can’t believe I’m dating a sap.”

“Hey, you knew who I was before!” Lance let her walk past him and back to the bed. “You signed up for this, Pidgeon!”

“Are you ready to go?” She pulled on her sneakers, glaring at him half-heartedly. At her side, Lance caught sight of the green ribbon again.

“Sure, but I think you’re missing something.” At Pidge’s look of confusion, he marched up to her and picked up the ribbon, waving it in the air.

“Really?” she deadpanned at him.

Lance chuckled, already gathering her hair with the fabric. “I just want to see how it looks.” He tied a bow on top of Pidge’s head, snickering. “That really is adorable.”

She frowned up at him and raised a hand to feel what he’d done, then groaned.

“That’s not how I used to wear it!” Pidge protested, already fumbling with the style until the fabric slipped down her short hair.

“Show me, then.” Lance propped his chin on his hand.

Pidge huffed, but laid the ribbon across her hair like a headband, tying a knot on one side and letting the excess fabric hang loose. “There!” she stated with a flourish. “Much less childish.”

“Huh.” Lance stared at her in puzzlement. “That’s… Huh.”

“Does it look that bad?” She patted at her hair. “I haven’t done this since I was thirteen.”

“No!” His answer was hurried. “It just… looks exactly how Italian girl wore it.”

Pidge blinked at him. “Italian girl?”

“My first love. I think I told you about her.” He couldn’t really shake the familiarity of the green ribbon against her reddish-brown hair. “We met in this Space Camp I went to in Miami. Ronie had a research position there and she dragged me along.”

“You’re talking about the Bouman Aeronautics Research Institute.”

Now it was just getting freaky. Pidge, too, looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Yeah…” Lance scratched the back of his neck. “How do you know that?”

“Because my father was a lecturer and Matt was also in the research program.” She sounded just as bewildered as he was. “You’re Spanish boy.”

The two stared at each other for a moment. Now that they were talking about it, Lance could see the similarities that he’d missed so far. It was no wonder he’d always liked Pidge’s eyes; he could still remember how they shone in the sunlight.

“Are you actually Italian girl?” He sat down, still in shock.

“I cannot believe that we’ve known each other this whole time.” Pidge threw her head back, laughing. He soon joined her. The situation was just ridiculous.

“And you didn’t want me to believe in fate.” Lance grinned at her. Pidge still wore the green ribbon in her hair and the color contrasted nicely against her features. Maybe it was because he still remembered how she had been as Italian girl, but the image made him feel unexpectedly soft.

“Oh good grief,” she exclaimed suddenly, eyes wide, “I’m the reason you believe in fate!” He burst out laughing again while Pidge swatted at his arm. “It’s not funny! It’s actually awful!”

“Well,” Lance said once he was able to control himself, “at least you can stop thinking you’re not my type. I fell for you twice!”

“You fell for a pretty girl in a dress that you met when you were a child.” Pidge snorted, standing up to grab her purse. Lance clutched her hand with gentle fingers and stopped her from turning away.

“I fell for a smart girl who helped me realize my worth. Twice.” He winked. “Though it certainly didn’t hurt that she was pretty.”

Pidge shook her head disapprovingly, but still leaned down to kiss him, lips moving in a tempting pace against his. When she pulled back, Lance tried to follow.

He felt dazed by their discovery, but not completely blind-sighted. Pidge had always intrigued him, even right at the start. It had taken time for Lance to recognize the feelings he developed for her, like it had with Italian girl, and then he was already in the middle of it, too into her to stop himself from acting stupid.

It might have been the quintessence stored in him or just wishful thinking, but he thought Allura, too, would be cheering for them.

Pidge pulled at his hand until Lance stood up. She looked a bit red, a bit breathless.

“We’ll finish this later, you Casanova.” And she sealed the promise with another kiss.

#plance #pidgance #flirtyrobot #lidge #cyance #voltron #pidge gunderson #katie holt #voltron legendary defender #vld lance #lance mcclain #vld #vld fanfiction #vld syl verse

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themockingcrows · 3 years

Text

Doki Doki Grist Panic Ch. 4

Another chapter of my Magical Boy fic, sorry for such a long wait while I got my brain in order!

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802735/chapters/79562023

This chapter is sfw!

Soft, repetitive beeps were the first things Dave heard when he woke. The whirring of machinery, of a barely there fan spinning in a metal case. He’d know the sounds of technology anywhere, used to the hum and breath of his own computer tower in his room. Nothing was overheating, the room was a comfortable temperature, just warm enough to feel cozy where his skin touched itself at the crooks of his elbows and the backs of his legs. He was aware he was lying on his side, but it was so hard to wake up. Opening his eyes felt far too difficult, let alone moving his limbs. Dave settled for a fingertip stroking at what felt like a blanket or sheet beneath his body and sighed a breath exhaustedly.

It wasn’t fully dark in the room. He must have left his lamp on at the desk and taken a nap, or the door was open somewhat to let in light from the hallway and living room. He didn’t hear anything from the front room, Bro must be napping as well or doing something with his headphones on at his computer. Maybe dinner was cooking, or he was waiting for something to be delivered, indulging in his free time doing this or that. It was a comfortable silence. Dave blinked a few slow times before taking in the strange blue tone to the room’s light, cooler than his usual warm home light. Bulb change? Slowly he rubbed at his face and slid to his back, wanting to stare at the ceiling so he could come back to himself more and wake up properly.

This wasn’t his ceiling.

Instead of the textured white ceiling he was used to seeing for so many years, the ceiling was metallic and matte in color. The walls were matte as well, though at least they were white as his own were. Fat load of good it did him, considering the walls didn’t look familiar in the slightest either. Where WAS this place? This wasn’t his room, it wasn’t the living room for sure. Was it a friend’s house? A hospital?

Dave sat upright and lifted his hands to his throat, his face, a sudden feeling of breathlessness hitting him as he panicked. Breathless… It all came flooding back to him in a rush, mind swimming. The attack, the lack of air, choking, suffocating. But it still didn’t answer the question of where he was, nor what was happening. When he went to rock to his knees, Dave paused, feeling a tug of fabric at his waist and chest. That… didn’t make sense, his uniform wouldn’t do that, nor would his casual clothes. Instead of wearing either outfits, he was draped in a soft white material that was tied at the waist with a woven red cord, though he couldn’t guess what type of fabric it was. It was too soft to be linen, too sturdy to be cotton, and didn’t match anything he’d ever felt. Were it not such a mystery he’d probably even go to say it was quite comfortable.

… Where were his boxers?

Who had undressed him? Even the lack of transformation would be something of importance, he’d go back to his civilian clothes, not… whatever this was. When he finally managed to stand, the room span and he sank back down to sit for a moment on the edge of the bed with a grimace, taking it all in as his mind raced in circles like a penned dog. Dave realized that it wasn’t just the garment that was covering him either, but what looked and felt like strings of pearls and golden beads. They were settled around his neck as if wrapped specifically to make a draping effect over his chest and shoulders here and there, and clasped together at the ends behind his neck with what felt like a filigree hook. Someone had taken great care to dress him like this, but why? Who?

Panic rising in his throat like bitter bile, Dave stood slower this time and headed for the cracked doorway, surprised to find the room unguarded. Cameras? Or was there some other way he was being watched? Paranoia ate at him, but when he poked his head out into the blue toned hallway, he heard nothing but the same soft hum of machinery, felt the cool air blowing from unseen vents. Barefooted, he padded along down this hallway to the left of his room, prepared for any threat. ...Or. Well, as prepared as one could be while unarmed. Dave knew how to defend himself while unarmed well enough, but the desire to have a sword was strong. Maybe he should change before exploring further, get his powerup back and-

“You’re awake. I was wondering how long you were going to be unconscious for. So long as your brain waves were healthy and strong I wasn’t worried, at least. It’s fascinating how fragile humans are once you remove their air.”

Dave froze in place. He knew that voice, but the things it was saying weren’t making sense to his brain. John wouldn’t talk like that, but that was the first person that came to mind upon hearing that specific tone and cadence, the way it handled words as if they were fluid on one's tongue instead of just a thought. Swallowing and taking a deeper breath, he rolled his shoulders back and strode to the full end of the hallway and the room it opened into.

The space was massive. The hums were definitely computers, projecting screens and physical and digital keyboards everywhere, holograms and different moving charts and images dancing in the air. Each wall seemed to have some kind of a space background, stars and a moon, a view of the Earth like a peaceful screensaver. In the center of it all stood a figure with glowing eyes and gray skin, unfamiliar clothing and decoration adorning him, a serene look on his face. He looked calm, in control, but there was no hostility to be seen.

“You can come closer. I’m not interested in fighting you,” he said.

Dave frowned and strode closer, observing the different screens as he went, unable to read any of the angular text he saw. When he was a more reasonable distance from him, he finally talked.

“So you’re the one that brought me here.” It was John. Closer, he could see the shape of his eyes, his mouth, the way his hair sat on his head, his broad shoulders. The appearance had changed, but the core was definitely the same. His stomach churned sickly. He’d kissed this person. He’d been held by this person. He’d contemplated doing more with this person, and it was all a lie.

“You seem surprised and yet not surprised enough,” he said with a hint of a smile. It looked a little forced, stiff at the edges of his mouth as if the gesture were foreign to him. “Might I ask who you were expecting?”

“...Nobody specific,” Dave admitted, trying to keep his cool. “Where is here though? I assume you can at least tell me that.”

John lifted his foot and stomped downwards, forcing the ground to shimmer for a moment before it turned pitched black and then seemed to dissolve. The space pattern from the walls blended to the rest of the floor, leaving them seemingly free floating in space despite walking on solid ground.

“I’d thought it would be fairly obvious, but I suppose even someone like you might have been confused at first. Does this clarify things, then?”

Space. Dave knew Bro had gone before, he’d talked about it in the past, but never did he think he’d get to see it himself. Much less in a situation like this one. His fingers curled into the sides of the new draping clothing he wore, steeling himself as he stared directly down towards nothingness. If Earth was on the wall’s side, then they must be at an angle without even being able to feel it. Whatever technology was doing this was astounding.

A gray hand was suddenly touching his cheek, cold and lifeless feeling, and Dave jerked his head up and took a step backwards to put some distance between them again. The look in his eyes could peel paint, aggressively defiant as he’d been during battle, though this time with the added benefit of betrayal as well. This person had lied to him, led him on, played with his emotions. Made a fool of him. He was a moron. Of course he couldn’t have nice things like romance, they weren’t possible for someone with his kind of career. This just hammered that idea home even harder than before in a way that made tears sting in his eyes and threaten to show themselves.

He kept them down out of sheer spite.

“You hate me so much already,” John mused. “Not even a moment's hesitation before pulling back.”

“You’re not John.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re not my John.”

“We are one in the same, Dave. Open your eyes to reality,” John said with a flourish of his arms, displaying himself in his entirety as if he hadn’t been seen properly before. “It doesn’t have to be so bad. Think of the possibilities you’re being afforded.”

“Possibilities? Don’t make me laugh,” he nearly spat. “My John might as well be dead now. I don’t care if you’re the same person, the John I gave a shit about wouldn’t be my enemy. I fell in love with a lie, but it was a wonderful lie, don’t even pretend to act like you’re remotely the same thing.”

John sighed a little and rolled his head on his neck to stretch it before rubbing a few strands of hair behind his ear. “You’re really in denial, aren’t you. I’m the same John. I have the same feelings for you, those weren’t a lie. The only lie is that I’m not human. I’ve no intention of hurting you.”

“You fucking suffocated me!” Dave reminded him with a hiss.

“It was the quickest way to end the battle and sequester you away,” John shrugged. “Would you rather I have beaten you senseless with my hammer? It could be arranged now, if you’d prefer. But I’d dislike crushing your pretty face.”

Dave scowled and clenched his fists tight enough that he felt his nails cutting into his palms. “What do you want with me. Hurry this up, I’ve got places to be.”

“You talk as if you’re getting out of here easily,” John mused. “But since you’re here, I’ll go ahead and extend my offer formally.”

“Offer?”

“Yes,” John said, taking a step closer in an attempt to close the gap, though it renewed itself almost immediately when Dave backstepped again to keep distance between them. Frustrating, but fine, he’d deal with it. “I’d like for you to come back with me to my planet.”

“...Why.”

“Why? Because I like you, Dave. I enjoy your company. You are… special to me. I would enjoy keeping you by my side.”

“Cute words, but you still kidnapped my ass and dressed me up like some toy. You’re not exactly still on the boyfriend pedestal,” Dave pointed out. “Why not just find someone on your planet?”

“There’s nobody left for me there,” he said simply, flatly. “It’s why when I’m done here, I’d prefer to keep you with me. I’ve got the technology to make sure you adjust to our atmosphere once it’s restored, an-”

“Restored?”

John reached a practiced hand out to tap at a keyboard, bringing up a specific hologram of a ruined looking planet. Smaller screens lit up around it showing devastation, pollution, destruction both natural and man made. There was a distinct lack of life. “Restored. All it’ll take is enough grist, and my world can be restored to its former beauty. It’s not the same as Earth, there’s a lot different about it. But it’s beautiful in its own way, when it’s healthy and alive.”

“Why is it your job to fix your planet? If you’re the only one left, why not just live here? We have problems, yeah, but there’s plenty of roo-” Dave started, only to be interrupted.

“Because I’m it’s guardian,” John said simply. “I have a chance to save and restore it, to restore everything to how it was but better. I can fix things. I have that power, and I intend to use it. I just need grist from Earth, and my home will come back.”

“How much grist do you need…?” he asked, already having a sense before getting confirmation.

“All of it, preferably. I could work with less, but if I’m here already why not just drain the damned place and be done with it.”

Dave finally took a step forward aggressively.

“So that’s the entire plan? Destroy Earth, gain grist, revive a dead planet?”

“And have you at my side for the duration. You’d love my world, Dave. You’d be loved there. You wouldn’t have to risk your neck all the time as a guardian nobody is grateful to, either,” John explained, grin widening in an almost manic way. “Once I’m the one to restore things, everyone will realize they have a guardian with that power. That I’ll exist to them as more than a vague concept of right and wrong, that I’m a real person, and that I gave them their life back. It will be beautiful.”

The aggressive stance slackened somewhat as Dave shifted his weight back towards his heel.

“You’re crazy.”

“Am I? Or are you just not looking at the big picture clearly,” John said, pulling out his hammer from thin air with a shimmer. He was a guardian. They were the same, and yet, so obviously different in every way. John tossed the weapon easily in one hand, unbothered by its weight in the slightest, then pointed it at Dave before gesturing to the rest of the room. “I’m offering you a place by my side, an entire world. This is an easy choice, Dave. We were getting so close…”

“If I knew this side of you, I’d never have even called you a friend,” Dave said, trying not to flinch when the hammer swung down sharp enough it made stinging air snap against his face. “I’m a guardian of Earth, John. You know I’d never accept this kind of offer. I can’t let you do as you please. I’m offering you a hand again to join Earth, but that’s as far as this goes.”

“Fuck the Earth!” John shouted, eyes blazing. “It's time as the crown jewel of the milky way is over, Dave, open your eyes! Look at the writing on the wall! War, famine, pollution, greed. Your planet is going down the same path my planet did at first. It’s on its way out now. It’s dimming. Yet, it still has a chance to be useful. It can restart my planet, it can become a utopia, like it always had the potential to! A second chance!”

“And why the fuck should I let you kill my planet to restart yours? What makes all our lives inferior?” demanded Dave, jaw tense. This guy was crazy. Absolutely fucking crazy.

“It’s nothing personal, Dave. It’s just business. We can always work together to find another planet to restart yours the same way, another world chock full of grist for the taking. We could work together, even. Keep both our planets safe. It’d be great, it-”

“Isn’t going to ever happen.”

“Dave.”

“I’m not going to let you lay your fucking hands on anything of mine ever again. The Earth is off limits to your grist mining.”

“Dave, listen to me.”

“The offer to remain as a friend of the planet is on the table still, but from the sound of things you’re expecting more. It’s not going to happen. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Dave,” John said again, sounding pained. The grip on his hammer tightened with every word, face desperate and tense.

“Not now, not ever. This planet is my responsibility.”

“Dave, listen!” John shouted.

“I DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO A FUCKING THING YOU SAY WHEN YOU’RE TALKING SO NONCHALANTLY ABOUT KILLING ALL MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY!” Dave shouted right back, raising his fists into a fighting stance defensively, prepared for what might be coming from their outbursts.

John lifted his hammer high, eyes flaring like electricity. A dark breeze rushed through the room, jerking Dave’s clothes left and right, whipping his hair wildly. He prepared for breathlessness, he prepared for the hammer. For what may come.

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST DO AS I SAY?” John yelled, slamming the hammer Dave’s direction. It was a mistake. An accident, he’d try to tell himself. He would never hurt Dave, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t, yet him talking back like this, him refusing him, him refusing him the chance of fixing his world… it was just too much to handle, and he’d done the first thing that came to mind with the darkness.

The hammer struck true, but not on Dave, much to John’s anger and relief. Instead, it was struck and currently straining against a sword that he hadn’t seen before. It was white as marble, with a strange, almost conical looking crossguard. Solid as anything, with a hum of vibrant energy as Dave held John’s strike at bay. Gone were the white clothes, the beads, the pearls, in its place the familiar uniform and white hair John had seen so many times. The flashy red, the gears ticking in the air as he stared with piercing red eyes directly into John’s. No sign of yielding.

He hated that look.

He loved that look.

They strained against each other for a moment before Dave made a move, gears spinning wildly behind him as he slowed things down and surged forwards, sliding the hammer along the edge of the sword till he could flip the balance and send it away from him. Quickly, he angled his body and struck a blow across John’s middle, though it was far from a kill strike. Even now, Dave hesitated to kill some of his enemies, something that he knew would come back to bite him in the future in one way or another. He hoped that, possibly, there would be some way to save John from himself. To clear his heart, his mind. Somehow.

Maybe he could ask Bro, call a favor in from Dirk. Anything. There had to be a way.

As time sped back up, however, Dave knew he was out of time, metaphorically. Instead of attacking again, or preparing to intercept a second hammer strike, he instead clenched his hand over his heart and focused as hard as he could on home. He could picture it in his mind, the futon with Bro’s legs dangling over the end, the television, the wires crisscrossing the floor, food on the counter, smuppets and swords everywhere. The moon from the rooftop, the faint hint of stars in the light polluted sky, the heat of midday sun on the treated surface, waves in the air bouncing off the metallic surfaces of the industrial air conditioners. He could feel it so intensely he could have drawn it with his eyes closed.

Chest warm, Dave heard his heart ticking in his chest, the steady beat of the clock that he worked with. It ticked louder, louder, harder till it was all he could feel, all he could hear… and he was gone. John struck the empty space Dave had been standing in mere seconds after he flashed and disappeared from view. Growling in rage, dark wind wildly thrashing, he threw his head back and yelled wordlessly to the digital sea of stars above him.

This wasn’t over.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dave’s roof was exactly how he’d been imagining it. Comforting, welcoming, and entirely his own. Though relieved at his sudden arrival back on Earth, he couldn’t help but stare up at the sky to try and figure out which bright spot was a star and which might be John’s ship just beyond the atmosphere. He gripped his hand tight against his chest again, before finally glancing down towards his sword. This definitely was new, but what happened? Did he get gifted an upgrade, or had he unlocked it somehow on his own in a fit of panic? He gave it a twist swing, slicing the air cleanly with a vwip noise a few times before the door to the roof clanged open.

“Jesus fuck, kid, you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Where’ve you been? It’s like you disappeared!” Bro said, hurrying forward as Dave slowed his strikes to a halt. “I came soon as I felt it, but seriously, what gives?”

“Felt it? Felt what?” he asked, confused.

“The ping,” Bro said. At Dave’s continued look of confusion, he set a hand over his heart with a smirk. “I might not be a guardian anymore, but I’m sure as shit still tapped into the system somewhat, and just from bein’ who I am to you I’d feel it I’m sure. Felt when you disappeared… felt when you came back. Dirk no doubt felt it too, even if only a bit. Everyone must’ve felt somethin’, no matter how small, that changed.”

“Somethin’ sure as shit did change, did you see this thing?” Dave asked, hefting the sword up one handed to display to Bro lengthwise, offering it to him to hold and examine in the moonlight, white and all but glowing in its deadly way. “I don’t know what happened, one minute I was goin’ for my sword, the next this cropped out instead.”

“Nice. Solid as shit, too,” Bro judged by the weight. “This is a hell of an upgrade kid. ...I hope it didn’t cost you too much. You know how they are about their workers supplies.”

There was always a price. Be it in time, or be it in blood.

“I hope so too. I’ve got no idea, though. I didn’t hear Hephaestus at all, or see him or anything, just. New sword,” he explained as he took the weapon back, changing out of his uniform and into-

“What’s with the getup?” Bro asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Fucking-! Ugh. God damn creep changed my clothes while I was out cold. H- … Wait. Motherfucker, my phone!” he shouted, looking up towards the sky angrily. His phone was gone, his clothes, his everything was gone and it wasn’t like he could just ask for it back.

“There’s worse ways to lose a phone, kid. We’ll get you a new one,” Bro said with a shrug. “Come inside, already, before you get sucked back to space or wherever the fuck you were at. I’ll make Hot Pockets or somethin’ to celebrate.”

Dave smirked. “I survive a near death experience and you offer me Hot Pockets. My first time off-planet, and it’s Hot Pockets.”

“These are the garlic bread kind, and I’m willin’ to share.”

“...You drive a hard bargain.”

Bro clapped a hand on Dave’s shoulder. “We’ll try puzzlin’ out your powerup and talk while you eat. You can even change out of your weird drapey dress if you want.”

Dave shot another look at the sky as if daring John to react while he stood there more vulnerable, while he was with his guardian, but nothing came. He’d need to finish this. Maybe the Hot Pocket talk could include more strategy than anything else, a second head with more experience fighting off-planet threats to help him think of different options.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

As they started walking, Bro chuckled. “If you wanna call your boyfriend I’ll lend you my phone for a bit if you ask real nice.”

Dave’s stomach churned as they headed through the door, mouth suddenly full of bitter spit. “No thanks. That’s. ...I’ll tell you while I eat.”

#johndave #homestuck #john egbert #dave strider #my fic #my fic writing

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biznichwrites · 4 years

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A Dream Come True

Length: 5K Pairing: Giyuu x Reader

This is to go hand in hand with @dudeandduchess‘s accompanying post in which we had alternative endings with this fic. I wrote until the end of the smut, after which we created our own endings. Think of it as yin and yang.

If you would like to read Jen’s nightmare version check it out here.

She had filled her head with pretty lies, thoughts of soft, fluffy things that tickled her stomach like butterflies. The sight of one of the few other water breath users - the pillar, in fact - brought a smile to her face. He was perfect for the role - eyes as blue as the ocean, steady like the waves, strong like a deep current, carving his own path like a river, yet calm like the water's surface at night.

What started as infatuation became a crush, leaving her whole world centered around him. Inside she knew she wouldn't grab his attention, even if she was one of a handful of slayers at the water estate. Their rarity made them all busy on missions, there wasn't much time to see each other in passing, so she treasured every moment spent in Giyuu's presence.

Despite their schedules, she tried to do more for him. The maintenance he had performed almost single handedly was spread among the both of them. Mending his uniforms when they were damaged, even his beloved haori once. Salmon was always stocked once she figured out it was his favorite, even going as far as to cook it just as he liked. That was a mistake on her part - his glowing smile pulled her in deeper.

Still she felt her heart ache over the months. No matter what she did he never spoke a word to her, not that he really spoke to anyone else. Had she done something to make him hate her?

The day she had given up on his heart came shortly after. It wasn't often she needed help or saving, but a lower moon was a bit beyond her hope to slay. She had kept neck and neck with it for some time, praying that a pillar would arrive to slay it before it ate her. Like written from a bad romance novel, her Pillar came just as she felt weak after hours of battling, his blade cutting through the neck of the lower moon with ease.

Her knight in shining armor, so to speak. He came to save her, specifically him. Her heart fluttered in joy, tears gathering in her eyes. Maybe he would be impressed that she managed to last so long, to stay alive and keep the moon busy until someone stronger arrived. Her breath hitched as she heard him inhale, as if to speak.

"He wasn't much trouble, you should have been able to slay him. If you're weak you should know not to challenge a moon." He hadn't spared a glance her way, simply flicking his sword to clear it of blood before sheathing it. Her heart broke as he walked on, leaving her to watch the mismatched haori on his back as the distance between them grew.

***

"Giyuu, you should try to get close to others! I know it's scary but there's plenty of people out there that are nicer than the way Shinobu makes it seem." Tanjirou smiled at the elder water slayer, urging Giyuu to connect to others the way they had, at the very least.

"I'm not sure about that. People don't like me." Giyuu sat with his legs pulled up by the bank of the river they stopped at.

"All you can do is try! Didn't you want to become friends with Sanemi?" Tanjirou wasn't going to let Giyuu escape this time, even if it meant some friendly pestering.

"Yeah, I think he likes ohagi so I was going to give him some." Giyuu stared into the distance, trying to imagine the violent man attempting to receive a gift.

"What about (Y/N)? She's been nice!" Tanjirou was hoping to point out anyone who had been kind to the pillar, at least someone who wasn't filled with malice.

"Who?" Giyuu's face went blank at the name, unable to recall who the name was attached to. "I quit remembering names of most slayers since they die so fast."

Tanjirou deflated at that, finding it sad for Giyuu to view life in such a bleak manner. It felt him grasping at straws to find the correct words to express himself as he thought of what to say next.

"You remembered me before I was a slayer! She survived a solo fight with a lower moon, I don't think she's dying any time soon, you know." Tanjirou hoped the other would understand what he was saying, at the very least.

"Oh… She didn't beat the moon, though." Giyuu, like a child that was done with the conversation, drew idly in the sand below them with a stick.

"Well we can work on the ohagi for Sanemi, how about that?"

***

Giyuu thought of the girl Tanjirou had mentioned. He didn't know what to make of it all - she had survived, which is what he was looking for in a friend, but she wouldn't have without help. At the same time neither would have Tanjirou. Perhaps he was being too critical, she was still alive and kicking to this day.

However he hadn't seen her much since then. Maybe she was training more? That was enough of an explanation for him. It wasn't unusual for the entire water estate to be empty with as few of the water breath users completed the final selection, much less survived long enough to rank high enough to live in the estate.

The next time he saw her, presumably after a mission as she was returning at dawn, he recognized her more than just a name. He bit his tongue, unsure what to say as he stood on the engawa staring at her tired body limping closer. The moment her eyes caught his she glanced away, turning towards another part of the estate to rest in.

He would have questioned it more, but occurrences like this weren't uncommon. People avoided him, that was normal. Yet the way she kept herself at a distance made him want to find out why she did such a thing. Why did she hide away from him?

His breath caught in his throat one morning, watching as she sat on the far end of the engawa in a simple yukata. She must be getting ready to sleep, given most slayers were nocturnal, but he thought she looked nice in the morning sun. Pretty even.

Months drug along, her eyes never meeting his own. Yet he felt himself drawn to her. All the actions she had taken before - he hadn't forgotten them, but he hadn't fully appreciated them at the time either. She had done something for him without being asked with nothing in return. Someone that selfless couldn't be a bad person. He still felt a bit bitter with himself for being so critical with her, the same he felt with Tanjirou. Neither deserved that.

***

It wasn't until Murata and a few others had saved up a large sum of money to buy enough alcohol to drown all the demon slayers, that he had a chance to interact with her. The whole time he was tense, almost awkwardly staring at her the whole time.

"Earth to Giyuu, you there?" Really, Murata was the only one that talked to the pillar so freely, with the exception of Tanjirou. Having kept the pillar alive at one point gave him a bit of the right, so no one spoke of it.

"Hm?" Giyuu's head turned back to Murata, clearly not aware of anything he had just said.

"I was seeing if you were going to drink with us. We're celebrating a year of not losing any water breath users. I figured of anyone you'd want to join." Murata handed him a bottle, not really waiting for a response. Was it responsible for a pillar to drink? Not at all. Had they organized this with Kagaya in mind? Of course, they had consulted with him to make sure they could celebrate freely.

Giyuu stared at the bottle then back to Murata, eyes flickering between the two. "I've never drank before…"

"Now is a good time to start!" Murata laughed with a pat to the pillar shoulder before disappearing into a small bunch of slayers.

***

Giyuu had drank nearly half the bottle in the course of a few hours, but he didn't find himself relaxed. Rather he found himself in a flurry of emotions - sad remembering everyone he's lost, angry with himself for allowing his life to be ruined by both demons and his own mismanagement of his emotions, but most surprising of all he found himself jealous.

The only female slayer of the bunch was flirted with endlessly. Most of the less than classy lines were met by laughter by the slayers. He knew they were treating it as a joke, even when she pretended to be the man hitting on Murata pretending to be a woman, but he didn't like it. He rested knowing that it was all in fun, though.

His drunken eyes met hers, making her already flushed cheeks even more red than previously before she glanced away. He was happy she was mindful to wear hakama, least the drunk young men around them get any ideas.

"Murataaaaa, when are you gonna get a wife? You keep talking about settling down but you're doing a shit job at it." Her laughter was kind enough, even if she was poking fun.

"(Y/N)! You know I-I-I---! I'm trying! It's just difficult!" Murata floundered under the playful scrutiny before returning a rebuttal, "So when are you getting married (Y/N)?"

"You know I'm dying alone, don't ask dumb questions." She laughed, but the laughter joining her was awkward, quiet and confused. Technically she could pick any slayer and they'd say yes - just for a lack of women around them, especially ones that understood the nature of their jobs. A moment passed but no further comments or banter had been added to the conversation after her bleak comment. Her face heated realizing she had made a fool of herself, not that Murata was much better as he fumbled moving the conversation forward.

Giyuu watched as she tilted up the porcelain of her heated sake, taking in how her throat contracted as she gulped. Was it proper for her to drink like that? No. But it technically wasn't traditional for women to wield swords and hunt demons, so it wasn't like social protocol meant much to her anyway.

Almost silently she slipped away, padding over to her room at the far end of the estate. His eyes followed her movements, taking in the dejected way she looked. Was she broken-hearted? He didn't understand why, she was pretty in her own way, stronger than most gave her credit for, smart enough to stay alive. Maybe he was more fond of her than he let on.

After some time the men grew rowdy, playing games and raising their voices. Murata seemed to stop drinking after a certain point, clearly aware of his limits.

"Murata?" Said slayer turned his attention to Giyuu, almost surprised that he spoke. "Is there something wrong with (Y/N)? She left a bit ago."

"Oh… I made a mistake and brought up something I shouldn't have, she's probably just having some time to herself." Murata prayed the Pillar didn't press for more info, being one of the few she admitted the situation to. He was far too drunk to stop himself from slipping up.

"Is she sad?" The lower ranked slayer blinked at the question, taken aback at how simple it was.

"Yeah, she just has her ways of dealing with it - wait! Where are you going?" Giyuu stood, moving toward the woman's room without another word. Murata prayed it didn't make things worse.

***

The pillar stood outside her door, listening as her crying was muffled into hitched breaths and harsh inhales to quiet herself. He wasn't sure what he was doing with the alcohol in his system, but he slowly pushed the shoji open and closed it quietly behind him.

"Is there something wrong?" He was trying to be nice but the jump of surprise from her was clearly not the reaction he was searching for. Her hand rested above her heart in surprise before gripping the cloth in anguish.

"I'm fine. You can go back to the others." Her head tilted away, not meeting his eyes.

"I'm sure Murata didn't mean to upset you. Did something happen? Did you lose your fiance?" It was the only explanation he could rationalize why she wouldn't take a spouse when she had her choice of men flirting with her earlier.

"I said I'm fine. Leave me alone." She flopped back down on her futon, facing away from him. He wished she didn't look so pretty or the light of the moon didn't accentuate the curves of her waist and hips. Despite her words he never left, she knew at the lack of sound her shoji made when open and shut.

Rather he shuffled closer, nowhere near as elegant as he usually moved. Still he slid his fingers into her hair, finding himself rationalizing the feel of her hair with the need to sooth her.

"I'm sure you could find a husband in the slayers if you're worried about that." He didn't like it, especially the thought of not being able to freely look at her and the risk of never being able to touch her again.

"I said my plan was to die alone, it's not that complicated."

"Why?"

"Men don't want a woman like me." Her words croaked from her throat and he could help but sink into the futon and pull her back to his chest. His nose was pressed to the back of her hair and he could bask in her scent.

"That's not true." The more of her he got, the greedier he became. He wanted to remind her that the other water breath users would marry her, but she clearly wasn't interested.

"You don't know that." He felt her back trembling as she held back her distress and he hugged her closer. "I'm covered scars, I can barely fight and I'm a pitiful slayer, I don't have anything to my name but what I wear, I'm not pretty and dainty like other girls-"

Her hands covered her mouth. She was complaining to the very person that filled her with insecurities. Deep inside she wanted to hate him, but she couldn't. It didn't mean she wasn't bitter. Her love for him had soured, painting her into a corner of self depreciation. She knew this wasn't him, this was some drunken version of the man likely looking to have a piece of her.

For what it was worth, she would let him. At least it would be the final chapter to the broken heart saga of her life.

"None of that is true."

"I don't need lies to make me feel better."

He was growing a bit frustrated. His hand gripped her waist, both keeping her still and holding her to him. He was painfully aware he could slide his hands lower to grip the curve of her hips or slide his hands upward to cup her breasts.

"You're pretty. A good slayer. You're good as you are." He couldn't think of anything more grand to say, not that he was eloquent with words anyway. He prayed she understood, but the pause in her response made fear eat at his chest. Had he said the wrong thing?

"...Did you want to sleep with me?" That was the only conclusion she could think of. He was drunk and needed a body that was willing. If he was into women she was the closest one, and considering she was the only one in the estate he had to act fast.

"Sleep with you?" His words were quiet, as if he was scared to say them loud enough.

"As in sex. Did you want to have sex with me?" She was only so bold because she was facing away from him. The alcohol and bitter feeling in her chest brought up the question, but she could never work up the nerve to ask if she was looking directly at him.

He buried his face against her neck weighing the options. She was drunk, but so was he. There was no way either should do this. At the same time he doubted the option would ever be available again, especially as his attraction to her grew.

"Yes…"

***

He hovered over her, pushing in deeply with a moan. Her eyes had shed so many tears through the night, even more when he undressed her, but he couldn't help but to find her more addicting than before.

"You're so warm, oh fuck…" His head rested against her shoulder as he found himself able to thrust into her depths. "You're so beautiful, so perfect."

He heard her crying harder, moans of pleasure breaking through her moans of agony. Long had passed the attempts to calm her tears, especially when she grew nervous when he saw her naked.

He never missed her whispers of self depreciation, how she fought all compliments that slipped from his lips as he undressed her layer by layer. Even if she found herself disgusting he couldn't agree with her. Every scar he uncovered, every little imperfection his eyes found cemented his infatuation.

It was her, something so unique to only her. No one else could replicate every little aspect of her.

Yet he couldn't make her stop crying. Soft whispers of praise didn't just fall on def ears but only pushed her into further despair. Every kind thing he said only brought more tears.

He didn't miss how her hips canted into his, how her eyes grew hazy as pleasure set in - the way her lips trembled after he kissed her, the second of hope in her eyes before she turned her head away.

The soft hiccups between whimpers were never lost on him. They came at his every kiss and praise, every moment he touched her in a way she enjoyed. As if some part of her wanted to receive his adoration before becoming buried in negativity.

She couldn't deny it, either. Simply knowing he didn't despise her, or at least a part of her, both healed and hurt her. For a moment she had some value to him. She was someone worthy of his sole attention.

Rough hands graced her body, pushing her hair from her face before guiding down her neck to cup her breast, gently squeezing her nipples before tracing her scars down her torso. When he reached her hips one hand held firm while the other graced the area above where they were joined. He remembered in a haze that men had talked about women feeling good there. A clit? All he knew is that her legs tightened around his hips the moment his thumb grazed the tip of the bud.

Abusing such a sensitive spot to see her reactions was a bit cruel on his part, but he wanted to see her relieved of her tears. It was time she felt good - both in terms of sex and about herself. He basked in the moment he hands left her face to cling to the bedding below her.

Dipping down he kissed her lips again, taking in how she seemed to squeeze tighter at the simple piece of affection. Despite the fact she felt inferior he adored having her like this - seeing her broken, in a way no one else has seen before, and the ability to see her put back together again. The vulnerability neither showed the world, only shared with the other.

He shifted his hips, thrusting deeper than before. She clenched around him in ways that made him regret never considering doing this sooner. At the same time he knew their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Their suffering was similar in a sense, they both could understand not having any value in themselves. Had he really been so blind to her all this time?

"You're so good." His head fell to her shoulder as his hips jerked into her warmth. The man felt elation when she gave in and clung to him. At first her hands were lightly touching, only loosely circling his back. Even if he wasn't sober he recognized enough of her reactions to make her react how he wanted.

Kisses were placed to her cheek and jaw as he tilted his head from her shoulder. Her breath shuttered, her nails timidly scratching his skin as her hold grew more firm.

He didn't expect her to orgasm from such simple affection but he couldn't explain why else her core felt as if it were milking his cock. Her arms and legs tightened around him, pulling him flush against her as her face buried into the curve of his neck.

It was welcoming to hear a cry of pleasure rather than anguish. The sound graced him, bringing him to climax shortly after her. Had he been sober he would have been more mindful of mindlessly cumming inside her without a second thought. For the moment he wanted to bask in the feeling. The after glow of sex was only highlighted by the feeling on her nuzzling into his neck.

For a moment she accepted him. Someone liked him, even if he could still hear her hiccup as warm tears covered her cheeks again. He considered wiping her tears away but decided that he would rather let her hide against his chest. It was somewhere safe, where the judgements of the world that had brought her so low couldn't touch her.

Her heart throbbed at the feeling of him holding her close, even as they shifted to lay chest to chest on the futon. His cum dripping out to dirty her thighs wouldn't deter her for enjoying the moment. Regret and shame could come later, for now she wanted to accept just a grain on the validation he gave. Even if he regretted in the morning she wanted to savor the moment.

***

The next morning, or rather afternoon, came too soon. Her eyes hurt, presumably from all the crying she had done, and her body was simply tired. While she wasn't sober, she remembered the previous night. Perhaps with less clear detail than she'd prefer, but the feeling hadn't changed. Tension gnawed at her stomach as she felt the water pillar's warmth against her skin even before she opened her eyes.

Giyuu woke silently, as always, but with a shadow of a smile on his face. Not that anyone could see it, not even his bedmate. Still waking up with her in his arms was a pleasant feeling. She hadn't run away from him, hadn't pushed him away again. She had accepted him, at least for the time being.

The futon wasn't made for two people so it was to be expected they were pressed flush together. Yet neither felt uncomfortable. His back blocked the light faulting through the shoji, sparing her eyes the brunt of the light.

She had assumed the night after a half tipsy hook up would be more awkward, but the moment his fingers traced her spine she found herself melting into him and the blankets. The bitter feeling inside hadn't disappeared, but the harsh things she believed to be fact that haunted her seemed to be farther away more than ever.

Timidly she nuzzled against him, testing the waters of his affectionate gestures. Warm hands pressed against her back, pulling her into him. Her arms circled him tentatively, only applying the lightest of pressure before returning his hold on her.

His heart throbbed, feeling as if it were in his throat. While he found actions easier than words things became more confusing the more awake he became. Holding her out of some sleepy instinct seemed right, but now he was awake and aware of what he was doing. However she seemed to like it, even reciprocating of her own free will. It was a much better turn of events than her crying about being unlovable or something of the sort.

"Good morning, Giyuu." He looked down to find her peeking up at him, seemingly just as unsure of herself as he felt. Yet he didn't miss the hopeful glimmer in her eyes, the way she subconsciously held on to him. She really didn't want him to leave, did she? "How are you feeling?"

"Morning. I'm fine." More than fine, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself. Unconsciously his hand rose to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. He struggled to hold a conversation, but he'd try for her. "You?"

"I'm great. Tired though, still." With a heaving breath she buried her face against his neck as he had done to her the night before.

"One thing." Her eyes blinked in surprise, unused to him sparking more conversation. Anxiety rolled in her stomach again worrying about all the possibilities he could bring up. Was he going to ask her to let go so he could leave? Not tell anyone? Was he ashamed of sleeping with her? Yet when he spoke he sounded as if his word was final, nothing to be debated.

"Don't talk about yourself like that anymore."

***

Months passed without incident, the pair of water breath users growing closer by the day until either were inseparable between missions. While Giyuu was never a fan of public displays of affection, the rest of the estate could see the change in him.

"Is something different?" Murata whispered to Tanjirou, who was sneaking a glance at the water pillar with him.

"Absolutely. I can't tell what, but I can smell the happiness on him." The younger slayer tapped his nose before the elder took a hold of the top of his head and twisted it back to focus his sights on the engawa.

The once sad slayer, one who had given up on her heart, sat next to Giyuu with a grin that could blind the room. Even the pillar himself couldn't help but return the sentiment with a shy smile of his own. As she took his hand his cheeks flushed a pink tone, as if that had been the most indecent thing they had done thus far.

"Good morning, Giyuu." Lips pressed to his blushing cheek, same as she had done every day since they agreed to be together shortly after their drunken, steamy night. His cheeks plumped with the happy smile before returning to a simple content expression.

"Good morning, dear." He couldn't deny it was odd at first, but receiving her affections had become the highlight of his day. Even if he was too shy to return them all in the public eye, he held her hand more firmly as a silent promise to grace her with the love she gave him later.

I'm the distance the lower ranking slayers looked on in surprise. Murata, who had a notion of what happened, soon wiped his face of shock to replace it with comical tears of joy.

"She did it! Tanjirou, she did it!" Murata shook Tanjirou's shoulders in excitement, not mindful about being caught in the moment. "She finally got him to break his shell. Look at them! Oh my-"

Murata's mindless blubbering went on and on, while Tanjirou sniffed the air. Something was different, a familiar scent but he couldn't quite place it. Wait, was she-?

"Giyuu, I actually needed to talk to you." Tension rose in him as his lover said that, but her demeanor was not the same style of tense. Rather she seemed a bit anxious but not angry or upset. His hands held both of hers, as if there were a silent plea to not leave. The shy upward curve of her lips soothed him.

"I don't really know how to say it more eloquently, but…" Her hand took his, pressing it to her stomach. "We're going to be parents."

Below his palm he could feel the fabric of her yukata and the skin below. It was firmer than he remembered, likely from their child growing within.

"You're really…? It's mine…?" His eyes were wide, jaw slack as he pressed both hands around her stomach, even if it hadn't grown much yet. Perhaps that's how he hadn't noticed before.

"Of course, I haven't been sleeping with anyone but you." She laughed to herself as he all but slid off the engawa to sit on the ground and become level with the child growing within her. Idly her hands traced through his hair as his eyes bore into her form.

"I'm going to be a father." The whisper was almost silent, meant for her ears only.

"You'll do wonderful, sweetheart." Her pet name for him made his cheeks turn bright red. Immediately he ducked to hide his face against her stomach. Her arms circled him and held him close, lightly scratching at the hairs along the nape of his neck.

After a moment he glanced up at her. His heart swelled, bubbling in his chest in a way he couldn't describe. Never before had he felt so strongly, so intensely. Rough hands reached for her own again, intertwining their fingers as they did so often before.

"I love you." The words poured from his mouth before realizing it. "Marry me."

Bonus:

"That scent, she's pregnant." If there was anyone that could recognize the scent of a pregnant woman, it was Tanjirou. After all he had spent most of his childhood with his mother pregnant.

"Tanjirou! We're going to be uncles!" Murata began to sob on Tanjirou, happy tears running down his face like a waterfall. "Oh my God, we're going to have a baby at the estate!"

Tanjirou laughed to himself as he watched the soon to be parents in the distance. Other than the scent of pregnancy he could smell their happiness. A couple of people, so defeated by the world, could find happiness together.

If that wasn't poetic, he didn't know what was.

#giyuu x reader #giyuu tomioka x reader #tomioka giyuu x reader #tomioka giyu x reader #giyu x reader #giyu tomioka x reader #giyuu #giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyu #giyu tomioka #tomioka #kny imagine #kny x reader #biznichwrites #jen

374 notes · View notes

dudeandduchess · 4 years

Text

Giyuu x F!S/O: A Nightmare Come to Life (Angst, NSFW Scenario)

Summary: A one-sided love that turns even more tragic after a night spent together. Note: @biznichwrites and I are trying out an alternate reality collab fic, and this is the result. We have the same first half (which she wrote), and we divert into different endings. In Biz’s words, think of it as Yin and Yang. You can read Biz’s fluff-filled piece here. Word Count: 9,324

***

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Suicide, Depictions of Blood, Character Deaths, Love Triangles, Talks of the Afterlife