#if I could draw at work freely life would be so much better wistful sigh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

juminly · 2 years

Note

Number 4 with Arthur, Marius, or Ginoza SFW 🙈 please and thank you waifu. ~~please don't kill me~~

A/N: It would be my pleasure to kill you, waifu. Number 4: An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose. Nobuchika Ginoza - Psycho Pass

"My love." He tried to get you to look at him but you refused to do so. You could hear the guilt dripping from his voice, his tone so soft and pleading, just begging for you to meet his green eyes and see how much he truly meant his words. "Please forgive me, princess." There it was, what felt like a vicious kick to your heart, making it pound so loudly in your ears and the tears threatening to fall, burning in the corner of your eyes. All you wanted to do was melt in his arms and he was not making it any better. You could barely even focus at the task at hand. "You know I would never do anything to endanger myself on purpose." The heavy sigh escaping from his lips made you feel the weight of his words on your heart. His truth rang so loud and clear and you knew it, believed him but it still didn't make it any easier seeing your man hurt. "Not when all I ever think about when I head to any mission or once I'm done with one- " His long gloved fingers curled around your wrist, stopping you from the quick work you were doing on the bandages now covering the wound on his chest. "- is coming home to you." You stiffened, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, swallowing the sobs welling up your throat and blinking away the tears you refused to let fall. But they disobeyed, not caring one bit about what you felt, running freely down your cheeks. You simply didn't want him to see you like this, knowing what it would do to him. If anything, all you wanted to do was stare into his eyes, feel him and kiss him all over to make sure he was okay, feel his warmth under your touch and the calming echo of his beating heart. "Look at me. I beg you." Ginoza had been through so much in his life, but he knew better than not to speak his mind and his heart with you. You were all that he held dear in his life and there was no way he would let a small mistake he made on a mission cost the love of his life. "My heart can't bear this." He couldn't bear your sadness, couldn't bear your tears. But what he couldn't bear the most was you refusing him, in any shape or form. Pressing his warm hand to your cheek, his thumb brushed away at the hot steam of tears that you tried to hide from him in vain. There was no point in doing that. As he straightened himself on the bed, adjusting himself as you sat comfortably over his thighs to attend to him easily, he slowly lifted your gaze to him, his chest tightening with pain and regret, but also yearned for so much of your affection, willing you to look at him. As faint as a soft whisper, your lips carressed one another in a moment of slight imbalance on his end. It hadn't been intended, his body was so much more burned out than he thought. Swallowing lightly, his bright eyes brimming with so much emotion locked on yours, a wistful smile drawn over his painfully handsome visage as he cradled your face, bringing his gloved hand to hold the other side of your face. "Will you forgive me, my love?" Your whispered words, as unintelligble as they sounded to you, were all he needed to hear. They were more than enough to soothe Ginoza's pained heart, his gaze softening as he took in the way your hands clung to his arms and the corner of your lips turned up lightly, a little gesture you made to express your frustration towards yourself for being so damn emotional. His eyes slowly fluttered shut as he closed the distance between your lips, drawing you into a soft and tentative kiss at first. Keeping one hand over your jaw, he brought the other to your waist, pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss. Both of you tasted the saltiness of your tears as your tongues swept into a slow dance while your arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders, needing the comfort of having your hearts beat against one another. Ginoza couldn't help himself, a resounding hum of relief emitted from him, his fingers desperately latching on to you as he pulled you even closer, despite the sharp pain shooting up his arm all of a sudden. He would have to go get that checked later but he couldn't give it a

second thought, in that moment. He just needed you right where you were, just like this... It was as if you could easily slip away from his fingers. But he knew better than to listen to the dark thought swarming his mind. You would be there for him... always.

#psycho pass #psycho pass ginoza #ginoza nobuchika #psycho pass x reader #kiss event #nobuchika ginoza

55 notes · View notes

spicedrobot · 5 years

Text

More Than Enough

Fandom: Hollow Knight Pairing: Lemm/Quirrel Warnings: slight angst, handjobs, frotting, blowjobs, Quirrel has two dicks my dudes Notes: This is just horny...again...this fic is for SOME PERSON who i REFUSE TO NAME who CURSED MY DICK!!

They’ve been dancing around this for the better part of a year. Glances caught, ghosting hands, conversations that waver on their tongues, attuned, distracted.

Their first kiss had been on the docks of Blue Lake, the catch of lips swallowed by the ambience of water whispering against ancient wood. Gripped by a gently shaking hand, he had led Quirrel back into the endless rain, the dreariness of the forsaken city lessened by another’s hand bleeding warmth into his own.

They talked so little at first. The fog that had enveloped Quirrel lingered for weeks, ghosts that would not free him so easily. He would not eat, would not sleep, his dreams plagued by an old life and an ancient master. Lemm would not dine without him, spoke mindlessly when he himself preferred the quiet, anything to enliven the lightless eyes of the one who he had come to hold dear. Lemm passed those early, fearful days by showing Quirrel his collection, rattling off the ages of the artifacts, the builds, the precision of the artisan’s tools, anything he could remember. Quietly he thrilled at Quirrel’s sparse replies, addenda, augmentations of an relic’s use, of where he had seen it before, in deeper, darker places that Lemm dared not tread. And Lemm would nod along, etch Quirrel’s words onto stone.

Day by day, piece by piece, Quirrel began to return to him.

He set Quirrel to run the storefront while Lemm painstakingly labored over one of the little ghost’s arcane eggs. They supped together. They slept together. At first, at the edges of the mattress, shared out of necessity rather than any harbored affections. The kiss had been desperation, and Lemm reminds himself of this each night, chilled and yearning for the heat at his back.

So very much later, years it had seemed, the warmth he had dreamed about came to him. An arm curling around his hip, snuggling closer, easy, sleep-soft breath against his carapace. Lemm hadn’t slept a wink that night. Nor the next time it occurred.

Lemm is not like the impenetrable stone parapets of the city. Each time Quirrel burrowed against him, his harsh edges whittled away into loveworn grooves. Smooth lines that lead to a place that makes his heart shudder in his chest. Then the moment when Quirrel’s voice says into the silence of their sleeping quarters:

“That day at the lake...you kissed me.”

Lemm goes stock still. He can’t do much else, not with Quirrel tucked against his back, his arm across his waist. And it was true, he had kissed him, but what did Quirrel want? An apology, a reason?

So quietly, Lemm barely hears the words whispered into his neck.

“Why haven’t you done it since?”

Lemm should think this through, be gentle, patient. Didn’t he have that in droves? The relic seeker who could spend a lifetime restoring forgotten things with little more than a frustrated sigh? Lemm turns over quickly, but Quirrel does not move back. Faces inches from one another, wide eyes, a gently slackened mouth.

Annoyance is so easy here. Safe like a well-worn glove.

“What do you want from me?” Lemm grumbles, sputters as Quirrel’s eyes dip momentarily to his mouth. “I did not...want you to think that you owed me anything for staying here—”

The kiss is different than their first. Tentative for a moment as lips meet, strangely soft, addictive, responsive like they weren’t before. Hot like they weren’t before as Quirrel surges close, Lemm’s gasp claimed and pursued by the slip of his tongue. Quirrel’s hand at his cheek and neck, anchoring him, trapping him, stealing his hesitation.

Lemm doesn’t know if he’s ever been kissed like this, even when the city was a vibrant thing, when his carapace had shined, fresh and new. Now, in this forgotten place, two remnants of history learn one another with the eagerness of life.

He should be tentative, more careful, but Quirrel is not a delicate artifact or precious trinket, he moves, breathes, moans into his mouth, the sound burning through him, awakening him, cobwebs swept away, dust lifted. Lips slide, become messy, wet, hands upon shoulders, throats, like there is nothing else. They come alive, gentle, needful throbs, thighs clenched, shifting close, the tentative first drag, afraid, maybe, of what it could mean.

“D-do you want me to?” Lemm manages between lips and teeth, hands slipping down Quirrel’s back, feeling the grooves of his carapace, smooth against roughened fingers.

Like a strike, the response comes faster than he can believe.

“Yes—”

Oh, he should be careful, where is that practiced restraint? Filthy old man, palming greedily down Quirrel’s front, eyes trained on his face, watching each moan, the faint, growing violet coloring his cheeks.

“B-but you should know that, o-oh, uhm, ahh—!”

He grasps Quirrel’s cock, half-emerged, flushing madly when it twitches against his palm, freezing when he feels something else brush his knuckles. Lemm blinks rapidly, drops his gaze to confirm what his mind fails to acknowledge.

Another cock, a twin to the first, tinged purple and beaded at the tip, leaving a line of pre along the back of Lemm’s hand.

“Two…”

Quirrel covers his face, groaning.

“I’m sorry...”

“Sorry?” Lemm’s answer is a growl. He pushes Quirrel’s hand from his face, kisses him hard and quick while his free hand slips between them. “Ridiculous. Though you would make an old man work hard like this…”

Quirrel half-laughs, half-moans, clapping a hand over his mouth as Lemm strokes him, each pump gently off kilter from the other. His touch glides easily as Quirrel leaks, body quaking, cocks plump and needy in his grip. Gods, he can’t believe he’s doing this, could never even have dreamed of it, having Quirrel open to him, twisting and moaning beneath his touch.

It makes him greedy, mad for it, makes him mad for his madness.

“How shall I do it, wanderer?” He breathes, his own words shocking even himself. “One at a time? One in my mouth...the other waiting for its turn?”

“Lemm—!” Quirrel squeaks, his lower body throbbing, copious pumps of pre dribbling over his speeding fingers.

“Do they spill in tandem? Or does one throb and finish while the other suffers?”

The eyes set upon him staggers his words, bright and needful. For all that Quirrel blushes and stutters, his hands find him, resolute, even as they tremble against Lemm’s cock, the forgotten thing dripping and aching against his stomach. His touch is sloppy but eager, and Lemm hisses into it, dizzied by the pleasure that scores through him.

“Not just me, my friend…” Quirrel whispers.

Lemm’s motions slow as Quirrel’s hands press upon his own. His cocks align, flushed and glistening in the light from the window. For a moment, Lemm simply stares, mouth dry, heart thundering. Then the notion clicks into place. Lemm shifts his hips, his own tapered cock catching against Quirrels’, butting into the seam between them.

The shuddering moan that follows steals his own breath, his body feeling like a stranger, alien, alive. He presses harder, cock slickening, slipping, sinking into the space between with a swear on his breath. It’s tight, and warm, a near perfect clutch when Quirrel whimpers and shakes. It must be little more than a tease for him, but his eyes are glazed, locked on Lemm’s, lips shined and half-parted, gasping freely as Lemm ruts.

It should not be fair, how close it brings him so soon, when Lemm has one and Quirrel two, but with each thrust, liquid heat between his cocks, the tip of his own kissing Lemm’s stomach, dragging along its segments, ribbed and teasing, Quirrel’s hands an unforgiving weight upon his own, keeping each thrust hard and tight, all he can do is bury deep against him, stomach to stomach, mouth to mouth, Quirrel kissing him as he spills over his stomach, groaning weakly into his body.

Lemm catches his breath, embarrassingly labored, against Quirrel’s throat. The weight lifted, Quirrel’s hands displacing his own, his love’s breath picking up, touching himself, lips caught between his teeth.

Lemm huffs, the idea of watching Quirrel take himself apart quickly overcome by his own tired annoyance.

“You think so lowly of me?”

Quirrel’s eyes widen so prettily as Lemm shifts down the bed, capturing Quirrel's hands and pinning them to the mattress. The wanderer flat on his back, his cocks against his stomach, glossy with Lemm’s seed and his own pre.

“I’ll not leave you like this.”

Again, his name from Quirrel’s lips like a prayer. Damn him, how crazy he makes Lemm. His tender, wistful smiles and words that sound like they come from someone whose lived so many lives and seen so many things.

He takes Quirrel with his mouth, led by his soft, shaking cries, pinned hands twisted into the sheets, his stilted rocking, begging for more. His other cock brushes by his cheek, granted a gentle kiss and lick when it seems Quirrel draws close to his end, teasing him until his own cock thickens once more.

“Please, Lemm...I want to touch you…”

Lemm only hushes him, draws him deeper, holds him down as he takes him apart at his leisure. A high-pitched warning, a moment too late, Quirrel coating his tongue and lips, near tasteless, gently sweet. Lemm tsks, voice roughened and wavering. He stares up the sloping curve of Quirrel’s body and into his darkened face, the drop of drool at the edge of his lips, the glaze of his eyes arresting, a piece he would never tire of.

“Seems I was right…” Lemm whispers, lips brushing against Quirrel’s untouched cock, which jerks at the attention. “Such a pain.” But his words are listless, heat-laced as his swollen mouth descends once more.

All bluster, and they both know it.

#lemmquirrel #quirrelemm #lemon #fics #hk

49 notes · View notes

chezzkaa · 6 years

Text

Numb pt 12

Click here for more Numb content OR JOIN THE NUMB DISCORD

Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2500+ Warnings: child death and angst

Date posted: 6 Sept 2018

His grip on your hand tightens without realising, gaze caught in the fire. The way the flames dance and log cracks beneath the glowing coals dusted with ash. Ryan doesn’t speak for what feels like an eternity. The seconds drip by and splatter against your nerves with each excited cheer of the blazing hearth. The tea nestled in you lap is cooling, but you can’t bring yourself to drink it. Something odd and unsettling aching your limbs and begging them to be still.

“I moved to Motbury a few years ago,” Ryan starts, voice soft and tripping in his throat. He doesn’t look at you, but seems to appreciate the slow circles your thumb traces against his. “Figured I’d man my own business and start again. I kinda hoped a different town would make things easier.”

“Easier?”

“Yeah.” He rolls his head to the side, watching your expression. “I was dwelling a lot where I used to live. It’s got… pretty hard. I used to have a house full, and getting used to all those empty rooms was tough. But out here… I’m still on my own, but it’s a lot easier to manage.”

You chew your lip, picking at the skin until you feel it sting. Ryan hadn’t spoken much of his family, but what you did know was that his Dad had meant a lot to him. You try to find your voice. “I’m sorry, losing a parent-”

He rejects your train of thought with a simple shake, lips pressing into a thin line. “It wasn’t just him. I lost my Dad in the Winter of 2014, my wife in Spring 2015, and daughter a few months after.”

The anguish starts first in your fingers, stretching though your palm and along your arm with a cold prickling sensation. With it your muscles seize, desperate to shake free the raw feeling that taints your body and courses through your veins. Infesting your being and stinging just beneath the skin. But you persist, clinging to the mourning that washes over Ryan as he remembers, oblivious to the cry you chew.

“I’m so sorry.” You struggle to keep from choking on the agony he hasn’t realised he’s sharing, forcing your voice to keep from sounding strangled. “That’s…”

But you can’t put your sadness into words, the feeling of someone else’s emotions burrowing into your bones making breathing hard. Clinging to his hand like it’s a lifeline that keeps you from drifting out on the sorrow he wears in his smile.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” he replies in a tone that sounds wrong, given the circumstances. “But it’s alright. My Dad was old and fragile. He had a fall while we were working around the Grisham forest and steadily declined from there. And my wife was ill when I married her, so we were prepared for the inevitable. Got to say our goodbyes. We were lucky.”

He senses the question you don’t allow to fall from your lips, letting off a sigh and staring at your joined hands. He traces one of the silver scars cutting across your skin, thumb curving across a cluster that span like stars. Like Ryan prefers getting lost in the blemishes that bloom over your hands as opposed to dwelling in what he knows he can’t escape.

“I’m now realising that I’m kinda just throwing the ‘I had a wife’ thing on you. Kinda shoulda said something sooner, huh?”

“Don’t be silly,” you mutter. “Am I making this weird? I can let go of your hand?”

“Please don’t.”

You’re quiet for a moment, the nagging of a question becoming too much. “How old was she?”

He knows who you’re asking about, knows by the gentle tone that pools between his fingers that you’re not asking about his wife - and he sighs. “Bethany was 9.”

Another wave of feeling, tainted with anger and a deep aching pain that resonates in your chest. You don’t speak this time, but you can’t bear to leave him alone. Not with the thoughts that race through his mind and infest yours as a result. And all at once you can see it, drowning in the guilt and agony and self loathing. His fear burning your airways and clogging your nose.

The curtains are drawn. The house almost humid with the artificial heat that beats against the walls, clinging to the carpet and sticking across the windows. Ryan closes the door, soft click muffled through the darkness. A sigh sees him shrug out of his coat and kick off his shoes, straining with a relieved groan. He doesn’t notice you, an impression against the memory that haunts him now. A version of himself caught in the loop you’re only managing to glimpse.

He calls out a name, voice rippling as though the air were water. Every breath you draw never being enough as he yells louder, and waits.

“Bethany? Sweetheart?”

Nothing.

You should be leaving. Should be yanking your hand free of his while you sit beside the fireplace, but you can’t. Because if you pull away he’ll be on his own again. Left in the cycle you shouldn’t be seeing, but can’t bear to abandon him too. So you follow him; socks padding across the stairs he takes two at a time, his hand gliding along the banister. There’s panic in his voice now, the name being called infinitely more fragile.

“Bethany? Don't tell me you're asleep already.”

Only empty silence greets him on the landing.

Ryan raps his knuckles against the door, painted a delicate pink and littered with dinosaurs. He’s impatient, you can see it in the set of his shoulders and the way his eyebrows knit. But he’s scared, too. And as his stomach fills with knots and nerves, so too does yours.

“Bethany?”

You feel sick when he yanks open the door. And this time you call her name, too. “Bethany?”

He’ll never get a response. He bolts across the small room, taking the bundle of blankets on the bed into his arms and shaking. Her name is falling freely now, littering the sheets like his tears when she doesn't smile into his voice. Burrowing into the carpet with the sound of his wails.

“No…” It’s your voice this time, bouncing uselessly against his back while he stares at his daughter’s blank expression. “No, please.”

He glances up as though he’s heard you, face contorted in utter agony. But instead he starts bellowing. Crying out for help, pleading for the babysitter that should have been there. For the neighbours. For his wife.

With that, you can’t take it anymore. Can’t stand to see him lose himself to a scene you’re sure he’s been trapped in far too many times. And rather than sinking to your knees like his emotions will you too, you take your first step into the room. And then another. Forcing your legs to move until you’re stood above the man who’s lost everything, cradling the world in bloodsoaked hands.

Reaching out, your fingers brush through his hair, a gentle ‘shh’ falling from your lips. His sobs falter, almost surprised as the energy that makes up your being crouches to his left, arm wrapping around his waist. Your head barely anything against his shoulder. “Shh, baby. It's time to go.”

The pressure against your hand comes as a shock, and the sight of his blue eyes free from the clouds of crying anchor you back to the tavern. He smiles, creaking as he leans over to brush a tear from your cheek, expression confused and soft. “Hey, you alright there?”

You nod, clearing your throat and turning a gentle pink. “Yeah, sorry. Just… thinking.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one crying?”

You smile, though barely. “Please don’t, cus I’ll bawl my fucking eyes out. And I’m wearing makeup.”

He chuckles, not at all bothered outwardly by the memory that’s seen you close to shattering. “Oh no.”

“It’ll be a bloodbath.”

“We can’t have that,” he determines firmly, lifting up his arm and motioning. “C’mere.” You don’t hesitate, shuffling into his side and tucking your shoulder beneath his embrace. The weight of his arm is reassuring, pulling you close. “See?” He nudges your foot with his, smirking. “Hugs makes everything better.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, snuggling further into him. Ryan chuckles, warmth of his chest glowing against your cheek.

“But if I shut up how am I supposed to ask you questions?”

“Questions?”

He nods. “We’re gonna trade life stories.”

You don’t do a good job of keeping the grimace from your face, picking anxiously at your fingers. “Okay, fire away.”

“You used to work with Jeremy.”

This statement comes as a shock, and you can’t figure out how best to respond. Instead you glance at him, a swift finger needling between his ribs. “That’s not a question, asshole.”

He smiles, a little more bashful and reserved than before. “Give me some time. Jeremy actually told me an awful lot about his partner back in the city, I just want to make sure I’ve not got anything wrong.”

“He talked about me?”

“A lot,” Ryan confirms, looking a little wistful. “He was always going on about the ‘best crime fighters to ever hit the streets’.”

You laugh, defrosting a little. “Of course he fucking did, oh my god. That fuck lives and breathes his work.”

“So did you.”

Now you stop, breath stammering across your tongue. Bitter with the apprehension clotting your throat. “You could say that.”

“According to our dear detective, you were the recipient of a number of medals and honourings. Best homicide inspector the area had ever seen.”

“Is there a question involved in this at all?” Your tone is a little sharper than you intend, body stiffening in his arms.

Ryan knows he’s hit a sore spot, gentle this time. “Why did you move to Motbury?”

It’s not what you’d expected, gearing yourself up to pour your heart out, bleed your feelings over the memory of a body you’ve never truly let go. A case you couldn’t solve in time. It takes you a while to reply, the crackling of flames accompanying the hollow tone that escapes your lips and coats your interlocked hands. “I couldn’t stand to be in the city anymore. It was to empty.”

His grip on you tightens. “I thought you lived with your friends? The ones that are moving down?”

“That was… after.”

“After?”

You sigh reluctantly, fidgeting with your fingers. Shifting, Ryan dives into your jumper pocket, plucking out the stones he’s seen you turn over too many times to count, dropping them into the palm of the numb hand you hold out. Once the smooth surfaces touches skin the negativity ebbs, just enough to manage. “Thanks…”

“You’re welcome.”

“So.” Folding the small stones over and over, you can’t bring yourself to share the glance you’re certain he’s casting across your expression. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Wherever you’re comfortable, Y/N. You really don’t have to tell me.”

“No, no it’s okay. When I was younger I actually lived around Grisham forest, too.”

“No kidding!” He’s grinning, like a kid finding out that his best friends loves dinosaurs as much as he does.

“Yeah, I lived there with my Granddad back when we were on speaking terms. Once I was old enough to get my degree I moved to the city and started working my way up. Trevor and Alfredo lived in my apartment complex, and I met Lauren through mutual friends. Jeremy… Jeremy and I became fast friends. Our desks were next to each other and we had the same drive. Ended up being partners, which was fantastic. Got a few good years in working at the top before everything happened.”

Ryan doesn’t interrupt, letting you continue at your own pace.

“I always had a problem with getting too invested in my work. Late nights at the office, even later surrounded by files at home. It started bothering the people I lived with, but at that point solving crimes and saving lives was all that mattered to me. To Jeremy and I. Then we got caught up in this really tough situation, and we were certain we’d got the asshole, but… we were too focused. Ended up getting tunnel vision and missing out on key information that was sitting right in front of us. I-”

You hum in irritation, trying to follow the soft movement of Ryan’s thumb as it rubs circles into your side.

“I refused to see something so fucking important because I was so desperate to solve the damn case. And it got someone killed. My ignorance and obsession was paid for with someone else’s life. Jeremy and I got the guy in the end, but it shook us up. He got transferred a month after begging the higher ups, and I stayed behind. Couldn’t really face anymore files, and eventually I couldn’t manage being alone. Trevor and Alfredo moved in, and we decided to move away from the city. Start again, just like you I guess.”

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pulling you tighter against his chest and resting his cheek against your head. The gentle rocking is soothing, his free hand cupping your face. “That’s-”

“Life,” you finish, muffled in his plaid shirt, tears threatening to brim over. “That’s life.”

“Why didn’t you go and stay with your Granddad?”

“He died a few years ago and I hated him,” you reply, unfazed.

“That’s… not the response I expected,” Ryan chuckles, pulling away slightly and peering down at the small smile decorating your lips.

You shrug, reaching up to brush free the lock of hair that falls into his eyes. “He was a nasty man.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “bastard was constantly cursing people who rocked up on the property. Missionaries, girl scouts...” You snigger, the pair of you comfortably settling back into a lazy embrace. “Squirrels.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Not at all, he was a real piece of work.”

“What an asshole,” Ryan chuckles.

“You’re telling me. I’m much happier with the friends I’ve got now. Lucky, too. You know what they love?”

His face clouds. “Errm… food?”

“Ghost stories. But also food. Probably more so food. But I want to hear a ghost story.”

“The Widow of the Woods?”

“Unless you’ve got more?”

Ryan smiles, rubbing your foot with his. “I’ve got plenty, but we’ll start with the one you won’t shut up about.”

“I’ve asked, what, like twice?” your fingers hook into his ribs, and he yelps out a laugh, squirming into your side.

“Okay, okay. I give! The Widow of the Woods, I get it. Jeez, you’re a wicked person.”

“I prefer ‘witchy woman’.” You punctuate the words with a wave of your hand, of which Ryan gabs and forces back down with a playful eyeroll.

“Of course you do. But I can see it, you’re definitely a fucking witch.”

“If only you knew - wait. Excuse me? Are you insulting-”

“So,” Ryan starts loudly, shuffling up in his seat to cut off your sentence. “The Widow of the Woods.”

20 notes · View notes

seventeen-scenarios-blog · 7 years

Text

[DRABBLE REQUEST] Vampire!Minghao (G)

Request: When a powerful vampire falls for a human university student Requested by: Reirei anon Word count: 3,971 Genre: Fantasy and fluff, I guess? Warnings: None!

A/N: I tried :( I’m sorry I had to tweak the request a little to make the story flow better. Ended up including more of the ‘university’ aspect of the request than the ‘powerful vampire’ part, I hope you don’t mind!

For the upteempth time today, you find yourself pursing your lips at your laptop, your pen repeatedly tapping a restless rhythm against the keyboard. You’ve been staring at your year-end report for hours yet all you’ve churned out so far were a measly three paragraphs.

So much for a major in art, you think, all too ready to throw everything out of the window at this point. You loved art, but the compulsory art history module is a whole other story altogether. It is simply too dry and boring for your taste. “Forget this,” you sigh to yourself. “I’ll try this again tomorrow.”

Slapping your laptop shut, you put your study materials aside and pull out your trusty, dog-eared drawing pad out of your backpack. Nothing like a quick sketch to alleviate the mounting stress of university life.

“Slacking off again, I see.”

You hide the smile that threatens to break across your face when you hear that familiar voice from behind you. A slender, tall man enters your vision, making his way towards you and stopping just next to the window. At once, you slap on a stoic mask and start drawing.

“At least I was trying to get some work done,” you argue, the graphite of your 5B pencil flying freely across the paper. “What about you? Don’t you have a Medical History exam next week? Shouldn’t you be studying for it too?”

Your words were whispered under your breath, but his keen hearing picked it up anyway. “Med His?” he almost scoffs as he rolls down the blinds, blocking out the afternoon sunlight that was shining into the room. ��I have no need to study for something like History. After all, I lived through everything, remember?”

Your pencil falters as you listen to his words. “Right…” you murmur, your eyes drifting up to stare at your reflection on the glass as the blinds slowly come down. As you expected, the spot next to your reflection -- where his own reflection was supposed to be -- is empty.

“Vampire.”

It’s already been a little over 10 months since you’ve met the man next to you. Well, truthfully speaking, you did meet once him when you were just a baby, not that you were able to retain that memory, anyway. Xu Minghao has been someone you’ve only heard of all throughout your life, from your childhood and past your adolescence. Stories about him were told from your both your grandparents and your parents. They’ve described him as a never-aging, charismatic entity who rules over an influential blood bank company as CEO.

How ironic, you always thought: having a supernatural bloodsucker reign as leader of a blood bank.

Despite being a relatively young vampire of 100 years, he’s probably still lived through a lot of China’s greatest and arguably most tumultuous moments. It is a wonder how your family got involved in his affairs. After saving your great-grandfather’s life during the Chinese Revolution of 1946, your ancestor had sworn unwavering loyalty from himself and his descendants.

That’s how you found yourself growing up under the protection and wealth of the famed Haicheng Blood Bank. In exchange, your family offers to him administrative assistance and business prowess. From what you understand, his perpetually 20-year-old appearance would have undoubtedly aroused some suspicion from the media, thus he can only remain as an unseen but powerful figurehead holding the reins, supported by his most trusted followers.

Thankfully, your older brother Junhui has taken on the role to serve Haicheng Blood Bank, succeeding your father. This would allow you to freely pursue your a course of your choice in your tertiary education. Drawing and painting has always been something you loved and showed talent for as a child. Though you are sworn to silence about your family’s secrets, nothing made you happier than being able to further your passion without the burden of supporting the company.

Which is why you are more than surprised when you found out that the very CEO himself has to attend the same university as you are, under the guise of the CEO’s son.

“It will only be for about a year or so,” your father had assured you when you went slack-jawed by this revelation. “Rumours about Haicheng Blood Bank not having an heir are starting to go around in the media, and this is the best way we can do to dissipate them. Junhui and I will manage the blood bank in his absence.”

“And make sure you stay the hell out of his way,” warns your mother.

The prospect of meeting the famed being thrilled but also chilled you on equal extent. This was, after all, a vampire in question. But with you taking a major in art and him in medical science, crossing paths with him would most probably be unlikely. You thought that you’d be able to get through your first year of university without running into him at all.

But that, of course, is just a thought.

It had been an ordinary day at the start of the semester. You were just having a light snack at a sandwich bar after a long, mentally-draining lecture. Orientation period had just concluded, and the freshmen were out and about, chatting animatedly amongst their cliques as they make their ways across the campus. You can only watch them pass by with a wistful sigh.

You are introverted by nature, and the damning family secret you have to retain forges a pretty solid barrier around you when it comes to getting to know new people. You can only accept the fact that your four years in university would be lonely like your other schooling days.

Halfway through snorting at the variety show playing from your phone between the mouthful of bread you were chewing on, your attention had been rudely snatched away by someone. You looked up to see a pale, slim man just entering your peripheral vision. But that wasn’t enough to steal your attention, it was the way he dressed.

Decked out in a fitted black suit and pristinely pressed white collared shirt, the newcomer strides towards you with an air of grace and majesty. You watched him, utterly baffled to see someone this young this formally dressed in the middle of campus.

Is he some kind of undergraduate professor? you wondered, eying his style of clothing. He looks like he has just walked straight out of the 1920s. Shrugging to yourself, you turned your attention back towards your smartphone, your index finger reaching out to rewind the video back a dozen seconds to make up for your distraction.

But then the sounds of a steel chair scraping across the tile floors pierce through your earphones and you yanked them out, startled to see the man himself pulling out the seat next to yours. Your jaw slackened and almost hit the tabletop when an airy, almost silvery voice rings out.

“Is… this seat taken?”

Your phone nearly slipped from its prop against your cup of milk tea at his sudden request, the electrical device seemingly as shocked as you were. You were just one of the few students lingering about in front of the sandwich shop, and you were fully aware that there are plenty of empty tables around the vicinity for him to sit at. Yet, it’s not everyday you get someone asking if he could sit next to you, and especially not someone as… holy crap…

Looking up, you took in his facial features at close proximity, and you swore that you could hear a chorus of singing angels in the background. This man… He was just about the most attractive man you’ve ever laid your eyes on. His attire itself fitting for a red carpet, and he was the movie star.

His skin was a milky white that complimented pale blonde hair which was styled and slicked back. His eyes were sharp, deep set and prominently double-lidded, set above an intricately carved nose and perky, pink lips. He vaguely reminded you of the classic snobby chaebol heir trope you’ve gotten to know through your years of binge-watching Korean dramas: aloof, haughty and filthy rich.

In other words, he was devastatingly handsome, and he was talking to you.

But not being one to judge someone by his cover, you figured that letting him sit next to you would probably be the most polite thing to do. “S-sure, go on ahead…” you mumbled, your hand clumsily sweeping away your belongings off to one side to give him some space. Not wanting to appear as anti-social, you were quick to unplug your earphones and tuck them into the pocket of your sweater.

The man sat next to you, settling his briefcase onto the floor next to him. Good lord, this man owns a briefcase? He set his pristinely cuffed wristlets on the surface of the table and started staring at his own fiddling fingers. And the whole table lapsed into silence, and you forced yourself to slow down your chewing so as to not fill the quietness with your grotesque noises.

You didn’t know what you did to have someone this good-looking being in this close proximity with you, but you definitely weren’t going to complain if this meant that you could make a new friend that day.

And so your mind started to whirr as you deliberate with possible conversation starters: Are you from around here? What major are you taking? What year are you in? Or more importantly…

“What’s your na--” “Do you remember me?”

You look up at each other, stunned as both your concurrently spoken words dissipate into thin air. Taking his words into account, you looked up and shyly scanned his features. Maybe he was a friend from elementary school, or a distant relative? Unfortunately, try as you might, you couldn’t put a finger on it.

Snagging your bottom lip between your teeth, you bowed and shook your head. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t quite…”

To your surprise, he lets out a tinkling laugh. “Of course you wouldn’t, I didn’t expect you to. After all…” You involuntarily jerked backwards when he leaned forward with curious eyes that seemed to bore into your soul. “You had only been a baby when we first met.”

And the gears in your head cease to move at his statement, and in a split second everything clicked into place. Could it be?

“Are you,” you gasped, utterly awestruck. “Mr. Xu Minghao?”

His laugh melted into a small but serene smile. “I did go by a lot of names in the past,” he responded. “But in this life, yes.” He extended his right hand. “I am known as Xu Minghao. It’s my pleasure to finally see you again.”

“Hey, I thought I told you to never wear that copious amount of toxic fumes around me? I can smell it even in my dreams, thank you.”

You snap back into reality at the library, only to see Xu Minghao sitting across of you, resting the side of his head against the tabletop with his eyes closed. Now that you’re both nine months into this gimmick, it’s rather easy to forget that the man in front of you is a supernatural being, and an empowering CEO at that.

Thankfully, with your advice, he’s long replaced his stifling suit and tie for plain, comfortable shirt and sweats. He’s even dropped his styled hair and opted to let it down naturally just above his eyes. He looks like any other student now, despite having lived for at least five times as long as anybody here.

Throughout your life you’ve imagined a vampire to be threatening, powerful and bloodthirsty, but Minghao was nothing like this at all. Though having lived for about a century, he’s nowhere near ancient, completely affluent with modern technology. You’ve gotten to know him as witty but soft-hearted on equal levels, sharp-tongued but gentle all the same. He had quickly become an irreplaceable companion of yours, and you feel like you’ve known him all your life.

You blink cluelessly at him before glancing down at your sleeves. “What’s wrong? And I thought vampires don’t need sleep.”

“That perfume,” he replies with a slight whine, rubbing the back of his palm against his nose, “I thought I told you not to wear that anymore. And just because we don’t need sleep doesn’t mean we shouldn’t.” Heaving out a long breath, he tucks his head in between his arms and shut his eyes again.

You give your wrist a tentative sniff, wincing when you realise that you’ve did indeed apply a tad too much of your cologne this morning. It was a heavily jasmine scented spray your mother had given you before you left for college, having warned you to apply it if or when you interact with Minghao.

Her intention are obvious. Having been married into the family, your mother still isn’t too familiar nor comfortable with the thought of having a bloodsucker for a family friend. The last thing she wanted was to see her daughter get eaten alive.

“You really don’t have to wear that around me, I promise,” comes Minghao’s sleepy mumble. “I’m not going to bite you or anything.”

You purse your lips skeptically. “You’re really different from the vampires I grew up watching,” you observe. “I recall a certain sparkly one from the movies not being able to tolerate even a whiff of human scent. I know I’m going to sound really stupid asking this, but why don’t you bite people when you clearly need their blood to survive?”

He chuckles, “I’ll welcome all sorts of stupid questions from you if this means you’d get rid of that toxic spill.” He then pauses pensively, as though thinking of the right words to use. “I don’t know what other vampires do; I’ve never met others. But I believe that taking the blood of another human being is an incredibly intimate affair and should require the consent of the other party.”

For some odd reason, your heart considerably warms by his proclamation. He’s different, you know he is. You know that Minghao will never hurt you in any way.

“Alright, alright,” you concede, returning your attention back to your sketchpad. “I’ll stop wearing the cologne.” The only reaction you earn from him is a grunt of approval and a flash of his thumb. With a shift of his head, he now lays the right cheek on his downturned palms, allowing you to come face to face yet again with Minghao’s striking features up close.

A thought suddenly occurs to you, and as if possessed you flip to a fresh page on your sketchpad. Grabbing your favourite charcoal pencil, your right hand begins to dance across the creamy white sheet.

The sounds of the lead scraping against paper fills in the silence of the library, and Minghao lets out a soft grunt of disturbance. “Drawing again?” he half-heartedly asks, and you make a sound from your throat to acknowledge his question. Your tongue pokes out at the corner of your lips as you concentrated on your new piece of art.

“I don’t get drawing.” He purses his lips though his eyes remain shut. “I’ve lived for a hundred years and I’ve seen pretty damn amazing advancements in technology. Why continue jotting things down on paper when whatever you’re drawing can be captured with just one snap of the camera?”

“Because what’s the fun in that?” you question, looking up from your work to scan his face again. “And please, hold still. I won’t be able to draw you well otherwise.”

It takes a while for the vampire the process your words, but when he does, he bolts upright, his eyes growing comically wide. “Wait wha--?!”

“Xu Minghao!” you cry out in protest, slapping your pencil down against the tabletop. Several glares from other students shoot your way, and you wince, muttering out a quick apology at them. “Put your head back down please, I want to complete my drawing.”

“Let me take a look at that.” Minghao’s voice contains a mixture of both curiosity and confusion, and before you know it, he snatches your sketchpad from underneath your hands and stalks away from his seat. “Minghao no, I’m not done!” your cry comes out in a hushed whisper, and you scramble out your seat to tackle him.

Supernatural strength aside, Minghao is also a whole foot taller than you are. As a result, he simply holds his one arm out and presses it against your forehead, easily holding your body away from his.

“Give it back to me, you vile vermin!” you hiss, your arms flailing in vain attempts to grab your precious sketchpad back, and your fingers fall inches short away from him. Minghao lets out a lazy yawn, finally able to get a good look at your art.

“Come on, it’s still just a rough sketch,” you try to plead. “It’s nothing worth looking at, so please give it-- WOAH!” You lurch forward with a yelp of alarm as MInghao abruptly releases you. You flap your limbs blindly to try to get a grip on something, but your body fails you and you land in a messy heap on the carpeted library floor.

“Xu MInghao, what in the world--” The voice dies in your throat when you look up at him. He is staring at that piece of paper with utmost fascination, as though he has never seen anything more interesting in his life. His lips are parted and pupils dilated, and you think that he is going to literally drink in the sight before him.

It is just a simple sketch; you only had rough outlines marking the contours of Minghao’s face, his tousled hair and round ears. You have no idea why Minghao’s this amazed at all. “M-Minghao?”

He doesn’t react, but someone else does. An irritated clear of a middle-aged woman’s throat has you wallowing in dread, and it doesn’t require any spoken words to know what is going to happen next.

“Thanks for getting us chased out of the library.”

You both are lying in the dull lights of the auditorium stage: a secret hideout for the both of you. You have your laptop set up in front of you once again, for Minghao is still unrelentingly holding on to your sketchpad. You’ve given up on getting it back, letting him indulge in his wonder as you know that he would easily bust any attempts from you to get it back.

“If I had known my drawings amazed you so much, I would have shown them to you a long time ago,” you said in an amused huff while typing away at your report. “What was that you literally just said about drawing being pointless again?”

You only hear the constant flipping of your sketchpad, and you roll your eyes with a smile. And suddenly in ceases, and you glance towards him to see him lingering on one page.

“Is this... “ he murmurs. “Is this how I really look like?”

“What?” you dumbly wonder despite hearing his question loud and clear. Minghao pulls his gaze away from your drawing and meets your eyes. “This. Is this me?” With a turn of the ring-bound book, he shows you the artwork in question: the newest one you did in the library.

“Well, yeah,” you say sheepishly. “Hope it doesn’t creep you out or anything. It’s just a quick doodle of mine. It’s nothing special, it’s not even completed.”

He bites down on his lips, allowing you to catch a brief glimpse of his sharp, elongated canines. Then the next few words you hear from him actually make your heart accelerate at an alarming rate.

“Do you think you can complete it?” He holds out the sketchpad to you again, and you receive it with a befuddled expression. “Sure, I guess?” Why is Minghao behaving like this? “But can I ask why? It’d seem a bit more natural if you were not aware of me, though.”

He drops his gaze, suddenly meek. Is he really the all-powerful vampire you’ve grown up hearing stories about? The one who saved your great-grandfather’s life in the middle of a raging war? The one making profits by the millions from his blood bank? “I uh… never really seen myself. Not since I, you know, turned.”

“Wait, why not-- oh…” Realisation hits you with a pang and a hint of melancholy as you recalled the unique characteristics of vampires you read about in middle school. Minghao can’t see himself in reflections, nor can he be captured in photos. Sympathy wells in your heart. You don’t know much about Minghao’s past, but you can’t help but wonder if he ever wanted to just be a regular human.

“Alright, I’ll finish it,” you comply with a soft smile. “You have to go back to that original position for it to work, though.”

He complies immediately, turning over onto his stomach and placing his head onto his hands once again. “Like this?”

You grin as you grab your pencil once again. “Wonderful.”

And… It’s done. You flick away the flakes of eraser dust of the paper before holding it up against the light to admire your masterpiece. Putting it next to Minghao’s peacefully resting face, you can’t help but giggle at the similarities. He has fallen asleep halfway while you worked, allowing you to trace his features more accurately.

“Here, you dork. I’m done,” you call, reaching out to prod the snoozing male. Minghao stirs awake, his drowsy eyes opening one after another. You slide the drawing over to him before turning away, suddenly nervous with the prospect of your close friend evaluating your skills.

“I hope I didn’t get too rusty while studying for finals,” you shakily laugh. “But I did try my best. I hope you like it.”

A hand, colder but comforting, clasps over yours. You turn your head around, only to see Minghao watching you with the softest, gentlest eyes you can ever imagine. “It’s perfect,” he sighs, and those two words found their way to melt your heart. You have had other people complimenting your artistic flairs before; your parents, your brother and your professors had sung praises at you. Why does it mean so much more coming from Minghao himself?

“T-Thanks?” You wanted to mentally slap yourself for stuttering, but you are too transfixed and captivated by his gaze on you. And you’re both trapped in a trance where neither of you are willing or able to break eye contact. There just seems to be this potent yet foreign emotion pooling in his pupils, and you can’t seem to fathom it at all.

You gulp while your cheeks found their way in between your teeth, hoping that it’d take your mind off the way your heart hammers like a jackrabbit caught in a cage.

But your hopes of having coherent thoughts are dashed when he lifts his hand to ruffle it through your locks while letting out a low chuckle. From the moment he makes contact with your skin, every hair on your body stands on end as though an electric current shoots through your nerves. Though his fingers are icy, your body flares up in heat, and suddenly you decipher the look in his eyes.

Affection.

Oh… oh no.

Helplessly, your stomach begins to flutter at that thought. Is this… really what you think this is? Does Minghao actually like you?

A vampire and a human, how cliche, yet so… so surreal.

Though you are uncertain and maybe a little confused, everything seems to fall in place when you find yourself leaning into his hand. And the silly grin you feel breaking across your face says everything that needed to be said.

454 notes · View notes

kazliin · 7 years

Note

not gonna lie, I would so read that mermaid au that you wrote the summary of

That was one of the ones I just couldn’t get out of my head so here’s some random extracts and concept writing.

Disclaimer - this is a fake au fic from the Rivals series. In universe it would be written by a Viktuuri fan and so is based on how that fans see umfb!viktor and Yuuri not as they actually are. It was also written as a joke on my phone in half an hour so please don’t take this as serious writing!

Original concept - no.12 of the ‘15 most popular fics in the Rivals universe alternate AO3’ - Original post here

Title : what would I pay, to stay here beside you

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Figure Skating RPF

Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Viktor Nikiforov

Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Viktor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont, Christophe Giacometti, Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin, Georgi Popovich, Mila Babicheva, Celestino Cialdini, Yakov Feltsman

Additional tags: Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid Fusion (original), Mermaid!Viktor, Prince!Yuuri, Happy Ending

Summary: Viktor has always been fascinated by the human world and especially one human in particular, a man he once saved from drowning one stormy night after a shipwreck. A dashing prince with a beautiful laugh, kind and beloved by all who know him. After loving him from afar for years Viktor makes a deal with the sea-witch, in exchange for his silver hair he has one month to make the prince fall in love and marry him or he will lose his life and be turned to nothing but foam on the sea. Known by all as impulsive and rash, Viktor takes the deal without a second thought and begins a life on land with the intention of wooing the prince and finding his happily ever after.

The one problem? The Prince hates him on sight.

Working against the clock, Viktor has one month to uncover the mystery of the Prince’s past and discover why he is so hated by the other man. And not only that but he must also convince the prince to fall in love and marry him, least he be lost to the sea forever.

Random snippet part 1 - extract from chapter 1 of 8

The human was beautiful, with soft dark hair and wide brown eyes, although those had fallen shut many hours ago and hadn’t opened since. Viktor might have been concerned that the human had died somewhere between the shipwreck and the shore if not for the gentle rise and fall of the man’s chest that signaled there was still life in his body.

Viktor dragged the limp figure further up the sandy beach, gritting his teeth as the coarse sand dug into his scales but determined to move the human fully out of the water that had almost taken his life.

The sun beat down on his back and he could feel his tail beginning to dry even after just a few minutes out of the water. The sea might have almost killed the human he had just saved but the land would kill him almost as quickly if he remained out of the water for much longer.

Reluctantly Viktor turned away, running his fingers over the human’s sleeping face one last time before he crawled back to the water and plunged gratefully back beneath the waves, allowing the cool water to soothe his body as he swam back further out into it’s depths.

Unwilling to leave just yet he turned around as soon as he was far enough out to be out of sight from land, resurfacing behind a clump of rocks and raising his torso above the waves to get a better look at the human where he was still lying prone on the beach. Viktor had chosen a spot that he knew was popular with the other humans who lived around the area, the man he had saved would surely be found soon.

A shout from across the beach confirmed his theory as another human appeared on the horizon, spotting the figure lying unconscious on the sand and running over to help, frantically waving over another group of humans who had just appeared in the distance. Viktor ducked behind the rocks as they drew closer, staying out of sight but wanting to make sure the man he rescued had fallen into good hands.

After a few minutes the group of humans picked up the unconscious man and carried him away, taking care not to hurt him as they held his prone body. Satisfied, Viktor ducked back beneath the waves, knowing that the human was safe.

Something about the man had fascinated him and Viktor hoped that maybe one day he would see him again.

Random snippet 2 - extract from chapter 2 of 8

“You’re disgusting, you know that don’t you?” Yuri growled, angrily splashing Viktor with his tail where they were both floating lazily in the shallows a few hundred meters away from the beach, concealed from view. Viktor ignored him, continuing to gaze at the beach where his human, Yuuri, was laughing and running with his dog by his side.

It had been two years since he had first laid eyes on the human, a prince he had later discovered, and since then his fascination with the man had only grown, much to his young protégée’s disgust and indignation. He visited the beach regularly, loving to watch as Yuuri played with his dog or laughed with his friends or simply sat on the warm sand with his feet bare and enjoyed the feeling of the ocean as it lapped gently at his toes. Occasionally he went swimming and on those times Viktor came as close as he dared, weaving deep beneath the water under the human’s feet, just out of sight but closer than he had ever been before.

“If you keep going like this you’re going to get caught.” Yuri snapped at him, sounding angry. “And you know what happens to our kind when we get caught. The rules about staying hidden from the humans exist for a reason you know!”

Viktor sighed, trying to block out the sound of the younger merman’s voice. He knew the rules as well as any other but he had never been any good at following them. Ever since he had been young he had always been drawn to the world above the sea and now that Yuuri existed in his life the draw was only growing more powerful by the day.

“You might as well give it up now Viktor.” Yuri continued. “It’s never going to happen between you two anyway. You’re two different species for fucks sake. What are you going to do, become a human?

Now, there was an idea.

Random snippet 3 - extract from chapter 5 of 8

Viktor sat on the balcony with his legs dangling over the edge of the drop, the cool breeze of the evening dancing over the bare skin of his feet. Even after three weeks on land he still hadn’t quite gotten used to the feeling of the strange new limbs, so different from the elegant tail that had once been in their place.

But he wouldn’t give up his legs, not for anything in the world. His time on land might not have gone exactly as he had expected and his relationship with Yuuri might have gotten off to a very rocky start but they had finally achieved peace between them, a peace that was day by day steadily turning into something more. Viktor knew that his time was starting to run out but after what had happened between him and Yuuri the day before he was confident that everything would finally go to plan.

As he thought he hummed a tune, a simple melody from his childhood about the joys of the sea. After the first few notes he changed from humming to singing softly, the words carrying across the silence of the evening.

“You sing very beautifully.”

Viktor startled at the noise but smiled when he turned around and recognised Yuuri standing behind him, face illuminated in the last dying light of the sun.

“Everyone can, where I come from.” Viktor replied automatically, without thinking about the words. While it was true his singing was considered especially beautiful among the merfolk, everyone one of them had a voice more beautiful than any human. There was a reason there were tales of bewitching merpeople luring sailors to their deaths with their siren song, tales that were not entirely unfounded. Just another reason for the tension between the two races and another reason that Viktor could never tell Yuuri who he really was.

“Where you come from?” Yuuri smiled. “The mysterious place that you never seem to talk about?”

“It’s far away.” Viktor countered, hoping that Yuuri would drop the subject without pressing to far. “And very small. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

“A mysterious far away land full of beautiful singers.” Yuuri replied, eyes looking wistful. Viktor knew how much Yuuri longed for adventure, a life outside his role as a prince for his country and all the responsibility that came with it. But his sense of duty was far too strong for him to ever run away for the adventure he so desperately craved. “I would love to visit someday.”

Viktor almost responded that he would love to take Yuuri, as impossible as that desire was, but he was stopped when a hand reached out to grasp a strand of his hair, rolling the silky strands between gentle fingers.

“Do all the people from your homeland have such strangely coloured hair as you too?” Yuuri asked as he gazed at Viktor.

“Not all of us.” Viktor replied. “But some.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Yuuri told him. “It’s what made me notice you the first time we met, at the marketplace. Like slivers of silver.”

“It used to be longer.” Viktor confessed, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of Yuuri’s fingers as he grew bolder, running more freely though his hair and tugging on it gently. “All the way down to my waist. ”

“What happened to it?” Yuuri asked and Viktor had a sudden flashback to the knife slicing through strands, the pain that rocked through his body as it felt like he was being split in half, torn into pieces as every part of his being remoulded itself into something new under the greedy eye of the sea witch, still clutching his hair in her hands.

Viktor blinked out of the memory and turned back to Yuuri, beautiful in the light of the setting sun and finally close enough to touch.

“I traded it for something better.”

Random snippet 4 - extract from chapter 6 of 8

With only four days left to go, Viktor knew it was time to act. He loved Yuuri with all his heart and he was sure that Yuuri must feel the same. But his deal with the sea witch hadn’t just hinged on love. He had to convince Yuuri to marry him before the sun set on the final day or he would be lost forever.

He was planning on asking Yuuri that night, after they had shared dinner together as they had done every night before. They had never done any more than hold hands, had never even kissed but Viktor was sure that it was just Yuuri’s princely chivalry holding him back. The way Yuuri looked at him was enough for him to be sure that the other man would agree. He might be banned from telling Yuuri why he needed the marriage to happen so rapidly he wasn’t concerned of a rejection.

The door beside him opened and Yuuri emerged, looking resigned. Viktor caught a quick glimpse of the kind and queen, stern faced and regal, before the door swung shut again behind him.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” Yuuri told him but the small smile on his face showed that he appreciated the gesture all the same.

“I wanted to.” Viktor replied, returning the smile. “What was it they wanted to talk to you about.”

Yuuri’s face fell again and he turned away, averting his eyes.

“Marriage.” he said bluntly and Viktor’s heart leapt in his chest. If Yuuri’s parents were pushing for their son to finally marry it would be even easier to convince Yuuri to rush their wedding.

“They told me it’s time. They let Phichit and I put it off for years but they’re getting older and so is his father and they want us to do it within the year.”

Viktor froze, every part of his body suddenly turning to ice like the arctic waters he had swam in only once.

“Phichit?” he asked and his voice sounded surprisingly calm even to himself, none of his inner turmoil showing on the surface.

“Yes.” Yuuri stopped walking for a minute, turning to Viktor and looking confused. “You’ve met him Viktor, he was here just last week.”

Of course Viktor knew who Phichit was, Yuuri had introduced them enthusiastically and the two of them had gotten along well. Phichit was bright and bubbly and he and Yuuri were very close. But they had never shown any romantic inclination towards each other during any of the time that Phichit had been there, on a diplomatic visit with his kingly father.

“But why would you marry Phichit?” Viktor asked and he could hear a slight hint of desperation begin to creep into his voice. “I thought you were just friends.”

“We are.” Yuuri was still staring at Viktor, looking confused. “He’s the best friend I’ve ever had. But we’ve been betrothed since we were both children. We were both hoping to delay the actual wedding for a few more years but our families are finally putting their foot down.”

“But you don’t love him?” Viktor said, still trying to comprehend the enormity of what he had just discovered, something that would ruin everything. “Why would you marry someone if not for love.”

“I’m a prince Viktor.” Yuuri signed and he sounded resigned again. “The second child of royalty. I was always going to have to marry politically. I’m just lucky Phichit and I became such good friends. We might not be in love and never will be but we have a lot more than most arranged marriages do. I was happy to go through with it when I was older before…”

Yuuri’s sentence trailed off and his eyes flickered to Viktor’s face and then away again in an instant, so quickly Viktor thought he might have imagined it. Then Yuuri’s gaze returned and he was looking puzzled again.

“But why are you sounding so surprised about this Viktor. It’s common knowledge that Phichit and I are betrothed. I thought you knew?”

Random snippet 5 - extract from chapter 6 of 8

Viktor sat by the water’s edge, gazing out into the ocean and allowing the tears to fall silently down his cheeks. He couldn’t believe how quickly everything had come tumbling down, all his dreams crushed in a few short words.

Viktor loved Yuuri and he was sure that Yuuri must love him back. But Yuuri was betrothed, soon to be married and had been for years. His sense of duty to his kingdom and his people outweighed anything else and he wouldn’t break off that proposal for anything, Viktor was sure of that. Not even for love.

It was Viktor’s own fault, for falling in love with a human and trading his life away for what he thought would be a happily ever after. His father had called him rash and impulsive many times before but Viktor had always laughed it off. Until now, when it was finally time to face the consequences of his decisions, choices he had made without ever really considering the consequences.

He had made a deal with the sea witch, a human life and one month to make Yuuri fall in love and marry him, or lose his life and be turned to foam on the sea. He might have succeeded at one part but he had failed spectacularly at the other, had never considered the human he had fallen for might already be promised to someone else. And now suddenly it all made sense, the way Yuuri always seemed to keep a careful distance between them even as he seemed to want to come closer, the way they had never kissed even if Yuuri sometimes gazed at his mouth like his desperately wanted to.

Gazing out at the sea Viktor wondered if he would ever get the chance to see his home and family again before the end. There were only three days left and the last light of the sun of the third day was already rapidly fading away. He didn’t have enough time and even if he had wanted to, he had no way of contacting his family nor of returning to his home. He was trapped on land, waiting as the last of his time trickled swiftly away.

A splash from the water in front of him made him jump and he startled when a head appeared from the waves, a familiar face surrounded by wet blond hair glaring at him angrily.

“I heard that you fucked up and your precious prince is all set to marry someone else.” Yuri told him, ignoring Viktor’s look of shock.

“I told you it was a bad idea to fall in love with a human and I was right. So now maybe you should try listening to me for once.”

“It’s too late to change anything.” Viktor replied, closing his eyes, unwilling to look his ex-student in the face.

“No it’s not.” Yuri said and his voice was hard and cold. “I have a plan.”

#rivals series #Kaz's writing tag

314 notes · View notes

selena-stories · 7 years

Text

A Tale of Two Violins

Prompt: Audio prompt Score: Didn’t place

Lirah and Sirai had been friends since their childhood, two girls with similar ideals and wildly different personalities. Where Lirah was stern and intelligent, Sirai was imaginative and wistful. Both were talented musicians, plucking away at the strings as if they’d been born with the talent. Their music was everything the girls were, if not more. Their emotions poured into the wood, and from it they created something divine.

The kingdom was to have a week of celebrations ending in a ball, and one of the nights, the choir would perform. The pit was to include Lirah and Sirai, along with the other musicians in their group. They would perform, and they would do it well, in order to please their king and his three children.

It was rumored that, soon, the eldest prince was to marry. Sirai would never admit it, but it was his interest she wished to catch, and she swore to play her best in order to garner his interest. Lirah thought this wish was foolish—a prince was a prince, and Sirai only a musician—but she would never crush her friend’s dreams. She would play alongside Sirai till the day she died, and she would put her all into it till the day after.

When the night of the concert came, the group set up their stage. The choir was lit softly, a gentle glow on them. Sirai and Lirah, the core violinists, were lit with bright lights. There, in the center of it all, they would create something magical. And so they did.

The realm was one of science and truth. Magic had not truly been seen in decades, and even then, only wielded by a few chosen souls. What god had looked upon the violinists and graced them with a touch of divinity? It isn’t certain, but the two wielded magic that day nevertheless.

Sirai got her wish. When the two put string to string and their music poured out, the magic within the notes became a powerful thing. The audience gasped when light spilled from their instruments, and gold rained from the ceiling. The royal family watched, impressed and awed, as the two girls twisted magic in the hall, turning the walls into diamond and the floors into gold. Silver twirled in the air, decorating the floors in intricate patterns. It pressed itself into the clothes of the girls, turning their dresses into flashing silver. Their hair, now flecked with gold, seemed to shimmer with a divine touch.

The eldest prince turned and whispered to his father, and everyone in the court paid notice.

And when the music ended, and the girls opened their eyes—cheeks flushed with the beauty of their performance—their eyes grew wide at the things they had made. No one was more surprised than the two girls, and they turned to each other with a mix of uncertainty and excitement in their eyes.

The night came to an end, but not before the girls were commended for their performance. They were promised an invitation to the ball that was to be at the end of the week. They would perform there, before the visiting guests, and everyone would bear witness to the magic that was in the kings favor.

Sirai was delighted; her wish had come true! An invitation to the ball was no small thing, and she was certain that she would catch the interest of the eldest prince there. Now, Lirah began to wonder. Could her friend truly catch the eye of a royal? Uncertainty began to bubble up within Lirah, but she could not fathom why. She forced a smile onto her face, to show encouragement for her friend, and to stifle that strange sadness within her.

Too quickly, the night of the ball came. Dressed in their best, the two girls made their way to the main hall. All night, lords and noble sons asked to dance with them. Charmed by their talent, their fame, and their beauty, no one could resist them. Sirai, delighted, danced with anyone who asked. Lirah could not be swayed, not by charm or gift, and instead watched her friend throughout the night. An observer, a guardian.

The time came for the prince to arrive, and he did so with great flourish. Many drew hushed gasps at the sight of him and his siblings descending the magnificent stairs onto the ballroom floor. Who they chose to dance with first was an important decision; such an honour was not to be given lightly.

And it was to Lirah’s dismay that the heir prince wove his way to Sirai, who did little to hide her pleasure. She took his head, and he stole her away into dance. But Lirah was not to be forgotten, because the second son approached her next. She could not decline, and so she too was whisked away into a dance.

Throughout the night, Lirah stole glances to Sirai and to the magnificent windows. The stars glittered freely out there, beautiful and free. She longed to be rid of this night, wished it had never come. She wished Sirai would see sense, and that the two could enjoy a relaxing night together without all the court intrigue. But wishes cannot be granted to everyone, and so Lirah danced and danced and danced.

When at last the hour was truly late and the ball wound down to a close, Lirah’s feet ached so poorly that she could hardly walk straight. Sirai seemed to drift on a cloud, and on their way to their guest rooms she sighed and whispered how sweet the prince was, how kind and how charming. When the time came for her to ask about the second prince, Lirah would murmur a noncommittal answer and Sirai would return to dreaming of her prince once more.

Night fell, and the sun rose, and the ball was finally past them both. But when they awoke, it was to royal summons. Once more, they were to entertain the princes. Not with music this time, but with conversation.

Sirai was delighted, and she eagerly picked out her outfit—and Lirah’s, as well, when she seemed set to leave in her old shabby choir dress. When the hour struck noon, the duo went into the gardens to meet the princes.

The heir prince and Sirai vanished into the gardens, arm-in-arm and chatting merrily. The second son was not as free with his hands, and walked with them clasped behind is back as he kept pace with Lirah.

“I know you do not like me,” he said at last. He said it so suddenly, so freely, that Lirah immediately smarted. Had she been so obvious?

“Of course I like you, my lord.”

The second son laughed. “That is only your default answer. When you’ve met as many people as I, you learn to hear the difference.” He eyed Lirah with intelligent eyes, and she began to think there was something more clever behind there than he let on.

“Well…” Lirah hesitated. She wouldn’t say anything too brash to the prince, as she valued her head being on her shoulders. Still, she could be more honest than she’d been. “It isn’t you, my lord. I just… I do not like visiting the castle as much as Sirai. I prefer the quieter life in our town, without all the…rules. Regulations.”

The prince nodded. “I see.” He pressed his lips together in thought. Then: “You see, my brother intends to ask for Sirai’s hand.” Lirah barely concealed her shocked intake of breath. “She would make for a powerful political queen. The first being to wield magic in ages. And you, her ally. Just as intriguing, just as veiled in magic.”

Lirah’s heart was beating hard, and she realized how afraid she was to hear what he would say next.

"You, Lirah, were to marry me. I assume you guessed as much, but given your disinterest in the court, I imagine you hoped it wouldn’t be so.”

“I-”

“You do not need to pretend with me,” the prince replied, interrupting her. “There is no one who is more understanding of pretense than a royal. I will be honest,” he unclasped his hands and placed one on her arm to draw them both to a pause, “I do not wish to marry you. But I must. And you must accept.”

Anger roiled up in Lirah, ever the hot-head. “Who’s to say I have to do anything? This may be the life Sirai wants, but I crave better things.”

“Ah, Sirai.” The second son looked out over the gardens thoughtfully. “My parents believe that we need both of you in the family for it to matter. If only my brother marries one mage, the power of the pair is split.” Lirah found her hands were growing cold. “And if we cannot have that united power, than who would want a half?” He turned his steely gaze onto Lirah once more. “Sirai would be happy with my brother, and my brother would work hard to keep her happy. But he would put the crown before her now, if the king wills it.”

“What are you saying?” Lirah knew. She knew, but still she needed to hear him say it.

The second son smiled, but it was an empty thing. “If you do not marry me, then Sirai will not get her wish. She will not have her prince, and her misery will be on you. That is what I am saying.”

Lirah closed her eyes, and when she did she imagined those beautiful windows overlooking the wide open night sky. Freedom. Freedom. But then she saw Sirai, her arms encircling the heir prince and her cheeks rosy with happiness, and that strange sadness from earlier rose back up in her. She would do anything for Sirai, give anything. She would burn the world raw and deliver it to Sirai on a silver platter if her darling friend only asked. But she did not have to.

“I will do it,” Lirah said, opening her eyes. In her mind’s eye, she imagined those stars, open and free, and she blinked the image away. “I will do it.”

#audio prompt #2017

0 notes