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lilyblyss · 3 years

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So, I was rereading my old posts and came across a Sukuna one I half-heartedly posted a while back and had a better idea about. The inspo's only slight, but it was still there.

Warning/Tag:: 18+, fem-bodied reader, noncon, slight talk of the supernatural, monster-fucking (Sukuna in his true form), degradation, name-calling, size-kink, overstimulation, spit kink, pet names (includes: doll, little one), a hint of a CNC kink

Note:: Sukuna is forever condescending, don't take his compliments to heart

You didn’t like to think too much about the supernatural occurrences that happened around your apartment. Other than the slight inconvenience of it all, it never really affected your everyday life. Sure, ruined lipstick smeared across your bathroom mirror and your eating utensils being moved randomly were a little much, but easily overlooked when you considered just how much you spent on the place. Not that you couldn’t afford a better place, what with your occupation and all, but as your late grandmother always said; the easiest way to have lots of money was to avoid spending it. Then again, if she knew where your money was coming from, she’d no doubt call it filthy.

Not that it mattered much to you. You minded the business that paid you, and being a camgirl paid you very well.

"I'm just saying," your friend always complained, "if you're making good enough money, you can get out of your totally haunted apartment."

"It's probably nothing to worry about." You placated. The annoying tricks and pranks were just that, and it's not as if you planned on living there the rest of your life. Everything would be fine.

Except when it wasn't. Especially because some humanoid, four-armed, two-faced, monstrosity was laying across your bed, barely covered in his kimono as if he ran the place. You stood at the entrance of your room, toothpaste foam still sitting on the corner of your mouth and your toothbrush beginning to slip out of your hand. You were just getting ready for bed, dressed in an oversized shirt and some mini-shorts.

The monster seemed pleased with your reaction, leaning forward with an awfully smug smirk on his face, eyes squinting as his mouths grinned devilishly, bringing attention to the tattoo on his face. You supposed the strawberry blond--almost pink really--hair would have taken points off the intimidation factor, but just his blood-red eyes were enough to stop you in your tracks. He was attractive in a terrifying way, a 'living on the wild side of things' way. If he was human, he might have actually been someone on the street you'd be attracted to.

“Ah, so you can finally see me,” he hummed, voice almost slurring, “I was starting to think my efforts were in vain. Be grateful, little one, that I’m so patient.”

You quickly wiped your mouth, placing your toothbrush in the cup on your dresser. You slowly looked around the room for any sign of breaking and entering. There were none. “W- how did--who are you?”

He stood from the bed, hunching over just a little to keep from bumping his head against the ceiling--look at that, the small extra for the high ceilings did come in handy--and walked over to you, stopping you in your tracks. He doubles, almost triple you in size and you take a step back. You looked almost like a rabbit, eyes focusing on the most dangerous thing in the room in case you needed to run. Poor thing just didn't know how trapped you already were.

His large finger curved around your chin, tilting it uncomfortably to make eye contact with him.

“Ryomen Sukuna. King of Demons. And you have caught my interest.”

“Me?”

“I prefer not to repeat myself, little one.” His voice is gruff, and it’s your first sign that maybe this man--demon--thing—isn’t the most patient creature on Earth. “That little… profession of yours, it’s intriguing. You certainly keep me interested in my pastime.”

“You’ve seen my…” Well, that’s a little embarrassing. This all-powerful creature not only noticed you touching yourself to millions but also happened to make a hobby out of it. “Why are you here then?”

“Simple, I want you to submit yourself to me. Put your body to good use.”

"Ah, so you wanna fuck me." He raised his eyebrow, but the interest still painted his face.

"Crude, though I guess expecting you to be a little bashful was an oversight; but yes. I want you. And I'm not asking."

You stared up at him, keeping eye contact as you took deep breaths. Slowly, carefully, you hold your hand out. Sukuna raised an eyebrow at you as you tilted your head expectedly. “Well? Pay up.”

“Excuse me?”

"Even with my life in danger, I'm afraid I won't be doing anything for free, sir. Sorry."

Your blood ran cold in your veins as his red eyes glowered at you, almost glowing in the dim lighting of your room. Your room seemed to grow colder with his mood and you shivered.

"You expect me to pay you?"

You swallowed, clearing your throat before boldly saying, "Yes. I do. It's my job."

Your hands were starting to shake, and despite the resolve in your eyes, the fact that Sukuna could--and probably would-- kill you without so much as a second thought made you wanna curl against him and beg for mercy. But you had your pride, goddammit. And even though your grandma didn't approve of a lot you did, you knew she would at least love you for that much.

Instead of moving his hand and snapping your neck like a twig for wasting his time like you thought he would, he twitched your head side to side, taking in your expression before humming. Before you could even blink, you were on your back. He was sitting in front of you on his knees, and you were folded in half on his lap; both your wrists were trapped in just one of his hands, another of his hands pushed one of your thighs against your chest, the other forced around his waist.

Even with your foot planted on his hard chest, you couldn't even attempt to push him away.

You gasped when his third hand roughly grabbed your cheeks, making you look at him. You started to swarm, and he looked excited at the steady increase of your heartbeat.

"Do you really think you have what it takes to deny me? That I'm giving you a choice?"

Through labored breaths, you answered: "I… I thought we were doing business."

He raised an eyebrow, both intrigued and annoyed. "I have you trapped under me and you still have the nerve to mouth off?"

You let out a shaky laugh, tears starting to form in your eyes regardless of how hard you tried to keep them in. "It's the adrenaline. Sorry."

In the back of your head, you could hear a voice that vaguely sounded like your friend begging you to just be quiet, but you figured you were probably going to die here tonight anyway. Besides, you seemed to make a habit of saying the wrong things at the wrong time, you think it might just be ironic justice that it's what gets you killed.

Instead of the blood-curdling screams being thorn from your throat as Sukuna ripped it out, the only sound that rang through the room was Sukuna's laugh. First muted between his lips then shifting into a deep belly laugh. His eyes are wild, wide with dangerous wonderment, and his smile terribly wide, showing how sharp his teeth were and the warning bells rang louder in your ears. You were so occupied looking at his canines that you failed to register his fourth and last hand was on you until it reached under the hemline of your shorts. You let out a gasp when his fingers slid against your clit down to your opening, the rough callus on the tip in complete contrast with the smoothness caused by your slick.

“Is it all that adrenaline that’s making you this wet, or are you just accustomed to being ready for anything like a slut?”

You jolted, cursing your sensitivity as he massaged your clit. It wasn’t even the entire situation that had aroused you, but with the only sexual attention you received coming through the screen, there weren’t many times that you had been touched by another person. Having his hands on you, pressing against your skin, and maneuvering you however he pleased was just what your body needed to get you in the mood.

“I’m not a slut!” you yelled. He didn't care to respond. He removed his hand from your shorts long enough to pull them off before returning to part your folds and play with your clit.

Wiggling your hands, you hoped that he would loosen his grip on you, but it did nothing. In fact, it made Sukuna hold you a bit tighter, wanting to watch you struggle more. He normally wanted absolute submission from what he wanted to claim, but the show of defiance was almost fun to him; a shocking difference from what he was used to. It reminded him of the past when demons ran free without the worry of priests and purifications, where he’d have the privilege to actually conquer. He licked his lips as you struggled to keep the pleasure from showing on your face; as if you couldn’t fathom enjoying this. He decided he wanted to see how long you could keep that up.

He pushed one of his fingers into you, not caring that just his one finger was about the length of two of yours. He started at a slow pace, wanting to feel your walls pulsing as they tried to quickly get used to his fingers. Heavy breaths accompanied by faint moans leaving your parted lips as he moved. You continued to squirm, but now for a different purpose, wanting his finger to press more firmly against that spot that sent shivers through your entire body. You cursed yourself for looking for pleasure on his fingers.

He smirked at the shaky breaths you made when his hand moved from your face to sit against your neck. “That feel good? You can tell me, little one.” he mocked, pressing against your inner walls to prepare you for another finger. "You should thank me for being so kind, preparing you like this."

You bit your lip to try to keep your voice in, eyes shutting to block him out, not wanting to indulge him by showing him how good you were feeling. Not that he didn’t know it. The way you cant your hips against his hand was needy, almost as if he wasn’t moving fast enough for you, was telling enough. Still, he decided to play your little game.

However, the soft moan that escaped your lips when he pressed against the side of your neck let him know that he was winning. Not wasting a second, he inserted his second finger. It forced a pained moan out of you, toes curling against his chest as your body tensed from being stretched with almost zero warning. You let out a curse when his fingers curled up, increasing the speed as he fucked them into you.

He ignored your pitiful whimpers asking him to wait, back arching as you tried to scoot away from his fingers, already feeling overwhelmed yet not close to coming. You could feel your eyes water as your body begged for a break; you couldn’t even wrap a hand around his bicep to ground yourself.

“S-Sukuna… please it’s--I can’t.”

Just as you thought, he didn’t listen. Blinking a few times and feeling the tears run down your cheeks, you saw Sukuna’s face; condescending, pleased, and aroused beyond belief as he watched you fall apart around his fingers. It’s like he enjoyed the idea of ruining you.

“It’s just two fingers, doll. Are you telling me you can’t even take that? What a worthless whore, after all.” With a laugh coating his words, he sped up the movement of his fingers, and you choked on a moan, a sob quickly following after.

“Y--! You don’t exactly have the most normal fingers!” You struggled to muster. The leg at his waist curling around him and pressing your heel on his back. You briefly wondered if you had enough strength to attempt to kick him, but the hand at your throat moved to grab your ankle, inadvertently pulling you closer on his lap. It was then that you felt the imprints of something large and thick on your ass and lower back, and you shivered.

Sukuna leaned forward, pressing an open mouth kiss against your neck, making sure his teeth scraped against the surface, almost as a reminder that your life was in his hands at the moment. “Hmm, so you still have a bit of fight left in you, do you?”

You refused to answer, biting your bottom lip as hard as you could, too concerned with trying to stay quiet to worry about the threat of drawing blood. For the first time since Sukuna pinned you down, he clicked his tongue in annoyance, one of his hands returning to your face and forcing your jaw apart.

“I grow tired of this damned habit of yours.” Before the irritation could truly settle on his face, he pressed a hard kiss against your lips. He shoved his tongue in your mouth, almost suffocating you with the need to keep his lips against yours. He was brutal with his kiss, almost as if he wanted to hurt you. But you couldn't tell if it was because he didn't realize his own strength in regards to you or if he just didn't care. He gave you no room to breathe, tongue domineering as it claimed you. You tried to bite him, but Sukuna pressed his thumb in as well, hooking it against your molars, and tugged as a warning, disregarding the tears falling because of him.

You let out a groan as he sucked your tongue into his mouth before pulling back. He looked at you as you fought to catch your breath, and was aroused at your tear-stained pitiful face and bruised lips, still held open by his thumb. For a moment he looked like he was contemplating something before gathering the spit in his mouth and letting it drip on your tongue. He moved his thumb to place against your bottom lip and looked at you expectantly.

You swallowed as best as you could as you felt heat rush through your body, the pleasure almost painful as it continued to bottle up.

Sukuna could feel the arousal thumping through his body as you shakingly opened your mouth to show him. "And I didn't even have to tell you what to do. What a good little thing you are."

You knew he didn't mean it, not in the way that should make you tingle, but with the way he just kissed you breathless and his fingers quickly bringing you to your peak, your waterlogged brain couldn't tell much of a difference at this point.

"Haah, Sukuna, 't hurts!" Your body started to tense so much it hurt, your stomach felt tight and you wanted to scream because of all the sensations going through you.

"Poor thing, you wanna cum?" He sounded smug, but you were too focused on trying to calm your nerves before you lost your mind.

"Please! Sukuna, 's too much! I can't—!"

"Then come."

If you thought Sukuna was kind enough to gently work you through your orgasm, you were sorely mistaken. His fingers continued their brutal pace, forcing you through your orgasm, even as your overstimulated body tried to twist and turn away from him. The tears running down your face are almost in tandem with the erratic beating of your heart. The moan you let out bounced against the walls of your apartment and Sukuna reveled in it.

As you came down from your high, Sukuna moved away from you. You shook uncontrollably and you pressed a shaky hand against your lips, embarrassed that you'd been so loud. You wondered if your neighbors were going to complain about you to the landlord in the morning. You wouldn't blame them if they did. You covered your eyes and tried to control your breathing, allowing your body to relax for a moment.

A quick moment was all you were allowed, because soon Sukuna grabbed you again, pinning you under him as he aligned your hips with his. Tired, you looked at him, eyes drinking in the fact that he'd stripped himself, fixated on the tattoos lining his pecs and abs. Your legs parted for him, tensing when you felt his cock brush against your clit as he shifted.

"You'll only be taking one of my cocks tonight, but next time, I'll expect you to take both."

Your eyes widened, quickly looking down when he placed his cock--one of them--against your lower belly, the other pressed against the curve of your ass. It reached just below your belly button, and he was thick enough that if you were to wrap your hand around it, your middle finger and thumb wouldn't be able to touch. It was intimidating and he expected you to take two of those the next time he came?

He smirked, hand holding his length against you, drinking in the sight of his thick shaft on you. "This is how far I'll be, little one."

"It won't—"

"It's going to fit." The look he gave you meant business. He wasn't taking no for an answer, not that he had since the beginning. "I didn't work to open you up only to not fuck you. I'll make it fit."

Sukuna was pleased to see that even as you complained about his length, you sat still as he lined himself up against your hole. You laid down completely, willing yourself to relax as the head of his cock slid against you, toying with your clit then pressing against your entrance.

When he began actually pushing his cock into you, you let out a shocked yelp, tensing while your hands automatically moved to push against his shoulders. He disregarded you, continuing even as you clawed against his thick skin, raking down his chest—not that your nails caused much harm to him.

"Ugh! Wait—fuck!"

"You're so loud," he scoffed, pulling your stiff legs apart and opening you up for himself.

You wished he'd prepped you more. As much as his pace and thick fingers hurt, it really didn't compare to his dick; not even your thickest dildo was as much as Sukuna was. Admittedly, the pressure against your already pulsing walls was nice, but every time he moved it painfully reminded you that Sukuna was making you adjust to him, not letting you. The thought did help you loosen a bit more, but Sukuna could tell he wasn't going to get too far with you as you were, even with the shallow thrusts he was currently doing.

You let out a soft cry as something slimy and thick danced against your inner thigh before moving to your clit. You look down to see a tongue hanging out a mouth on Sukuna's stomach. Your head fell back against the floor with a small thump and you moaned softly. Right, you thought, monster... demon or whatever. You couldn’t find the strength to worry about it, though, since it lapped at the nub, sending pleasant shock waves up your spine while Sukuna split you open on his dick. It wasn't too long after that he finally bottomed out, holding you still as you squirmed to try to get used to him inside you.

"What'd I tell you?" Sukuna asked, snapping his hips one good time and smirking when you cried out in pleasure, "You take it just fine, my little whore."

That thrust was the first of many, and soon he was pulling out all the way to the tip before pushing inside you.

Your mouth dropped open and you couldn’t keep the moans from leaving your mouth. After the first few thrusts, the drag of his cock inside you felt amazing, and you moved your hips in small circles against the tongue. You grabbed his forearms, trying to ground yourself while giving you leverage to thrust against him as well, chasing your pleasure. Sukuna let out a growl, placing one of his hands against your lower stomach and effectively pinning you down. His hips slowed to a stop as he looked down at you.

“And what do you think you’re doing, little one?”

You whined, wiggling against his hold. “Sukuna, please move.”

“Fucking yourself on my cock? What a desperate little thing you are.” Two of his hands moved to your hips while the other two circled behind your back, pulling you up. Your chest pressed against his as he sat back on his thighs. As he moved, you looked down to see the tongue returned back into its mouth.

You looked at Sukuna curiously, moving your hands to grip his shoulders. “But I thought you wanted me to give myself to you?”

“No,” his grip on your hips tightened, slowly lifting you off his cock until only a little was still inside you, “I said I wanted to fuck you.”

With that, he pulled you down on him, making you ride him faster than he was currently fucking you. Although, to say you were riding him would imply you had any control in the matter. He was using you like you were a sextoy, thrusting into you without any abundance or regard to you at all. It seemed like the loud moans were just a plus to him. He pushed another bruising kiss against your lips, drinking in your moans.

You wrapped your arms around him, hoping that your grip on him would keep you in control when you felt another orgasm building, but Sukuna might just be trying to fuck the sense out of you. He swapped out his quick thrusts for slower, harsher ones, thrusting in you and rolling his hips, molding himself against your pulsing walls. Your body tensed and without thinking, you sink your teeth into Sukuna’s shoulder. He groaned as his hips stuttered, thrusting out of rhythm for a second before he resumed.

“How cheeky,” he smirked, one of his hands moving to the back of your neck, wrapping around it harshly and yanking you off of him. “And here I was, thinking I’d treat you nicely.”

You didn’t think two or three slow thrusts would qualify as being ‘treated nicely’, but your mind was miles away at that point. His rapid thrusts returned, and when his hand covered the loud moans escaping your mouth, you knew he planned to finish himself off without any more distractions. You wondered if you should move against him, attempt to speed up the process, but considering his earlier reaction to you rutting against him, you didn’t think that was wise. Besides, considering how he didn’t even want to hear you moan, you figured you were all out of favor, so you had no choice but to take it.

Satisfied with your submission, Sukuna loudly growled. He threw his head back at the feeling of shooting his cum inside you, filling you up as you screamed against his hand. Just as he coated your walls with his cum, you could feel his other dick let out a stream of cum against your ass and back.

He held you still, pulling you flush against him as he used you to ride out his orgasm, a pleased hum rumbling in his chest as he felt you quiver. Your body started to ache almost immediately, and it didn’t help that he kept you sitting on his cock with no sign of moving whatsoever.

“U-uh, Sukuna?” Your throat itched uncomfortably as you tried to talk. A bath and a cup of warm tea definitely had your name on them. Sukuna certainly wasn’t going to take care of you.

He shushed you, a sharpened nail running up and down your spine. “I just gave you a gift, little one, it’s best you don’t waste it.”

Despite your better judgment, you closed your eyes and willed yourself to relax. Letting Sukuna use you was as physically taxing as you expected it would be, and if he planned to repeat this certain act, you were going to need all the rest you could possibly get.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk x reader #tw dubcon #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut

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klbwriting · 3 years

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Unexpected Allies - Chapter 1

Fandom: Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone

Pairing: eventually will be Kaz/female!Reader but for now nothing

Warnings: I mean, Kaz Brekker is involved, someone is getting maimed

Summary: The Darkling won the Ravka civil war, defeating the Sun Summoner and taking command of Ravka. Then he went looking for ways to make his Grisha more powerful. Kaz Brekker knew this but took the job at the Ice Court anyway, getting himself and Jesper Fahey thrown into a Ravkan prison for his efforts. After getting broken out by the Darkling's second in command the trio has to find their way to the Permafrost and the resistance gathering there. And then Kaz has to figure out a way to get his crew out of this whole mess. But how can he get himself out of the mess of feelings he has for the Grisha with all the powers?

Note: Hello! I am alive! I have found motivation for something else! As much as I loved the Shadow and Bone show I have found more love in the Six of Crows books so this fic is an AU based on both. In this the Darkling won out over Alina and then Six of Crows happened like it does, except the Darkling showed up to ruin things as he does. Also going to address the Inej sized elephant in the room, in this Kaz’s feelings were less strong towards her because I ship the fuck out of Kaz and Inej but I also ship the shit out of Kaz and myself too and I needed some self-insert. I hope you like it, I missed writing and I’m glad to find some inspiration again.

Kaz Brekker was known even in prison as the guy who didn't need a reason. He wanted his infamy to spread even behind bars, the better to keep those looking for a pigeon to harass away. On his first day in this hellscape he had stolen a fork from the dining hall and used it when his cellmate attempted to take the makeshift cane that he had been provided from his hand. Now he no longer had a cellmate and his old cellmate no longer had his eyes, and word spread quick of the young man willing to kill to be left alone. That had given him the time and space to start to plan his escape.

First, get Jesper as his cellmate. That was accomplished with ease. Anyone else they put in with him would be blind or deaf or crippled within 24 hours so it came down the guards asking him straight out who he wouldn't maim. He said Jesper Fahey and they allowed it if only to have a night's peace. Jesper didn't look like he was faring well. In a cell at Hellgate Jesper would have been alright but here in a West Ravkan prison near Os Alta where his Zemeni features made him stand out he had become a target. When he entered Kaz's cell rage filled the young crime lord. Jesper was thinner than ever, dark circles under his eyes and hands fidgeting constantly, almost like he needed a drug but Kaz knew it was just because he couldn't focus his energy.

"Jesper," Kaz whispered after the guard had left and his sharpshooter sat on the cot. "What do you need?" Jesper looked at him slowly and gave half a smile.

"Just my friend, s'all ok now," he said. Kaz felt the side of his mouth twitch up just a little. "But I could also use a way out of this damned place." Kaz nodded, gripping the wooden walking stick a little tighter. He wanted to put a comforting hand on Jesper's shoulder but he could not, Jordie's body, cold and wet and dead flooded his mind, and he couldn't bring himself to reach out. He hated that this place seemed to be tearing his friend apart slowly. It was even taking a toll on him. Everyday was the same, waked up with the sun, eat a breakfast of stodgy porridge and soggy bread, washed down with possibly the grimiest coffee ever made. The prisoners were then sent outside to work on either the large farm for the prison and surrounding towns or they were forced to be target practice for the Grisha guards. Normally only the worst of the worst were reserved for practice, or those that pissed off the guards. Kaz had avoided this so far but he knew Jesper had run his mouth one day, getting snarky with the yard guard and he had almost been drowned by a Tidemaker the next morning. Lunches were non-existant most days. They were shuffled from work to 'free time' which meant sitting in the hot afternoon sun either playing cards, or, if they were lucky, sitting under one of the shady trees that scattered the yard. Evening was the only decent time at this hellhole, it was dinner, and then back to the cells. Kaz enjoyed this time, he was normally alone to plan, and now that Jesper was here they could plan together. He had the beginning, how to get out of the cell, but the rest he was still working on.

"I have been planning this since we got in here, you were the first part of my plan," Kaz said, watching as another set of guards walked by. He checked the small window above their heads. "She's coming any minute now." Jesper looked at him confused for a moment before the cell door opened and a guard told Kaz to get up. Kaz nodded and stood, Jesper rising as well.

"This one should come too, he was at the Ice Court with me on that night," Kaz said to the guard. The guard looked between them and shrugged, motioning for another guard, a Grisha Corpolaki judging from the kefta he wore. They led Kaz and Jesper out of the cells and into one of the small interrogation rooms. Kaz was familiar with the room at this point, having been there several times in the past few months speaking with the Grisha Infernei who was seated at one of the two chairs in the room. She looked up as they entered and he noticed that she seemed relieved, something she hadn't shown before.

"Are there anymore of your comrades from the Ice Court in this prison?" she asked, motioning for another chair to be brought in. Jesper sat down hard while Kaz stood still, leaning on the walking stick and once again studying the Infernei. She wore a red kefta with black stitching, something different from the others and he was still not sure why. He supposed it was because she was high in the ranks. After the Darkling defeated Alina Starkov and her followers he had gone back to using his true name, Aleksander Morosova, and became king of Ravka. He used the power that he had sucked from the Sun Summoner to control the Fold now, moving and reshaping it to whatever he needed and on the night of Kaz's jurda parem heist he apparently needed the jurda parem also. Kaz and Jesper had been taken but the others had escaped.

"No, no more of us, just we two were involved," he said. The Grisha looked between them, assessing them. Kaz took another moment to look over her while she studied Jesper. He always liked to measure who he was up against, and he didn't mind studying her. She was curvy, seeming to like waffles more than Nina did, with hair a deep auburn and eyes the color of dark chocolate. The first time he saw them they reminded him of Inej's eyes except her's were more hopeful than he had ever seen Inej. This Grisha fully believed that something good could still happen in the world. Kaz was almost jealous of this, but of course, this Grisha had seen her side win the Ravka civil war. His eyes now met hers and he saw that while he was studying her she had been doing the same to him. He could tell she knew he was lying but he didn't care. He had spent the last 4 months keeping his answers vague, giving just enough information so that she would feed him information back about the current situation at the Little Palace, now the true royal home since the Grand Palace lay in ruin. King Aleksander left it as a reminder to those who would attempt to assassinate him, bodies still left scattered around the rubble, Alina Starkov's kefta in tatters on the front steps. Kaz hadn't seen it but from the way this Grisha described it, he believed it was terrifying.

"Mr. Brekker, we both know the heist you were attempting could never be accomplished with just two people," she said, a knowing smile on her face. This seeming infatuation the Grisha had with him was a plus for Kaz. He often wondered if he could possibly seduce his way out of the situation but his mind couldn't fathom the interactions involved, so he would wait. Perhaps this woman had a inclination towards criminals, she might be seduced by anyone, Jesper could do it easily, Kaz just had to get the ball rolling so to speak.

"I don't know, I think Jesper and I can accomplish anything we put out mind to," he answered, bringing himself to nudge his partner in crime with his elbow. The Grisha nodded and opened her notebook as she did at every meeting and began to write.

Y/N had noticed the look on Kaz Brekker's face when he elbowed Jesper Fahey. She could see his hesitation, she noticed the look in his storm gray eyes. He was bracing himself for impact as if the touch would somehow hurt him. Jesper's face was surprised at the touch, and he physically turned towards Kaz with shock. She opened her notebook and pretended to jot down something important as she did every day, but she mentally notated this interaction. She had been listening to others in the prison and despite his limp Kaz never let anyone see him as weak, however, this aversion to touch was never mentioned. He hid it well out in the general population but she could see something about touch bothered him immensely, that information could be useful later. Kaz Brekker was a tough nut to crack she had to admit, but eventually she would get to where she needed to be with him, hopefully sooner rather than later. Aleksander was having a tough time buying her excuses and she had to become even more convincing for him, continuing to keep his trust after the betrayal of the Sun Summoner was an arduous task. She hoped soon she could drop her facade and begin her true purpose, breaking Kaz Brekker and his cohorts out of this prison and find the gathering resistance in the Permafrost.

"Alright Mr. Brekker, we left off yesterday with you explaining to me how you came to know about jurda parem and what the Fjerdans were doing with Bo Yul-Bayor and his son Kuwei?" she said. It had taken months for Kaz to even start explaining anything to her. She had hoped that agreeing to allow his friend to be his cellmate would open him up. Luckily the gamble had worked at their last interrogation. His answers had still been too vague to really make an impact but it was a start. She hated to make him desperate but she needed the information, something to feed to Aleksander and send him on a chase for more jurda parem. Kuwei Yol-Bo had escaped from the Ice Court and that knowledge was keeping Bo from cooperating with the Second Army. He had recreated exactly one vial of jurda parem and refused to create another until his son was returned safely to him. Kaz Brekker and Jesper Fahey had been the last people to see Kuwei alive and she needed something to tell Aleksander before he decided to come here and do the interrogations himself.

"Yes, I believe I told you that a rumor had gone around Ketterdam and that I just happened to hear it," he said, making sure he was as convincing as he could be. Once again Y/N pretended to write something down, pretending to believe his lie. He was a very good liar, she could see that in the way his eyes held truth, his body language said honest, even his pulse was calm, however, the blood in his veins moved just a milisecond faster during his falsehoods. It had taken nearly a month to figure out the tell in his body but she had done it and now she used this against him.

"Must have been quite a rumor to make you put your friends in the line of fire of Fjerdans and of King Aleksander," she said, keeping her voice light, leaning a little closer to him. She couldn't lie, she was enraptured by the young man from the Barrel of Ketterdam, but she wasn't foolish enough to believe that he would ever see her as anything other than another Ravkan Grisha blindly serving her king, but she could pretend that she hoped to lure him in, get him feeling confident about her.

"Jesper will tell you, he was eager to join me to find this new drug, imagine the kruge we could make from such a thing," Kaz said, standing suddenly and poking Jesper towards Y/N with his cane. He moved towards the wall, leaning against it. Y/N watched him for a few moments before turning her attention to Jesper. He wanted to push someone else at her? Why? She could tell he liked the attention she gave him, maybe not in a way most men did, but he liked it all the same. Jesper barked a laugh.

"Eager? You came back and acted like we were going to be rolling in kruge, become kings of Kerch," Jesper said. He was also a practiced liar, following the lead of his boss as it were. Y/N smiled at Jesper then, making sure her brown eyes looked intrigued and enraptured. She noticed the Zemeni man leaned back in his chair then, clearly not interested in the attentions of a Grisha like herself. "But ya, I mean, I wanted the kruge and I was having a good run that night at the tables, felt lady luck was on my side." She saw him fidgeting near his waist, where his guns should be. She had those stored in her private quarters, along with a certain crow headed cane, waiting for the right moment. She had been watching Kaz and Jesper since they arrived, having her spies give her information on them. They were the only link she had to Kuwei and Inej Ghafa and she needed to know all she could before she continued her plan.

She tried to pry more out of the two for several minutes before one of her people, a young Squallor entered.

"The hour is late Korovsa, the king is finished waiting," she whispered. Y/N’s jaw tightened. Her eyes flashed to Kaz and she saw him take notice of the slight change in her features. Her fears were starting to come to pass. She needed to end this charade now.

"Guard, please escort Mr. Fahey back to his new cell. Mr. Brekker and I have more to discuss," she ordered. The guard grabbed Jesper's arm, hauling him from the seat. Y/N wanted to say something, tell them to lay off the guy, but knew she couldn't appear as if she cared. Once he was gone she made a motion for Kaz to sit. He still stood. "Sit, now," she insisted, hoping he heard the urgency in her voice. He eyed for another moment before he moved to sit. She leaned closer, all of her coy attitude gone.

"What's happened?" Kaz asked casually, working the top of the walking stick with his hands, the only sign of his concern. Y/N let out a breath.

"My time is up, tomorrow night expect there to be a riot, stay in your cell with Jesper, don't leave until you hear 2 bells, then leave the cell and go to your left, the door will be ajar due to the last guard through it mistakenly knocking over mop. Once you are in the corridor go right and follow it to the deserted morgue. I will join you and lead you and Jesper out, do not leave without me," she said.

"Why should I believe any of this? That you're just going to help up walk out of there?" Kaz asked, trying to read her, seeing if she was lying. She groaned annoyed. Why was it that her only hope was as distrustful as her current king?

"Because I want to see the king's body burn before he destroys all of us," she whispered, voice dripping with venom. Kaz looked a little surprised at her viciousness and he nodded. She sat back, knowing that by now the guard had returned.

"Well Mr. Brekker, you've once again been no help, tomorrow the king will be coming to personally interrogate you, I hope you are looking forward to it," she said. "Guard take him back to his cell." The guard nodded and yanked him out of the chair. "Careful, the king won't like it if he can't inflict the pain himself," she warned, more to Kaz than the guard. She hoped Kaz believed her enough, that she had shown her hand to him enough that he would do as she asked. If he didn't they were all screwed.

#six of crows #kaz #kaz brekker #kazbrekker #kaz x reader #kaz brekker x reader #shadow and bone #crooked kingdom #jesper fahey #unexpected allies series

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arctimon · 3 years

Text

By the Grace of Granville

(Warning: This post is long. But what else is new when it comes to character analyses?)

One of the bigger mysteries that gets introduced into Big Hero 6: The Series made their introduction in the very first episode, got a little bit of expansion into their background, and then didn’t really see much daylight for the rest of the series sand her becoming an even-numbered wheel. No, I’m not talking about Obake.

I’m talking about Professor Granville, the newly-installed dean of the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology.

People, including myself, play Granville up as some sort of Nick Fury-esque figure. She’s always in the know, gives advice to the team, and seems to have a general understanding of everything at once.

This is further helped by the fact that we don’t know a lot about what she has been up to since she resigned after Obake’s accident. It’s hindered by the fact that there may be some misinformation going on at the Big Hero 6 Wiki.

Here’s the introductory blurb for Professor Granville on her page:

Grace Granville has been a professor at the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology for at least 20 years, having taught Wendy Wower and Trevor Trengrove among other modern day geniuses.

She used to teach robotics and had her own star student, Bob Aken, but once he began an experiment to build an energy amplifier, it went awry as the amplifier exploded on his face, the result of which sent him to the hospital.

Though Bob survived, Granville felt extreme guilt from the incident and resigned. However, she kept the remains of the amplifier, possibly unaware that it still worked, as a reminder to not repeat the same mistakes.

She would return decades later to teach thermodynamics when Robert Callaghan, the dean of the institute at the time, was thought to have died, then resurfaced as the villain Yokai and was arrested for putting San Fransokyo in danger. Professor Granville became the college's new dean as she settled into her new role quite well. Now, after rewatching “Mini-Max”, I call into question the very first part that she’s been a professor there for at least 20 years. As far as I am aware of, that has never been said or confirmed in the show. She said herself (and the yearbook and Callaghan confirm this) that she worked there 20 years ago. That’s not the same thing. Working there for 20 years is not the same thing as being there 20 years ago. So is that a discrepancy or am I the one who doesn’t remember things correctly?

And let’s go to what Callaghan said about the incident when Hiro went to visit him in prison in “Mini-Max”:

Robert: “She was in the lab after hours. Something went wrong. There was...an incident.”

Hiro: “What kind of incident?” Robert: ”Officially, a pipe burst. But there were rumors. An unsanctioned project gone wrong.” Hiro: ”So she was fired?”

Robert: “She resigned. The matter was not pursued further. That’s all I know.” OK, first of all...was Callaghan not the dean twenty years ago? And even if he wasn’t...

Does anyone think that was caused by a simple burst pipe? What was in said pipe? Lava? TNT? Mentos and Coke?

That leads to the second possibility: Callaghan was Dean at the time, knew about it, and “pushed” Granville to resign to avoid a messy lawsuit.

But we’re getting away from the original point, which is...what exactly has Granville been doing this entire time? I find it hard to believe that Granville was still at the school when Tadashi, Go Go, Honey Lemon, and Wasabi were there. You’d think that one of them would have said something about it, and all through the conversations in “Mini-Max” gave no indication of that as well.

So she’s been gone for twenty years (presumably). Which begs the next question... Why did she have to become the dean? Endangering a student’s life is a very serious thing. Something like that can’t be just forgiven. So, why did it have to be her? It’s not like there’s not other candidates:

(From left to right: Monica Rambeau [one of the Physics professors], Grace Granville, Robert Callaghan, Linda Carter, and Timothy Dugan. Note that these are merely names I’ve given them based off of who I think they are and not canon names. However, for the sake of simplicity, I will refer to them as such from here on out.) Monica might have been a good replacement. Linda’s just the nurse, so unlikely. Dugan’s the Dean of Athletics, so probably not. The dean doesn’t have to be the robotics professor, right? Granville teaches Thermodynamics. And then you have Professor Kameela from the comics, who appears to be another Physics professor:

So why her?

Granville’s been out of the game, as far as we know, for a long time. Did the board at SFIT really have no other options other than Granville? Why give the top job to someone who hasn’t even stepped foot in SFIT for decades?

And the worst part is that I don’t really have a good answer for that. The show delves into Granville’s history with Obake a lot and not enough into her actual history with SFIT, so that part is pretty much an unsolved mystery.

And if the info on the Wiki is true, then that means...what? Granville was teaching for 20 years, and then took a 20 year break. Wouldn’t that put Granville in her 60s, at minimum? (She looks pretty good for possibly being in her 60s. Maybe she got some Infinity Formula from her possible Marvel counterpart.)

I think it’s much more possible that she’s in her early 50s. That gives her enough time to be a professor, have an actual working history, and then have to leave with Obake’s accident. So my personal timeline for her career would be something like this. For the sake of being simple, let’s assume that Granville is an even 50, and also that Big Hero 6 the movie takes place in the year 2031 (as per movie screenshots):

1981 - Grace Gretchen Granville is born 2002 - Graduates college (perhaps at SFIT; haven’t thought that far ahead) Sometime between 2002 and 2004 - Granville begins her work at [Redacted] 2005 - Granville become a TA in the Thermodynamics department (as per Highway to Hell Chapter 2, “In The Details”) 2006 to 2007 - Given government assignment to [SORT OF Redacted] 2007 - Returns to SFIT 2007 to 2011 - Becomes thermodynamics professor at SFIT; continues periodic work at [Redacted] 2011 - Obake’s accident; Granville resigns from SFIT 2011 to 2013 - Takes a position with [SUPER Redacted] in Symkaria 2013 - Returns stateside and [Redacted] 2013 to 2031 - Various jobs and positions, including start-up at Fathom Blue Incorporated and a instructor at the San Fransokyo Police Academy with Sara Pezzini 2031 (Current Time) - Granville becomes Dean at SFIT (Keep in mind that this is a sliding timeline which is subject to change. Probably.) Man, that’s a lot of redacted information. It’s almost like she worked for a secret government organization and did a lot of things that aren’t on the public record or something.

I am going to delve into Granville’s history in future stories, and that will include something that I’ve done a fanart on. Mainly this:

The Wakanda story is going to happen at some point, and it’s going to involve one of the redacted items above (from 2002 - 2003). What exactly she was doing there is going to stay secret for a little bit. Speaking of which, I had done research on a few pieces of Wakandan technology. Guess which one I found of particular interest.

The Kimoyo Beads. A bracelet given to every single Wakandan citizen that stores all of their medical information and serves as an everyday tool for them. It also notes that it doesn’t work outside of Wakanda because of its reliance on tapping into Vibranium as a power source.

Now, what would happen if a very realistic version of Vibranium were to find its way out of the country and into Granville’s orbit?

I wonder if her bracelet would start working again. Mysteries abound when it comes to Grace Granville. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll solve a few of them before too long.

#big hero 6 #big hero 6 the series #grace granville #professor granville #wakanda #black panther #redacted #hiro hamada #sfit #sfit faculty #monica rambeau #linda carter #night nurse #robert callaghan #dum dum dugan #obake #what has she been doing all this time?#the world may never know #the life of an sfit dean

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akemiiiii · 3 years

Text

Like waves crashing.

[before anything else, i know i only put my art here, but I do write from time to time hehe, so I'm sharing this one with you all, much love! I hope you enjoy it!]

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“What the fuck?”

The first thing that Iwaizumi registers in his sleep-addled mind is that the bed is too soft. It did not feel like the firm mattress he always sleeps on in his apartment.

The second thing he registers is the soft scent of bergamot and pine which reminds him of Oikawa.

Which was definitely weird because Oikawa isn’t anywhere remotely near him at the moment, in fact, he clearly remembers he was 6 thousand miles away.

His eyes open to see a white ceiling, a grey duvet cover, and the king-sized bed he was currently on.

”What the fuck?”

Iwaizumi was thoroughly confused. He doesn’t remember anything that would sufficiently explain where he was.

The last thing he does remember was his sleep-deprived thoughts of missing Tooru because they’d yet to see each other for a year now and a pixelated face on a screen does not count.

And now here he is on a soft mattress that does wonders for his body, a room he does not recognize, and a scent that reminds him so much of his best friend.

“Did I die from missing Tooru so much?” Iwa anxiously gets up from the bed and heads to what he assumes is the cabinet. Right now, the idea of lying half-naked on a stranger’s bed did not seem appealing.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth for reasons unknown to him. But as Iwaizumi scrambles to open the cabinet, his sight lands on two very conspicuous shirts.

Hanging isolated on the right end of the closet was a black shirt that housed a small Japanese flag right above where a heart would be when worn. Besides the black shirt is a blue jersey, a huge ‘13’ smack right in the middle with an Argentine flag on the corner.

For the 3rd time that day, Iwaizumi curses.

Was Tooru already 1st string on his team? Was he already playing for Argentina? Wait, no, that’d be impossible Tooru would have to be an Argentine citizen for that ti happen.

Thoughts beeline in his brain, too fast for him to process. While Iwa was trying to understand what he was seeing, voices past the door of the room catch his attention.

Iwa stands still, eyes wide, fearing he’d be caught. Any hopes of these people leaving burn to dust as the knob turns slightly.

Then his eyes meet the soft brown burned and buried into his heart.

“Tooru?” Iwaizumi doesn’t take notice of the fact that Oikawa’s taller, bulkier, and more tanned. He was too happy to finally see his best friend after a year of not having him near that he barrels past the unfamiliar room to crush said man into a fierce hug.

“...Iwa-chan?” Oikawa squeaks out

“Tooru! Gods, I missed your stupid face, how are you here? Why are you here?” at this Iwa moves back to glare at the man “You better not have skipped out on your practices dumbass, you know better than to…”

“What the fuck?” The fourth curse surprisingly does not come from Iwaizumi. Well, not from the one who just bear-hugged Oikawa.

Iwa’s eyes move from Oikawa’s wide-blown eyes, past his shoulder, to see his own face staring back at him. A more muscled, more robust, maybe slightly taller version of himself.

Iwa curses for the fifth time.

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

“Wait, wait, wait, you mean to say it is currently 2024?” Iwaizumi asks this supposedly adult Tooru.

“Yeah! We’re like, 30 now, Iwa-chan!” For the most part, Tooru looks extremely amused at what was happening that he couldn’t stop looking back and forth between the younger Iwa and the older.

“Damn, Iwa-chan, look at all the wrinkles you’ve accumulated, I told you all that scowling was gonna stay.” Oikawa chatters on excitedly

“Shut up ‘kawa” On the other hand, Iwa’s older counterpart now looks on calmly, as if this mind-blowing event was a normal part of his everyday life.

“Wait, you said we’re in Japan? And we’re...living together?? What about Argentina? Did you come back to Japan after all? But that wouldn’t explain the jersey…” There was so much Iwa wanted to ask about, but these were his topmost concerns.

“Hmmm, how much am I allowed to say? Will this affect the past? How did you even get here?” Oikawa directs the first 2 questions to the Iwaizumi closer to him (the adult one) and directs the last one to the Iwa sitting in front of them.

“I suppose you can say the condition we’re in now. But not the major ones.” The adult Iwaizumi offers

“But Iwa-chan! How am I supposed to know which ones are ‘major’ ones?!” Oikawa whines out, dramatically air quoting his statement.

The older Iwa heaves a sigh and faces his counterpart, “Yeah, we’re living together, we’re in Japan, as for Argentina, you’ll know in time.”

“...Huh.” Younger Iwa just huffs at that, but living together wasn’t really a big issue, in the back of his mind, Iwa thinks he knew all along that they would end up like that anyway.

Living with your best friend doesn’t really pose any much problem for him, plus he’d get to spend the days with Oikawa at his side and take care of his dumbass, so it’d be a win-win.

Younger Iwa still doesn’t realize why exactly he was very much pleased with the information that he and Oikawa living together was a great thing.

“Wait, I wanna know how old you are though Iwa-chan, you look almost the same as I remember when we were high school, but with major eye-bags.” Oikawa shifts closer, and younger Iwa stares at the freckles prominent on his face, the wide smile, and something in him clicks.

The one difference that he couldn’t pin, the one thing that made him believe that this Tooru really wasn’t his Tooru. This Tooru exuded happiness. Exuded contentedness.

He must’ve stared too long because Oikawa’s clearing of the throat makes snaps him out of whatever he was trying to comprehend.

“..Ah. well you aren’t exactly wrong, its been a year or so after we graduated as seniors. I’m at the end of the 2nd sem of college,” Iwa explains

“Holy fuck, that’d make you 19, ah youth! You’re so young let me pinch your cheeks!” Oikawa doesn’t wait for the go before both hands grab at younger Iwa’s chubby cheeks.

“Ha-ji-me~~ your baby fats are all still here! How wonderful!”

The sudden use of first name leaves Iwa blushing in Oikawa’s hands, panicked eyes seek help from the man beside Oikawa but adult him just laughed at his plight.

“Oi, ‘Kawa stop, he’ll combust.”

“You mean, you’ll combust?” Oikawa turns his head to face his Iwaizumi and wiggles his eyebrows. Younger Iwa doesn’t miss the gleam of affection that passes his eyes, and suddenly he is very aware of the lack of insults these two were trading.

If they were them, in the future, surely they’d have the same amount of banter he and Oikawa have, right? the roughhousing and all that, right?

But the only thing Iwa sees are casual touches here and there.

Like a switch, Iwa realizes a lot of things.

The apartment seemed to only have one master bedroom. In that room was a king-sized bed. With two pillows. The closet seems to house both of their clothes.

Oikawa was leaning into adult Iwa’s space more than the usual Oikawa would have been to younger Iwa.

There was a lot of gentle and almost, Iwa daresay, loving affectionate stares the two in front of him kept having in this hour alone.

And the most glaring, most shocking, most unbelievable thing Iwa has finally, finally noticed: The shining, demanding gleam of two matching rings.

“Are you married?” Iwa blurts out, the need to know suddenly engulfing him in ways he can’t fathom. How? Why? Since when?

The two in front of him exchange glances. And as an answer, both lace their fingers together. It is the older him that speaks softly, “Yeah.”

The word silences him. Once again, thoughts swim in his mind furiously crashing back and forth like waves.

How? Did he actually love Tooru all this time or did he come to fall in love with him? Was it when they were separated??

Why? Was this a need or a want or a what? What exactly could be the reason that they’d end up married???

Since when? When did they fall in love, when did they decide on marriage, when did they realize that the other was the one person they wanted to spend their entire lives with?

Iwa’s mind was a mess, but honestly, he knew every answer. He was probably in love with his best friend. No, not probably. Definitely. He started the moment they met and never stopped.

He loved Tooru. Loved his stupid collection of alien merch, loved the way his eyes lit up when they were on call, loved the way he took the spot next to Iwa as if that was where he was always supposed to be.

Iwaizumi loved and hated the way he was separated from Tooru, because of the space it left and because of the growth it pushed in them.

In the back of his mind, Iwaizumi hoped, wished, and knew that whatever their future may be, he’d always be beside Tooru, even if they were physically apart.

He’d known for years now that his future would have been with Tooru because the only future he pictured himself happy was with Tooru.

Fuck, he was in love with his best friend.

“Holy shit.” Iwa breathes out.

“Yep. Hard to swallow that you’re in love with this ass right?” Older him chuckles out, nudging Oikawa’s shoulder

“Hey! I’m a fine piece of ass. You’re lucky enough you got me!” Oikawa shoves back, the smile evident behind his pouting face.

“I really am.” The casual confidence in which his adult self replies to this is another blow to Iwa.

He fell in love with his best friend.

He gets to live with his best friend.

He gets to marry his best friend.

He gets to spend the rest of his life loving the person who has always made his soul feel alive.

“I love that I’m getting to see firsthand your reaction to realizing you’re in love with me.” Oikawa pinches the younger Iwa’s cheek with his free hand, and all pleasant thoughts of Tooru fly away, getting replaced with irritation at his smug smile.

“Well, knowing me, you have no other option but to fall in love with me Iwa-chan. I mean really, did you really think you’d get rid of me that easily?? My bi realization happened in junior high, you shit!”

Oikawa’s hold on his cheek strengthens, as he forcefully wiggles Iwa’s face right and left. Adult Iwa was apparently finding it amusing.

“Like what the hell! You were up in my room all shirtless in summer when it’s hot! And sweat!! And you had the fucking gall to play wrestle me without even knowing the internal turmoil I was having!”

Oikawa finally lets go of his abused cheeks, it was probably beet red from the amount of force he used to pinch, but also because of the words Oikawa was spewing.

“To be fair, ‘kawa, you liked the play wrestles because you said it gave you a reason to touch the developing muscles I had.” adult Iwa smooths over.

“It was still unfair because up until we were seniors I was literally dropping hints left and right and the entire fuckin’ team knew, and you were still there being the slowest idiot I have ever encountered in my life. Even your parents knew, how slow can you be Iwa-chan?”

Oikawa’s glare was directed at older Iwa, but it could have also been aimed at him from the amount of mortification he had. So that was why Oikawa loved holding hands when going home back then.

“Ah, the sweet taste of knowing the exact moment you realized you love me. Can’t believe it took for you to meet the future us to fucken know. Iwa-chan, you a rare breed.” Oikawa winks at him.

Older Iwa snorts, “Oh my god, never use that phrase again Tooru, what the fuck” He shoves him playfully, while Oikawa just wiggles his eyebrow back at him, prompting older Iwa’s fuller laugh.

And seeing this domestic scene in front of him somehow calms Iwaizumi enough to the point that everything in the world rearranges itself because he has found the answer that settles his very core.

“Ah. Times up.” Older Iwa says, looking straight at him. He dons a secretive smile, and for some reason, Iwa understands that he’s probably going to go back to the past now.

“Wait, last thing, are we happy? together?” Iwa frantically asks. Because no matter how he wants what this future paints, he wants what makes Oikawa happiest the most.

Adult Oikawa moves closer to him, leaving a lingering kiss on his forehead. “Ah, my Iwa-chan, I was never, will never be not happy when I’m with you. Now off you go! Don’t make things too hard for me, ‘kay?”

A last caress is what Iwa feels before he wakes up back in his shitty apartment with clustered notes and dirty laundry. It was currently afternoon, which means Tooru would be lounging in his own bed, probably reading.

Iwaizumi picks up his phone to ring him immediately. It’s answered in less than a minute, and the fluffy cocoon blanket of Tooru is what greets him first, before the scrunched-up nose of his best friend.

“You’re late Iwa-chan! Did you forget about lil’ ol’ me?” He pouts, and even though he was just with Tooru a second ago, he missed this Tooru still.

“Never. Hey Tooru.” The first name surprises Tooru, a blush rising, and before he would’ve just waved that off, but now that Iwa knows what he knows, he can easily see the pleased and happy gleam Tooru feels.

“Hey Hajime. So, how was your day?”

Iwa opens his mouth to tell him what he had just experienced, but adult Oikawa’s last words ring in his mind. It wouldn’t be fun at all if Hajime makes it known that he knows Tooru likes him, and him vice versa would it?

He closes his mouth and hides a grin. Nope. Not fun at all. Guess he’ll let things flow for now and keep Tooru at his feet. Someones gotta have to, right?

“Nothing much, I just woke up late, anyways tell me that gossip you had with your Abuela.”

“Oh yeah!! Iwa-chan you won’t believe what's happened, Juan’s partner got…”

Really, Iwaizumi muses that he should have realized long ago that he can’t imagine anybody else’s voice filling up his days in the future.

[Ok omg, tell me what you think, I know there're probably a lot of errors in grammar, hshshs, i'm still trying to get a hang of writing :D, I really hope you enjoyed reading this !!]

#iwaoi #iwaoi fanfiction #iwaoi drabble #iwaoi headcanon #hajime iwaizumi #tooru oikawa #iwaizumi fluff #oikawa fluff

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yeojaa · 3 years

Note

Can I request more smut for A&A couple?? I love sexy jay and jinny RYFUIOOIDEWETYUKOJK

[ read angels & airwaves ]

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. gamer!jjk deserves his own warning. but also cockwarming and a gross amount of love between these two. wc. 1.5k. beta reader. @hobi-gif because she is the pb to my j. author note. this is probably less sexy and more soft, but i hope you enjoy and i’m sorry it’s so late! ✨

He’s playing Overwatch - unwinding after a long day, dressed down in sweats and little else - when his chair starts rolling back, pulled by an invisible hand. (Luckily, he’s only in queue, not yet matched into a game. It’s easy for him to leave, exit out of the waiting screen as he continues his journey away from the desk, releasing his hold on his mouse, letting his keyboard hand fall into his lap.) Feigned surprise trips across his expression, a subtle widening of his eyes, the softest hm? slipping like sandman’s dust from his lips.

“Play with me,” you say in that way of yours, deceivingly sweet, lilting like the chorus of his favourite song. (He thinks that’s what you’d be if you were anything else, played over and over in his thoughts, quiet in the background of his everyday life. A kind reminder of your love, of your giggles and that cheekiness you offer in spades. A heartfelt melody in A minor.)

(Jungkook wants to write something for you - because of you - he realises. Of course he does.)

He echoes your words back, pairs it with a quirked brow and a sing-song laugh that makes his eyes crinkle, long grooves dug into the bridge of his nose. Sunshine pours between his teeth, lights up his entire face. “You wanna play?”

Your answer is a shake of your head, freeing tousled strands from the haphazard bun you wear - the one that goes up any time you’re half-asleep (or gaming or simply too lazy to do anything else) - too many pieces askew to be sophisticated. (It’s cute still, one of his favourite looks on you. Messy, sleep-addled, real.)

“I want you to play.” The way you enunciate, throw heavy meaning into your words has him curious, chin canting when you round the chair, step to the side and brush a delicate hand through his crown of curls. You push velvet away from his face, tuck it neatly behind his ear and smile so prettily he swears his heart might leap out of his chest. The same hand falls over his with meaning, your own eyes the size of saucers. Were you trying to communicate as if you were psychic? He thinks you must be when you stare for longer than you need to, mouth pulling and pursing adorably, a wavering wall against whatever you want to offer but won’t.

When he relents, it’s with his hand curled around your wrist and a gentle tug of you closer. (Because he always wants you closer.) “Let’s play then.”

It takes you no time at all to settle into his lap, legs dangling around the back of his gaming chair, arms locked around his neck. He imagines it isn’t the most comfortable position in the world but, well, Jungkook’s not going to complain that his girlfriend wants to cuddle. Can’t even fathom the thought when you’re so warm and your weight feels like some sort of top-tier blanket.

“Good?”

You simply nod into the small of his neck, cheek cold against his shoulder. Maybe you’re just tired. You haven’t been sleeping well the last few nights, if you could even call it that. They were more midday cat naps, laid up in his arms on his free days.

(Don’t worry, you’d said. He did, anyway.)

When he wins his next three games, he thinks you might be a lucky charm - his own personal blessing, all his good karma offered in the form of victory. The headshots are clean, the flashbang-right-click combos flawless. Gold damage is his the entire time; he’s racking up gold medals left and right with you there with him.

(It’s almost as good as when you play together, your damage boost enabling him to obliterate the enemy without worry. Granted, the Mercy on his team isn’t bad either - but she’s no you. Not the girl that makes his heart pitter patter in his chest, play some silly crescendo that feels like a sugar high.)

But then he begins losing, missing shots that should be easy, sends them into the dark, strangely distracted. He doesn’t realise by what until it’s too late and the next roll of your hips makes him whine, the sound tripping off his tongue in a whimper.

“Angel.” The word is practically choked out, broken despite being only two syllables. You’re still snuggled into his chest, seemingly innocent, unaware of the tension that grows, turning bone to brimstone. He’s half-worried he’s getting riled up over nothing - turned on by only your closeness - when he feels the damp of your teeth, the sharp edge tickling over muscle. For what it is, it shouldn’t flood his stomach with heat, have electricity tracking up his spine as if struck by lightning. “What’re you doing?”

“Play with me.” You repeat the words into his hair, thread them between the midnight strands as you stamp a sweet, chaste kiss right below his ear. He thinks he might be able to resist you - until you’re tugging lightly at one of the silver hoops that line his ear, laving your tongue over the sensitive spot that has him seeing stars.

He parrots the words back to you but it isn’t a question this time. More a promise, tenderness turning his smile soft, needy, utterly in love.

“Let’s go to bed.” Not because it’s late - though it is, half past two in the morning now - but because he wants to feel you wholly, watch you fall apart in the comfort of your bed. No more distractions, just the two of you. Just how he likes it.

“No.” That surprises him, throwing him off his axis. He’s halfway to a pout when you press a kiss, steal his brattiness away with one sweep of your lemon-lined mouth. “You keep playing.”

Oh.

The time you take to slide his sweats down - taking his boxers with them, fingers hooked into the black band that hugs his hips - should be criminal. It’s as if you’re doing it on purpose, tugging the material down carefully, balanced above him by his hands on your waist.

(He steals the softest touches while you’re there, thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts, fingers laying themselves into the rungs of your ribs.)

When they’re halfway down his legs, he kicks them off, lets them gather in a pile somewhere by his feet. Forgotten - because he’s got much more important matters to attend to. “Your turn,” he hums - almost begs - when you settle back against him, straddling him as you had before, still dressed in his favourite grey shirt and your plain black thong.

“Nope.” You’re smiling down at him, more devil than angel, smile so sinful he feels his cock twitch against his stomach, hard and leaking pre-cum from the tip.

“But—”

The turn of your head further dislodges strands, has shadow throwing your features into muted light. That’s not what has his attention, though.

It’s your hand dipping between you, curling light around his length. Pad of your thumb massaging over his head, slicking arousal until the glide is easy. With a gun to his head, Jungkook couldn’t help himself from moaning, a keening sound that tickles your cheek and has heat flooding his own. (You’ll be the death of him, he swears.) “Baby, please—”

“Play,” you repeat.

He does, rolling himself forward, finding his mouse and keyboard with trembling hands.

It’s cruel, what you’re doing. (It’s also everything he could ask for, offered by the hand of the girl he loves most. Even through the haze of desire, there’s affection that paints him pink, lights him up like a Christmas tree.)

(All he wants to do is fill you, fuck you full until you’re coming apart, crying his name out in that breathy way that drives him wild. Playing his favourite song again again again.)

But he’s a good boy for you - always is - so he says nothing as he queues once more, tries his damnedest not to make a sound when he feels the press of his cock against your cunt, the heat that engulfs him when you take him in one fluid motion.

It’s as if his brain short circuits, as if you’ve rewritten all the code that makes him who he is. He chokes a sound - a whine, a laugh, a cry - when you sink fully into him, curl those arms back around his neck. You’re absolutely perfect, wet and warm. Split wide open by how deep he is, clit flush against his pelvis, velvet walls yielding to the fullness.

Whether he wins or loses his next games, Jungkook doesn’t care. He’s already got everything he could ask for.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

the one where he takes a break {finn x reader}

summary: finn is dedicated - sometimes a little too dedicated. it takes the combined forces of you, rey and poe to convince him to take a day off. (for @softdin -- i hope you enjoy!)

warnings: just language!

- jazz xx

Finn was an almost perfect human being.

Almost.

He had pretty much everything good going for him; everything you could possibly have asked for in a partner -- funny, kind, sweet, caring, bad-ass. He embodied everything that was good in the galaxy and you thanked your lucky stars everyday that your paths had crossed, and that you were lucky enough to have found him. In a world that was so full of darkness, he brought a light to your life that you never knew you needed. He could make you laugh without even trying, and pretty much everything he did, he did with you in mind. He was your partner in crime and you couldn’t even fathom the idea of life without him.

Finn’s only downfall wasn’t even a downfall, but rather a testament to how dedicated he was. Try as you might to stop him, but he spent hours upon hours fighting the good fight. His life had become a tangle of late nights and early mornings, managing to strike a balance between providing relief for former Stormtroopers like himself and training to be a Jedi with Rey. You genuinely didn’t understand how he managed to find enough time in the day to juggle everything and still find time for you -- then again, Finn had proved himself capable of doing the unexpected a million times over. He made it look completely natural and easy too.

He would normally listen to you when you told him to take a break, but it was never for more than five minutes. To you, a break was stepping back from his work for a few days and enjoying the new galaxy he’d fought so hard to create. To him, it was pausing for a few minutes to get a glass of water and maybe watch an episode of his favourite sitcom. Every time you insisted on pulling him away from his tight schedule, he’d whine about how he thrived on stress! and needed to get shit done!

You weren’t the only one that noticed it either. Rey and Poe had both voiced their concerns for Finn - but, if he wasn’t going to listen to you, he wasn’t going to listen to anyone. Convincing one of the most stubborn people you’d ever met to do something they didn’t want to do was going to be a mammoth task. But, you figured that if three of you had managed to defeat the First Order, your combined expertise on Finn and the workings of his mind could have had some sort of success rate.

“I’m just worried.”

You were sat in a cantina with the two of them, eyes solemnly eyeing your now-flat beer. Finn was supposed to be there too, but he’d pulled another late night. You knew his work was important, but you missed him; not just his presence, but the actual physical feeling of having him crammed into the little booth beside you. You didn’t realise how much you missed the gentle smell of his aftershave and the tingly warmth of his body until it was absent.

“I’m his best friend and he couldn’t even hang out with me this weekend.” Poe muttered. His lips were upturned, arms folded tightly across his chest.

“That’s not the main issue here, Poe.” Rey reminded him. “Finn is overworking himself. He needs to take a break.”

“But he won’t.” You sighed. “I’ve tried everything.”

“Not everything.” Poe said. “What’s the one thing we’re all really good at?”

You frowned. “Holochess?”

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “Scheming.”

“Do go on.”

“What if we told Finn there was an important mission somewhere?” Poe began. “Maybe somewhere he’s always wanted to visit. Then, when he gets there, you can be all sike! You have been punked!”

“Punked?” You quirked an eyebrow. “How old are you, Dameron? Fifteen?”

“You two really can’t stay on the same subject for more than five minutes, can you?” Rey muttered. “Language aside, I think that could work.”

“He’s always wanted to go to Coruscant.” You said. “Just never got the chance.”

“I can tell him we have a mission there.” Poe nodded. “Then you two can meet us there, and we can all hang out.”

“Or,” Rey held her hand out, shushing the pilot. “You take him there, give the two of them some much needed alone time for a few hours, then we all hang out in the evening?”

He furrowed his brow again. “Fine.”

You grinned. “Thank you! It has been a while since we’ve actually, properly spent time together.”

“So,” Poe glanced up from his drink. “How about tomorrow?”

Okay, so you did feel a little bit guilty.

It was hardly like you were putting Finn out his way, but you and Rey had left it down to Poe to convince him of an emergency mission - and knowing Dameron, he probably would have recounted some horribly frightening story to make his best friend agree to come. The details of which you, quite frankly, did not want to know.

You arrived on Coruscant a few hours before they were meant to arrive -- they’d taken the Falcon, so you’d snuck out in an X-Wing and docked up a little way out of the main city.

It had been a few years since you’d visited Coruscant, but it was still just as beautiful as it had always been. The cityscape stretched out for miles, skyscrapers and buildings tangling into an urban jungle; the air was filled with a sense of hurry and adventure, crowds bustling wildly and people rushing around as though time here went twice as quick as it did everywhere else. You couldn’t help but smile; after years of fighting in the Resistance, it felt like someone had finally pressed the play button on your life again (and you couldn’t wait to spend it with Finn).

Speaking of the devil, you were supposed to be meeting him on the corner of one of the busiest parks. After buying a horribly overpriced hotdog, you found a bench just by a fountain and took a seat, people watching for a moment. Hundreds and hundreds passed you by, some stopping to admire the green grass around you and others barely taking a breath as they flew off to their next destination. It made you wonder who they were, and where they were going.

Your thoughts stopped completely when your eyes landed on Finn; he was a few meters away, a holopad in his hand and BB-8 behind him. He was clearly in work mode, with hand ready on his blaster, dark eyes scanning the crowd around him for any signs of danger. Among the butterflies, it made your chest hurt a little bit. Even though the war was over, he still found it hard to completely relax. It was almost as though he didn’t trust the universe to be nice enough to let him. The only time he ever really let his guard down and truly untense was when you were both in bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms and presences under the covers of the dark.

“What did you say the suspect looked like?” He spoke into his earpiece - presumably to Poe Dameron, who had had far too much fun orchestrating the entire thing. “Black jacket, dark jeans, red boots…”

Finn spun around, freezing when his eyes landed on you. For a moment, he almost thought he was imagining it, or that you maybe had a twin you either didn’t know about or hadn’t mentioned to him. Then, he realised you were wearing a black jacket and red boots, and his look of confusion morphed into one of realisation.

“Dameron, you glorious bastard.” He muttered. Shoving the holopad in his bag, he gave you a grin and opened out his arms to you. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You met him halfway, flinging your arms around him. Finn lifted you up off the ground for a moment, arms gripping you tightly. He’d hugged you literally that morning before he’d headed out for the day, but this one felt a little different. It was tighter and warmer, as though the realisation of what you and your friends had done for him didn’t quite feel real. His brain was going at a thousand miles an hour, trying to calculate the fact that you’d all gone out of your way to surprise him.

“Hey.” You greeted him. He placed you back on the ground and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“So, there’s no mission?” He grinned at you.

“Nope.” You shook your head. “We just wanted you to take the day off.”

“We?”

“Me, Rey and Poe.” You replied. “But they’re coming later. I wanted you to myself for a few hours.”

Finn smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You returned the grin. “Now, c’mon! What do you wanna do?”

He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as you began to head out of the park. He hooked his hand around your side, resting it on your hip. Even though you’d been a couple for a while, you still got butterflies whenever Finn showed you signs of affection. They were always tiny, subtle things; a hand on your thigh under the table, fingers tangled together when you slept. He always liked to feel you in some way, to know you were really and truly there. You kept one another grounded - and when you lived in a galaxy that was completely fucking whack, that was important.

The two of you walked together for a few moments, quietly chatting amongst yourselves. You were lucky that the weather was almost perfect; the sun was high in the sky, but there was still a subtle chill in the air that occasionally breezed past. There were barely any clouds in the sky either, which meant it was probably going to stay sunny for the rest of the day. That only helped further your good mood.

“I thought I saw some kind of food festival going on earlier.” Finn said. “I didn’t have time to stop, on account for the fact I thought I was on a mission.”

“It was the only way we could get you to take a damn break!” You playfully reminded him, tugging his arm. “But I do like the sound of food.”

“Then food, we shall get.” He pulled you closer into his side.

It was only a short walk away -- and once you’d left the park and headed back onto the streets, you got to see more of Coruscant’s sites. You passed the tallest building in the city; it was so big that you couldn’t even see the top, instead squinting up at a seemingly endlessly skyscraper that became one with the sun at some point. There was also many statues of important people - Jedis and rebels and pilots - and it hurt your heart a little when you spotted Leia’s. Finn sensed your bittersweet glances at the memorial, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. His connection to the Force and the empathy that came with it was never too much, and never in your face. It was shown simply through small actions, as though he had a very strong intuition.

The food festival was a few blocks over from where you’d meet. You didn’t even think it was possible for the city to get even busier and yet, the crowds here were even stronger and more wild than the ones you’d seen else-where. Finn’s grip on you tightened as you entered, tossing the door-man a few credits with a charming. You did open your mouth to protest, and insist on paying on yourself, but he gave you a look that said don’t even try it.

“What’s this stuff?”

Finn grabbed something from a random plate, shoving it in his mouth. You couldn’t blame him for being curious but you did lose a few seconds off your lifespan every time he grabbed a random sample without reading the ingredients. And, it became quickly apparent that it was something he did a lot. After forty minutes of fuck, that’s spicy and I’m not entirely sure that’s even food, you eventually took charge of which flavour palettes he went for.

“Okay, this one doesn’t look too spicy.” You examined a bit of...it might have been cheese?

“Thank you kindly.” He took a bite and paused for a second. “That’s really good.”

“Oh my days.” You murmured. “It’s made your tongue go bright blue.”

Finn stuck his tongue out, going cross eyed for a moment to examine the damage. He looked horrified for a moment, before breaking into a grin. You barely had a chance to work out what he was doing before he lurched forward, trying to grab you.

“Can you kiss it better?” He asked. “I think I might be dying.”

“Finn!” You loudly squealed, narrowly avoiding ploughing someone over as you leapt out the way. “Get off-”

“- please!” He continued to implore.

He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you up and out the way of the crowd. There was a little alleyway in between two buildings that offered cover; he dragged you into it, bodies shaking with laughter as you fell back against the wall. Both his large hands rested above your head, one working its way down from the wall and to the small of your back. He used its positioning to press you flush against his chest, capturing your lips in a breathtaking kiss.

“I love you.” Finn breathlessly murmured. “And now your tongue is blue too. We’re matching.”

“Finn!” You exclaimed. “It’s fine, because I love you too.”

“I love you more.”

“Don’t start an argument you can’t finish.” You reminded him.

He didn’t say anything - instead, he just held your gaze for a moment, brown eyes completely capturing your attention and making you forget everything else around you for a moment. The crowds, the noise, the excitement. None of it mattered when you were together, because everything he made you feel was a thousand times more overwhelming that even the busiest cities and emptiest deserts.

“C’mon.” Finn took your hand again, pulling you away from the wall.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“Let’s just walk.” He said. “And talk.”

“Mmkay.” You replied. “I like that.”

You ended up exploring lots of the city that afternoon; the financial district, the arts quarter, the Jedi museum. It would have taken days to see everything that Coruscant had to offer, but you were both content with what you had the chance to see. It was a stunning reminder that the history of the galaxy stretched back far, far longer than either you or Finn could fathom. Moreover, it made you realise how important it was, and that everything you’d spent the last few years fighting for had been beyond worth it.

By the evening, you were both pretty tuckered out. Finn, who usually had a spring in his step, was dawdling now, an ice cream in one hand and his free arm tossed over your shoulders. The bright blue of the Spring sky had begun to fade into pink, with navy tinging at the edges and reminding everyone that the day was drawing to a close. It was perfect timing too, because you weren’t too far from where Poe and Rey were waiting with the Falcon.

“Where are we even going?” Finn asked.

“You’ll see.” You flashed him a grin, trying to pull his arm and force him to walk a little faster.

In his defence, it was up a steep hill, and he’d already done what felt like a million steps that day. He hadn’t even realised til now how tired he was, because you’d both been so caught up in each other’s presences for the entire day. And, whilst this whole thing hadn’t been to try and get him to take more days off, it was certainly an idea that he’d begun to think about. He’d forgotten how good it was to just take the day off and exist just as Finn, not Finn the ex-Stormtrooper or Finn the Jedi.

The path eventually flattened, opening out onto a green hill. It was where the city ended and the forest began -- between a tangle of trees, the large grass space looked out onto the skyline. You could see for miles and miles, yellow lights illuminating the black sky and creating an outline of an urban utopia. It didn’t look all that different from the blurs of hyperspace, except if you looked close enough, you could work out single buildings and windows. Each one represented a different place and person; thousands of individual people who all lived their own lives and had their own stories to tell.

Before Finn could say anything, there was a blur of brown leather and dark curls -- Poe Dameron had made an appearance, pulling you both into a tight hug and almost forcing you onto the ground from his might. He’d only seen you both that morning, but he truly was like a Golden Retriever who had been left alone that day.

“C’mon, we’re over here!”

The pilot grabbed you by the hands, pulling you further towards the centre of the field. The Falcon was parked in the middle; the window on the top of the cockpit was open and covered with blankets and pillows. Rey was already up there, just as enchanted by everyone else at the view. Like Finn, there was still so much of the galaxy that she was too yet to explore.

Finn went up first, sticking out his hand to help you up. He pulled you into his lap as he took a seat, arms winding around your front and holding you to his chest. With his head resting on your shoulder and a blanket thrown over both of you, it was easy to get comfortable.

“A beer for you,” Rey handed you both a drink, “and one for you.”

“This view is insane.” Finn commented. “How did you find it?”

“My parents used to come here, way back when.” You explained. “It was kind of their spot.”

“That’s amazing.” He replied. “Thank you guys. I really can’t believe you did all this for me.”

“We wanted to.” Poe chimed in. “We’ve all missed you, buddy. You work way too hard.”

“It makes us all look bad.” You joked. “No, but seriously. We’re all very proud of you, but you do need to start taking proper breaks. They probably won’t all be like this but the time off is good.”

His grip on you tightened, and he gave you a light squeeze. “You’re right. I just...I know that the war is over, but keeping myself busy is all I’ve ever really known.”

“We can keep you busy.” You peered up at a him with a grin. “I can’t promise we won’t get on your nerves, though.”

Finn shook his head with a chuckle. “I know I’ve said it a thousand times today, but I love you.”

“And me!” Poe reached out to give his shoulder a whack. “And Rey, too!”

“I love you all.” He corrected himself. “You’re my family.”

#finn x reader #finn x you #finn headcanons #finn imagine #finn imagines #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars headcanons #star wars imagines #star wars fan fiction #star wars fluff

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

Naughty Neighbors pt. 2 (Elriel)

As promised, it’s in Azriel’s POV which was actually super hard for me to write for some reason. Don’t ask why it’s in first person when Elain’s isn’t. Just go with it I’m so tired.

I LOVED reading the comments on the last post they brought the biggest smile to my face so thank you all so much for the love!

Part 3

______________________________________________________________

~Azriel~

At first, I’d thought it was just attraction.

I mean, it was inevitable. She'd shown up in the middle of the night, dressed in a thin, rose-colored robe that did absolutely nothing to hide the curves underneath, smiling at me like I don’t deserve to be smiled at.

It was obvious I’d be attracted to her.

But it was also different.

Because usually, when I’m attracted to a woman, I go after her and get her out of my system the old fashioned way. But with Elain Archeron... it’s somehow more than that.

Don’t get confused, I’d be more than happy to have her under me. Or on top of me. Or trapped between me and a wall.

But I also crave her smile, her laugh. Her blush.

Fuck, I love that blush.

The woman turns red at any sort of innuendo, like she’s never been flirted with before. At least not properly.

I’m damn near addicted to it.

Which might explain why I’ve developed a routine in the week after moving into my apartment. I get up and get ready, walk with her to work, fight the temptation to go across the street and kiss her stupid, then walk with her home.

It’s only a total of ten minutes together a day, but it's enough to drive me fucking crazy.

Crazy enough to do it over and over again, just like I am right now.

I knock on the door to her shop, keeping my unspoken vow to never go in the flower-infested place.

“Hey,” she says with a grin as she comes down to meet me, locking the glass door behind her. “How was work?”

“Well, a three-hundred pound man got a tattoo of a raccoon on his back. Shit took three hours and was bigger than in real life.” She giggles, and my lips twitch at the sight. “You?”

“I sold a lot of bouquets, since it’s wedding season. Nothing special.”

We start the short walk back to our apartment complex, walking close enough that our arms occasionally brush. The feel of her soft skin on mine has me gritting my teeth, and we’re still four minutes out. Fuck.

Elain shivers slightly, and since it isn’t cold, I take it to mean I’m not the only one affected. I could be a gentleman and let the reaction go, but...

“Are you cold?”

Soft brown eyes meet mine, and there’s a bit of surprise in them. “No.”

“You sure? You shivered.”

Those eyes narrow slightly, well on to the game I’m playing. “I’m sure.”

I can’t stop the smirk from forming on my face, but she just sighs and turns straight forward again.

“Any plans for the weekend?”

I’m practically baiting her into saying she’s doing something with her boyfriend, even though I doubt that’ll be the case. I haven’t so much as seen the guy around the entire week.

If I were him-

No. We’re not going there.

“Not really, actually. I might go to the MOMA.”

It’s easy to picture her in a museum, staring adoringly at overpriced pieces of art a child could probably recreate. “Art fan?”

“Not really. My sister has an exhibit this week and wants me to come. I like her art, but she’s the exception.”

For some reason, this makes me smile. “Nothing’s good enough to impress you?”

Her eyes narrow in the cute way they always do when I tease her, and she says, “Nothing makes me feel anything. Art should make you feel something. Right?”

Is she seriously asking me that? “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a museum.”

Elain stops walking suddenly, and I turn to face her with raised brows. “Ever? You’ve never been to a museum?”

I shake my head, confused as to why she’s confused. Is that not normal?

“What about on school trips?”

Oh.

That explains it.

I turn and keep walking, knowing she’ll catch up in a second. When she does, I say, “Maybe my school was low on field trip funds or something.”

The lie tastes like dirt in my mouth, so I light a cigarette to wash it down.

She rolls her eyes like she knows I’m full of shit and keeps walking.

“You look beautiful today, Elain.”

Her cheeks go pink at the words, and the urge to punch her boyfriend grows. If a woman blushes every single time someone calls her beautiful, she probably doesn’t hear it enough.

And I know I tell her everyday, but it’s especially true today. She’s in one of her probably hundred dresses, and it’s tighter around the waist and loose around the bottom.

I think it was designed just for her.

Or maybe just to drive me insane. Either theory works.

Her hair’s down, framing the soft features I’m disgustingly obsessed with, and there’s a pink tone to her full lips. She looks like a goddamn flower.

I hate flowers, I remind myself helplessly.

We keep walking, and I’m so focused on thinking about anything except the way that pretty little dress swishes around her thighs that I don’t even realize we’re back at the complex.

I open the door for her, and she goes inside but waits before heading up the stairs.

“What are you doing?”

Her cheeks go a bit more red, even as her eyes narrow. “I’m wearing a dress. You go up first.”

“Elain Archeron,” I scold instantly, mood brightening already, “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of trying to look up your dress.”

I probably would’ve, but that’s another point entirely.

She bites her lip, and my blood starts to thrum. “I didn’t say that, actually.”

“Oh, I see. You just want to look at my ass, then.”

A laugh bubbles out of her, and I take mercy and head up the stairs, pausing once every now and then to shake my butt in her face.

“You’re a child,” she laughs, pushing my back to make me go forward again.

I’m laughing, too by the time we make it to the hallway with our apartments. But the joy falls away as we stand outside, both nervously silent. It feels like the end of a date, for some reason.

Maybe because we were laughing and smiling and flirting. Maybe.

“What’s your name?” she asks, exactly like she always does.

Fucking unable to help it, I lean in close enough our noses brush, smiling when she sucks in a breath. “You ready to pay the price?”

Every day it’s the same response. She usually shies away, rolls her eyes, and drops it, but today she surprises me. “What’s the price, exactly?”

Her voice is a little scratchy, and her legs are tense, like she’s pressing them together. For a moment, I can’t even breathe, let alone tell her. She looks so adorably naive and beautiful right now. It’s hard to focus on anything except the heaving of her chest, the lip tucked between her teeth.

Bu it’s the raw desire in her eyes that makes me finally respond. “I want you to give in. I want you to kiss me like I know you’re dying to. I want you to admit that it’s me that turns you on, me who you think about at night.”

Her breathing’s rougher now, and it ignites a fire in my blood. “I want you to tell me you want me, Elain. Because we both know you do.”

“I...”

Fucking hell, she’s going to kill me. I’m desperate to hear the words, so when I speak, it sounds like a plea. “Say it.”

But something comes over her, and the cloudiness sweeps from her eyes instantly. She takes a deep breath and places a palm against my chest to shove me away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have a boyfriend.”

Her favorite thing to say, apparently.

“I love him,” Elain says with strong, fake conviction. “I... I don’t want you.”

A harsh laugh forces itself out of my throat. “Beautiful little liar.”

Her cheeks go pink, and I smile in spite of the tense conversation. “I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are, but that’s okay. I get it.” Before I can stop myself, I’m moving to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “But I’m not telling you my name until you stop.”

Before she can respond, the door behind her swings open, revealing a man instantly recognizable as the boyfriend. He’s in a disgustingly cheap suit, about 5′11 with red hair and golden brown eyes with his hair pulled back in a low bun.

I automatically want to punch him for some reason, but I deny myself the satisfaction.

“What’s going on?” he asks, glancing between me and Elain. There’s something in his voice, but it’s not suspicion. It’s surprise. Like he can’t even fathom the idea of seeing her with another man.

Fucking idiot.

A woman like her is always going to get male--and probably female--attention.

“Nothing,” Elain says instantly, taking a step towards him. “This is our neighbor. He moved in Monday.”

“Oh. Hey, man. I’m Lucien.”

I ignore his outstretched hand. “The boyfriend?”

A bit of the friendliness leaves his eyes, and he pulls Elain to him and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “The boyfriend.”

“How exciting,” I mock, sounding like a total prick. I don’t really mean to, but I can’t help it. I mean, this is the guy she’s with? Objectively, I’m man enough to admit he isn’t exactly ugly, but he sounds about as interesting as a can of beans.

He probably works a desk job. Something in finance.

And he has Elain?

It makes no sense.

Lucien The Boyfriend ignores that statement and looks down at Elain. “I missed you this week,” he mutters before pressing a quick, grossly wet kiss to her lips.

The surprise in her eyes makes it clear he’s not usually so... affectionate.

I have to cough to hide a laugh.

He’s trying to mark his territory, but if he actually looked at his girlfriend’s face, he could easily see how stupid it looked.

“Have a nice night, lovebirds,” I say sarcastically as I unlock my door, still chuckling to myself. If he kisses her like that, gods know how he fucks her.

Poor woman.

~Elain~

Well, that was uncomfortable.

And embarrassing.

The little laugh her neighbor had barely attempted to hide made her skin burn. Lucien wasn’t a bad kisser, but neither of them had really been ready for his sudden display of affection.

Plus, it’s not like the man had tried to hide his reason for kissing her. They hardly ever touched in public.

Or at home, really.

It’d been three weeks since they’d slept together, so she knew the kiss was for their audience’s benefit.

She ignored the gross feeling inside her gut and went to the kitchen to start dinner.

“That guy’s rude,” Lucien commented, sliding on a bar stool and loosening his tie. “And he looks like a drug dealer.”

The urge to roll her eyes was almost overpowering. He thinks anyone with tattoos is a drug dealer. “He’s nice.”

“So you’ve met before?”

Elain sighed, not knowing how to answer this. “Sort of. He works at the tattoo place across the street, so I bump into him some. I don’t even know his name, though.”

Why was she lying?

I bump into him?

Seriously?

She’d walked with him every day this week. And thought about him all the time.

Not to mention tonight, when she’d been a second away from finally finding out what his mouth felt like against hers, what it tasted like.

Gods, just the thought of that encounter made her sweat.

He knew exactly what he was doing to her.

And her mind knew, knew, he was dangerous and might very well be involved in all sorts of illegal activities, but her body didn’t give a single shit.

She wanted him like she’d never wanted anyone before.

But that was just attraction. What she had with Lucien, that was love. A lifelong, everlasting love. Right?

She slid the plate of reheated chicken and rice in front of her boyfriend and muttered, “I’m going to shower.”

He nodded, not even looking up.

Two hours later, they were watching a movie in bed, neither of them paying much attention to the screen. There had been a tension between them ever since the weird kissing incident.

She wasn’t mad, but it had just made her feel a little strange.

He seemed to notice it, too.

“I love you,” Lucien whispered quietly, rolling on his side to look down at her. “I know things have been weird recently, and I’m sorry. I’m just stressed at work, but I don’t need to bring that home with me. I just... I love you. You know that right?”

She nodded immediately. “I know. It’s okay. I love you, too.”

A small smile on his face, he leaned down to her and kissed her. There was no awkwardness now, thank the gods.

She thought he’d pull away like usual, but he tilted his head and took it deeper, sliding his tongue in her mouth.

Surprised, she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Something in the back of her mind was hatefully muttering that he was only doing this because of their neighbor, but her body didn’t really mind. It had been weeks, and just being touched made her happy.

Supporting himself on his elbows, he came over her, resting in between her thighs. A hand snuck down and tugged her robe open, then she heard his belt buckle open.

Normally she’d want to take things slower and draw it out, but she didn’t mind tonight. Her body needed him and whatever contact it could get.

A few moments of shuffling, then he pressed against her, and she gasped as he immediately started to move. Okay, maybe a little more drawing it out would have been helpful.

Her hips moved with him, trying to keep up with his increasing pace. Lucien grunted in her ear, breath hot on her neck.

It was too much too soon, and he seemed to sense that. His hand came to her breasts, and she moaned softly as he molded one to his touch.

The sound seem to affect him, and he stilled above her, then kissed her deeply.

Elain laid underneath him, heart racing, and tried not to raise an eyebrow. Or laugh. Or cry.

That was it? The first time they had sex in almost a month, and that was it?

He pulled out slowly, kissed her brow, and rolled over. Her mouth dropped open.

He wasn’t even going to make sure she finished? Because she sure as hell hadn’t. And more than that, he rolled away from her?

They didn’t always have great sex, but it was usually better than that. And he always held her afterward until she fell asleep.

She felt cheap. Used.

Definitely unsatisfied.

Now more than ever, it felt like they were fifty years old. She made him dinners and kept the apartment clean, he worked a desk job at an investment bank, they came home, barely talked, then had unremarkable sex.

She’d known for a while they were in a slump, but now it seemed like it was a permanent thing.

After waiting until he started snoring soundly, she slipped a hand between her legs, trying to relieve some of the tension.

Gods, that had been awful.

Maybe it was her fault. Maybe it was because she was so worked up from...

Her neighbor’s smirking face popped into her mind. The ache between her legs got worse, and she moaned as she slipped a finger inside herself.

Sitting up suddenly, she pushed his face out of her head. This was wrong.

She couldn’t... fantasize about another man while in the same bed as her boyfriend.

Elain threw her robe on the ground and walked to the shower, ignoring the fact that she’d already taken one tonight. She’d wash this night away and forget about it.

But he appeared in her mind again, shaking his head with a smile. That’s not possible, beautiful.

Hard to forget someone when they were mentally stalking you.

The next morning, Lucien was gone before she even dragged herself out of bed. She was technically late, but she didn’t even care. Perk of being her own boss.

Elain trudged around, getting ready slowly. It had been a long night. Even after her very cold shower, she hadn’t been able to clear her mind and relax.

When she opened the door, she couldn’t repress her groan. Apparently, his face was stalking him in her head and real life.

“Long night?” he asked, a small, almost victorious smile on his face.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at that expression. She knew him well enough to know he was trying not to laugh. “Yes.”

“Same. Noisy neighbors.”

It took a few moments, but a furious blush exploded on her face as she realized what he was talking about. She knew the walls were thin, but... “Oh, my gods.”

He’d heard!

Oh, gods.

This was really, really bad.

“Have fun?”

She glared at his annoyingly handsome face, barely resisting the urge to punch that smile away. “Yes. So much fun.”

She was, in fact, a dirty little liar.

“Mmhm, sounded like it. All three minutes of it.”

An indignant sound escaped her, and he started to laugh. She ignored how lovely the sound was and chanted, “Shut up shut up shut up.”

“Not a chance.” He glanced down at her legs. “Hey, do you need help waking there? Or are you too sore from all that terrible se-”

She slapped a hand over his mouth, and he smiled under her fingers.

“You’re such an asshole,” she told him. “I love him. And he’s a great lover.”

The asshole just raised an eyebrow.

“Usually,” she amended. “He was tired.”

Gently, he pried her hand off his face. “I could be in a coma and do better than three minutes.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal. And beyond disturbing.”

He smiled. “We going to work?”

Elain glared. “Only if you promise not to make any more comments about my sex life.”

“I haven’t made a single one!” He protested, still smirking. “I’ve been joking about the lack of your sex life, baby girl. Keep up.”

“Oh my gods,” she growled, pushing past him and yanking her door shut.

“At first, I didn’t even know what you guys were doing,” he told her, walking easily beside her as she stormed down the stairs and started down the empty sidewalk. “I heard his weird ass grunt and thought he was working out or something.”

She rolled her eyes.

“But then I heard you moan, and I-”

“I swear I’m going to kill you.”

“Anyway, I heard the boyfriend start snoring, so I figured the debacle was over. But I heard you again.” He smirked down at her. “Wanna tell me what you were doing over there?”

From the look on his face, he knew damn well what she was doing. “You-”

“No, I know you weren’t doing me. Would’ve been a lot louder if you were.”

Her glare could’ve frozen the Sahara. “I was going to say that you are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

The man just smiled, more than happy with himself today. Gods, he was insufferable. “I might be annoying, but at least I last longer than your little boyfriend.”

The way he said that made her jaw clench. What was it with the men in her life being completely useless today? It pissed her off. “Oh, I seriously doubt it.”

A dark, almost promising look crept into his hazel eyes, and he leaned down to murmur, “I promise you one thing, Elain. If I had you under me, I wouldn’t stop until you were screaming my name. Maybe not even then.”

She didn’t bother pointing out she didn’t even know his name.

Then he pulled away and smiled, and she noticed they were in front of her store. “Have a nice day, gorgeous.”

She was so fucked.

_____________________________________________________________

To all my Lucien stands, I don’t really believe he’s complete shit in the sack (yes, yes I do), but I’m trying to write a story here, okay?

Part 3

@astreia-oniria @whimsyrhys @lameomclameo @wineywitch202 @thedarkdemigod @captainthefangirlofhp @elriel4life @queen-of-glass @courtofjurdan @nessiantho @texas-shaped-waffle-maker @stardelia @myshadowsingeraz @tswaney17 @illyriangarbage @nicerhero @fancycrowncat @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @bamchickawowow @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @poisonous00

#elriel #elriel fanfiction #azriel #elain #elain archeron #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #bat boys #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #illyrians

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alleycat97 · 3 years

Text

My Personal Star

With Every Heartbeat

This book killed me, and I know it did you guys as well. But be prepared for some Dakota x Mc spam, this is a different take however with my own character after Dakota passes. Please enjoy.

F!dakota x Mc

Tag list: @samanthadalton @fundamentalromantic anyone else hmu, still new to this story so I’ll include others in future work.

“Live a life worth watching.”

Sage repeated that phrase every morning when she woke up. It was her motivation, it was her inspiration, she did it because Dakota wanted her too. But in the moment, it seemed simple to agree to, but without her rock beside her, Sage found it hard to keep living the life Dakota wanted her to.

She was never alone in this fight, she had Lennox and Mateo and the Winchester’s. But being across the country made it difficult to reach them most of the time.

Sage chose California because of Dakota, and that small glimmer of hope that would allow her to follow her dreams fell short when Dakota passed. But she went anyway, for her.

It wasn’t easy at all, she was alone in a different fight, and that was fitting in. Once she settled in, she was all by herself, no matter how many calls, group texts or video calls she answered, she remembered what Dakota told her that night after Mateo got released,

“When he was here, I could just sneak into his room when I was going through stuff. He knew what to do because he was dealing with the same, and now he’s gone and I’m alone.”

And then Sage knew what Dakota truly meant. She was alone with her feelings and that was never good.

Sage followed through on her promise to Dakota and decided to take on acting school along with her normal academics. It was the only way to keep her mind occupied. She soon found herself to be a natural and a force at acting, and all thanks to Dakota. She really opened up Sage and taught her to be a new version of herself, she just brought the best out of her.

LA kept Sage occupied and the only time she returned home was at Christmas. She had spent the previous 3 with her mother, Mateo, Lennox and The Winchester’s. They never lost touch with Sage and she was forever grateful to have them.

This Christmas was different however, Sage had finished her schooling early and officially graduated from both. So this Christmas was both that and her graduation party.

“We’re all very proud of you sweetie!” Her mother cheered out.

“It’s so crazy to think how far we’ve all come.” Mateo called out.

“Yeah yeah, more mushy stuff.” Lennox joined in typical fashion. Somethings didn’t change.

As the evening was winding up, Dakota’s parents handed Sage a gift.

“You guys didn’t have to...” Sage insisted.

“Well, we didn’t.” Mr. Winchester spoke.

“What do you mean?” Sage asked confused.

“Check the tag sweetie.” Mrs. Winchester said looping her arm around her husband.

Sage did as instructed and nearly fell over.

“What is it Sage?” Mateo ask bouncing in anticipation.

“Yeah who’s it from?” Lennox sighed.

“It’s from...Dakota? I...I don’t understand?”

“Please dear open it.” The couple asked. “Then we will explain.”

“Open it dummy!” Lennox yelled.

“Ok....”

Sage opened the box to reveal a Dakota’s script, trophy and original movie for Dark Pact. Showing everyone.

“Before Dakota passed, she had us promise that you would get these when the time was right. She said it would be ‘your big break in Hollywood’ so please, these are yours now.”

So many emotions came back and hit Sage like a train, even after all these years, Dakota was still looking out for her. “I’ll make you proud.” She whispered as she group hugged everyone.

...

It had been 10 years since that Christmas. 10 years of crying, 10 years of hard work and sleepless nights. 10 years of low budget living and an intense resume is blockbuster films she’s starred in. 10 years had come and gone and after 10 years, Dark Pact was finished.

It took 10 years of her life to finish Dakota’s dream. A dream she wouldn’t dare let anyone else manipulate other than Nolan Grant. He helped Sage tremendously with the film and of course Sage reprised her role as Eleanor. She even offered the ghost roles to Mateo and Lennox who gladly accepted.

She bet everything, and spent every dime to her name on this movie and it took its toll on her. It was emotional every step, not seeing Dakota behind the camera, giving her advice, helping her set scenes and edit. It was difficult. Between other jobs and working on Dark Pact, she had no interest or time for a love life.

Except for one person in particular, a new actress Nolan suggested to play ‘Harper’ a girl that was possessed by a ghost and killed Eleanor, starting her torturing and long adventure of ghost fighting.

Her name was Darci and she was an imposing figure as Sage stepped into the studio. Darci was being interviewed by some low budget pictagram vlogger when both girls met eyes.

Darci smiled and her brown eyes flashed towards Sage. Sage couldn’t help but feel deja vu, as she approached the girl who was nearly a head taller than she. Darci flipped her hair and rain her hand through it greeting Sage. “Hi, I’m Darci Weathers, pleased to meet you.”

Sage just stood still in her own world as she saw her first day of senior year all over again. The exact moment she met Dakota, happened just like this. And Sage got scared and ran, blowing Darci off.

“Hey!” Darci chased after her. “Wait up!”

Sage ran to her dressing room to cry, the memory too great to fathom. Darci barged right in and stopped embarrassed for the intrusion,

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Darci said kneeling down to Sage.

“It’s not you. Can you...please give me a moment?” Sage asked.

“Sure.”

Having Darci around wasn’t going to be easy but the girl was a natural at acting and even had good ideas to help improve. She was just like Dakota and that’s what scared Sage the most.

She found herself opening up to Darci slowly, mainly for the sake of film chemistry but soon found herself hanging with her regularly. She took the time to learn about the girl and her passions, she wanted to be a producer, what a shock. But she was also the most sweet, most caring person. She didn’t take no for an answer and was determined. She was, just like Dakota....

Sage knew she couldn’t hide the truth from Darci forever and just like Dakota did, she eased into her history with the girl, hopefully to not overwhelm her. Darci took her time as Sage was still afraid to commit.

The after party to Dark Pact had been going on and after several tear jerking interviews later, Sage found herself dancing with Darci. Whether it was the drinks or Darci, Sage found herself kissing the girl all the way home and into her bed. It had been 14 years since she was this intimate with anyone and as soon as Darci dropped her dress, Sage checked out. The memory of her first and only time with Dakota flooded her mind.

“Seriously?” Darci protested.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this, I’m not ready.” Sage said running from the room, not listening to the angry shouts coming from Darci who followed her into the bathroom.

Sage fell to the bathroom floor and had flipped a switch, “Get away from me.”

“Come on Sage, let me in.” Darci pleaded.

“No! Go away and never come back!”

“But...I wanna help.”

“You can’t help me! Nobody can!” Sage screamed. “You have no idea what it’s like to have your heart spoken for and then ripped out.”

“Well...”

“Get out!” Sage screamed for the last time. This time sending Darci packing.

It had been days since Sage came out of her apartment. 14 years had passed, 14 years since Dakota had left her and here she was. Back to square one. She shut everyone out including Darci. This was a battle she was going to have to face herself.

She caught a plane back to Boston and headed for a place she hasn’t visited in nearly a decade. Dakota’s grave. It was dark when she got there, but she didn’t care, she sat down on the wet dew and stared at Dakota’s headstone.

“Hey.” She started. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve come to see you. I was afraid. And I know you taught me to be better than that but when you left us, my world came tumbling down. I’ve tried to cope with all of this and I knew it would be difficult. I just love you so much and it kills me everyday that you’re not with me.”

Sage tried to control her tears as she looked to the night sky, “I know you’re up there watching me right now. And I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you. I’m trying down here, we turned your movie into a box office hit. I know you were there to see it but I wish I could have seen your face.”

She took a deep breath as she leaned into the headstone, “Anyway, I’ve met this girl. And Dakota Winchester I swear she is your twin and reminds me so much of you it scares me. The way she encourages me, lightens up my day. The smiles she gives. Oh! She even does that hair thing you did with you hand. It’s just I gave you my entire heart and I know I promised you I would date others but you were my first. That hasn’t been easy to forget. This isn’t my final goodbye, I’ll never ever forget you and the love we shared. I just want a sign, anything to know that you’re ok with me moving on.”

Sage sat for a few moments hoping for a miracle, when she about gave up, the wind picked up and Sage looked to the stars, catching one blinking in the night sky.

“Thank you, I love you so much.”

With her battle behind her flew back to LA to find Darci.

“Sage? What are you doing here? It’s late?”

“Will you move in with me?”

“What!?” Darci asked.

“I want you to move in with me. I’m sorry about the other day I just...needed to find closure.”

“I understand. If you had just talked to me about this.”

“I know Darci and I’m sorry. I loved Dakota with my entire heart. When she left she took my heart with her but after some soul searching I think I’m finally ready to move on, and that’s with you because I realized I’m in love with you.” Sage gasped as she realized what she just admitted.

“I’m in love with you to.” Darci smiled back kissing Sage.

Sage got her closure and her heart back, however she kept just a small bit for Dakota because this crazy life would not have happened without her. So as Darci and Sage enjoyed their balcony out in the country side, they could enjoy themselves and be at peace.

“So how are we going to wrap up this trilogy?” Darci asked showing Sage some of her storyboards. We can do whatever you want.”

Sage smiled at Darci’s hard work, this time thinking back to to the computer lab when Dakota taught her what a storyboard was.

“I like this one.” Sage said looking to the night sky once again, looking for Dakota. “What do you think?”

Darci crawled onto the chair with Sage looking into the sky, “Which one is Dakota?”

Sage caught the flashing star and pointed so Darci could see, “That’s her, the flashing one.”

“She’s beautiful.” Darci said I’m awe.

“She sure is. Present tense.”

“You’ve got your own personal star.” Darci said kissing Sage who returned it with love.

“Correction, I’ve got two personal stars.”

#playchoices #pixelberry #WEH #with every heartbeat #Sage woods #Sage x Dakota #dakota winchester #dakota x mc #f!dakota

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whatwouldmindykdo · 3 years

Text

I wrote a little something about coming to terms with my sexuality and thought I’d share it here...

For as long as I can remember I’ve dreamt of my wedding day. As soon as I was able to comprehend the concept of wedding and marriage it became my only goal, my ultimate achievement: I wanted, I needed to get married. This would make me successful and prove my worthiness. I would be happy forever. And so, for years, I’d spend hours imagining the magical day: the dress, of course, and its designer, the venue, the guests, the music, the menu, the bridal party, the decor. And of course, the groom. Because it was always a groom. However, I would find it extremely difficult to imagine him. I could think of qualities I would look for in a partner, but that was it. Looking back now, I think that, more than any of these things, what I dreamt of was being loved and being in love. I was just hoping to find the kind of unconditional love I grew up surrounded by. Not a person but a feeling. An ideal.

I grew up in what you would probably call a liberal family. My parents are very open-minded, left-wing voters and I grew up having political debates at the dinner table. But it was always about tolerance. Every love is love, they would say. Everyone deserves to be happy, they would say.

This, however, was not true for them growing up. Both my parents grew up in working class families and worked their way into the middle class. As liberal as my parents are, their own parents were rather conservative in thought.

My father’s parents had grown up on farms. Their own parents, my great-grandparents, lived a life I cannot even begin to comprehend. After the Second World War, as life was changing everywhere, and especially in the countryside, my grandparents left for the city (well, a city, not THE city) to work in factories. They were deeply religious and my father was raised a Catholic. However, he also enjoyed great freedom. He was free to come and go, almost as he wished, to play with his brother and friends. He was free not to work in school, drop out after middle school and go on to work with his father. Which he did, for a while, until he realized he didn’t want to do that his entire life. In other words, he was free to fail, and try again. Would it had been the same thing had he been a girl? We will never know, as he was one of two boys.

My mother, on the other hand, was not. Her grandparents had been mining workers, as almost everyone in the area. Her own parents had been saved from this life, and pushed to look for work in other industries. They had married young and my mother was the eldest of two. Her parents were heavily involved in political and union movements, pushing for workers’ rights. This gave her an awareness of the political situation and an ideal of what is achievable when you work for it. My mother, however, is also a woman. And as such, her parents expected her to behave a certain way.

She was expected to be the perfect little girl. Calm, pretty, smiling. Not to take too much space. Do well in school. Be polite. And so my mother tried her best to be this ideal girl. She excelled in school, practiced many sports, and took it upon herself to keep the family together and happy. She eventually went on to work and had to move out to another city, but always close to family as she was sharing an apartment with her aunt. When she found another job closer to her parents, she moved back home. Eventually, she met my father. They dated for a couple of years, but moving in together was unfathomable. Not before marriage. And that’s how my parents ended up married without having ever lived together, something I honestly find quite hard to imagine. Her brother, on the other hand, lived a life closer to my dad’s. He could not roam the streets or drop out of school but he did leave high school without graduating, moving out to work away and never looked back. He introduced many girlfriends to his parents before eventually having a child and getting married, in that order.

My parents would probably tell you that they raised me and my brother the same way. That not more was expected of me. That I could do the exact same thing he did. And to some extent that is true. We were both expected to excel in school. To be polite and respectful. We were both told we could dream of being whoever we wanted to be. But what had been instilled to my mother was also, somehow, perhaps more sneakily, taught to me. I also had to be the perfect little girl, no excuses. The one that doesn’t move. The one that doesn’t scream or make a scene. The one that helps at home. As Michelle Cliff says in Notes on Speechlessness, ‘I am reminded that a great compliment of my childhood was: ‘she’s such a quiet girl’’.

Instead of rebelling against this system I made it mine: it was my way of taking up space. My way of being remarkable. I was expected to excel at school: I was top of the class. I was expected to be calm and discreet: I would literally never speak. Even today it takes a lot for me to be able to do things I know my parents disapprove. Because I have built myself through others’ approval, and then who am I once they don’t approve?

What does that have to do with being a lesbian, you may wonder. See, I knew about lesbians. I knew about gays. It was not entirely unknown to me. I saw them on the news, we talked about them at home. But no one in my family was gay, lesbian or part of the LGBTQI+ community, at least not openly. That was not what we did. As much as my family rebelled against capitalistic society, we were expected to conform in certain areas, and this was one. We, as a family, are heterosexuals. And so I unconsciously associated being a good girl to being heterosexual.

I don’t remember the first time I heard of the LGBTQI+ community, nor do I remember the first time I had a crush on a girl. I am quite sure she was my primary school best friend. I very clearly remember wondering whether I was in love with her or whether that was just how you felt for your best friend (hint: I kinda knew the answer). And so, little me moved on with life. Eventually the feeling wore out, and there was a very intense and dramatic fall out. But that was it, no more questions about my sexuality. Not until I was well into my teenage years, at least. When I made it to university I had began what I would call my transformative journey, learning extensively about feminism, inclusivity and human rights. I was passionate about these subjects and wanted to learn more, and more. I surrounded myself with people who were open-minded, teaching me about these very topics, and, for some of them, part of the LGBTQI+ community. At about this time I began identifying as pansexual or bisexual. I have never been really sure about this. There was no major coming out though. I just stated here and there that I thought love was about a person and their soul, not their gender. Even though I was identifying as pansexual / bisexual, the doubt never really left. I felt ill-at-ease with the identification. Maybe I’m not into labels, I’d think. Maybe.

Deep down, I knew. I think I’d always known. I would get major crushes on women in films and TV shows. Maybe that’s just identification. I could hardly imagine being in a relationship with a man. Maybe I just haven’t met THE one. I would feel uncomfortable whenever a man flirted with me. Maybe I’m just not into him.

I just couldn’t imagine being a lesbian. And that’s not to say that I could fathom the very existence of lesbians. I knew they existed, I had a friend as they say. I truly believed that all love is love. What I couldn’t accept was that I was a lesbian. How could I not like men? Good girls like men. Good girls are straight. Good girls get married TO A MAN, and have children WITH A MAN. No way. I must be pansexual. Or bisexual. Not lesbian.

Funnily enough, the pandemic was a big transitional time for me. I was able to truly connect with myself. Away from the world and the mundanities of everyday life, focusing on what really matters for the first time, I came to a realization. I do not like men. I do not find pleasure in imagining a relationship with a man. This realization was validated by experience. I signed up on a dating app (what??? I know, don’t judge). My immediate reaction was to set up my preferences to women only (that should have been another hint right?!). However, almost immediately I changed those preferences to everyone (men and women). Why? Because, I thought, by excluding men I might miss out on the one (he’s always somewhere). What if I miss on the opportunity of happily ever after because I renounce to dating half of humanity? And oh boy did I regret that. I was instantly contacted by half the male population of my surroundings (the joys of being on a dating app) and it really felt like it was not for me. I was feeling miserable rather than happy, anxious rather than excited. I switched back to women only and I have felt safer and more myself ever since.

I guess you could say that I have been feeling rather at peace with who I am. I have come out to a few (selected) friends, in the least dramatic way possible (well, they also are the least dramatic women I know). There remains the question, however, of coming out to family. Because although I have come to term with being a lesbian, I am still scared AF when it comes to coming out to my family and the main reason is: what if I am not lesbian after all (eye roll emoji)? The real reason, though, is that I know that as open-minded as my parents are, a coming out also means a period of adaptation, of understanding what it means exactly. And for someone like me who hates both confrontation and disappointing this feels like a big deal. Selfishly, I wish someone had been there before in my family. That I would not be the first. The trailblazer. The odd one out. The lesbian aunt. But then, I think of my little cousins. And how I could be that person for them. If I allow myself past the fear.

Thing is, I also truly believe that I will not be able to be fully happy until I come out. I will not be truly happy until I can be who I am fully, knowing that the people who accept it are the ones who love me, for real. But what if that means losing my grandfather? What if it means that people will literally never stop talking about it?

As much as I have talked about the hardships of coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality, I will also mention that coming to terms with this reality has been a huge relief. It has opened me to a world where love and inclusion are legion. A world where you are accepted for who you truly are. It has given me role models, values and a political awareness that I probably would not have had otherwise. In other words, being lesbian is a blessing because it is who I am, fully. And when I get to be this person, I can finally start to breathe. I can finally start to live.

My problem lies with mainstream culture and the way it portrays lesbian relationships. I have grown up with the ability of seeing gay couples loving each other, hating each other, flirting, breaking up. Mainstream media and popular culture have very much romanticized gay relationships. What of lesbian relationships then? The reality is completely different. And how could it not be when Instagram still censored the ‘lesbians’ hashtag two weeks ago? When we only have The L Word as a reference? Where on TV and in films have lesbians been given the space and time to actually develop a relationship except in that show? And I’m not even talking about the perfect, happy relationship. Just any relationship. More than 3 minutes of screen time. You’ll have to agree that this is rather recent.

How different would my life have been if I had seen lesbian couples on TV? How different would my life have been if people had not shied away from lesbian relationships? It is time for pop culture to be inclusive of our people. Little girls need this representation. They need to know that this kind of love exists, is normal, and brings fulfillment. I wish this had been my reality so that I wouldn’t have been mad when Casey from Atypical dumps her boyfriend to explore her relationship with Izzie. Because then perhaps I wouldn’t have been mad at her for doing that. I wouldn’t have been mad at Izzie for being honest. Because that is how deeply rooted my fear of being a lesbian was: I was mad at these two women for having the courage to explore their feelings and be true to themselves, when Casey could have had the perfect ending with Evan. And that is not ok. I need to let go of the idea that the perfect life means being in a heterosexual relationship. Because I know that this is not for me. This will not bring me fulfillment.

#lesbian #lgbtqplus #about me #sexuality #coming out?#gays of tumblr

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eunsoyi · 4 years

Note

Congrats on 100 followers 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰. Could i request #5 + ennoshita (if you feel comfortable enough writing for him). Take care 😁✌

warning: kinda long lmao

#5 from 100 follower special prompt list. requests are still open.

country roads

“country roads, take me home”

“to where exactly?”

“to you. you are my home.”

it has been ten years since high school graduation, and ennoshita chikara has not forgotten a thing. well, it would be very out of character if he finally forgot. forgetting wasn’t exactly his fortè, after all.

“the 90s were a much simpler time.” he found himself saying during dinner one night after seeing kids running back to their homes back from school. his mother chuckled. “you sound like an old man, chika. and plus, you were like them as well. coming home very late at night.” she clicked her tongue.

“i’m not old.” chikara pouted and continued sipping on his miso soup. after dinner, he shuffled towards his bedroom to continue packing up his things. he was set to leave the nest next week because he had found a great job opportunity in tokyo, but somewhere in his heart, he’d rather stay home.

he glanced at the uniform hanging on his door, almost not believing that time could pass by that quickly.

1993. the government is at its peak, and everything is bright, colorful, and borderline industrial. time was very much simple, yet complex at the same time. there were things chikara both didn’t understand and understood very clearly. well, that’s called being a teenager.

“chika! what did you do this summer?” one of his friends, tanaka ryunosuke, swung his arm around him and let out his usual big grin.

“nothing much.” chikara smiled in return.

“ehhh, you’re lying.” tanaka gave him the suspicious eye but brushed the topic off almost immediately. “seems like noya and the others are in different classes.”

“hmm. so it seems.”

it was finally their last year in high school, and chikara could not wait to enter the real world. he wanted to be seen as a mature adult, not just some freaky high school kid from the countryside. his train of thoughts halted when the teacher suddenly came in with a short, petite girl in tow.

the teacher introduced himself as their new homeroom teacher for the year, and he ushered to the unfamiliar girl and urged her to introduce herself.

“i’m y/n, nice to meet you.”

the teacher pursed his lips. “short and sweet. alright. you can go sit next to ennoshita.”

ennoshita raised his head in shock, snapping him out from his daze and raised his hand in order for the girl to identify him.

“so, you’re new.” he tried to converse, but the girl replied with a curt “mm.” chikara wasn’t dense, he knew that if a girl acts like that, it means she isn’t interested. and what good would it be to be interested in someone who doesn’t feel the same way? the day went on normally without the two of them speaking a word to each other.

a month flew by and chikara noticed that the girl sitting beside him hasn’t made any progress of making friends at all. he chuckled to himself, was there any point in making memories during the last year of high school? he shared the same sentiment, but he felt sorry for her.

“um, y/n.” he spoke one day during lunch. the girl didn’t budge but nodded, a signal that she acknowledged his presence. “do you want to eat lunch together?”

chikara wished he knew what was going to be the outcome the moment she said yes.

ever since that day, the two of them ate together at the rooftop of the school in silence. in hindsight, he should’ve at least started a conversation to ease the awkwardness. but as time flew by, the awkward silence transformed into a more comfortable one. that became their tradition. chikara munching his lunch quietly while watching the other students on the ground floor protest about something about unfairness in the school, the girl reading her book while eating her food, wind beautifully flowing through her hair and skirt, and causing her little uniform ribbon to shift.

“it’s nice out here.” she suddenly spoke. chikara widened his eyes and looked away from the ongoing protest under them. “wait, you’re speaking.”

“um, obviously.”

“i thought you hated me.”

she smiled softly. “no, i’m thankful for you. i just didn’t know how to act around you.”

chikara laughed. “that’s a surprise.”

the two of them talked as if they were long-time friends already. from that moment on, they were tied to the hip. chikara ignored the woos and teases from his friends and continued spending time with her, much to her amusement. he found out that she had moved from tokyo due to a family problem, and that she’s planning to go back after the year ends.

“you know, i wasn’t planning on actually enjoying my time here.” she softly said.

“i get it. i mean, you’re leaving in a few months.” he replied, pushing his bike up the hill to where the both of them live.

“thank you, ennoshita-kun.” she beamed.

“for what?” he asked, tilting his head in confusion.

“for making my time here worthwhile.”

the moment chikara knew he was in love was heavily unromantic and random. he actually expected this to come, they were spending an ungodly amount of time together everyday. they were leaning against the railings of the rooftop as he looked over to the girl beside him. her hair flowed beautifully as the wind blew past them, her eyes were peaceful, her nose and cheeks were red from the chilly air.

“i like you.” he blurted out.

she chuckled and met his eyes. “i know. i like you, too.”

he wondered if confessing really were that easy.

they didn’t date, they didn’t have the time to. graduation was nearing, entrance exams took up most of their free time, and career planning caused the students to experience immense amount of stress. chikara’s home phone suddenly rang and his mom yelled for him, interrupting him from thinking about his future.

“a girl named y/n wants to talk to you!”

“coming!” he yelled back, running downstairs and swiftly stealing the phone from his mother.

“is she your girlfriend or what?” his mother teased in a whispering manner. chikara rolled his eyes and ushered her to move away to which she obliged.

“is this a bad time?” she asked from the other line. chikara sat down on the floor and twirled the telephone wire, smiling. “no, no it’s not. what’s up, y/n?”

“can i meet you?”

of course, he said yes. they met up at the park near their homes overlooking the city below them.

“i got accepted in a university in tokyo.” she said.

the city lights were blinding, and chikara sighed at the thought of the world being so vast. he wasn’t sure if he was going to remain in this sad excuse for a countryside in less than two months, but he wanted to stay. but if he were to stay, it would be like leaving her. japan isn’t that big of a country, but tokyo seemed very far away.

“i see. congratulations.” he smiled at her. “i think i’m going to stay here, probably attend a public university or something.”

she giggled. “hmm, i figured.”

they stood in silence for a while, lovingly gazing at the lights. it was only until she hummed a familiar song that broke the comfortable yet chilly quiet atmosphere.

“country roads?” he laughed. “isn’t that an old song?”

she pouted and playfully hit his arm. “that’s my favorite song.” he chuckled at her reaction and pat her head.

the two months flew by as if it were nothing. he blinked, and suddenly he graduated high school. he waved goodbye to his friends after the ceremony, trying to hold back his tears and immediately went back to the comfort of his own home.

“ennoshita-kun!” a familiar voice yelled, and her running figure made chikara stop from entering his home. they walked towards the park with her familiar humming which for chikara, was music to his ears.

“when are you leaving?” he asked once they had settled down.

“tomorrow.” she quietly fiddled her fingers.

“that fast, huh?” he sighed. “time really doesn’t wait for anyone.”

she didn’t answer and instead continued singing.

“country roads, take me home.”

chikara chuckled, prompting her to stop from her singing. “what?”

“take you where, exactly?” he asked, laughing hard. “tokyo?”

she smiled at him, that smile which started their friendship to blossom during that one fateful day at the school rooftop.

“to you, ennoshita-kun. you are my home.”

chikara’s phone let out a ding sound, snapping him out from his thoughts. his mother had texted him to remind him to contact her when he finally reached his new apartment. the chugging sound of the train helped him feel at ease, and the anxiety of moving to unfamiliar ground had subsided. a few hours later, he reached one of tokyo’s train stations (he didn’t bother hearing what, tokyo was too big for him to fathom). his bones were cracking due to fatigue and from standing in a moving vehicle for about three hours or so. he sent his mother a text as an update, and walked towards his new home.

chikara decided to buy himself a drink and walked towards one of the vending machines near to where his train dropped him off. he chugged on his drink and sighed. a new life was awaiting for him, and it was only a few steps away.

“enno..shita-kun?” a female voice called out. he crushed the can and threw it away before facing the person who called out his name. he turned around and he swore he almost tripped in shock.

“y/n?”

she giggled. “ah, i was right.”

chikara tried to control himself but ultimately failed. he crashed her into a hug and buried his face in her neck. she let out a sigh of relief and hugged him back as tightly as he did.

“ten years, huh.” his voice cracked.

“i know, right?” she chuckled. “i’m finally home.”

#ennoshita chikara #ennoshita headcanons #ennoshita scenarios #ennoshita hcs #ennoshita fluff #ennoshita imagine #ennoshita x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq #hq x reader #hq headcanons #hq hcs #hq scenarios #hq fluff

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agrestebug · 4 years

Text

Marichat May 2020

Here’s a little piece of writing from my marichat 2020 post on Fanfiction! Please do not repost on another site without permission!

Day 6 - “I like someone else.”

Chat Noir took the mug of steaming cocoa from her with a smile, feeling its warmth through his paws. She settled next to him with a knowing look. He took a deep breath and told her, "Let's see here. Tonight we have, a Belgian Chocolate no doubt. It smells like a beautifully melted piece of fudge. There's, a swirl of caramel, sugar, milk," he took another deep breath for show, watching Marinette squirm as she waited, "And... cinnamon."

"Dang it!" She said disappointed.

He could only laugh. This had become one of the games they played lately. Guess the secret ingredient in the hot chocolate. The first time it had been nutmeg. The second time, peppermint. The third, coffee. That one had by far been his favorite. He took a sip and told her happily, "It is a clawsome addition though purrincess."

She smiled, her eyes shining in determination, "I'll trip you up one day. I haven't given up yet."

He raised an eyebrow at her teasing, "We'll see about that. This Chat has senses unlike any other."

She rolled her eyes at his bravado, but he noticed it again. She looked upset. He didn't want to pry if she didn't want to talk about it, but he needed to make sure, "You okay princess?"

She smiled instantly, and far too brightly, "Oh yeah, yeah everything is great."

He held her eyes in silence, knowing that she would cave eventually. When she looked away suddenly, she let out a heavy sigh, "Honestly, it's nothing Chat. I'm just, tired, I guess."

He could hear the small lilt of sadness in her tone and asked worried, "Everyday problems kind of tired, girl troubles, or, boy troubles?"

Her grip around her cup tightened at the last one and he knew that was it. He asked softly, "Did he hurt you?"

She instantly shook her head, "He doesn't have the capacity to hurt anyone on purpose. I'm sure there isn't a mean bone in his entire body. It's hard," she hesitated slightly, "feeling like you will never be good enough to be noticed."

Chat stared out into the night, taking another sip before telling her, "I know how that feels."

He heard her small gasp and he gave her a small smile, admitting it out loud, "Don't worry, I'm a big Kitty. I've sort of, come to terms with a few things."

She asked like she was pleading for an answer, "How? How do you come to terms with something like that?"

"Being in that state in between, knowing you are a friend," he sighed heavily, "and even knowing how important you are to the person you love, without knowing if they really feel the same, or without being able to even fathom that you can live up to how amazing they are. Knowing that there is a real chance they may never love you the way you love them," he hesitated before looking at her, "it's not easy. You cling to the hope that one day they'll see you, really see you the way you see them, but then they remind you how great of a friend you are, and it's like,"

"Having a door slammed in your face without warning." She finished knowingly, adding it softly, "She is pretty amazing. It's no wonder you love her so much. Ladybug is crazy, for not seeing how amazing you are Chat Noir."

He stared at her confused, "Ladybug?"

Now she was the one who looked confused, "You are in love with Ladybug right?"

A small blush appeared just at the edge of his mask before he stared down into his hot chocolate, "I was, and I do love her, but I wasn't talking about Ladybug." He closed his eyes, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, "I realized that my heart was pointing me in a different direction. I like someone else."

"O-oh." Marinette whispered.

He dared a glance over at her, seeing her eyes tearing up. He smiled sadly, his heart hoping in that chest-pounding way it did.

"She, she's lucky then." Marinette said, forcing the tears not to fall, "As long as she makes you happy Kitty. That's all that matters."

She was refusing to look at him, and he couldn't pull his eyes off of her, "She does. She makes me happier than I've ever been. Seeing her smile makes me smile and warms my heart. Hearing her laugh puts butterflies in my stomach that make me want to hear it more." He saw the tear falling down her face and wiped it away gently with the side of his finger, telling her quietly, "Seeing her cry, it breaks my heart, and I'd do anything to stop another tear from falling."

Another tear fell anyways and he wiped it away the same way. He knew she still didn't understand. He let his cup sit on the top of the rail and moved closer to her, resting his head on the side of hers, "Please don't cry princess, didn't I tell you it breaks my heart?"

She sniffled slightly and then immediately stiffened. The mug in her hand fell over the rail, slamming to the ground with a loud crash as the ceramic shattered from the second story fall.

He peered over the edge with a frown, "Aw, what a paw-ful waste of hot chocolate."

He looked back over at her, seeing her staring at him wide-eyed, "What did you just say?"

He smiled, "The hot chocolate was amazing, it's sad to see it go to waste."

"Chat." She said shakily.

He took pity on her, her still glistening eyes pulling at his heart. He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer, cupping the side of her face, "I said, please don't cry princess. It breaks my heart."

She buried her face in his chest and he held her close, resting his head on top of hers as she told him, "I'm dreaming. I know I am."

"A good dream or a bad one?" He asked, feeling his heart pick up speed in anticipation of her answer.

"A good one." She pulled back and smiled up at him with more tears in her eyes, "A really, really good one."

"Hmm, that won't do." He told her, frowning slightly before smirking, "How can we make this go from good to great?"

"I don't think you possibly can." She said, wrapping her arms around his neck. His smirk widened, "Is that a challenge purrincess?"

"Maybe." She teased. "What are you going to do about it Kitty?"

He leaned forward and told her softly, his voice vibrating through her in its smoothness, "Count to five, and I'll take you from good, to amazing."

He could feel the heat radiating from her face as she told him shakily, "You're confident aren't you?"

"Humor me purrincess." He whispered huskily in her ear.

"One." She started slowly. He kissed her forehead and pulled back. Her face was flushed pink, her eyes wide as she stared at his chest in silence. He told her trying not to laugh, "Two comes next."

"T-Two." She whispered shakily, coming back to her senses. He smiled, kissing her left cheek.

"Three." He kissed her right cheek, promising her, "You can stop counting whenever you want, and I'll stop."

"Four." She said quickly, making him grin before leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose.

He stared into her eyes, running his thumb along her cheek as he told her again, "Only with your permission my princess."

She leaned up, pulling him closer as her arms tightened around his neck, "Five."

He gently pressed his lips to hers, her hold pulling him even closer as they deepened the kiss. It was better than he ever imagined it to be. The way her nails scratched lightly at the base of his neck in his hair sent chills down his spine. The small moan that left her drove him crazy. Taking a subtle deep breath in, he poured all of his feelings into it.

The way her deep ocean eyes glittered in joy when she saw him. The way her bright smile could break through even his cloudiest days. The way her laugh warmed his heart and brought him home.

She had to know what she meant to him. He would tell her every day for the rest of his life, but he would show her too, with every kiss - starting with this one. He lifted her up in his happiness, twirling her in a circle and making her laugh as her small hands cupped the sides of his neck.

She rested her forehead against his as she told him breathlessly, "I love you Kitty."

He hugged her tighter, still holding her off the ground and never wanting to let go, "I love you too princess."

He set her down but she pulled him into a hug, laughing slightly. He asked happily, "What?"

"Most amazing dream I've ever had."

#miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #marichat #i love them

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coldpeachsoju · 4 years

Note

*silently chanting* part 3...! part 3...! part 3...! (Translation: part 2 of attached was so good! Please make part 3!)

oh ya’ll gonna hate me for this one

this is not…soft n happy….bc i remembered eustass kid is not a nice man…..but someone did send in an interesting prompt abt the series which i’ll write the alternative ending for 👀 previous part is here

warning: angst, heartbreak (dw i said i’m writing a fluffy alt version bc i made myself sad 😔)

Attached (Final) | Eustass Kid

Something has been gnawing away at Kid recently. He’s been avoiding your affection lately, your calls are left unanswered and unreturned, and there’s a storm brewing behind those eyes you loved so much. You figure it might be him still adjusting to the loss of his arm and the painful defeat that he was now reminded of everyday. He shrugs you off, telling you not to worry about it as always, and you give up on trying to see what’s wrong before heading to bed.

Kid lays beneath you that night, staring up blankly at the ceiling. This whirlwind romance completely threw him for a loop, and he didn’t expect himself of all people to fall so hard. The sound of your steady, soft snores as you sleep usually puts him at ease, but it’s only stressing him out further tonight. An uneasy feeling settles within him as he reflects on everything that’s happened and how he’d proceed with it.

He thinks about leaving and never coming back, never contacting you again and cutting you off with nothing said. But he knows you’ll miss him dearly and wait up for him like you always did. He still can’t fathom why you would, he’s a pirate, you’ve nothing to do with his life, you just walked in and opened up your heart to him. You’ve given him comfort, warmth, something to look forward to. He’s hurt you and a countless amount of people by doing what he’s done best for most of his life now.

The captain subconsciously looks towards the remainder of his arm and scowls. He’s fine with rolling with the punches, coming out scarred yet victorious, losing a limb if he has to, but that’s nothing compared to what would happen if anyone dared to lay a hand on you. You’re his weakness. He couldn’t risk you. It was time to let you go. He pulls you closer to him with the arm wrapped around your waist, taking a moment to savor the feeling of your body against his one last time. He dreads waking up and breaking your heart tomorrow.

The next morning, the tension in the air is thick. Ever since the two of you woke up, Kid seems so out of it, he has something to say, but won’t come out with it. It’s concerning you deeply, with the lack of sleep noticeable underneath his eyes along with his unreadable expression. You offer to make him some breakfast before he goes, but he stops you immediately and says he’s leaving. Confused, you stare at him as he makes his way to the front door and your heart stops at the hardened look he shoots in your direction.

“I’m a fucking criminal,” he’s surprised his voice holds steady as he swallows all his hesitation, “you shouldn’t be with me.”

“I know what I signed up for.” you hold your ground with determination, wondering why he’s going off all of a sudden. “Kid, what’s going on?” you ask, body filling up with more concern as he stands rigid by the door.

“I’m leaving! Don’t bother with me-far as I know you could be setting me up, trapping me to collect that bounty!” he growls, scowling at your crestfallen form. You both know that’s not true-but Kid has no other excuses and was dead set on destroying the bond between you two.

You take a step back, aghast in surprise as your brows furrow at his accusation. “I would’ve done that long ago if I wanted too!” you retort, finally gathering your words and putting your foot down.

“And have you ever considered that I might be using you?!” Kid keeps rambling on, despite any rebuttals you might have, wanting to make you him your enemy, “That I haven’t been fucking around on other islands?!” He sees the panic in your eyes as you struggle to form a response. He’s hating every moment and he can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling right now.

You’re desperately trying to figure out what prompted this as anger bubbles in your chest at his implications. “I know you haven’t. That’s a lie.” you hiss out, ignoring the fact that those thoughts had actually crossed your mind at some point in your relationship. You’d shake them off though, knowing that in the end, you were one of the only ones who saw the softer sides of Eustass Kid. The pirate confided in you in a way reserved only for the two of you. “I trust you, don’t you trust me?!”

“Maybe I don’t, who knows what you do while I’m gone?!” he roars, mentally cursing you for making this so difficult, “I’m not here all the time!” Kid could step out any minute and leave, and never come back, but he wants to make sure you don’t look or wait up for him.

His outrageous claims keep leaving you stunned and left at a loss for words.

“Then take me on your crew! Kid, I can get stronger-I promise,” you try reasoning with him, the tears building up in the corner of your eyes as his back faces you. He spares you a single glance over his shoulder, his amber eyes burning with a ferocity you had never seen from him before. “We can do this.” you reassure him with a shaky voice.

He turns forward, “I can’t.”

It takes every inch of Kid’s power not to turn around and be met with your broken expression, tears pouring down your face as your heart shattered. He knows if he turns around, he won’t be strong enough to resist the urge of pulling you into a comforting embrace and apologize for everything. He clenches his fist and grits his teeth, forcing himself to move forward, the sound of his heavy boots with each step hammering down on your already weary heart.

You’re too stunned to say a single word, left sobbing as the man who had managed to sweep you off your feet-someone you sacrificed everything for-leave, unable to even call out his name. You’re left on your knees, head swirling with anger, sadness, confusion, and fear. The light leaves your eyes, and becomes filled with frustration and hatred as you shakily rise from the floor. With everything in your heart, you choke back on your tears, and call out to him with every ounce of strength you have, “FUCK YOU, EUSTASS!”

Kid ignores the sound of your screams, powering on as he heads towards his ship, ready to leave the island for the final time. Hearing those words though makes him feel like he’s done a proper job. No more loose ends. He tells himself it’s for the best. He’d rather you live with hatred towards him and don’t spare him a second thought than to have you worry and suffer. Regret settles in the pit of his stomach but he pushes himself forward.

Weeks later, Kid hears some things he wished he hadn’t. He’s alone in a dingy bar somewhere in the New World and his domineering presence isn’t enough to stop any of the whispers other patrons exchange when they see him. People lived on gossip, it couldn’t be helped. His ears pick up news that the Marines recently made an arrest on Sabaody-someone they believed to be Kid’s lover. The redhead says nothing, face painted with his usual grimace as the bartender passes him a pint. He downs the alcohol, drowning out the chatter around him and hopes to numb the pain with the liquid currently burning down his throat.

The sound of your name coming out of some stranger’s mouth is ultimately what sends him. He slams the mug down with a harsh thud, pushes himself out of his seat, and growls out loud for everyone to hear, “You’re full of shit!”. Various weapons and scraps of metal start to fly and collect towards his mechanical arm, causing everyone in the bar to fall into panic and fear as they rush for the doors, clamoring as they attempt to escape his wrath.

Eustass Kid is a heartless pirate, leaving a trail of devastation wherever he went.

#eustass kid #one piece #my writing #angst #ahaha drawing from my worst breakup check ahaha #eustass kid one piece #captain eustass kid #one piece x reader #one piece imagine

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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all the hearts in the sea

title: all the hearts in the sea pairing: song minho/reader genre: cruise!au/strangers to lovers!au/chef!au/comedian!au summary: with the microphone pressed to his lips, the comedian song minho delivers the best stand-up shows in the entire cruise and even outside of it. much to his delight, however, even the chefs in the kitchen enjoy his shows—one of them in particular, the head chef, even involves him in a rendezvous of falling in love and then leaving their hearts to the frenzy of the sea. type: angst/fluff/romance word count: 8747

These nights are blinded by soft lights, in hues of gold and yellow, falling on him when the crowd stares, listens, laughs and connects.

These nights, his fingers hold tighter on to the microphone in his hand, parting his lips to mock life and make it a joke, to hear people become one with issues and suddenly laugh them out. For a moment, everything is happy, even when Minho can feel his stomach churning slightly at the reminder that he is on the sea, in a cruise, talking to a group of people while surrounded by the deepest source of imagination that the world can give. These nights, he feels free for once—like talking into a microphone has never been more personal and yet, so empowering.

His suit is tight, brown with cream details, perfectly suited for his long and skinny figure, the fabric rubbing against his legs with each step he gives. The stage is his home for once, the dinner tables all set for those who visit the ship’s restaurant, all individuals clearly coming from places of wealth. Minho believes he has already seen watches contrasting the color of the chandeliers to fall upon his brown eyes in sources of reflection, legs crossing and showcasing shiny shoes, polished to perfection. Everyone is lying to themselves for a month, for these nights become easier the more he realizes he is not on the ground waiting to be judged. The water makes him fearless, more mature, connected to his funny side and yet, giving a show.

A comedian—his father’s nightmare when Song Minho told him that his addition to the family name was to stand on a stage and make people laugh. A class clown but for adults, he was called a thousand times, and it will happen a thousand more…yet, he remains unbothered. Slowly but surely, he is building his own empire, growing away from that tiny apartment that had once welcomed him and his three roommates, now completely developed into a new man. A person that people look up on the internet, a stand-up wannabe and yet, one of the youthful promises of such a career.

The man that had once loved the free beers of local comedy bars is now in a ship, drinking the most expensive of champagnes, basking on the soft alcoholic drink. Better yet, he is willing to spend his time after his big comedic show eating in that same restaurant he performs at, a fork working on his food, slicing it with fervor to fill his stomach when he hears an unpleasant noise. Clanking of pots, really.

The clanking of pots becomes duller, a faint bang in the air that has Minho looking up from his excellently decorated plate and he wouldn’t have cared for the noise if it wasn’t for the comment that was spoken into the air in the shape of a feminine voice.

“This doesn’t even look like a ratatouille!” The thing is—cooks are definitely passionate and bound to scream. He has watched the plenty of shows that give out the reality of a chef or a baker, all in their own heads when it comes to pleasing the individual on the other end, always putting their clients first and their workers second. Minho can understand this, but what he can’t understand is the quite audible words this woman lets out. “This looks like Amebiasis in a plate. This looks like diarrhea. Do it again.”

It’s worrisome; not because he is eating ratatouille—thank God he isn’t and his taste is leaning more towards the casual side today—but because he is eating there. Everyday. The head chef saying that with such certainty immediately brings him up to his feet, now pushing his plate forward with a push of his lips, suddenly distasteful to him. His brown eyes look up, watching the opened space that is supposed to be the window that communicates the workers with the chefs, the clients with the food, and his mind is made up in the matter of seconds. Confidence, the comedian exudes, fixing his suit on the way there and not caring that he left his table completely alone, moving with certainty before tapping his long fingers against the bell that the waiters and waitresses touch, only to watch a blonde haired man peak his head from behind one of the doors, widening his eyes at the sight of the man in front of him.

The man inspects him, the chef that is, fixing only a few curly strands touching the surface of his forehead, barely painting a smile on his features when he pushes his weight forward. “Can I help you with anything?” The chef asks, crossing his arms on top of the counter, staring at Minho only to watch the man let out a soft breath.

“Can I talk to the head chef?”

Hissing, the blond answers him. “She’s not in a good mood.”

“Please?” Minho doesn’t know how to act in these situations, but he just wants to complain, or at least give an earful to the chef. Amebiasis is definitely not something you want to hear as you eat in a restaurant, stuck in the middle of the ocean in some ship. Luckily, the blond chef turns around to call out someone’s name, one that Song Minho picks up easily, watching carefully when a woman turns around.

She is wearing a short chef-hat, definitely not the elongated type that he expected to see, in a black color and tight enough to cover her hair. Her face seemed to be void of makeup, the thin layer of sweat indicator of the heat inside the kitchen, her voice concealed by the sound of meat being fried, whisking all his attention away. Her body could barely be seen in the equally as dark uniform, tied around her waist and still, not enough to give away more of the woman behind those pieces of clothing. “...May I know why you are calling me, sir?” That voice, indeed, is the same one he had heard. He’s good with sounds, captivating a note and keeping it, recognizing a vibrato and highlighting it in some corner of his brain. Minho may not be the brightest, but he’s definitely witty when it comes to sound. A performer, over all.

He sighs. No matter how pretty this woman could be, lips rosy from biting on them, he can’t stand people with overly wild personalities. “Excuse me, I heard you were saying something about a meal having Amebiasis and it definitely caught my attention. I will complain to the captain about such thing if that is the case.”

She stops playing with the collar of her shirt, pressing his extended palms over the counter when a gasp leaves her lips. “Oh no, sir, that was sarcasm—”

“Trust me, I know a good joke. That isn’t one.”

“I...I was just scolding one of my chefs. You can trust me with the fact that we take hygiene very seriously in this place.” The tone of her voice, as if she is about to break, like her dream is in the line and fear is all she can understand at the moment, should be a clear sign that she may be telling the truth. Minho, however, cannot fathom to imagine a woman like her, such sweetened gaze turned into a demon when something is not done right in the kitchen. He had heard of Gordon Ramsay, but she may be even worse. “I can guarantee that, sir. There is nothing in here. The ratatouille was just poorly decorated, see.” She reaches for something, a plate standing in his line of vision, definitely looking like it was just put there for the sake of it, too liquid to even qualify as a meal that is not soup or anything of the matter. “She’s a newbie and she did this. I’m trying to teach her a lesson by telling her it looked wrong. Instead of texting, she should be trying harder. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable, sir.”

He quirks an eyebrow, thick and defined, nodding his head along with her words. “I understand.” He says, squinting his eyes before pressing his hand to his chest. “Not a good joke, though, I almost had a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” She apologizes again, stealing a glance at him with careful eyes, as if being caught would be a sin and she’s already saving a spot in hell. “I’ll leave the jokes to you.”

“Do you know who I am?” He asks interestingly, now completely forgetting the cold meal that rests on top of the table he had once taken. Minho’s mind is settled in fame, wanting the gold and the diamonds, the recognition, the hard work that comes with it, too.

Shrugging her shoulders, she starts speaking: “It’s hard not to. I have to hear people laugh at your jokes whenever you perform here.”

“But do you listen to the jokes yourself?”

“If I have time,” She admits. “I have twenty-five people under my watch. Three of those are bakers. I have to constantly work from morning to night while in a ship and some of my workers are afraid of the ocean, so...I have to...just pay attention to everything.” A short chuckle leaves her, as if amused by the simplistic touch of reality. Everyone is busy; he is, and she definitely is, too, and yet no one does anything to stop the world. Everyone is seeking for that happiness they crave for, however, they never stop to stare at the beauty of the world. Quick. Fast. To never stop is a dream. “Not that you care. I can definitely respond to your issue with an apology and I could invite you in to see our work progress and how clean we are—”

Minho, maybe, is not the type of man for confrontation. He is not the type of person to speak to the manager, and he’s not going to start doing it when he sees the clear business and stress painted on her face. “I trust you. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Song?”

“I am.” He lets his eyes take in the sight of her, the absolute workaholic vibe that bleeds through her pores and becomes one with the air around her. “I will let you continue with your job now.”

“I can offer free dessert as an apology?” She asks, only to have Minho shaking his head.

“I’m tired and should head to bed right about now, but thank you.” He confesses, nodding his head after patting his hand against the counter. “Thank you for your hard work. The meal was delicious.”

Strangely, it sounds like he is never going to hear from her again. It’s definitely an exaggeration, they are in a ship together for about a month, the amount of time the cruise lasts, but they are too busy with their own lives to even pay attention to what the other is doing. With a hum, she thanks him, leaving to stay with her team while he gets out of the restaurant, not without taking a look over her shoulder.

At least, she looks more tranquil now than how she sounded earlier.

🚢

The sea has never been quite as awake, as turbulent or as uneventful.

He knows it by the way his bed had moved the slightest when he had woken up and how everyone seems to be locked in their rooms while he is out, inspecting the place, aware of how dangerous it is to stay outside and simply stare at the world going crazy in its biggest form: water. Instead, he concentrates on the sounds around him, not pleasant in any way, someone’s emptying their stomachs, quite clearly, vomiting to the ocean and giving less than a beautiful sight when he realizes who exactly it is.

A chef should never be known for what she is—an irony, from what he can tell. In this incredible cruise, home of eventful nights filled with entertainment, meals prepared by the most gourmet of chefs, and yet, it is clear as day she is not enjoying herself. Her hands cling to surround her stomach, trying to keep her pained expression on the low, but the frown in between her eyebrows is a telltale sign of her distaste. Once seated on one of the near chairs, she finally looks up and noticing one of the few people there—Song Minho, perhaps not known to her by name—is just exactly what she needs to change her face from one of distance to one of complete and utter embarrassment.

He trusts his power in attraction. Minho knows and feels that he is a good-looking man, for he has created smile on faces, been the reason of bitten lips and muffled words, of moans, groans and heartbreak alike. In his realm of comedy, he realizes life doesn’t take him so seriously, either. He either has to have fun or rot in the depths of the world, unknown by the majority, if not all, of its individuals. So, in hopes of lightening up the atmosphere of turbulence and given indigestion, Minho cuts the silence by nearing her with a smile on his face.

“Are you dying?”

He says that when he sits by her side and finally, when she looks up, he realizes that her chef clothing is really what makes her the woman he has seen a few times ever since their last encounter, the only verbal one, too. This time around, she is simply wearing cozy clothing, a sweater that is too long, leggings that look a bit old and her hair done in an incredible mess. “Out of all the degrading things I have done in my life, I pretty much can say that vomiting into the ocean is one of them.” She is careful not to speak to his face, mindful, instead settling on resting her hands on her knees and simply keeping the conversation as he studies her features. Everything about her screams serious, extremely so, to the point he wonders if she has ever given a smile.

“Hey, it could have been worse. I was the only one here to watch it.” The apple of his rounded cheeks lift up in a smile when he leans back on the seat, splaying his hands on the spacious spot behind him. “The worst thing that could happen is that I use this moment for the theme of one of my stand-up nights.”

“How many jokes can you make about a chef vomiting into the ocean?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he answers. “I can figure things out.” His body, mind and soul are set into making her smile, bringing the angles of her mouth up and jutting her bottom lip down into a perfectly placed chuckle. It never happens, though he sees a glint of thankfulness in her eyes when she finally looks at him. Sweetened is her gaze, the nightmare of a dentist with how dulcet it is, tranquil and peaceful as well. “Not to get in your business, you may think I am a dick by now, but…” Trailing his voice, Minho continues. “I have seen you out of the kitchen like five times in the entirety of the two weeks we have in this cruise and I have never seen you smile.”

“It’s hard to smile when you get seasick, like, nine times out of ten.”

Minho raises his eyebrows at that, thick and full with the expression of his curiosity. “Well, you shouldn’t have gotten a job as a chef in a cruise if it would get you so sick.”

She tilts her head to the side, neck showed and expanded for him, enough to highlight her jaw and her sickened expression. Luckily for him, the life she possesses seems to be going back to her features with every moment that passes. “I had to run away from the real world for a while.” She whispers, like she doesn’t want anyone to listen, and when Minho’s expression changes from curiosity to light worry, she breaks their gazes away. “I—It’s stupid, don’t even listen to me.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“You’re a comedian. How do I know you’re not going to make fun of me?” Fixing the sweater that fell off her shoulder, she asks, only to have Minho shaking his head.

“Comedians make fun of things that don’t offend others. At least, real ones do.”

“Mhm, I guess that would be true.” She indicates, her eyelids fluttering when she looks down once again, this time standing up from her spot and interlocking her hands in front of her. He swears that if he looks for long enough, makes out the features of her face with more integrity, knowing that there is more to beauty than what he sees, he can make out the shape of her smile. Art, the abstract type, the colorful yet blocking type that he enjoys. Difficult to understand, funny and ironic to the one who doesn’t know what art is. “But I will not tell you.”

The look on her face must be funny, finally bringing a smile out of her when he parts his slightly plush lips comically. Like himself. “…Is it because I didn’t pat your back when you were vomiting?”

“Not exactly.” She comments, taking the time to let out a chuckle before blinking softly. “I have to go back to work, that’s just all.”

“Oh, I see…” But Minho can’t help but feel a bit disappointed. Nothing is weirder than this woman, like his mind can’t wrap around her, because he can’t even actually pinpoint something about her. Nice yet complicated, so closed up a jail would envy the security system of her heart. Wall after wall after wall. “Is that a lie just not to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Nodding her head, she affirms what he just said. “Yes.” She adds. “If I learned something in my life is that kind eyes don’t often hold the kindest of souls, and you have...you know, very understanding eyes.” The compliment, just like her, seems to be out of place. They are two complete strangers, met in the most obnoxious of ways, in a cruise and yet so unlike any romance story ever developed there. “I’d rather get out of that mess while I can.”

“Geez, thanks for calling me a mess.” Patting his hands against his thighs, he replies, standing up on his own when she laughs briefly.

“Sorry, it’s not what I mean.” She licks her lips before pressing them together. “I’m not good at explaining things.”

“I can tell.” Minho adds, bringing his hands up in the air to showcase the fingers that are usually wrapped around his comedic microphone. “But I’m not asking for answers just yet. If I have to know, I’ll get to know eventually.”

The lights in the sky reflect on her eyes, holding a universe in them by the time she nods at him. “We’ll see about that.”

“I hope you feel better soon.” It is an excellent way to finish the conversation, the exact reason why he had approached her, and just when he sees something natural—like the thankfulness in her gaze—, she cuts him out.

She turns around, movement to her hips and her steps, a bit dizzy and hazy, though her words are spoken in that same soft tone, used when asked about her endeavors in the cruise. “Thank you for staying with me.”

He actually smiles to himself, thinking…what a fucking strange, yet cute, woman.

🚢

Partying is definitely part of the cruise experience, the part of Minho’s personality that bleeds when there is a bit of sugar and alcohol playing on his body, dancing fluidly along with him to the beat of whatever song is playing in the background.

The people around him gather, watching the strenuous show with dancing individuals and a perfectly matching singer, pipes going on for days with delicious low notes. Some are enjoying the facilities of food cooked by the staff, others are simply drinking their hearts out and the vast majority are enjoying the show. Carnival-like colors paint the cream walls with decorations, mixing elegant with casual, and he is in the latter spectrum, finally using the type of clothing that represent him best—baggy, fashionable, definitely outstanding for the occasion as he moves through the seas of people, sometimes embarking in conversation, other times simply getting lost in the music.

This is the type of life he is building himself to live. The clubs, the parties, the public appearances and becoming more than a simple dot in society. Minho is getting bigger with the passage of time and whether he is overwhelmed or not, he doesn’t know. He tries not to think about it, but his head gets filled with the idea of wanting to pride himself…doubting if, in the long run, this is what will fulfill him.

Is being a public figure all he wanted?

Shaking his head, he runs his fingers through his hair, rough against his fingertips after bleaching it so bluntly. His lips wrap around the edge of his glass, hearing the conversation he is establishing with some of his new friends in the cruise, from all around the world and bringing some kind of different view for him to perceive. For a moment, he is all about concentrating on the task at hand, responding with a joke, laughing to his heart’s content, simply vanishing the sight of the soft hearted Minho he truly is and welcoming the side of him that has always existed, yet had not fully developed to egocentrism. The less complicated side of him, simply coexisting in order to be the same, copy and paste of the typical enjoyments.

What he doesn’t expect, naturally, is to see the chef that he knows the tiniest bit about looking like she actually knows what she is doing. She sells the food excellently, inviting people to try new things, a smile on her face like it had never left her, and once again he is entranced, complicatedly trying to figure out just what the fuck she is trying to be. His brown eyes inspect her from a distance, parting his gaze every now and then, and when the hoard of clients is finally away, he expects the smile to fade away, yet, it stays. Faint, as always, like she is halfway there to being truly filled with joy, but it grows with the passage of time. The more he sees her, the more she smiles.

The first thing he guesses is that the compliments fuel her, they are her source of happiness, but he has no way of knowing. Their conversations are always cut short by responsibility; his with the social world, hers with pans and foods. They are far too busy and yet, her walls are too high for him to ever reach.

Maybe, Minho should just let it go. She may be attractive to him, but no level of attraction is ever worth this much confusion.

…Then, why is it not surprising when he starts walking towards her?

Stupid, he calls himself mentally. Instead of being attracted to the least complex parts of life, he dives head-deep in whatever it is that means when he touches her shoulder, the brief tap of two fingers against her scapulae enough to capture her attention. When she looks behind her, the smile doesn’t disappear, it remains there with those awestruck eyes that he can’t quite pinpoint. Perhaps, the glossiness of them comes from a place of deep sentiment, or she was simply one of the most gorgeously crafted people he had ever met in his life.

“What are you offering today that is good?” Minho asks, not even missing a tempo to lean against the wall and look at her as she works. The uniform does not fit her snugly, but the white color definitely contrasts well with her skin tone. Her eyes rake up and down his face, taking in his elongated features, his thick eyebrows and his long and skinny nose before licking her lips softly. If he did not know better, he would guess that there is some kind of mutual interest, masked in complete timelessness.

“Well, for one, everything.” She comments, enough to earn laughter from him when she takes a plate in between her fingers, showing what seems to small tarts, calling out for his attention in their perfectly baked state. “But you seem like you want something sweet, so I will offer this.”

“I’ll take it,” His fingers wrap around the edges of the tart before taking a bite of it. He doesn’t mind speaking with his mouth a bit full. “But some say I’m already sweet as it is.” He tries joking around, typical nature of what Song Minho would do—and it may be stupid with her, considering that she is no more than just another woman that fills in the voids of her life with absolute terror simply to keep people away from her. He understands her, however, there is darkness with every source of light.

“I can see why.” She answers, promptly fixing the sleeves of her uniform with glee written all over her face. Compliments must have brought a sufficient am0unt of happiness for her to enjoy such a loud night. “Don’t you get tired of trying to sugarcoat me?”

“Not really, no.”

“Good.” She answers, hissing after her laughter before he interrupts her once again.

“Are you tired of it?”

“…I wouldn’t say tired, more like curious.” There she is, the part of her that doesn’t seem robotic, like she actually looks at life like a test. A quiz of sorts. Minho’s fingers rake through his hair, a habit by now, taking the time to nod at her words even when his muscles pull at his forehead, creating a few lines and lifting his eyebrows. “What makes you so interested in getting to know me? I’m just a chef.”

The sugary treat leaves a trail on his lips, one that has him sighing in delight by the time he comes up with an answer. “You’re not just a chef. You’re one of the best cooks I have ever met.” He confesses, taking the time to pause just to tease the matters. After all, it is the first time he hears such interest from her. “And why are you interested in knowing why I want to get to know you?”

Pressing a hand to her forehead, she chuckles. “That got me dizzy.”

“It’s the point.” Minho joins in her laughter, eyes creaking at the corner like they always do, skin gleaming in its golden and rich state. He screams wealth now, on the way there, while she looks significantly humbled. Sometimes, he fears what international fame could do to him…if he will stay the same at all. Popping a strawberry inside his mouth, however, works as a way to push the thought away when he locks one leg behind the other and answers. “You’re cute. And…complicated, just not to say weird. I like that.”

“You must be joking.”

“Why would I be?”

“That’s the most high-school comment ever.” She replies, crossing her arms over her chest. “Cute and weird. Am I a pet?”

He shakes his head while watching her serious expression, his flirty smile falling when he utters a quickened: “No, that’s definitely not what I mean—”

“That’s the compliment you’d give to someone’s dog.”

“You’re not a dog. I—You’re misunderstanding.”

A smirk plays on the edge of her lips, barely seen by the distressed Minho until he finally realizes it is there. She looks at one of her clients once again, giving out some snacks before she speaks once again, brief in its approach, heavy in the way it settles on his chest. “Gotcha.”

Normally, he is the one joking around—prepared for that since the moment he was named the class clown in elementary school, but now that he is older and visibly flirting, he is notified by how he is not as sleek as he makes himself to be. “Oh, so you’re joking now? Last week, you couldn’t even tell me why you’re working here and now you’re dropping jokes?”

“Serious matters are not this fun to talk about,” She mentions, taking one look over her shoulder to see him still standing there. “By the way, don’t you have a number of socialites to be talking to instead of talking to me here?”

Once again, Minho shakes his head. “I want to be here.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s the first time I hear you speak more than five sentences.”

“Well, I’ll shut up now.”

When she starts to pick up the empty plates to take them to the kitchen, leaving her staff in charge for the clients, Minho picks up his step, rushing after her when he moves beside her. Something about her is hypnotizing and while he doesn’t consider himself the most brilliant of people, he feels like he is even dumber around her, like he never flirted with anyone in his life, when normally he is a master at doing such thing. “W—Wait, no, let’s keep talking.”

“About what?” She asks, not sparing him a glance but with amusement playing in her tone.

“About everything.” He says when he watches her press her back to push the door open, using his hands to help her out just so she doesn’t drop the plates.

One hand rests on her waist when she speaks up once again. “You’re not going to give up, aren’t you?”

“…Only if you want me to.” Minho indicates, his warm fingertips touching hers when he takes the plates in his hands and places them neatly in the dishwasher.

“You’re lucky I don’t.” She replies, like there is no longer venom in her tongue and all she wants to do is enjoy herself for a night. “But I have to work though.”

“I’ll help you with that. Everything and anything.”

“What recipes do you know?” She asks professionally, fixing the hat over her head when Minho simply spares her a smile.

“Ramen.”

She blinks toughly, keeping her eyes closed when she scoffs and laughs at the same time. “Oh, lord. I’m doomed.”

“You’re the talented one though—”

“And what are you supposed to be?”

This time around, he is the one that acts smug, his eyes twinkling when he says. “The one to compliment you, of course. A woman like you deserves no less than that.”

And that brings the first embarrassed expression out of her, the first of the night, absolutely flustered by his dumbly and persistent flirty comment.

🚢

“Great show.”

With the pitter patter of steps following him towards the stage, he finally looks away from his phone to cast a glance at the head chef in the middle of the empty restaurant. Only two more weeks of this cruise, pressure being put on his shoulders when he is reminded of how great he has to do in order to earn himself a name. He wants to make every night of presentation worth the time, innovative and memorable. Some people are already doing that job without performing, however, her hair neatly hid under her hat as she locks her arms over her chest. An angel, he would call her, face void of makeup, smile hidden in the assumption of stress and of course, her tone is kept at a low for her workers not to hear her. They probably are already aware that they have been talking nonstop after every show.

Normally, he is the one to get close to her—the one who waits until no one is there to finally earn some minutes of conversation. However, this time around she nears him, like it has become a habit for her, too. The chandelier masks her expression in its usual enigmatic and romantic mysteriousness, and it has Minho wondering, more like asserting himself in his imagination. She is never going to be his.

She will never trust anyone enough to speak in her own voice, with her own light and her own tone. She will only fuck him up, he says, the type of woman Minho’s mother has given him advice about, basically playing them as demons disguised as beauties—

People who will never accept love because they can’t give it back.

“Always.” Minho comments, sending a smile her way when his fingers hook around the edge of his tie. He pulls it down slightly, nodding her head towards her as a way to make himself seem more at ease, like he is the dominant one in the situation, but the two-week time-span is telling him that he’d be a slave to such a goddess if she asked him to, lost in lust or desire, he doesn’t know, in the hazy cloud of whatever this is. “It’s kind of neat that you actually listen to my skits even though you don’t laugh. At all.”

“I only laugh with you.” She confesses, trailing her eyes up and down his body before sighing. “Which reminds me…it’s laughable that you’re staying an hour after your show just to get to talk to me.”

“I only talk with you.”

“Come on, don’t be lying now.”

“I’m not lying!”

She pushes her hat off her head, keeping the strands of her hair back in a ponytail when a smile full of life appears on her face. Yeah right, like she actually likes him…and it is such a twisted mindset to have. Minho, now an adult, definitely grown and definitely experienced in love, questions why she would ever give a fuck about him. In the realm of confusion, he stays in her presence. “Song Minho, there is no way in this world that you are not loved by like a hundred women and a hundred more men.” She tells him, raising her eyebrows when she leans her weight against the edge of the stage. “The charms you have…god, you really have them.”

His heart warms up at that, fingers hooking around the edge of his tie and finally, pulling it off. “It would sound like you finally found me interesting enough to become your friend.”

“I don’t have those.” She replies, a short chuckle leaving her lips before a saddened smile grazed her features. He would pay to tattoo her thoughts on his body, see it in ink that would never leave him, understand the complexity behind her, the twisted ends and the meeting ones, the reason why her gourmet cooking is good but how her personality simply exudes humbleness, this leadership of her mixed with her strict personality. Not only towards her, but towards anyone who tried to near her.

“I think I know why,” Minho comments, getting off the stage just in time to sit at the edge of it, tilting his head to the side and inspecting her face with utmost care. “That attitude of yours. Cute for me. Definitely a headache for your workers.”

“You’re not lying.” She answers, voice void of emotion. “Why do you like it?”

“Because it’s you.”

“So that’s a because you think I’m attractive?”

“I mean, we’ve already established that.” The way he speaks with confidence is believed by her, but not by himself. Minho doesn’t know what it is about her, about the way she blinks at him with such patience, like she has all the time in the world and yet, that tone on her voice teaches him that she could put anyone on their places if she wanted to. Voice, soul, talent, all in her, all a complexity, not understandable, leading him to burning his own fingers in the habit of wanting to reach out for her. “But there’s more to you than just a pretty everything.”

Shaking her head, she nears her body towards him, placing her hat on top of his bleached hair before chuckling. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so because you’re not the type to look at the good parts of yourself.” And kindness is not found in her eyes, like she can’t simply accept weakness from her part. Maybe, that is why her walls are so high, impenetrable at least.

“Stop trying to make me open my eyes to something…” She whispers, fixing a few of the strands of hair that fell out of the hat before pushing her lips together. “You’re not my therapist.”

“So what am I?”

“…A comedian.”

“Not that, for you.” He tells her, only to watch her eyes shine like all the stars casted in the sea and lord, his heart may be sailing in the clashing waves, all around the place and drowning with how she confuses him. She takes his hand in hers, dragging him down from the stage before shrugging her shoulders.

“You’re my nights. You know, you make me calm…and give me memories to recall.” She replies, always keeping a front, unaware of the way her eyes seem like two metal doors, kept close with the time they have been locked. What he would do to read more of her than the simple present, to get to know her in the most comfortable of ways, an impatient man thirsting for knowledge, unaware of how his surroundings are all filled with thoughts of her. Maybe, this is the magic everyone talks about when mentioning romance. “…I don’t want to say you’re my friend.”

Rolling his eyes, Minho nods his head. “Because we have two more weeks together.”

“Exactly.”

When she turns around to look at him, a small smile on her face, Minho counterparts with his own thoughts. “Can’t we be friends for these two weeks, though?” He asks, almost pleading, and it’s stupid. In any other occasion, he wouldn’t have begged for friendship and there he is, basically inspired by the mere look of her.

“We can be friends at night,” She tells him. “I’m funnier at that time.”

And the promise is so full, so timeless, that even Minho finds himself tranced by the sight of the sky when they look out of the ship and talk about the beauty of life. For the night, it seems like the ice of her personality could quickly melt down.

Or not, either way, these two weeks he’ll make the best out of the two of them.

🚢

The chopping board creaks, the cleaver pushing against it, pulling the vegetable until it is divided in two—in four, in six, in eights, and then, he doesn’t count anymore. His eyes trail up the set of fingers, not manicured, nails definitely on the shorter end, natural, and yet so enticing in the way they work as if they are one with the meal. Her sleeves are perfectly put in place, following the guidelines of cleanliness for the kitchen, though there is not a single soul in the spacious and white place. Everyone is away, gone like the day, and they become two sets of Moons reuniting, as if two Jupiter moons had become friends. Her eyes concentrate on the chopping board, words spilling from her mouth to explain to him the complexity of working with a cleaver.

The truth is that Minho wants to be confident—he wants to show to her that he is a good candidate, someone who wouldn’t break her heart if she just let him in, for a kiss or a hug or a word of love. When he pulls the sleeves of the white chef uniform she had given him, he takes the cleaver in his hands, trying to move it with ease only to find it weighty, slowing down his movements when he nears his hand holding the vegetable in place.

Five more days, that is all he can think about.

Five more days until they part ways. Five, a lucky number to some and one to mock him at this point. She is talking, entranced in the way she loves cooking, much more than she’ll ever love someone else. She lighted him up like a cigarette but has only let him to eat the worries that keep his brain awake, wanting to get to know her, to get a taste of her, simply because of pride or because he has a soft spot for her. The type that tells him that she is unfixable, perhaps a bit broken on the inside, but he wants to try. Minho is an artist, he knows how to cover a spot, how to pain the dull colors in beautiful, bright states of sunshine and rainbows. Everything can be fixed, he says, even people. She doesn’t read it in his eyes, in the way he listens to her every-word, now happier that she ever dares to speak to him that much at all.

“You’re not so bad.” She tells him, making sure to fix the hat over his head, as if she loves seeing him in a uniform that looks like hers. Minho, always wanting to seem stronger than he really is, covering his white and blue heart, the sky turned into an organ, he smirks at her words.

“What am I not good at?”

“I said you weren’t bad,” She finishes, only to earn a scowl from Minho and a glare from him that vanishes when he realizes that he would forgive her for anything. She, whom he knows only a part of, is already owner of a piece of his heart. Why? Maybe, because Minho has been like her in the past. The heartbreaker, the one closed to all types of love and affection, always belonging to someone else. Maybe, he wants to prove people like that can change—they can learn to be loved. “Not that you were good. Look at the cutting board.”

“Okay, sorry.” Minho mumbles, the noise of rain tapping on the ceiling, leaving her to clinging to the edge of the counter, trying to keep her eyes focused. There is a brief moment of silence in which Minho really starts to worry, her eyes are half closed at this point. “Are you okay? If you’re getting dizzy, we can always go back to your room—”

“I’m not dizzy.”

“Then, why are you closing your eyes?”

She’s hiding, not alone, but with him. She’s hiding from the world, from what makes her who she is and from whatever attraction keeps pulling them towards each other, spending ungodly hours speaking about everything and nothing at all. They could all very much be lies, for all he knows, and yet he wants to kiss all the lies away, get to know the core of the woman he can’t stop thinking about. In body, in soul, in that smile that turns strange in existence, in everything that makes her so mysterious. “Because…I can’t look at you right now.” She tells him, wrapping her fingers around his arm and resting her forehead against his shoulder. Minho is quick to question her, a brief ‘why’ kissing the atmosphere around them. “You’re just too nice.”

Minho smiles at that, his bottom lip jutting out with his laughter. “Too nice? How am I too nice?”

“I have tried to push you away, Minho. Why do you keep looking at me like I hold the entire universe on my shoulders?” She asks him, her voice soft when she finally pulls away, letting her fingers trail over his chiseled cheekbones, thumb rubbing at the tan skin of his cheeks. “I’m not the type of woman you want in your life.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” Minho tells her, putting the cleaver down to turn his body towards her. One step closer is enough to cut the circulation off from his body, breaths labored when he takes a good glance to her lips. “I mean it when I say I like you.”

“Don’t.”

“Why can’t I like you?” Words are not verbally spoken, but he can tell that there are a million thoughts going through her brain, concentrating her eyes on his brown irises, his long nose, his plush lips and those damned blonde strands that dare to touch his precious features. “You’re amazing. You work so hard, you have such a leader-like attitude. You don’t let anyone tell you what to do, that’s such a boss move.”

“Minho—” She warns him, only to have him shaking his head.

“You deserve all the praise, for your talent, for your quiet nature. Everything. I would give you the world if I could.” And he doesn’t know why. It’s this rare feeling of protection that settles on his chest, watching how she is so big yet so tiny in this world, a mere particle and once again one of the people that has captivated his attention the most. He doesn’t get the time to decide what it is that keeps him tranced when he feels the weight of her body pushing against his chest, hearts becoming one, hands cradling his defined jaw when she parts her lips to let him get a taste of her. His hands expand on her waist when he finally realizes the movement, hands filled with the smell of tomatoes and he couldn’t even bring himself to care, not when the back of his thighs presses against the counter, all breaths taken away from his lungs, all thoughts erased into one word.

Her.

All he wants is her.

With the way she kisses him, he felt like he was the only man alive, like he had the job to create a new era along with her, a new version of the two. Her kisses are passion and lust mixed with emotion, like it takes everything in her to let this light shine through her. She knocks on the windows of his soul and he opens them freely, only realizing that all along she has been the one playing puppeteer with him. He lets his fingers hook around her hips, dragging his lips across hers before rutting his tongue against hers. The taste of two strangers thinking too much, feeling too much, taking their times in one month and some weeks and yet, feeling like they never had enough time to develop. These walls that she has kept do not come crumbling down, instead, they manifest their power when she trails her lips down to his neck, murmuring apologies for a second, barely reaching his ears when she dives for his lips once again.

Instead, he basks on the feeling of having her, even if it’s not all.

🚢

The day of arrival is filled with people greeting their family members, rushing out of the cruise simply to wrap their arms around them or welcoming the sight of home with a smile on their faces. Some are tired, some are disappointed, but in between the masses of people, Minho is looking for that one person in a chef uniform, the same one that he wants to ask out on a date just at that moment. After all, her disappearance after their eventful night in the kitchen had been quite apparent and no matter how many times he tried to get closer to her, she always told him she was busy. Ghosted, he was, yet Minho was unable to give up.

Unbeknownst to him, the person that had once looked like an angel in all white is now wearing darker colors. All neutral, standing by the very front, as if she had been the first one to leave, waiting for the bus that was supposed to get there to pick up the passengers and take them home one by one. Her hair is covered by a hat, almost like her uniform, a part of her at this point, definitely a brown beret to match her beige shirt, tucked inside old, grandpa-looking pants. The wind blows on her hair, definitely a sign of the beauty of her, the angelic nature that she tries to dress up as demonic meanings. He nears her with extended hands, capturing her shoulders in his grasp to catch her attention and when she turns around, he expects a smile.

He never gets it.

“Hey, there. I found you.” Minho indicates in between laughter, taking off her hat and ruffling her hair—he has always said that there is more to her than her chef status and she has never believed him. Even in her normal state, she is unable to show the precious side of her—the one that is not based on her talent. “I was actually going to ask you if you wanted to go out right now. I know a place here that is—”

Looking over to the side, she releases a sigh that comes from beneath her soul, pushing her body towards his. “Minho…I don’t think we should continue with this.”

“Why?” He asks, raising his eyebrows at her words. “We’re just getting to know each other—”

“Trust me, you don’t want to get to know me.” Frustration rises up from within him, perhaps from being denied or because he has been played. Something inside him switches, taking a deep breath through his nose before frowning.

“It’s not like I even got a chance, really—”

“What do you want me to do? Just open my entire life to you?”

“Well, I did that for you!”

“I never asked for it!” She raises her voice, pushing at his chest softly before turning her gaze away, clearly embarrassed by the few glances they got. “I didn’t tell you to get interested. You were the one that saw this beautiful thing inside me.” She lifts her hands in the air, as if it is the least understandable thing in the world. Yet, it isn’t for him. Minho would be able to wait a lifetime if it meant getting to know who she is and what are the little parts of her that she never shows to the world, only to create a puzzle for him to savor and love. “You want to know the truth?”

Minho chuckles darkly. “I don’t know, do you even say the truth?”

She slaps her hands against her thighs, scoffing at his words. “I am poor. This attitude that you said was so good and so attractive? Yeah, it has gotten me fired from jobs. I’m a fucking failure. I can’t pay my rent, I have to run away from the landlord for all I know and good fucking news, I got in a cruise with a job because I wanted to make sure I had somewhere to live.” Minho’s cynical smile drops at her words, watching her with kindness in his eyes—the same type she had once stated to hate. “You’re the one that compromised when I told you I didn’t want friendships, I didn’t want a man. Do you think I can even afford the time or the money of having a man? I can’t simply put any of us through that.”

His heart is holding on a pendant, asking himself why he simply wants to hang on to her, as if there is something to hold on to more than a night of pleasure. “I could help you. I have some money now, like, we could pay your rent—”

“I can’t.” She whispers, licking her bottom lip to stop herself from speaking louder. “Minho, just let me be.”

“I just want to help you!”

“You know what? Thank you.” She tells him, patting her hand against his before pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Such action would have seem weird in any other occasion, but by the way she sighs, he knows this is a goodbye. The one he expected, of course, but he had gotten attached—to her, to the passion that radiated from her, to that personality he has always wanted to get to know. “But I can’t give you what you want. I can’t be in your life, just like you can’t be in mine.”

The sound of her name is a whisper that she lets go of when the bus arrives, sparing one look over her shoulder, when he watches their two hearts being left in the sea. His will heal, of course it will, but it will always wonder what the mysterious eyes of her ever held, and if they ever held feelings for him, too.

#mino scenarios #mino #winner scenarios #winner #kpop scenarios #writing #mino fluff #mino angst #mino au #winner angst #winner fluff #winner au #comedian!mino #this is angsty pls scream at me lmao

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