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fairytsuk1 · 4 years

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precious moments (f)

part of the autumn experiences collection.

pairing: shoyo hinata x reader

genre: fluff

words: 1.1k

summary: i get misty eyed thinking of you and what you do to me.

prompt: ruffled hair

The sun shining through the cracks of the blinds was what woke you up. Snuggled in fluffy sheets, you cuddled further into the lifeline hold of your husband, who lay unconscious and entirely still. You leaned your face into the junction of his neck and shoulder, inhaling his scent. The slightly musky boyish scent combined with strawberry body wash soothed you and relaxed your muscles once again, ready to fall back into the depths of blissful sleep.

Your husband let out a dreamy sigh. Tensing momentarily, he tilted his head to fully capture you in the tender hold. You quickly fell back asleep.

It was cold. You shifted to reach for warmth but opened your eyes when your hand landed on plush cotton rather than a sturdy body. You turned to your bedside table and squinted at the clock, rubbing your eyes and getting rid of the bleariness that clouded them—eleven in the morning.

"Good morning, baby! You looked so cute, so I left you alone."

Shoyo grinned at you, standing tall in the doorway of the bathroom with his toothbrush in hand. Clad in boxers, your eyes raked over his body greedily. He noticed immediately.

"Hey! Don't look at me like that! You were the one to say not to get riled up!"

"That was last night, my love. That statement's been voided now."

He laughed loudly and turned to go back to the bathroom to finish up his morning routine.

Ah, that's right. Besides his enticing figure, the orange mop that sat atop his head was messy and wild. Just how you liked it.

Tsukishima stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. The prospects of practice today making him feel as though he weighed a thousand pounds.

"Shouldn't you actually be ready when I get here? I'm sick of waiting all the time."

You meticulously applied mascara to your top and bottom lashes, fanning your hand so it wouldn't clump together. Hinata was going to be at practice today. He always was, of course, but you wanted to look your best every time!

"You can always go without me, Tsukki. Oh wait, you're soft for me. I forgot. That's why you show up every day."

"You know, you could try shutting up. That might be good for you."

"And you could always go without me~. I guess we both are too stubborn. Okay, now I'm ready!"

The walk to school was a peaceful one. The autumn leaves fell gracefully. It was silent but pleasant. That is until spinning wheels got louder and louder. Then, a flushed Hinata was biking beside you. He huffed, and you went to ask him why he was here--

"Why are you here?" Tsukishima stared in disbelief, you two were so oblivious, "don't you bike over the mountain?"

He snickers at the scandalized look on Hinata's face while stuttering for words. You smile at him and give a wave though you're eager for an answer.

"Erm...I just thought it might be nice! You know, taking a different-GAH!-path and stuff!" his nervousness led him to nearly fall off the bike; he couldn't do that in front of you!

"Well, I'm glad! If a car comes, I know two boys are there to keep me safe!"

"I'm not saving you, I'm saving myself!"

"Okay. Hinata, do you see how he treats me?"

Hinata laughs loudly and nods eagerly.

"You're like a prickly cactus and so mean to your friends!"

Tsukishima says nothing besides digging his headphones out of his bag and putting them in, effectively plugging the two of you out. Though, his smile tells you everything you need to know. He is perfectly content at this moment. The left side quirks up just enough to dimple his soft, freckled cheek, and you swear that if things don't work out with Hinata, you'll just go for him.

For now, you turn to the carrot-colored boy. Your gaze stops at his wild mane. It calls out for you to reach out and pet it.

"I like your hair like this. It suits you, makes you look cute!"

His hair? His...hair? The one that gets tangled so easily and splays out when he lies down to rest? The one that's so unnecessarily bright and makes him stand out even more?...Oh. You have that gleam in your eyes, affectionate and as if the stars are swimming in them. It feels like his heart is about to break out through his chest and jump into your arms.

"I think I like you."

"Huh?"

Hinata stares at himself in the mirror. He’s dressed in lounge clothes and looking especially sleepy looking. His hair is a bit too flat in the mornings; he likes to fluff it up slightly! This is especially important since he knows how you feel about it. He lifts his hands and, as always, gets stuck on the ring wrapped around his finger. It gleams in the low light from the windows and fluorescent ones from the bathroom. He brings his hand back down and traces it before taking it off completely. On the inside, he sticks his tongue out as he focuses on the carvings embedded on the metal. The ones also within his own heart.

Your initials. It nearly brings tears to his eyes like every other time he's gotten caught up with the feelings intense love brought.

"Sho? I brought you hot chocolate this time! We have to rake the leaves today, but I thought we could relax for just a bit."

You slink in and set the mug on the counter, clad in his Black Jackal jacket. It dwarfs your form now. Though he hadn't grown extraordinarily since high school, he'd at least gotten taller than you. Your smile glows and frames your face. He wants to kiss you a million times over; plush lips against his and the taste of chocolate on his tongue.

I love you.

Your hands dip up and sink into the silky tangerine waves. You scratch his scalp for a second; he's convinced he understands dogs on a deeper level now. Then, you giggle and shake your hand through it. Going on the balls of your feet, you kiss him. You taste like chocolate and you make his knees feel weak.

"Mhm. Also, I like your hair."

Just like always, you snicker and walk out of the bathroom. Your trademark phrase. You even said it in your vows! He'd never get tired of it though; he'd mess up his hair any day just to hear your honeyed voice call his name. He'd mess up his hair every day if he had to, just to see that smile.

Thankfully, he always liked the messy look on him.

#hinata shouyou #haikyuu hinata #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shoyo oneshot #hinata shouyo x reader #hinata shouyou x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu prompts #hinata shoyo #hinata shouyo #autumn experiences collection #prompt list

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Note

Breath or breathing or breathe

Ooh, nice one, Anon! Lots of samples here~

Cherry-Orange Blossoms Chapter 6 (Bakugo/Ochako; My Hero Academia): Katsuki exhaled deeply through his nose and stretched himself out across the desk, sternum pressed down hard enough against the surface to make his breaths a little strained- more than they already were with the fungal bodies sprouting in his lungs, anyway.”

Untitled Chrome/Ken (Katekyo Hitman Reborn!): ““Now, Tsuna! He is a guest just as much as anyone else. He trekked all the way here in the snow to come see Chrome! Why, it’s almost romantic~” she sighed and pressed her hand to her cheek with a girlish giggle. Ken choked on his own breath and squeezed the garments to his chest, face turning an ugly purple-red color.”

Untitled NaruHina and SasuSaku Double Date Fic (Naruto): ““O-oh! Yes, I am very glad that he’s home…” Sakura answered bashfully. Hinata giggled; she was normally the shy one, so Sakura was sure that it was a breath of fresh air to see someone else grow bashful.”

“She heard the slight clunking of Sasuke’s dress shoes as he strolled out of their shared bathroom, the spicy scent of his cologne wafting around him in a dense, husky cloud. Sakura breathed it in deep as he leaned into the junction of her neck to press a sweet kiss against her jugular and smiled against the pulsing vein.”

Untitled Luffy/Nami (One Piece): ““What’s the big idea, Nami?” Breathing hard, the tangerine-haired girl simply jabbed a finger at the horizon. His head swiveled on his rubbery neck like an owl’s to behold the encroaching Marine ship.”

Untitled Natsu & Wendy Friendship Fic (Fairy Tail): “Wendy's breath fogged in little white clouds before her face as she breathed deeply into her mitten-covered hands.”

#weekly wip game #kacchako #bakuraka #chrome x ken #ken x chrome #naruhina #sasusaku #luna #lunami #wendy marvell #natsu dragneel

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houseforarmys · 4 years

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Hello💜 here’s the fic recs of today!💜 Enjoy and don’t forget to leave kudos and stay logged in!💜

rest your bones (with me) by firebreathe

SHIP: vmin

WORDS: 3,260 words | 1/1 chapters

GENRE: fluff, romance | T

WARNINGS: no warnings

SUMMARY:

Jimin was fucked.

For years, he had kept his feelings reigned in. He hadn’t let them fester, let them potentially get in the way of BTS’ rising success. There were so many more pressing things to focus on, and there was no way in hell Jimin was going to let a stupid high school crush that just wouldn’t fade distract him from singing just one more line, dancing just one more eight-count, or practicing his English for just one more tour show.

But, now…

Now, they were abroad in Malta with no shows or dance practice for seven whole days, and Taehyung was across from him, softly illuminated by the tangerine glow of a candle on the table before him, and Jimin was fucked.

Rub Your Feelings Down My Spine by Only_A_Fangirl

SHIP: yoonseok

WORDS: 8,024 words | 1/1 chapters

GENRE: smut | E

WARNINGS: no warnings

SUMMARY:

He doesn’t let up, his hands getting even firmer, heels of his palms digging into Yoongi’s skin. Yoongi controls his breathing forcefully, but Hoseok can see through him anyway.

And this is exactly why Yoongi doesn’t do massages.

Yoongi closes his eyes, doesn’t want to see the little smirk on Hoseok’s face. It’s stupid. This lack of self control. When Hoseok kneads the junction between his neck and shoulder, he can’t help the blood rushing between his legs. Just can’t help it.

Starless Night Playlist by metastacia

SHIP: namjin

WORDS: 64,849 words | 11/11 chapters

GENRE: fluff, angst | T

WARNINGS: no warnings

SUMMARY:

Namjoon has spent these past few years quietly wondering if things will ever return to how they were. If the stars that have been scattered across the universe will ever return to the house he once knew.

Like a shooting comet, Seokjin comes crashing back into his life, determined more than ever to form those constellations once again.

The Dinner by dreamingdaegu

SHIP: yoonkook (+namjin & vmin)

WORDS: 10,311 words | 1/1 chapters

GENRE: smut | E

WARNINGS: no warnings

SUMMARY:

“You seem different with him.”

Yoongi arches his eyebrow. Exhales more smoke, slowly letting it escape from his lips. “Different?”

Taehyung shrugs. “I don’t know. Like, relaxed or something.” He wets his lips, looks down at the ground. “Happy, I guess.”

[alternatively: Yoongi gets an invite to Taehyung's holiday dinner and Yoonkook fuck in a car]

March 31st by Carle

SHIP: taekook (+mentioned yoonmin)

WORDS: 11,367 words | 1/1 chapters

GENRE: fantasy, smut, angst with happy ending | M

WARNINGS: no warnings

SUMMARY:

It’s when you wake up in the future and find yourself craving it so bad only the present won’t let you have it, so you wake up in the past and fix everything.

Or the one where Taehyung goes back in time on a specific day in an attempt to fix a mistake.

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alias-b · 4 years

Note

What can you tell us about the new Billy/Oc you're planning!!! That little one shot tease of them has me so excited

Omg wow, that means a lot that someone’s asking about them!! TY❤️

Billy and my new oc, Evie!!! I had so many little things planned for this fic. I might not be doing much supernatural for it at all, despite the need to rewrite my own S3!flayed Billy. It’s probs gonna be teen angst, coming of age focused. Starting after S2, let’s pretend closing the gate worked lmao.

Things I’m playing with include teenage idiots, pining, rival Indiana high schools, a new HS douche villain, campy Dolly Parton jams, bad pranks, repressed memories, a runaway road trip to Vegas, and a budding singer trying to fulfill her dreams.

Evie is a plus gal which I’m excited about. She has normal insecurities, but she’s not shy per say. Little spunky even. A wee mystery will stem from her backstory through the fic, girl just wants out of Hawkins. She needs to be on a stage singing for crowds, but has some demons to tackle.

Billy going to be a different Billy from WTL, starting in a different spot for growth. I want to explore another facet of him. Might be a little meaner. Basically, a prank gone wrong brings them together. It’s enemies to friends to lovers focused. Anyone mad Evie is a fuller gal can suck a fuck about it, I’ve gotten so much hell for my two fics, frankly I expect the same for this one SO I’m just...doing what I please at this junction. Sorry, that was ranty. Idk I’ve been considering a break from posting where I just keep writing for me, but I’m torn.

All of this is subject to change. My ideas are ping ponging around, but I’m still excited to write more Billy. Everything is tiny drops in an ocean. I have so many specific details for Evie and Billy’s backdrop and aspirations and then I have like a few good scenes outlined that idk where they’re going, but they’re too neat to not put in.

Idk, long story short, I just RLY want Billy Hargrove and Evie Fenny lying on a blanket by Lovers Lake before the sun sets sharing a cheap box of juicy tangerines bc Evie lost yet another bet to this boy and had to go. I want them to warm up to each other while shooting the shit and bickering bc they recognize a need for more in life that hasn’t been quenched yet. And I want that need nourished by this relationship.

#tbh i held back bc i felt it flopped #and balancing two stories might hurt me #i need to be kind to me #billy hargrove #ask #anon #Billy x Angel

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ofkoroksandgreatfairies · 5 years

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On Terrible Nightmares and Perfect Daydreams

Zelda is warm when Link reaches for her; soft and lying just past the edge of his finger tips.

Here is the story on AO3

—-

Link is no stranger to nightmares.

He had been seeing death and destruction, monsters and demons, since the second he woke up on the Great Plateau. During the day -if he tries really hard- he can push the disturbing thoughts past his consciousness and forget. But now it is night, quiet and still and so dark, and the monsters sit behind his eyelids, waiting to strike once he falls asleep. He heaves a breath and recalls the dream, his fingers beginning to shake and his blood running cold.

Gannon stuck him down, shooting a beam at his chest and piercing though Link's armor. He fell, hitting the ground with a crash, his hands failing to come out and brace his fall. Lying there, gravely injured and cold on the sanctum floor, Link was unable to move and hardly able to breath through all the pain. Gannon roared, and dark pools of malice suddenly swirled around Link's limp body, writhing like black parasites as they curled closer. His legs were unresponsive and all he could do was scream as the malice wrapped it's vile tendrils around him. Eventually Link was covered in the ooze, his breathing constricted, and bones heavier than he had ever felt them be before.

Zelda seemed to materialize out of nowhere, appearing awash in a golden light brighter than the sun. She faced him, smiling so serenely he could feel himself melting. Gracefully avoiding all the malice, and seemingly unaware of Calamity Gannon behind her, Zelda walked toward him. He tried to scream; tried to warn her as Gannon loomed closer to her turned back. But all he could taste was malice and it filled his lungs and stole his air, and no sound came out.

All the knight could do was watch as Gannon speared her; a claw stuck through her chest, and a soundless scream from Link was all that accompanied her death.

The dream was familiar. He had been seeing that specific death, and other similar ones every time he closed his eyes. Maybe it was subconscious guilt from how long it took Link to save her, or maybe it was just anxiety, but Link wanted the disturbing images to stop.

He reached out, fingers grazing the soft sheets of his bed, eyes closed and searching. She lies just beyond his finger tips. Her breath is soft, and she is still sleeping soundless and serene. He reaches for her, winding an arm around her side and pulling her in close. Link cradles Zelda like a gift, as he tucks his face into her neck. He can hear her pulse, feel it on the side of his face, and it soothes him. Zelda is warm, and soft, and alive, and he can feel her under his fingertips. She breaths quietly, stirring awake and looks at him with familiar doe-like eyes.

"Bad dream, again?" She asks, soft voice tinged with sleep and peace.

He nods against the junction of her shoulder and neck, nuzzling into her like he wants to disappear into her skin. Everything is warm, and he can feel Zelda run fingers through his hair. A shiver passes through him and with her near the knight can breathe easier.

"Are you ever going to tell me what it is you dream about?" Zelda asks lightly, planting a feather-light kiss to the top of her knight's head.

Link sighs, and tightens his arms around her, flipping them over so she's laying on top of him. Zelda doesn't mind as Link once again tries to pull her closer.

"Is that a no then, hero?" She giggles lightly, her breath hot and pleasant on Link's skin.

"Yes, princess." He teases, sticking his tongue out and onto her skin in a way that makes her laugh.

"You never did talk much did you?" Zelda braces her forearm against his chest, raising herself up so she can see his face.

"That's funny. You usually tell me I talk too much now." His quip is quiet, and laced with the special sort of affection he held only for her.

"Only when you talk to Karson and Bolson. I swear they never leave."

He gives a quiet chuckle, bringing his hands up to cradle Zelda's face, holding it like it was the only thing in Hyrule worth cherishing. Zelda smiled softly in the way that makes his heart sing, and turned her head to place a kiss into one of his palms. The gesture helps Link breathe easier, and he looks at her with renewed strength, finally willing to tell her about his dream.

"I dreamt that I couldn't save you. You died and I was too weak to stop it." He relented, closing his eyes and seemingly reliving the nightmare.

"Look at me." It's her turn to grab his face in her hands, gently caressing the side of it until he looks at her. "I am here. We are here. Together. I know that alone won't stop your dreams, but I do hope it provides you some comfort when you are awake.”

It was still early and the rising sun cast an orange glow to the room. It danced on the edge of Zelda's face, kissing her cheeks in red-yellow tangerine, and backing her in shimmering rays of early morning sunlight. Sometimes, Link forgot about Zelda's goddess blood; but here, awash in gold and orange and pure light, she bordered just on the edge of genuine divinity.

Link breathed in the look on her face, consuming it like a drowning man who found a singular pocket of oxygen. Zelda's eyes were kind and gentle and radiating a love Link never even dared to dream of.

Suddenly all the nightmares became worth it; he would go through it all over again just for this one moment. Because Zelda was here, safe in his arms, warmer and more alive then anything he’d ever known, and she looked him with such an endless and easy affection. With her around, Link often felt his heart just on the edge of bursting; but as he took in her tired eyes and felt her kiss his forehead, Link was sure his chest was already blazing hot and tangible with the heat of all he felt for his princess. It was bliss and admiration and trust and contentedness and the purest, most child-like devotion. It was over one-hundred years of knowing her, and over one-hundred years of loving her spilling out of him in that moment.

Zelda was the only goddess Link had ever believed in; the only divine being left in their broken world. And when she placed her head back down on his chest, sighing as she felt the rising sun’s rays on her back, Link felt like praying. She was intangible and smarter then he could ever be and kinder then Link could ever believe.

Zelda was the perfect daydream to rival his nightmares. She was an eternal summer; blistering with a white-hot intensity and searing with saccharine sweetness he’d get to hold in his hands for the rest of his life. In Link’s eyes, his princess could rival the sun, replace it as the center of everyone’s universe; Hylia knows she was already the center of his.

So he tightened his arms around her, holding onto her like he wanted to hoard her light for himself. She only replicated his hold, looking up at him and whispering that she loved him.

Link, utterly content and incredibly comfortable, breathed in the dream he was living and found that suddenly the nightmares didn’t matter as much anymore.

#zelink #zelda x link #my writing #botw link #botw zelda #botw zelink #breath of the wild #legend of zelda breath of the wild #legend of zelda #loz botw #legend of zelda botw #link #zelda #loz #botw

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astro-b-o-y-d · 1 year

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Through a series of jokes that I took seriously, I’ve decided that Chase (of Benny and Chase originally, but now I’m reworking both for a new canon) has the full name of Chase Axis Gearshift

#Hayley Speaks #Tangerine Junction #That's the new canon #I've talked about it on Discord somewhat but not a lot on here #Anyway it's focused around three of my favorite character types ever #Weird little girl; robot child who is autistic and trans coded; and little demon bastard who just wants to cause trouble #Also gruff older figure with a heart of gold #Two characters who TOTALLY aren't Roman and Neo with new paint #And an awkward dorky dad trying his VERY best #Among other background characters that will likely be recycled OCs; like my Oz gang

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halogensleep · 5 years

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i love you (and i'll love you and i won't stop loving you)

Becky needed her wisdom teeth removed. Of course, Charlotte was the logical person to call and come stay with. They were best friends, colleagues, partners in crime. After the anaesthesia starts to wear off, Charlotte finds it more and more difficult to avoid confronting the extent of her true feelings.

“God. God is just the word we use to describe the universe experiencing itself.” There was so much anaesthetic and morphine rattling around her system that it started to spill out of her mouth in the form of words. “And that pain you get in your shins when you run too hard in cheap shoes? That is the Devil. That is the Devil trying to rip your soul out of your kneecaps...” Becky mumbled and slurred.

“That’s nice.” Charlotte pulled out of the junction and on to the interstate, not sure of what else to say.

Becky closed her eyes and didn’t know how to open them again. Her chin curled forward until the seatbelt cradled her body, lips wriggling against one another as another inintelligible ramble tickled the inside of her mouth. Charlotte couldn’t help but smile. She reached over and adjusted the blanket that was coming dangerously close to slipping off of her best friend, because god forbid there was a slight chill lingering outside somewhere beneath the blazing heat of the Carolinas in June and Becky was the poor sucker who caught it.

“We think we eat the pineapples, but really, it’s the pineapple eating us,” Becky quietly whimpered beneath her breath.

“I won’t let a pineapple eat you,” Charlotte reassured.

“You’re a good woman.”

“Well, I try to be.”

“Why is it so dark?”

“Your eyes are closed, Becky.”

“But what if they aren’t?”

“What are you even—” Charlotte sighed and closed her eyes. “Go to sleep, I’ll wake you up when there’s a reason to wake you up.”

The sun was high in the sky and dazzling the road, and the highway was inundated with people. The traffic pulled slowly, chugging for a bit, then stalling to a halt. It would be like this for at least seven miles if the woman on the radio announcing the collision ahead was to be trusted. Charlotte sighed and glanced at Becky, who now occupied the time by trying to nibble her seat belt.

“Don’t do that,” Charlotte reached over and pulled it off the bottom of her chin. “You’re going to hurt your stitches or lose a tooth.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Becky opened her bleary, unfocused eyes and narrowed them accusingly. “Feeding my teeth to the chickens because you didn’t remember to buy the corn, I know what the craic is.”

“If only they had left at least one wisdom tooth in your mouth so we could do this again sometime.” The headache was already on the brink of itself. Becky was foreign, was now single since things went south with the last boyfriend some months ago, and was now also decidedly Charlotte’s responsibility when it came to medical emergencies. “Hey! No—” Charlotte slapped her hand away as it reached for the steering wheel. “Bad Becky!” The headache bloomed.

The pout was pearl-eyed and devastated by the scolding. She watched Becky fling herself backward and tuck herself against the window. Charlotte felt her heartstrings pull a little bit.

“Okay, alright, I’m sorry for snapping.” Charlotte placated and got the car a few metres forward before traffic halted again. “Just, can you go to sleep? You’ll feel better.”

“I’ll miss you too much.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said awkwardly, blinking a bit too hard.

She didn’t have a crush on her best friend. That would be… impossible for many reasons. Good reasons. They were best friends, they were straight, they were colleagues, and they were in a storyline feud. All incredibly good, important reasons that she had to run through with alarming regularity to remind herself that she did not have a crush on Becky. It just tickled her heart getting to be the one who took care of her, who was the first port of call when dental surgery and a place to stay afterwards needed to be arranged, that was all.

Who didn’t have a best friend that they loved like that? It was normal.

“I miss you and you’re right here.” Becky grumbled, a sigh falling out of her mouth. Charlotte watched her brown eyes flutter a few times, focusing on nothing in particular. The Irish woman would remember none of this. “Goodness, you really are my favourite person,” she slurred.

“You’re my favourite person too,” Charlotte simpered as the traffic started to slowly chug. “The best person I know.”

“Who is?” Becky forgot.

“You.”

“I’m what?”

“Go to sleep.” Charlotte petted her long tangerine hair and reached the point of exasperated pleading. “You won’t miss me I’ll be right here. Just, sleep. Please.”

…

“Becks?” Charlotte whispered and shook her arm softly.

Firstly the human goldfish wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t shut up, wouldn’t stop being so adorably irritating and difficult. Now, she would not wake up for all the chirping birds in the world. Charlotte didn’t want to shake too hard or disturb her too violently, and so she was left sat on the driveway with her best friend curled up asleep on her shoulder using an old, unwashed hoodie as a pillow. Charlotte gave a deep, troubled sigh and allowed the troublemaker to continue snoring against her throat.

After a minute or so, she became glaringly aware of how weird it was.

She slipped a hand under Becky’s jaw and carefully guided her back to the passenger seat headrest. Still, the Irish woman didn’t wake, which was slightly impressive. Charlotte got out of the car and trudged around the hood, opening the passenger door and simultaneously catching the warm body that slumped out.

“We’re done driving?” Becky hmph’d, her voice croaking with sleep. She managed to crack an eye open and glance around, wincing into the brightness of the summer afternoon. She closed them again. “Where are we?” She swallowed.

“My house, honey.” Charlotte slipped underneath her armpits and propped her up on the seat. “Twenty feet to the front door, give or take. I think you can tackle it.” She nodded decisively.

“Look what I found…” Becky mumbled and grabbed the black hoodie beside her. She held it up, turning it in her hands with an impressed expression. “Who would leave this lying around? It’s so soft—” She clutched it to her cheek.

“It’s mine.”

“I found it first, get your own hoodie.”

“Okay well why don’t you keep a hold of it for now and we’ll get into the semantics tomorrow…” Charlotte rolled her eyes and stood aside. “Come on, let’s get you inside before the neighbours see.”

“Okay.” She seemed slightly reluctant, distrusting maybe, but she eventually shuffled forward out of the car door. “But you can’t have my top.” She glared and hid the hoodie away.

“No one is fighting you for that hoodie, I promise you.” The insanity of this was not as amusing as the Youtube videos of post-wisdom teeth removal had led her to believe it would be. “Do you need a hand?”

Becky tried to stand up and promptly fell forward.

“Alright,” Charlotte gritted her teeth and hoisted her best friend back to her wobbling legs. “Okay, one step at a time.”

Two soft, drunk hands found her biceps and shoulders. It was warm out, so warm that she was wearing a vest and nothing else. Becky traced her fingers along the bare contours of the muscles and giggled to herself a little bit as she fell forward into a barely-breathing chest. Charlotte just swallowed and blew the tickly, bright ginger flyaways that grazed her chin and lips, arms stuck around the small of her slack spine.

“You’re so strong,” Becky hummed and squeezed. “You’re like a superhero.”

“Thanks for that.” Charlotte cleared her throat and grew stiff.

“I could whip you in a fight though.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Charlotte nodded quietly, entertaining the goldfish.

“Shall we go in?”

“You need to walk for that to happen.”

“Hmm, maybe you’re not that strong after all…” Becky patted her thick shoulders.

The Irish woman was thrown over her shoulder like a sack of bricks, like an inanimate object, like a thing that needed to be hoisted and transported from one location to the other. It definitely wasn’t because she felt challenged to show off, or because deep down she wanted to prove that she was strong enough to give any ex-boyfriend a run for his money. No, definitely none of that.

That, again, would be too close to having a crush on her best friend. Charlotte laughed and shook her head at the mere thought as she fireman carried Becky to the front door, juggling her on top of her shoulders with one hand as she fumbled for her keys with the other. What a silly idea.

“You’re so pretty... like a barbie doll but with nice big shoulders,” Becky hummed from over her back and played softly with her long blonde hair.

Charlotte bristled and twitched her head away. “Stop that.”

…

When she left her, Becky was asleep on the sofa with that tattered, scruffy hoodie tucked inside her fingers like a comfort blanket. Her knees were curled up, nose wiggling occasionally, slim little spine rising emphatically with each sleepy hmph. Of course these were perfectly normal things to notice and pick up on, Charlotte didn’t read too much into herself.

By the time she was showered, sort of dressed, and bounding down the stairs to make broth that she already knew Becky would turn her nose up at, she became aware that the sleeper had arisen from the sound of the coffee table and furniture being fought with.

“Becks?” She tentatively inched the door open.

She found her wobbling between the sofa and the coffee table, jeans around her ankles, expression screwed up with frustration, apparently trying to take her pants off.

“Should I ask questions at this point?” Charlotte surveyed the scene.

“Jesus it’s warm, the sun is spitting rocks out there!” Becky struggled with a trying expression, a thin sheen already coating her brow from the heat.

“I don’t know if you’re still high or if you’re just being Irish,” Charlotte eyed her cautiously with narrowed eyes.

“The latter.” Becky yawned and wobbled. “Also, maybe a bit of the former. I’m getting a headache, it’s making it difficult to think.”

“Jesus, just sit down already. The things I do for you,” she muttered to herself and walked over to help.

The jeans were yanked off and two slim bare legs curled back up again on the sofa, much cooler this time. Becky nested and clutched the hoodie. She was definitely a little high still but reality was coming back to her in bits and pieces, she wasn’t talking about pineapples eating her for a start and Charlotte would accept that as progress.

Charlotte slumped down on the other side of the sofa and clicked the television on.

“What are we watching?” Becky mumbled, eyes half closed.

“Something easy and terrible,” Charlotte replied. “Maybe a Lifetime movie. We’ll see what the afternoon brings.”

“Can we watch the Anna Nicole Smith one?” Becky perked slightly.

“We watched that one twice on the tour bus in Europe less than a month ago.”

“I know, but I have a thing for tall blondes.” The flat of her foot nudged Charlotte’s hip.

“Mmhm, sure.” Charlotte playfully shoved her back. “Are you planning on putting pyjama pants on by the way?”

“Not particularly, no.”

Charlotte blinked. “Okay.”

“Are those men’s boxers?” Becky glanced at the shorts Charlotte was wearing with a confused expression.

Charlotte furrowed her brow. “No,” she scoffed.

“Are you sure?”

“Becky, these are not a man’s pair of boxers.”

A man’s pair of boxers implied that a man before her had owned them, and so technically she wasn’t lying. She wasn’t about to get into the minutia of it with Becky. It was stiflingly warm, that sort of smoggy heat that was wet and thick on her shoulders and back no matter how high the air conditioning was cranked — which wasn’t very far thanks to the broken air filter. Charlotte leaned back into the sofa and put her legs up on the coffee table, a pair of white Calvin Klein’s rolled down her hips, an undone plaid shirt pushed up her forearms, a scowl on her cheeks as a sticky, hot body switched positions and nuzzled against her.

“Dude!” Charlotte lightly complained. “You feel like a radiator, you had all that space over there!”

“Now I have more,” Becky propped her head on Charlotte’s bare thigh and stretched her legs out. “My face hurts,” she mumbled quietly.

“It’s supposed to, you just had four teeth out.”

“Thank you for keeping me and looking after me.”

“You’re not a Chia Pet, you’re my best friend. You can come visit anytime you want.” Charlotte tried to seem unbothered, but her heart was throbbing in her chest, her pulse was quickening, her mind was speeding with other ideas. She shifted uncomfortably and slipped an arm over the boiling hot creature in her lap. “You can always come and stay, always.”

“You’re my favourite person,” Becky yawned and tucked herself around Charlotte’s thigh, pulling the lazy arm a bit tighter around her waist.

“Ditto,” Charlotte found herself saying the word so quietly, so full of fondness.

“We’re like a married couple, aren’t we?” Becky murmured with a smile.

“How would you know?” Charlotte chuckled. “Out of the two of us, I think I’m the authority on that.”

“Then what is it like to be married to someone?”

“At first it’s mad and passionate, it’s bliss, it’s the denial of reality.” Charlotte thought about it, and a sharp pain niggled her in places that had no business being niggled. “It’s this promise that you’re going to love a broken and deeply faulted person despite all the ways they’re going to hurt and disappoint you, it’s knowing you’re going to try and love them regardless because that’s what your mom did, and your grandma, and her grandma, and now the responsibility has been passed down to you to be a rehabilitation centre for a broken man who could never be enough to deserve you even on his best day—”

“Love?” Becky’s voice tinged with concern. She rolled over and peered at Charlotte with the most gentle, tenderly worried, loving expression. “Where did you just go?” Her voice was quiet and curious, a bit sad maybe.

“Nowhere,” Charlotte lied and made herself forget.

“Well, if I was your husband, I would never hurt you.” Charlotte believed her when she said it and that was the worst, most confusing part. “I would be a lovely husband, I think.” Becky tiredly scratched her chin.

“Oh yeah?” Charlotte laughed. “Well, I’ll bear you in mind when a position opens.”

There was a long, pregnant pause.

“You’re so beautiful,” Becky whispered and blinked slowly, a tiny furrow forming on her head as if a veil had been lifted and she could do nothing but surrender to how deeply she meant it.

Charlotte inhaled and felt like she couldn’t breathe. Those big brown eyes blinked slowly and didn’t move, they drank her in, stole her soul, pulled her deeper into an abyss of confusing feelings that she would be able to pull herself out of again.

“You’re beautiful too,” Charlotte shifted her eyes, laughing a bit. “And also very, very high.”

There was a comfort and safety that Becky brought to her life, a love that was perfect and whole. Before Becky, there were parts of herself she had learned to hide away, learned to keep private and invisible for the benefit of others. The way she cried too often, the way she felt too much, the way she couldn’t let herself be the butt of the joke, the way she couldn’t and would never be okay with the casual substance use that everyone in her life seemed to dabble with as a means of escape, as maybe just a means to an end. Charlotte had learned to grit her teeth and hide those things so deep within herself that she almost forgot they had existed.

Becky switched on the light, found them, dusted them off and proudly put them on the walls so they couldn’t be lost again. Becky loved her wholly, loved her in her sovereignty, loved her until those faults were no longer faults but rather principles, foundations, bedrocks of herself that were… acceptable, worthy of love, even.

It only made the thought of overstepping the mark and losing Becky all the more terrifying.

They were best friends, and that would have to be enough.

“I’m going to make you broth,” Charlotte decided she needed to escape to the kitchen, immediately.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t.”

“You can’t eat solids for twenty-four hours—”

“No, I don’t mean that.” Becky clutched the arm around her waist tighter. “I mean I don’t want you to go.”

“Oh.”

…

“Becky?”

“Yes?”

“Did you.” Charlotte stopped, unsure of how to ask the question tactfully. “Did you wet yourself or something?”

“Why the fuck would I have wet myself?” The pillows were shot up from immediately, the bleary-eyed troublemaker having none of it.

“Because it’s two-thirty in the morning and you are in my bed.” Charlotte blinked and stared into the pitch-black darkness where Becky’s weight shifted around on the other side. “If you pissed yourself in the guest bed just please tell me you put the sheets in the washer—”

“Why would that be your first thought? What about me gives off the impression that I’m a bedwetter?”

“I’m not sure.” Charlotte was stumped for an answer. “You’re on a lot of medicine.”

“Oh give over, I didn’t piss myself. The pain medication gave me a night terror, and it’s off-limits, you can’t joke about it.” Becky slumped back down and plumped her pillow, defeated and still a little weird from the medicine. “I wanted to be near you so that—” The words were lost to an embarrassed sigh. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Come here,” Charlotte pulled on her wrist and felt her heart soften. “Nothing is going to hurt you, I’m here. I’ve got your back. I'm your man.”

There had been cuddles in bed before, the drunk sort, the friendly sort, the comforting sort after breakups and upsets. They were rare and fraught with difficult feelings for Charlotte whenever they happened. She tried not to think about that, instead she inched across the sheets and tucked herself around the troublemaker. Becky fit so perfectly in her arms, the realisation was impossible to avoid. Charlotte just sighed and accepted her sore heart.

“All pineapples will be shot on sight, babe.” She hmph’d and closed her eyes.

There was an awkward sigh.

“Turn over,” Becky demanded tiredly, a little grumpiness in her voice.

The positions were switched, their bodies jostled until Charlotte was facing the other way with a body melting into the tiny nooks and crannies of her own. A slim, freckled forearm tucked around her belly and held on for dear life, a pair of hips settled into her ass, a soft Irish nose buried into the back of her neck and exhaled warmth. Charlotte stiffened and blinked. It had caught her off-guard.

“What are we doing?” Charlotte cleared her throat.

“Going to sleep.”

“I mean… this.” She patted the warm hand clutching her belly. “Was your night terror about me?”

Becky hesitated and became uncomfortable. “We don’t need to talk about that," she muttered.

“I think we do—” Charlotte became suspicious that it was something to do with her, specifically, her being in danger if the protective hold she was grasped in was any indication. “What did you dream of?” She squeezed her slender fingers.

“Him hitting you,” it was said with such sadness, such grief. Charlotte stiffened with memories of things she had long since left in the past. “You’re not the person to talk to about it. That is your trauma, not mine. I don’t want to insert myself there. I shouldn't have mentioned it, but you asked. I’m sorry—” The arms around her were so fiercly protective that they became suffocating.

“It’s alright, it's okay, I'm okay. I'm safe, you're here.” Charlotte hushed the slightly over-medicated ball of worry behind her. “So, you had a bad dream that someone was hurting me and got in my bed because…”

“I needed to be able to open my eyes and check on you. I needed to know you were right here where I could protect you,” Becky whispered, tired and embarrassed. “I know that you’re tough enough to protect yourself but I wanted to be able to lend a hand if push came to shove.” It earned a little laugh.

Charlotte rubbed her mouth and snuggled herself backwards, smiling and comforted by the fact her emotions were invisible and safe in the darkness. Becky held her closer, fiercer, only growing all the more protective. It was then Charlotte noticed the black, worn hoodie that was pushed up to her elbows. Apparently Becky had felt the need not only to steal it, but to go sleep in it for good measure.

“You’re still high,” Charlotte murmured and rubbed her forearm. “Go to sleep before you destroy me with how adorable you are, little cutie.”

“Charlotte I love you more than I can bare, more than I can cope with.” There was a deep, troubled sigh. “It’s so easy keeping it bottled up when I’m a hundred-percent but whenever I look at you there’s this gaping ugly hole in my chest and I can’t keep it quiet right now. Please, don’t make fun of me.”

“Oh?” Charlotte gulped. “An ugly hole in your chest?”

“The place where logic and reason is supposed to be, I think.” Fingers softly slipped over her ribs in retreat, another deep sigh thumping her spine. “Because, well, you’re my best friend… but sometimes I love you a bit more than that… and it’s killing me slowly.” Becky started to move away, mortified and embarrassed.

Charlotte grabbed her fleeing wrist and pulled it back fiercely.

“Tell me you mean it, tell me this isn’t the painkillers.”

“What?”

“Tell me you really feel that way,” Charlotte became hopeful, and it was a seductive feeling to give into. “I need to know if you’re being serious.”

“Could we still be friends if I was?” Becky’s voice tilted with worry.

“If I’m going to go out on a limb tomorrow when you remember none of this and admit all of these stupid feelings I have for you too that aren’t going away any time soon… well, I need to know there’s a chance you might love me back.” Charlotte licked her lips and grew brave. "Because I love you, and it's been as more than just a friend since before we were even friends, I think."

“Please take a blind leap of faith.” Becky's voice was soft and pleading, full of frightened and tentative love. “I would never let you down, even on my worst day.”

“Okay,” Charlotte slipped around until they were holding one another. She sighed and blinked, trying to be in control of herself. “Go to sleep, we’ll talk about it in the morning and figure it out.”

“I love you, Charlotte.” Becky pressed forward with fidgeting lips.

Charlotte dodged the kiss. She pulled her head backwards, instinctively. What she would give to kiss her, what she would give to put that troublemaker on her back and be the blanket that kept her warm long into the early morning hours. But, not like this. Not while she was dosed up on painkillers and so gentle in her vulnerability because of it. Becky looked horrified for a moment but Charlotte pulled her close, pulled her to her chest, slipped her arm around and held the back of her neck softly.

"I can't kiss you tonight, not while you're like this, but maybe tomorrow."

"I love you," Becky mumbled into her throat. "I can wait until tomorrow."

“I love you too.” She surrendered herself to the words, handed herself over to the possibility this might be her only chance to say it the way she really meant. “I love you and I’ll love you and I won’t stop loving you, so just go to sleep and let me take care of it.”

“I’ll be here in the morning.” The troublemaker promised, her hand settling on Charlotte’s hip protectively.

Charlotte smiled and kissed her forehead. There was something unfeared about the unknown of tomorrow, mainly because it wasn’t unknown at all. She knew, wholeheartedly, that Becky would love her back.

It was what she did best.

#charlotte x becky #charlynch fanfiction #charlynch #becky x charlotte #charlotte and becky #lesbian love #useless lesbians #lesbian fanfiction #she protec she attac drunk becky know the craic #lesbian fluff

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melchior-caito-blog · 5 years

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⋆ ◦ ° ☾ event update. the meteor shower.

Below: In which in which Melchior runs into his burning childhood home.

There’s too many familiar faces up on that hill and so they decide to forgo tradition. Leave. They walk and walk and they stop with the taste of their recent encounters souring their mouth and the cold air against their cheek. They’re standing across the street from the Caito estate. There’s no room for anger at the muscle memory of their body, only wariness. Their eyes flutter closed and the world washes in around them, all dark and lonely grey. That’s what they think at first - how lonely their old home looks, how static.

And it does. Until there is fire.

Melchior first sees the meteors when he’s six. That year, Balthazar takes them onto the hill at the edge of town, and in the dead of night, by the moon’s light, they wait.

Melchior lays in the grass and snow, underneath the sky, with his hands clasped on his stomach, staring up at moon’s size and its tangerine-orange colour.

His father’s head moves into view, eclipsing half the moon. Balthazar grins with a mouth like a jack-o-lantern. “You ready?”

He breathes in deep. “What if I miss them?”

“You won’t. I promise. They’re like streaks of fire across the sky.”

What a thought. Melchior looks up at the sky, imagines it cracking down the middle and igniting.

Twenty years later, the stars blink bright, their light shrouding the world with the promise of fire.

Melchior stands across from the Caito mansion in delirious pain.

They can breathe, of course. Their heart works. Their hands and their legs too, and their veins are still pumping blood. This pain is sudden and it only blooms like the fire they see in the second story window. They needed to scoop the fire out. Needed to let it bleed from them. No— they should just wait for the firetruck. No— the world of Savages and Cobras? It’s is not theirs any more. No— that legacy died with Balthazar Caito and they are a slave to their blood no more —

They’re barreling through the front door and up the stairs faster than their feet can carry them.

“You’re a killer kid, you can’t deny blood.”

His father’s words rattle around in his chest and realign his bones.

They take the stairs two at a time. How many summers spent, running up and down these very stairs? There are others in their vicinity, but all have the sense to move away from the fire.

Melchior doesn’t head for the front door to the study. Bad idea. They curve around a different corner. There’s a side door, less noticed and connected through a different part of the wing. It’s the long way around, but less likely affected by the flames.

When they were younger and they had nightmares, they’d stumble out of bed and into the study through this door. Balthazar would be working late. Jason would bring in a spare blanket and Melchoir would find peace from the nightmares curled up on the couch that smelt like home.

It’s a nightmare that might as well be a memory.

Everything is dressed in warm colors, like living inside of a lantern—flickering oranges, reds, and golds. The edges are fuzzy, like old film, underdeveloped and blurred. His stomach always flutters and he can hear the murmuring and clink of champagne glasses. It starts faint, like everything is far away, muffled, as if he is underwater, swimming towards the surface.

And then, everything breaks wide open. He’s dancing, spinning fast around the room to the sound of a band. His graduation. All the women’s dresses bleed into their partner’s black coats until they are just a messy swirl of black, the edges now gold and red and pulsing with light.

Melchior looks down and Marcelline is smiling up at him. Her skin is golden, her cheeks glimmer - reflecting the red of the decorations, making her skin look like its holding fire in it. And isn’t that always so true of Marcelline anyway? They cling to each other as they twirl, fighting over who gets to lead, Melchior can feel his feet moving closer to hers, almost stepping on the inside of her heels, but never actually doing so. The two of them are good at this - this back and forth that they do.

He blinks and his arms are dropped lower, Jason - all paternal warmth - has taken Marceline’s place. He doesn’t speak, just smiles - but Melchior can see the warm lights dancing in this eyes and feels his chest expand so big he’s sure it will explode.

The dancing seems to last forever, the songs melting into each other, his partners morphing from one person to another in seconds that last hours.

Suddenly, everything stops.

Like the end of a roller coaster, Melchior is lurched to a standstill. It is quiet now and he has a glass of champagne in his hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jason in Balthazar’s study.

His father is a few feet in front of him, talking, but he can’t hear the words. It’s just the three of them. It feels like he’s back under water, like someone is holding head beneath the waves. He knows what he’s saying though, as if his father has cracked open his chest and is speaking right into it.

‘You know every bit of it - it’s about time you actually joined the Savages.’

He feels Balthazar’s hand squeeze the junction of his neck and shoulder and the feeling pulls him up again, into the static so loud he feels the urge to run.

Run, run far away.

Instead, he smiles as his father raises his champagne glass to him. As Balthazar stretches his arm and Melchior stretches his out in return, it as if the study expands and suddenly. He can’t see Balthazar’s proud smile or the twinkling in his dark eyes, the lights like stars in them.

Desperately, he throws back his entire glass in one swallow.

As soon as his hand comes back down his father is right in front of him. Snapped to him like a thunderclap. His champagne glass is refilled and he drinks more of it to calm the rumbling in his stomach like a volcano about to erupt.

Balthazar puts both hands on Melchior’s shoulders, they feel like stones. Instead of his hands, Melchior imagines Balthazar is Atlas, tricking him into taking the world. At this distance, they look as if they are the same height. Balthazar is smiling. His teeth are bright and white too, blinding in their brilliance and expectation. Melchior shuts his eyes against them.

When he opens them, Balthazar is melting.

His face, that dark brown, which sucks up all the warm gold, white shining on top of his cheeks, has started to drip like candle wax. Melchior looks down and his hands are melting into Melchior’s black tux, disappearing. It isn’t wet, but the warmth has turned cold. The weight is gone.

Balthazar steps forward to embrace Melchior.

Melchior’s heart is pounding. He squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his jaw against the urge for all the champagne to come bubbling back out of him. He’s dizzy, dizzy, and his father is light as a feather in his arms.

When he opens his eyes again it is dark, his father and the party has melted away—gone like an ink stain spreading over cloth. He still feels dizzy, like a top that won’t stop spinning, inertia propelling it towards the edge of a table top and all the children too distracted to keep it from falling right off the edge. There is the sound of crackling flames.

There is the sound of crackling flames. They’re in the study now. Black, thick smoke congests the room like the wool of a black sheep.

There’s certainly more important things in this room. Important Savage papers, important business documents that might be able to be salvaged. They know this room inside and out - all its nooks and crannies. But who the fuck cares? Certainly not them. The Savages are a legacy they will deny even now, in this moment. There are more important things.

Smoke fills their lungs. They wrestle with the drawer in the overturned desk, the awkward angle making it harder to reach the false bottom they know is there. It’s jammed. They jostle it and then yank, hard, causing the wood to crack and splinter.

Flames rise higher. Smoke grows thicker.

They cough and its like breathing through a plastic bag. No fresh air is getting to their lungs. They can’t breathe -

Not yet. Not yet. They smash through the bottom with a paperweight. There. Albums. Photos and moments that are threatened to be licked up forever by the flames.

He remembers killing that man, how easily the knife enters his chest, like slicing through butter.

He remembers liking it.

He remembers doing it right here, in his father’s study. His heart has never beat louder.

Their heart is going to burst from their chest. They collapse on the grass outside, photo albums spilling out around them. Their lungs heave, trying to get rid of the smoke that chokes them. They breathe sharply like they are a brand new person. They force themselves to turn over (once more laying in the grass and snow, underneath the sky, with their hands clasped on their stomach) to watch the flames through the window. They lay there watching the wreckage of all that once was.

The fire climbs higher and higher, fighting against the black.

More than ever, Melchoir understands.

Nothing is sacred to these motherfuckers.

#outlaw.event4 #*& the legacy / about #*& the legacy / plot #i just had to write something out excuse typos

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duforts · 6 years

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By early-September, they are back home from their honeymoon, deliriously happy and relaxed, beaming at and laughing with each other every second of the day they get to spend together, as though they’re caught in a constant honeymoon period (and, god, they are). Her love for him is suddenly on fire, and now more than ever, she can’t seem to keep her hands off of him, touching and kissing and smooching him all over every chance she gets, getting all pouty and miserable every morning he has to leave her to go to work, counting down the hours until he’s home safe and grinning that sweet smile of his that sets her pulse racing, makes her feel whole again; she still can’t believe they’re married--- that he’s her husband now, and forever, and every time she thinks about it, she squeals in delight, pretty little face crinkling with sweet laughter, heart all tight and swollen with so much love and joy, she overflows with it, loses her breath at every little kiss and touch of his. Life has honestly never felt happier or fuller for her, and she spends her days in a dreamy haze, dotting on him, warmly, lovingly, their house always warm and clean and smelling of honey and the sweet herbs she grows in their kitchen; she spends the afternoons tending to the garden outback, growing radishes and sweet potatoes, happy and excited to be making their house a home for their very first fall together as a married couple--- spending the evenings chasing fireflies in the fields out front and eating tangerines and figs on the front porch while the sun sets, dipping toward him in an oversized hoodie over her sundress, catching his mouth, slick, slow, stealing a million kisses, breathing him in, giggly and joyful and adoring, keeping close to him--it’s easy, being his wife--she thinks; it feels right---natural--like she was put on this earth to do just that; it makes her feel invincible, safe. Like everything in the world is right. It’s the best thing she’s ever done, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever get over the pure, unbridled perfection of it--of being able to call herself his wife, for life, or the wild, raw feeling of absolute happiness it sends through her heart every time she thinks about it or somebody calls her Mrs. Lancaster, or even, when she catches a glimpse of their wedding pictures, framed and dappled in sunlight in their living room.

It’s quiet now, a lazy Sunday evening. The only sound is the rain hitting the roof and the pane of the half-open window, a cool breeze pouring through the lace of the curtain, tickling their skin. It’s peaceful, and she’s comfortable – all nestled close to him, craving warmth and affection. They’re napping on their bed, and she’s draped loosely around his back with her chin resting on his shoulder, the silk of her dress all warm and sleek against his skin. Her fingertips skate down his bare arms, slow and slight, electric with subtle affections, and she breathes out gently through her nose prior to pressing her lips to the junction of his neck and shoulder. The kiss is soft and sweet, and she drags her lips in slow, doting kisses along the incline of the back of his neck, murmuring a loving little ‘heeeey--you awake?’ her voice sweet and melodic, not wanting to wake him up if he’s still dozing off. Outside, it continues to rain, and for several long minutes, she forgets that anything in the world but him exists, her heart racing.

#nicholas #newlyweds;#fall starter time 2 write them Married

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littlewhitetie · 6 years

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Silence: Part Three

An anti-Galra nanoweapon leaves Keith ill and Shiro badly injured. It’s up to Lance and Allura to find them, take care of them, and get them home safe and sound.

(Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | AO3)

“—re not going back. Not yet. N-not without… the ingredients.”

“Are you kidding? Shiro, you can barely breathe. Your heart could give out any minute!”

“Thousands more will die... without the flowers.”

“The flowers can wait!”

“No. They c-can’t.”

Allura blinks her heavy eyelids open. A spectrum of pinks and blues dances in her vision, sharpening into crystals. There’s a furnace pressed against her, restricting her movement—Keith. And the two bickering, Shiro and Lance.

Disentangling herself from Keith’s arms, she pushes herself up into a seated position.

“Morning, Princess. How’re you feeling?” Lance asks.

“Much more rested, thank you,” she says. Her limbs are still heavy and she’s a touch lightheaded, but she should have enough energy to carry Shiro. “We can get going now.”

“Great!” Lance says. “Back to the city it is, then.”

“No,” Shiro says, firmly.

“We can go back and get the ingredients later,” Lance says. “You’re more important. Besides, they’re the ones who did this to you in the first place!”

“Lance.”

“I know, I know, we should still help them,” Lance says. “I’m just… I’m just worried. Not just for you, but Keith too. His fever’s getting worse. …Are you really gonna put his life in jeopardy too?”

It’s a fair point, and an unfair question.

Shiro grits his teeth, a pained expression falling over his face as he’s crushed by the weight of the decision. The shake in his exhale has nothing to do with the state of his lungs. Still, he doesn’t back down. “Thousands of people’s lives… are at stake. We put our own lives… on the line every day… to help others. This is no different. K-Keith wouldn’t want his life… put first.”

Lance scoffs. “He’d risk his own life, maybe. But not yours. Never yours.”

“For that many,” Shiro says, “he’d know what… the right choice is.”

“Yeah, he would. And it wouldn’t be what you’re suggesting,” Lance says. “We can ask him. We should wake him up and get going anyway.” He reaches over and gently shakes Keith’s shoulder, eliciting a little mumble. Bleary eyes flutter open.

“Hey, man,” Lance says, softly. “I wish we didn’t have to wake you up, but we gotta get moving. Shiro’s in trouble. He’s not doing too good. We should go back to the city and get him help right away, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” Keith says, struggling to push himself up. Allura gives him a hand.

“Keith,” Shiro says, “I’m okay. We need to—to get the atraxeth first. Remember? Thousands of Ferexians… are counting on us.”

“Oh,” Keith says. “Right.”

“But we can go back and get that later,” Lance says. “We should get Shiro to safety first, right?”

“No,” Shiro says, “Don’t… worry about me, Keith. I’m… f-fine.”

Lance scoffs. “Does he sound fine to you?”

“Thousands of lives… are at risk,” Shiro says. “Other people are dying… as we s-speak. We can’t just… leave them to die.”

“But don’t you want to save Shiro?”

Keith’s glassy eyes are wide, torn.

“That’s enough. Both of you,” Allura chastises.

Keith tugs on her arm, looking away. “I—I can’t—“

“It’s alright,” Allura says, as gently as possible. She pulls him in against her and gives Lance and Shiro a stern look from over his shoulder. “We will search for the ingredients for another half varga. If we do not find them within that time, we will cease our search and return to the city. Is that clear?”

“Fine,” Shiro says.

“Yes ma’am,” Lance says. “Alright. Let’s get you guys back into your armour.” He grabs Keith’s white and red cuirass, bringing it over.

“Can do it myself,” Keith mutters, trying to put his boots on but fumbling with the clasps.

“Sure, but it’ll be faster with two of us,” Lance says, patiently. Keith doesn’t protest further.

Releasing Keith, Allura heads over to help Shiro. It’s a bit tricky getting the armour back on when he can’t stand, having to lift him to get the pieces underneath. Before bringing him to a seated position, she presses her ear to his scarred chest, the top of his undersuit now in strips around his arm. His heartbeat is still erratic, fainter than it should be.

“See? St-still beating,” Shiro says. “Don’t know what you guys… are so worried about.”

She shoots him an unamused look before hauling him up from under his arms to lean him against her knees. She armours his left side, and then grabs the rerebrace that will go over his right upper arm. “I’m sorry,” she says in advance. “This may hurt.”

He gives her a wry smile. “I can assure you… I’ve felt worse.”

She’s as gentle as she can be, but he’s still unable to suppress a sharp hiss when she puts pressure on his burnt flesh. She’ll have to be careful when she carries him.

“Ready to go?” Lance asks, after she’s finished putting together Shiro’s armour. Lance has Keith’s arm draped across his shoulders.

“I think so.” She scoops Shiro up into her arms, one arm beneath his knees and the other sliding under his back. “Is this alright?” she asks Shiro.

“It’s fine,” he says, resigned. The frustration lacing his voice is understandable—she would hate to have to be carried like this, too.

“We’ll have you back on your feet soon enough,” she assures him.

“Alright. Let’s go this way,” Lance says, taking the lead. He gestures in the direction of where he went to retrieve the water. “There’s a fork in the path by the pool. We can search the route you guys didn’t take.”

They set out at a snail’s pace, Keith sluggish and stumbling. At this rate, it could be half a quintant before they reach the city. The notion hollows a deep pit in Allura’s stomach, but she makes sure not to give it a voice.

“Sorry,” Keith slurs as they travel, well aware he’s holding them back.

“Hey, none of that,” Lance says. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re moving this fast, all things considered. Don’t push yourself too hard, alright? I know that’s, like, a crazy concept for you, but we’ve got a long walk ahead of us. We gotta pace ourselves.”

Allura smiles to herself: Lance has matured so much. Gentle, encouraging, supportive; she’s grown quite fond of this version.

Many doboshes later, they reach the little pool. The shallow water sparkles, blush pink crystals lying just beneath the surface. True to Lance’s word, there are two routes they can take. Shiro directs them to the unexplored path on their right.

They venture deeper into the cave. The sounds of ragged, heavy breathing and footsteps in slow motion echo through the pink-lined tunnel. It reminds her of their ticking clock, and needs something—anything—to distract her from it. She has to lessen the weight of the anxiousness smothering them.

She dives back into her earlier conversation with Lance. “So, in your Earth ‘bowling’,” she starts, her vocal chords at their normal volume but her voice still too loud. The words feel awkward and wrong, abrupt and incongruous with the circumstances, but she continues anyway. “The aim is to throw the ball past your opponent to destroy all of their ‘pins’?”

Lance blinks, caught off guard by the strange question, but then he casts her a grateful smile. “Not quite. You don’t really throw bowling balls, at least not hard; you just roll them. You’re just trying to knock the pins over, not destroy them. And you’re not really trying to get it past anyone, either. You just kind of take turns in a line.”

A genuine laugh bubbles up and out of her. Humans are adorable.

“Why’re you guys talking about bowling?” Keith slurs.

“Uh, why wouldn’t we be talking about bowling?” Lance retorts. “It’s awesome.”

Keith scoffs.

“Okay, yeah, not really,” Lance admits. “But cosmic bowling was super cool. Best birthday party ever.”

“What’s that?” Keith asks. “Cosmic bowling. I know what a birthday party is.”

“It was like regular bowling, except some things glowed in the dark, and…” he pauses. “Okay, yeah, that was about it. Stop judging, Princess.”

She tries and fails to wipe the light amusement from her face.

“Glow in the dark is kind of a big thing on Earth when you’re a kid. Like these crystals?” Lance gestures at their surroundings with his free hand. “I would’ve lost my mind if I’d seen this when I was younger.”

She follows his indication, looking around them, and—the crystals are different here. While the cave they’ve explored so far has been covered in glowing blues and purples and pinks, the walls and ceiling and floor here have shifted to a vivid tangerine.

It feels different here, too. There’s something humming in the air, reverberating in her marrow. When she focuses, she can sense the faint murmur of… quintessence.

“I think they’re close,” she says. They reach a junction, and she nods leftward. “This way.”

She chases the dim, pulsing sensation. Their half varga is almost up, but they’re almost there; she can feel it under her skin. The crystals graduate from orange to goldenrod as they get closer.

Just when their deadline is about to run out, they reach a grotto. It dazzles in bright yellow. A massive crystal rests at the centre, radiating quintessence. And around it, sprouting between crags of crystal, are delicate sprigs of shimmering flowers. Atraxeth.

“You found it,” Lance says, eyes wide as he drinks in the beauty around them.

“We did,” she says. “Rest for a moment while Lance and I gather these,” she says to Shiro and Keith, setting Shiro down.

Lance guides Keith to take a seat. “Yeah. Take a quick breather,” he says, with a clap to Keith’s shoulder.

“’Kay.” Keith immediately crawls closer to Shiro, curling up at his knees like a kitten and closing his eyes. He’s asleep in an instant.

Allura and Lance approach the centre of the chamber. The atraxeth is even more beautiful up close, its petals opalescent and sparkling, its stem and leaves like sea glass.

“They’re lovely,” Allura says, reaching between the crystals and plucking one.

“Yeah,” Lance agrees, doing the same and holding it up where he can inspect it like a gemstone. “Almost a shame they’ll be pulverized into powder. They’re gonna be all squished, too, carrying them back—we’ll want our hands free, so I guess we’ll just have to shove ‘em into our armour? …Unless…”

He places his hands on the sides of Allura’s helmet. “May I?” She gives a short nod, and he lifts her helmet off. Carefully, he tucks the sprig of atraxeth into her hair. “There,” he says, beaming. “Perfect.”

The two work quickly to gather the remaining flowers. There aren’t all that many of them, though supposedly they’re highly potent, and the powder from a few can be diluted enough to treat thousands.

Lance deftly weaves the rest of the flowers into Allura’s hair. It only takes a moment; he must have practice with this sort of thing. He takes a half tick to admire his handiwork, pleased with himself, before placing the helmet back over his head. “Alright. Let’s—”

“Guys?” Shiro’s voice is quiet but frantic.

There’s a large snake slithering full speed toward Shiro and Keith. No—two. They’re different from the ones they’ve seen before, glittering chartreuse with glowing eyes a few shades brighter. They have more teeth, too: one of them flashes its mouth open to reveal several rows of wicked sharp fangs.

Allura sprints toward them as fast as she can, and Lance materializes his gun, opening fire. Lance manages to hit one, stunning it, but the other slips past and lunges for Keith and Shiro, jaws wide open.

Shiro lurches forward to protect Keith. His shield won’t come up—the electricity from his arm destroyed his armour’s functionality—so he uses his left hand to thrust his right arm forward, blocking its jaws with that. The armour from his elbow down shatters as the fangs pierce through, the dull clang of metal reverberating through the grotto as they strike Shiro’s arm and hand beneath.

It holds the creature off for a few moments, long enough for Lance to get a hit in. Allura finally gets within range, diving forward to reach the other with her whip.

These snakes are much stronger than the others they’ve encountered, and Shiro has to block three more bites before Allura and Lance are finally able to take them out.

By the end of it, Shiro’s breathing is brutally laborious. “Don’t be—don’t be alarmed,” he gasps. “But I think I’m gonna… pass out.” And with that, his eyes roll back, and he collapses.

Keith jolts awake as Shiro hits the ground beside him with a thud. “Shiro? …Shiro!” He looks around, eyes saucer-wide as he pieces together what happened. “I—I wasn’t—I should’ve—I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—”

“Hey,” Lance says, trying to keep his voice level despite his eyes screaming panic. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“He’s still breathing,” Allura says—it’s impossible not to hear. She lifts Shiro’s limp body into her arms. “Let’s get going. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can get him help.”

Keith shoves himself to his feet, stumbling as he lurches forward.

“Whoa, easy, man,” Lance says, catching him before he faceplants. “We gotta pace ourselves, remember? We can’t tire ourselves out too fast.”

“Fine,” Keith mutters, though he still pushes himself as he sets their pace, heading back the way they came.

By the time they reach the pink pool again and start retracing Keith and Shiro’s steps, Keith is flagging.

By the time they reach a three-way junction, Lance is bearing most of Keith’s weight.

“Which way did you come from, Keith?” Allura asks.

“Um… Righ—no. Left? …Not… not the middle, but…” His face scrunches up as he tries to think. “I—I can’t remember which. I-I’m sorry—“

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it,” Lance says. “We’ll wake Shiro up and ask him.”

Allura shifts Shiro in her arms. “Shiro? Please wake up,” she says. She shakes him a little. “Shiro?” she tries again, but he doesn’t stir. She tries to push down her panic.

Lance reaches over and pats at Shiro’s colourless cheek a couple times. “Hey. Shiro.”

Shiro’s still breathing, but there’s no response.

Allura sets him on the ground. She tries shaking his shoulder one more time, this time more vigorously, before undoing the armour that remains covering his right arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, as she wraps her fingers around the bandage covering his wound and presses down.

It elicits a noise between a groan and a gasp, pain twisting Shiro’s features. His eyes crack open.

“I’m so sorry, Shiro,” she says, “But we had to wake you. We’ve reached a fork in the path, and we need to know which way you came from.”

“’m sorry,” Keith says. “Sorry I couldn’t remember—“

“It’s… okay,” Shiro manages, through clenched teeth. “We—we stuck to the… right wall. So just… k-keep taking lefts.”

Lance smacks his hand to his helmeted forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that? Of course you guys would’ve chosen a smart way of doing that. I should’ve known.”

Allura should have figured as well. If they’d thought about it strategically, they’d have arrived so much earlier, and Shiro and Keith wouldn’t be—

“I-I knew that. How did I forget that?” Keith says, his voice shaky. “Why can’t I think straight?”

“It’s alright,” Shiro says. “We were hit with a—a virus, but Allura and Lance’ll… get us back soon. Get you feeling better.”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “The Ferexians will have that cure ready for you by the time we get back to the main hospital. Allura made sure of it.”

Her method of ensuring that hadn’t exactly been her most diplomatic moment—it may have involved a threat or two—but it had been effective.

“We’ll get Shiro fixed up, too,” Allura promises. “We’ll get him into a healing pod as soon as we’re out of this cave.”

“After we’ve… delivered the ingredients,” Shiro says.

“Wrong,” Lance says, “Castle first.”

“No,” Shiro insists.

“Yes.”

“Lance,” Shiro says, warningly, attempting to put on his leader voice.

“Shiro,” Lance mimics, not budging an inch.

“This again? Are you quiznaking kidding me,” Allura mutters. “Listen, you two. Here is what we are going to do. We are going to split up once we exit the cave. I will take Shiro back to the Castle, and Lance will bring Keith to the hospital and deliver the atraxeth. There will be no more arguing. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Shiro says, a touch petulant.

“Right. Yeah,” Lance says.

With a quiet huff, she picks Shiro back up and starts down the left path.

They make it about another half varga before a faint serpentine hiss hits her ears, coming from somewhere ahead of them. She halts. “Something’s ahead,” she says, voice hushed. It sounds like a snake, though the ones they’ve seen so far haven’t made a sound.

The intermittent hissing gets louder. She materializes her bayard. “Whatever it is, it’s coming our way.”

She scans the walls around them, finding a slight recess, and sets Shiro down there. Lance brings Keith over, leaving Keith beside Shiro and pulling out his bayard. He stands guard in front of the two, sniper rifle at the ready.

Keith unsheathes his blade and activates its sword form, staggering forward.

“Whoa, hey, you should hang back too,” Lance says, holding onto his shoulder. “Just take it easy. Let me and Allura handle this.”

Keith shakes his head, defiant. “I can help.”

“Keith, you’re barely standing,” Allura points out. “Don’t put yourself in unnecessary danger. You need to rest.”

“I’ll be fine,” Keith says, the little pucker in his brow unfading.

Allura tries a more tactical approach. “You’re unwell. You’ll be putting us all at risk if we have to keep our eyes on you instead of focusing on the fight.”

Keith glares at her. “I can—”

“Keith,” Shiro interrupts. “If something comes, I’m not gonna be able to… do much like this. I’m gonna need… s-some protection. Can you stay back… here with me?”

Keith nods. “I’ll protect you, Shiro,” he says, stepping back. “Not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Lance flashes Shiro a grin. “Good thinking.”

Shiro gives the slightest of nods.

Allura advances, ready to be the first line of attack. The hissing is loud, now, yet still there are no footsteps.

It finally approaches, and sure enough, it’s a snake. The thing slithers toward them alarmingly fast, deep purple and glittering. What looks tiny in the distance grows and grows… and grows. It’s huge. Its beady eyes flash with dangerous intent.

Allura runs forward to greet it. She pulls out her whip and, as soon as it’s within striking distance, lashes at it with all her might.

The hit doesn’t even leave a mark.

She tries again, this time striking its neck, but her whip can’t get past its hard scales. The creature is completely unfazed, barely noticing her.

She goes for the neck again—maybe if she hits it in the same spot repeatedly…

The thing slithers straight past her, heading toward the others. No. She turns on her heel and races after it. She can’t let it get to them.

Lance shoots at the creature, but his shots don’t seem to do a thing. It continues on course, straight for the three of them.

“No!” Allura cries. Desperately, she leaps and throws herself at the snake, wrapping her arms and legs around it as tightly as she can. She can barely reach around its thick body. She can’t do a thing to hurt it, but her presence does get its attention.

The thing twists itself into a knot, trapping her in a tight bind, and squeezes. She can’t help but scream as the pressure forces the air from her lungs and fractures her armour piece by piece.

“Allura!”

She can hear footsteps as Lance runs forward. A dull clang resounds over and over. He must be striking at it with his broadsword, and from the sound of it, it’s not doing a thing.

It constricts tighter, bruising every inch of her. Tighter, and tighter.

But before it shatters her bones, a sickening squelch interrupts the rhythmic thuds of Lance’s sword striking hard scales, and the pressure relents. The snake’s body goes slack.

Allura gasps for air, taking several greedy gulps before slowly climbing out of its tangled grip.

Dark, sludge-like blood pools under the snake’s head. It slowly oozes from where Keith’s blade is driven through the creature’s eye and into its brain, buried to the hilt.

“…See?” Keith says, bent over as he pants for breath. “Told you… I could help.”

And then he drops to all fours and heaves.

Startled out of his shock, Lance dashes to Keith’s side, holding him steady and sitting him back when he’s finished throwing up what little there is in his stomach. He curses. “You okay, man?”

Feebly, Keith nods. “’m fine.”

“Allura?” Shiro asks. “How’re you?”

“I’m alright,” she says. Sore as quiznak, but nothing’s broken as far as she can tell. “My armour is ruined, though.” Most of it is on the ground in pieces.

“Can—can take mine,” Keith says, still panting.

Allura shakes her head. “No. What if something else attacks?”

“Then you’re gonna need it,” Keith slurs.

“So will you!”

“You’re doing most of the fighting,” Keith says. “I’ll stay back. You two’ll keep us safe.”

“But we just—“

“You can do it,” Shiro says, his voice faint but steady with conviction. “We know you can.”

“Armour’s heavy, too,” Keith adds. “Will be easier to walk without it.”

“…Alright,” she concedes. “If you’re sure.”

Shiro nods, giving her a weak smile.

Keith and Shiro have faith in them. They won’t let them down. “We’ll get you home,” she vows. “Just hang in there a little longer.”

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #fanfic #allurance #sheith #(both could be interpreted as platonic or romantic)#hurt/comfort #because it's me #silence fic #littlewhitetie writes #took me long enough

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artbeacondsm · 6 years

Text

june first friday

via Scott Kaven, Waiting Lady, mixed media on paper, 2012.

first friday :: mixture with gustav

Come to Mainframe Studios to visit over 60 art studios and enjoy a unique pop-up menu by The Tangerine Food Company. Ben Schuh and Scott Kaven of Gustav Art are putting together an action-packed night for Des Moines. Come see their projection mapping installation that incorporates responsive digital imagery with fine art and music by master electronic saxophonist Tommy Doggett. They'll also show a selection of works prepared for Des Moines Arts Festival.

thursday 5 PM dsm Magazine 15th Anniversary Unveiling, Hilton Des Moines Downtown

friday 9 AM Lindsay Kay Designs, Corydon State Bank 5 PM Group Show Opening Reception, Moberg Gallery 5 PM Checkpoint: An Introduction to Child’s Play, Public Space One 5 PM First Friday: Mixture with Gustav, Mainframe Studios 5 PM Pop Up Ames!, Design On Main 5 PM Pre-worn, Reborn: Shop the Spread, Paige Peterson Photography 5:30 PM DMAF Curated: Resonant FiELDS, Mars Cafe 7 PM RECLUSE / The Lift Present: Cerebral Terrain, The Lift 7:30 PM Pictures of Vision Art Reception, The Basement

saturday 11 AM Not “Just” Art In the Park, Dallas Center 4 PM Pamela McKenna Art and Design Series, Frameworks

sunday 4 PM Kneeskern’s Return to Zanzibar’s, Zanzibar’s Coffee Adventure

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Art Beacon is supported with monthly financial contributions provided by Visionary and also through individual support on Patreon. Your support helps us spread the word about artists making and showing their work in our community.

#des moines #art week #des moines art fest

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Note

For my last Valentine's Day request, how about some Ace x Nami for the prompt "chocolate fondue"? Happy writing!

Word Count: 4,400

Romance, Drama, Angst, Tragedy

Summary: Nami will let Ace be selfish, just this once.

Why is it that every AceNa story that I write is angsty as hell? TT.TT At any rate, I hope you enjoy this, hun! As always feel free to request again sometime! ^.^

Selfish

Nami slowly, methodically swirled the punch around and around the faux crystal glass in her manicured hands as her hawk-like eyes watched the well-dressed patrons meander around the ballroom. She was sitting alone at one of the decorated tables, legs crossed to strategically display just the right amount of thigh but not enough to reveal the presence of her Climatact holstered just below the junction of her leg and pelvis. Her brown eyes flashed within the holes of the mask she was wearing, a white one with little kitten ears and tangerine-orange accents that match the embroidery of her regal silk gown. As she stalked her numerous mice, the cat thief slowly brought the glass to her lips to primly sip at the spicy punch. Her eyes soon bored into the businessman who was sweating just watching her every saucy move.

Bingo, she thought, unable to keep her lips from curling into a smirk. He would perceive it as more flirting, anyway. She set the glass down and took her clutch, turning to make quite a show of her walking up to the refreshments table by swinging her hips provocatively.

Seducing gross old men isn’t my favorite pastime, but… Their wallets never disappoint, she thought with a devious giggle as she approached the table.

The Straw Hats’ next destination was Saobody Archipelago, better known as the entrance into the New World, but there was just one island before that stop—this one, so appropriately dubbed the “Island that Never Sleeps.” It had established a name for itself due to the overwhelming population of rich persons of all backgrounds—from those who had crawled their way from squalor to those born into royalty—and their proclivity to throw nightly parties beginning the instant the sun set. It was another desert island, but somehow they had retrofitted it into a partying oasis—magnificent castles surrounded by man-made pools and shrubs and palms. It truly was a grand metaphor for making something out of absolutely nothing.

It was only one night until the log pose reset; it would have been reasonable for the Straw Hats to simply moor within the bay and wait for it to adjust before getting underway, but the Straw Hats never did the reasonable thing, did they? Luffy was just chomping at the bit to get off the boat, and for once Nami was willing to indulge him. After all, this was a pickpocket’s treasure trove. Nami was going to pilfer every Belli she could between sundown and sunup. So here she was, leaning over a table dunking a marshmallow into the chocolate fondue fountain in plain view of a wealthy silk merchant she recognized from the East Blue.

Giggling demurely, she flashed him a wink before bringing the soft, spongey sugar confection to her lips and very suggestively swirling her tongue around it to lap up the liquid chocolate. She had to avoid cringing as his face turned an ugly purple-red and he tugged at the collar of his shirt that had been hugging his bulbous neck even before Nami had begun her operation. It was enough to almost make her abandon her efforts, imagining his sweaty hands on her as he pulled her in for a dance, but she reminded herself of the fat wallet just peeking out of the pocket of his waistcoat.

It’ll all be worth it in the end, Nami.

“Tell me,” purred a smooth voice suddenly. Nami gasped as a bulky frame in a tuxedo suddenly forced its way between herself and her target, and she looked up to see a brown-haired, freckled man adorned with a tiger mask that had plastic flames licking at the ears and whiskers, “do you put on such a show for all your admirers, or just the ones you want to relieve of their Belli?”

“What the—?” she cried and stood up on her tip-toes to watch in dismay as the merchant was hauled away by his wife, who was scowling and dragging him by the ear. Surely the grinning man in front of her had alerted the woman to her husband’s debauchery.

“You jerk! He was probably carrying ten thousand Bellis in that wallet!” she huffed as she pouted up at him dourly. There was no point in denying his accusations; besides, she had this strange inkling that he really could care less about her sticky fingers and was more interested in her. Well, if he wanted to play with Nami, she was sure she could find something on his person worth her time.

Cooing, she traced her index finger abstractly over the thick muscle of his pectorals. “That’s all right, though,” she said with fluttering eyelashes. “If you went through all the trouble to get me by myself, surely you have a lucrative offer, no?”

The muscle bulged beneath the black fabric of his tuxedo as he rumbled with laughter, making Nami’s finger bounce as she held it right over his sternum.

“So, this is why you were known as the Cat Thief in the East Blue. That pretty face sure does hide a devious mind, doesn’t it, Nami?”

The blood drained from her face as he all but revealed her identity and brought his face close, breathing puffing before her nose. Her eyes widened behind the mask, which apparently did little to shield her identity.

“What the—? Who are you?” she growled as her hand inched for her Climatact. He ignored her, reaching out to grab a strawberry and douse it in the chocolate pouring from the fountain. She licked her lips compulsively as he brought it to his mouth and bit down on the end of it, glittering dark eyes watching her from the holes in the mask. She stomped her foot, angry now that her prey had all but been wrenched from her with no offer of recompense.

“Look, buddy, unless you’re gonna reimburse me for my lost money or turn me into the Marines, I don’t have time to waste with you!”

“Reimburse? How about a dance, then?”

Nami scoffed and tossed her head as she rolled her eyes. The sheer incredulity! Still, she knew he was only doing it because he could so easily blackmail her; several high-position Marines were in attendance at the various parties in session across the island, including this one. He knew her name and face, and all it would take was one word and she would be thrown in a jail cell.

“Just one. That’s all I ask. As soon as we’re done, you can get back to relieving all these upstanding citizens of their monetary burdens.”

Nami peeked at him out of the corners of her eyes, arms crossed as she considered the proposal. His smirk was playful, mischievous, but not malicious as far as she could detect. There was some air of familiarity about him that was just tugging at Nami, inclining her to agree. A dance was harmless, and he didn’t seem to have any other angle besides enjoying the pleasure of her company. Snorting air out of her nose, she made another chocolate-covered marshmallow and popped it into her mouth.

“All right, Mister, you have a deal,” she conceded once she swallowed, then held out her hand for him to take. She cocked an eyebrow as he lightly took it and brought it to his mouth to gently press a lingering kiss to the top of her hand. Normally she would be creeped out, but the way his eyes glittered at her from within the tiger mask send electricity shooting up her arm and a blush creeping over her face. Tousled hair like wild grasses above the orange and black-striped mask, dark eyes pulsing with a dull heat, freckles above a confident sneer, and a body like it was sculpted by the gods, Nami would be a fool not to say the man was stupidly sexy—and that voice. Like honey dripping from his tongue, it was enticing and potentially dangerous. Nami very well could find herself stung by the end of this, but dammit if it wasn’t making her all hot and bothered.

Why did she have the nagging suspicion that she had heard it before, though?

Grinning at her all the while, the suave stranger pulled her out onto the dance floor amongst the other well-to-dos waltzing to the string quartet in the corner. Nami, now entranced by every move he made, could only be the puppet to his command as he guided her into proper position, a large hand resting at the small of her back while the other held herself aloft in a light grip. Her other found his broad shoulder automatically, fingers digging a little into the dark fabric.

“You finally look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he remarked playfully as she slowly eased her into the motions. Nami flushed but, ever trying to keep the upper hand, returned his smirk with a demure smile and flutter of her lashes.

“Well, what girl wouldn’t be enjoying herself in the arms of such a handsome man?”

His shoulders jumped up and down with deep, rumbling chuckles. Every one made his thick chest bump a little against hers; he was holding her closely, familiarly, but somehow Nami didn’t seem to mind.

“What’s so funny?”

“If you knew who you were talking to, I don’t think you would be flirting with me so hard,” he snickered, looking back at her. “It’s not like I have any money you can pilfer off me, so you can stop with the roaming now.”

Nami gasped; she was caught red-handed. Her hand had migrated down from his shoulder to feel up his pockets, finding them frustratingly empty. She really had been drawn into a useless venture, and daresay outwitted. She pursed her lips childishly at him.

“I still don’t get your angle here.”

“Angle? Don’t have one, aside from dancing with a gorgeous redhead.”

She was annoyed with her body’s insistence on responding to his honeyed words by gradually reddening her skin, making her unbearably hot. His smile was ever-present, roguish and toothy. She stared hard at it. She knew that smile, dammit, she knew it!

“You really don’t recognize me, do you, Nami?” He sounded sad at the prospect.

Nami huffed and glared up at him.

“Well, how am I supposed to with you covering your face like that?”

“I knew who you were the instant I saw you.”

She flinched. Why did that affect her so much? The only way someone would be able to recognize someone under a mask is if that person was seared into their mind, every detail, every mannerism, every single bit of them preserved in immaculacy… His hand slowly traveled up the length of her spine, leaving goosebumps everywhere his fingers ghosted, but strangely she did not find it disgusting. She actually found herself arching into his touch, squirming a little so he would touch her more. Her eyes became lidded and her breaths heavy. It was like he was playing her body like an instrument he had mastered. His fingers skipped over her neck to tangle into her short waves of tangerine hair.

“I always thought your hair was so beautiful… The way it catches the sun and glows, like it’s on fire,” he breathed. When did his face get so close? It was angled, lips only centimeters from her own, those eyes sparkling like the sea at night.

Fire… she thought distantly.

He looked her face up and down, always trailing to her bangs peeking above the top of the cat mask.

“So gorgeous,” he breathed as he continued to stroke her hair. “An orange fire, the color of a desert sunset…”

Fire… Desert… Her mind was hazed, drunk on his innocent touches, but somehow the pieces finally clicked in her mind.

“Ace?!”

“Took ya long enough,” he laughed good-naturedly.

Nami’s face was the desert now, bright red sand and burning heat. She gulped loudly as she just stared stupidly at him. What were the chances of meeting him, of all people, on the Island that Never Sleeps, of all places?! Now it was painfully clear why she had been so at ease and willing to go along with his playful goading; it was Ace, for crying out loud! Oh, the fact that it was him and not a stranger flirting with her was definitely doing some kinds of things to her. She wriggled in his grasp, not necessarily trying to escape but just suddenly very hyper-aware of her dress hugging her slim body.

“Ace… What are you doing here? I thought you were looking for Blackbeard.”

“I am. I caught wind he stopped here for some shady business dealings.” Of course. With all this frivolity and wealth, there was no question there was a seedy underbelly. “I’ve been party-hopping trying to gather information. From what I’ve heard, he’s already left. Just missed him. He went to a neighboring island to keep from attracting the Marines’ attention.”

“If you know all this, why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go after him?”

“Well, I was,” he shrugged, then flashed her a wolfish grin. “But then I saw you…”

Nami gulped again as the fire brightened in her cheeks. His face was still that close, his whispered words just barely preventing their lips from touching. She found that hers were tingling with the anticipation and desire of it. It didn’t make much sense, really. Their time in Alabasta had been dreadfully short, certainly not long enough to develop any meaningful relationships… But Nami would be remiss to deny that she wasn’t attracted to him. He wasn’t only physically attractive, but there was just something so magnetic about his personality. Nami had thought about him since then, wondering if he was safe in his search of Blackbeard… Wishful thinking, wondering if once all was said and done if he would come back to Luffy and join his crew instead, even though she knew damn well that he was loyal to Whitebeard completely.

She didn’t realize tears had bubbled up in her eyes until he was sweeping the rough pad of his thumb over her cheeks, catching them as they fell.

“That’s not fair,” she growled at him. She was angry, and sad, and happy, and all kinds of things that made her mind a confused, combative mess. “You can’t just show up here, and say these kinds of things, and expect me to just watch you leave never knowing when I’ll see you again. That’s not fair.”

They had stopped dancing and were just standing in the middle of the floor. Her posture was rigid; all her muscles were screaming to wrench and twist out of his arms, but there was a part of her that relished his hold on her, the way their burning skin touched and send signals propagating across her nerves like fireworks.

“Ace, dammit, I- nnnngh!” she finished off with a frustrated grunt because she really wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. She was most definitely confusing physical attraction with love because she couldn’t possibly love him. But her heart was aching, as it had been with the “what if” hovering over her head ever since Alabasta, and she wanted to both slap him silly and grab him by the front of that stupid hot tuxedo and kiss him until she wasted sure what he tasted like anymore, and surely that was love, wasn’t it? Nami didn’t know, and that made her cry more because she knew whatever the case, she was still going to have to watch him go.

“Nami,” he sighed, both his hands holding her flushed cheeks now. They were so warm. So comforting. She leaned into his touch, eyes closing and pushing more tears down her already tear-stained face. Her emotions going from zero to one hundred almost instantaneously left her weak and she stumbled into him, her feeble hands digging into the front of his tuxedo. His broad frame supported her shaking body as she looked pleadingly up at him.

“Why are you doing this? Why would you do this to me? Of all the selfish, mean, conceited—!” She began punctuating each insult with a slam of her balled fists into his chest. “Egotistical, self-centered, cruel, selfish—!”

After she had rattled off at least a dozen insults, he grabbed her wrists and jerked them up to his face, staring pointedly at her as he held them.

“I know, Nami. It’s not fair,” he conceded with a heavy sigh.

Oh, no, she didn’t want that sad look on his face. She would take it all back. She didn’t mean it, because God, she had never seen such a broken man before.

“It’s not fair, and it’s selfish, but I’ve thought of you every single day since I left that desert.” He kissed her right fist, then the left, lips lingering on her knuckles as his face scrunched up in pain. “Every single day,” he whispered again, and she almost wailed in dismay as his voice cracked. “I know it’s not right. I never should’ve approached you at that damn fondue fountain. I should’ve just left you none the wiser, because it’s not right, saying all these things to you and then leaving. But I just… In that moment… I didn’t think I could go on like that, with just a memory to love…” He was crying too. She could tell by the thickness in his voice, and the tremble in his hand as he took a piece of her tangerine hair, her hair like the desert sunset bright and blazing, between his thumb and forefinger.

She leaned forward, pressing the forehead of her mask against his and wishing that those stupid pieces of plastic weren’t between them.

“Well,” she said in a shaky, shuddering breath, “I guess if you’re selfish then I’m selfish too.”

Before he could look at her in confusion, she slapped her hands against his cheeks and yanked his head down to draw him into a burning, sloppy, desperate kiss. His hands were still wrapped around her wrists and they squeezed so hard she thought he might snap the bones, but then her hands were free because his hands had a bruising grip on her hips, tugging her closer. Every inch of her melted over him, her body burning and molding like lava fresh from a volcano. Ace wasted no time in shoving his tongue into her mouth and Nami welcomed it, swirling it feverishly with his. He tasted like that chocolate-covered strawberry with mute tones of punch, and it had her reeling. She groaned as her knees buckled beneath her but his sturdy body and harsh grip kept her from collapsing.

“Ace—" she gasped, jerking back, but his face insistently chased hers to reclaim her lips with furious fervor. “Ace—!” she repeated adamantly, once more jerking her face away from him despite how much she would like to keep on. “We’re in the middle of the ballroom; we can’t keep making out like this!” she whispered harshly. She could already feel prickling gazes on them.

“Fine,” he said gruffly.

She squeaked in surprise as he grabbed her by the wrist and began dragging her off the dance floor in the direction of a hallway she knew led to private rooms. Her face blazed with blush at the obvious insinuations. She stumbled over her heels, legs jellified after the intense kiss, and couldn’t even find the words to explain that they should probably part ways before it got too heated… Did she even want to explain, though?

The thick plush carpet muffled the frantic clacking of her heels. Once he had hauled her around the corner he was on her again, pushing her up against one of the doors and hands slamming into the hard mahogany on either side of her waist. Nami moaned into the hot, open-mouthed kiss, prompting his tongue to tango fervently with hers again. Her hands jumped into his thick, curly brown hair, scratching at his scalp as she fisted the strands. Frustrated with the constant clinking of the plastic, he growled and wrenched her white-and-orange kitty mask off, chucking it down the hallway as if it had offended him. Nami’s constant ministrations in his hair loosened the small string securing it around his head, and eventually it snapped, sending it bouncing off her heaving chest to fall forgotten to the floor.

“You’re so… fucking… beautiful,” he snarled affectionately as he grabbed her jaw to angle her head, other hand diving into her fiery red hair again. All Nami could do was clutch onto him as he lavished pent-up affections onto her, a desert sky slowly being tinted red by the burning intensity of a dying sun.

She squeaked as his thick arms suddenly yanked under her thighs to hook her legs around her waist. As they snapped closed around his hips, he pushed her into the door, and she could feel his rigid abdominals flexing with every intense move of his body.

“Ace, the door, the door,” she groaned as she was crushed between the wood and him. She heard him scrabble at the metal for a minute before it finally clicked and the door fell away from behind her, making her jump back into open air. His arms wrapped around her back to keep her in that hungry kiss. He stumbled over the threshold, kicking a few times until he found the door and successfully shut it. Nami felt all the hair on her body rise as she heard the switch of the lock.

He didn’t bother switching on the light or the lamp; the moonlight and lights of thousands of surrounding castle windows were plenty enough to illuminate Ace’s way. He carried her over to the bed and they both fell into it, his heavy weight sinking her down into the mattress as he all but fell on top of her. If she had any breath, it would’ve been forced out of her, but she was already reeling from the intoxicating, dizzying kiss that he kept greedily sucking her into.

All of his actions up until then had been feverish and desperate, nearly battering Nami with their intensity; suddenly, his touch was soft as he pulled back and ran the pad of his thumb over her bruised lips. She gazed at him through lidded eyes as he dipped down to drop soft kisses along her neck, and she automatically craned her head to give him unrestricted access. His hands roamed up and down the side of her body as if he were committing her curves to memory. His lips painted across her neck and across her collarbone then back up the other side of her neck in a circuit, before finally arriving back at her waiting mouth. The kiss this time was soft, gentle, yet somehow more passionate than the ten minutes they had just spent tearing at one another. Her eyes fluttered shut as she could only yield to its feeling.

“I love you, Nami. I mean it. I really do,” he whispered against her mouth as his hands rubbed circles into both of her thighs, exposed by how the fabric of her long dress had bunched around her hips. “Don’t ask me how. It’s stupid, falling in love with someone you barely know, but I—"

“Hey,” she said, opening her eyes to catch his unsure face in her hands. She smiled sweetly at him. “I don’t care how it happened. All I care about is what you’re gonna do about it.” Her eyes glittered as she all but challenged him. A roguish smile flashed on his lips and he crawled further up her body, her legs angling as he kept them pinned to his waist.

“You truly are a seductive, devious woman.”

“Part of my charm, right?” she purred. Her eyes searched his face, recording where each of his little brown freckles was located. He didn’t make any move to kiss her again, allowing her to do so. Her finger came up to start connecting them like a constellation. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you keep being selfish?” She wanted him to. She knew he had to leave, and he probably wouldn’t even be there in the morning. He would probably dip out as soon as she fell asleep, resuming his hunt for Blackbeard. She knew that was his duty and she would never ask him to forsake that. She would never ask him to forsake Whitebeard, either, because she knew what it meant to be loyal to someone. No, she would never ask that of him…

“Will you be selfish, and not forget about me, even if our paths go two totally different ways?”

He smiled warmly as he ran the tip of his nose along her jawline, dropping kisses onto her flushed skin all the while.

“Of course, Nami,” he breathed into her ear before kissing her temples. His lips lingered in her sunset hair for a long while as he struggled with the emotions that were threatening to spill over. “I’ll come for you,” he told her suddenly. “I’ll come back. Somehow, someday, I dunno when. But I’ll never forget, not ever.” He pulled back to look down at her, burning honesty in his eyes.

She wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, fingers twisting around his slightly sweaty brown locks.

“Okay. Then that’s enough. Now get down here and kiss me.”

He chuckled slightly and did as bid, and her eyes fell closed again as she savored his lips rolling over hers, dripping with love that should not be but was present nonetheless…

Sometimes, things don’t work out like you want them to. That was a hard lesson that Nami learned, the day she read that newspaper and that one night of passion flashed in her mind like the spinning reel of a movie. Every kiss, every touch, every breathy declaration of feeling… They burned bright in her memory, like the desert sun doomed eternally to hover just above the horizon, forbidden to sink and disappear no matter how much it wanted to. She crushed that paper to her chest as the tears streamed down her cheeks, but he wasn’t there to wipe them away that time. They just fell, two rivers of clear water unable to cease flow.

But Nami was selfish, and she never forgot. Not ever. Even though it hurt like hell. Because sometimes the memories most worth keeping did.

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