#void face kissers line up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kaeyas-beloved · 2 years

Text

Waking up before/next to them

Includes: Childe, Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Zhongli

Summary: What it's like waking up before/next to them (and then some) <3

Genre: Fluff + HCs

Warnings: Use of Childe's real name, spoilers for Liyue Archon Quest, Kaeya favouritism??? Just a little? Some repetitiveness? (like one or two lines), I definitely get off the main topic once or twice (it's all connected tho!), Xiao’s part is a little different from the others, pretty sure some parts of this doesn’t make sense???

Childe

Waking up with Childe, the blankets have more often than not slipped down your bodies, no longer draped over your shoulders.

Somehow in his sleep, this lovable dork has made it where he's laying on top of you. Could be only half on top of you or he's completely smothering you. There's no in-between, sorry not sorry

Being crushed by him is remedied easily by the sight that greats you - Ajax, with messy yet soft sunset curls tickling your cheek and an expression void of the usual playful grin. What you see is not the jovial Childe but an ordinary man, unguarded with one of the most carefree, relaxed smiles you've ever seen.

It is because of this you refuse to wake him up (on the off chance he's not awake before you are that is) for the sole reason of being able to bask in this rare moment.

Ah, then again, even if he was up already chances are (if there's nothing pressing in his schedule) Ajax will opt to spend ‘just five more minutes' cuddling in bed with you. He’ll be pressing kisses to every part of your face he can reach, showing his love in one of the best ways he can five minutes turns into an hour if he has any say in it

All throughout his smile never leaves. You bring him so much joy; you are his happiness <3

Diluc

Warm. It's so warm waking up with Diluc. Not the unbearable kind of heat though, the kind that's comfortable; the kind that keeps you in bed for hours under the safety of the covers.

You've always woken up with your head tucked into his chest, strong arms wrapped around your frame as he holds you close. There's usually some of his red hair that tickles your skin - how could it not with how close you two are? - but it's welcomed. At least you get to see his hair down.

Watching his tired, sleep filled eyes open is somehow magical to you??? Just the way that the shiny red of his irises reveal themselves to the world, connecting with yours, it’s more than enough to have your heart beat a little faster.

Maybe it's magical because you never thought you'd be able to see such a sight.

But in truth it’s the same for Diluc. To think he would wake up with some he loves snuggled into him; to be able to watch as they wake each morning. It’s not something he thought possible for him, but oh is he thankful he has this luxury; has you.

From the moment you start your day you are enveloped by him - his heat, his scent - and he you. Both of you wouldn’t have it any other way <3

It’s a damn shame that it’s short lived 99% of the time. Or it just never happens, not with the redhead’s busy schedule. The rare days that Diluc can spare though are the days both you and he try to make it last for as long as possible. The winery is silent and all you can hear is each other’s breathing and heartbeats; holds on one another growing just a bit firmer, your silent I love you’s. A gentle kiss to the forehead can be expected from him as well, a husky ‘good morning’ along side it.

And when the both of you begin to hear the clatter of the maids in the kitchen, then, and only then, will you two begin to rise and start your day.

I may be a Kaeya kisser but waking up warm, cozy, with a kiss and in Diluc’s arms is a dream come true; 10/10 get yourself a Diluc

Kaeya

Another one that, when you wake up, will be holding you close <3 The only difference between him and Diluc is that Kaeya will be found having his legs intricately intertwined with yours, his second way of holding you close (the other being his arms of course)

You’d think being cuddled up to him would cause chills to wrack your body. In truth though, it’s the exact opposite. Within Kaeya’s arms, pressed against his bare chest and soaking in the morning sun you couldn’t be warmer or more content.

Most days Kaeya is up and ready before you even see the sun - duty calls, you understand this. Still, the cavalry captain makes it routine to leave only after pressing a kiss to your forehead or cheek.

On days he’s off though, he more than happily sleeps in and stays wrapped up with you. And it’s here, as he sleeps off the fatigue from last nights work that you take in all that is him.

If you're careful then it's possible to tuck some strands of his hair from his face, fingers just barely grazing his skin. Thoughts filter into your mind: yeah, he's pretty even when he's asleep. So unguarded too, no flirty or calculative façade. There's just Kaeya. Perhaps he's not only resting from work but from life as well?

When he awakes though everything changes. Peace has exited and in walked chaos

It's lively after he's fully woken up, more kisses than on normal work days come your way. Fleeting, teasing and long, passion filled ones. There's definitely some teasing words thrown in there too if he caught you staring at him.

You can’t escape his affection either, not when he holds you tight, chuckles falling from his lips and a wide smile adorning his face as he watches you playfully struggle and squirm. He'll even tickle or lower the temperature of his hands too. Simply, it’s playful fun <3

Xiao

Being a yaksha, sleep is just something Xiao doesn't require. Honestly probably views it as meaningless in regards to himself.

However. Sometimes, in the early morning hours after defending Liyue, Xiao will silently come up to your room in Wangshu Inn and do one of two things

Either he'll bring up a seat to your bed side just to link pinkies with you, content in watching you rest with him acting as your protector

OR (and this may be a stretch of his character but it was cute so go with it) the adeptus will crawl into the empty space next to you, careful to not disturb your sleeping form. He won't climb under the covers with you but rather just lay atop the blanket.

He’ll drape an arm over you, his other unoccupied one bending so it can hold up his head. Again, he is content will just watching you sleep the night away, your peace something he treasures. His one wish is to keep everything safe around you so that you may continue to sleep as unguarded as you do now.

Come morning when you finally wake up it's always a happy sight to see Xiao next to you (his cheeks will tint red if you smile up at him <3). From there Xiao will stand, as will you after some time, and the motions of your day begin.

Zhongli

You? Waking up before this man? Impossible. I can’t nor will believe it

Ok ok say you somehow do: you’ll more often than not find yourself resting your head on his chest, an arm securely around your waist.

There's only two scenarios where you get to see Zhongli with his hair down - in the late evening while he's lounging around the house and now, when's he's peacefully dreaming. The way his long, silky hair flows around him - on the pillow, over his shoulder, in front of his face - is just mesmerizing in your eyes. You could spend the whole morning alone following the stream of locks.

Much like Xiao, Zhongli doesn’t require a proper nights rest. Still, after stepping down from his immortal duty, he’s eased himself into the life of mortals, content with fitting in to their way of life. Into your way of life.

But like I mentioned this man is up before you hands down. That being said, every time you awaken there’s always the smell of freshly brewed tea, a steaming cup set on the night stand waiting for you. At the edge of the bed will sit your lover, his own cup cradled in his hands.

He’ll greet you with a smile, voice deep and soothing as he wishes you a good morning. Really, you couldn’t be happier with that being one of the first things you see every morning.

Tag list: @spoopy-fish-writes // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @stage-lucida

. . .

Wanna be tagged in future works? Consider filling out this form! And if you want to be removed just DM or send an ask into my inbox!

[Masterlist]

[Genshin Masterlist]

977 notes · View notes

vinnieswife · 3 years

Text

Hyperactive

Vinnie hacker x reader

Warnings: smut,dirty talk,daddy kink,choking kink idk lol

Words: 2178

It's a stormy afternoon, clearly you just wanted to stay in bed, sleep or watch some series on your laptop, clearly those were not Vinnie's plans.

Let's be honest, Vinnie is a hyperactive person, he can't stop still for two seconds, and it's something you love but God, at the time of sex his endurance surprises you, he could give you 4 rounds in a row without stopping, with the same pushing force than the first round.

And there you were trapped in Vinnie's arms begging you for some action.

"Oh lord Vin it's 7 pm,you are unbelievable" you tell him laughing.

"Oh come on please, just one round, please"

"You are a liar, do you think I'm stupid ?, when you say -one round- you literally mean 3 rounds at least"

He suppress a laugh "come on I promise, just one"

“What I get if I accept your deal? Huh? "

"Cuddles and I promise that I will watch My Little Pony with you"

"That's a good deal" you smile.

Then he approached and placed himself on top of you, one hand on one side of your head and the other caressing your neck, then he cut the distance between your lips and his, biting slightly your lower lip, while your lips collided with each other he caressed with his tongue over your lower lip, asking for permission, to which you opened your mouth to allow his tongue to lightly caress yours. Vinnie is a great kisser, his kisses can make a thousand butterflies flutter in your stomach or that a bad day has a happy touch.

"Can I take this off?" He have ask referring to your (his) shirt. His kisses began to go down your jaw leaving small bites and bruises until they reached your neck, he sucked on your soft spot making you moan, and grab his curls, he smiled against your skin while continuing to leave marks on your neck and shoulder.

He bit into the gap where your neck and your shoulder come together to get a loud moan from you. Your skin lit up with every kiss planted on your skin, with every little touch that Vinnie's stomach had met your abdomen when he leaned further down.

His kisses descended further to your collarbone and the top of your breasts. "may l?" No matter how many times Vinnie had seen you naked, he would always ask you a thousand times.You nodded smiling, his hands traveled to your back, undoing the hook of your bra. Vinnie took off the piece of fabric from your body, observing your breasts and leaving a kiss between them.

His mouth traveled to one of your nipples, wrapping his mouth around it,his tongue moving in gentle circular movements around the bundle,while his hand twisted and pinched the other.

Out of nowhere Vinnie gently bit your nipple down making you moan at the sudden movement.He smirk against your skin leaving there a few kisses before keep going down.

He kisses your ribs, your sides and your abdomen stroking your hipbones. His strong (and hot lmao) hands stroke your thighs and slide down your shorts,also he remove your underwear with his teeth.

He start teasing your thighs biting on them lightly,making bruises and stroking them with his hands.Then he plants a kiss on your clit making you gasp at the sudden pleasure,his tongue explores your folds tasting you, you moan and tug on his hair making him groan sending vibrations though your pussy making you squirm. Long, satisfying wet stripes were dragged from your core to your clit, where he would suck and pull with his lips, leaving your legs shaking and toes curled.

Vinnie looked up and made eye contact with you, his dark gaze making you want to tug at his hair and release you for him right there. His eye contact was so seductive and commanding, it made the butterflies in your stomach flutter even more, and even more so when he thrust his tongue into your core, testing you in every way possible. He start to the tease your entrance with his tongue slipping it in and out in an agonizing slowly pace.

“Vinnie please...”you beg

“Please what love? Finish the sentence”he smirks,making eye contact with you,stopping his movements.

“Please I need more Vinnie”

“Oh love,that’s not my name,say it right”

“I’m sorry vi-daddy please”

“That’s better baby”

He kisses you clit,sucking harshly on it making you moan at the roughness,his finger run over your folds easy slipping in your entrance,he start pumping in and out at a fast pace,biting lightly at your clit every often.

“Can you take another one princess?”oh he can be a dick sometimes,and also a fucking dom in bed,but he’s never going to do something without asking if you are comfy with it.

“Yes I can,please”

He ads another’s finger pumping both in a faster pace than the one before,he just loves the sign of you begging under him,asking him for more and of course he’s gonna give it to you,he start massaging your clit with his tongue moving it side to side or just sucking on it.

"You're doing so well baby... I love you so much," he murmured into your folds, his tongue licking all your wetness.

"I love you too but ..." you breathed, unable to finish your sentence. I could hardly pull the words out of your mouth, your vision was starting to blur, white stars were burning in the corners of your eyes. With a few more pumps you come undone on his fingers moaning loudly,your hand flying to Vinnie’s hair tugging on it harshly making him moan,the vibrations giving you more pleasure even when you just come.“Taste sweet as always love, did I make you feel good princess?” He mumbles kissing your bruised thighs.

You nod with your head, not having the force to talk.He start moving upwards kissing your stomach,your ribs,your breasts stoping at your neck giving to them a couple os kisses.You grab his face with both of your hands,pulling him close to kiss him,you two just separate for air when the kiss started getting too passionate.

“Vin please...”

“What do you want love?, cmon tell me” he says looking at your eyes.

“I-I want-t you t-to...”

“Words Y/n stop mumbling things like a slut who doesn’t know what she want”he grabs you by your throat gripping it tightly

“I want you to fuck me hard”

“Beg for it then”oh god,now you know the game have just started.

“Vinn please,make me yours please” you start kissing his neck for a little push.

“Do you want me to fuck you dumb love?”

“Yes please,I will be good I promise”you lol at him with pleading eyes and he kiss you harshly,biting your lower lip making you moan loudly.

You broke away from the kiss for a brief moment, images from the night before flashing through his mind, leaving his mind wandering to think of you right now, or a few seconds in the future. "You under me, like last night." He returned his lips to yours, kissing you fervently, taking your breath away as you moaned into his mouth, giving him the green light that it was okay to move on.

"Moaning." Once again, his words mixed with your lips. His phrase sent chills down your spine.

"Screaming my name."

More butterflies churned in your stomach. He knew exactly how to get you where he wanted.

"Your hands ... Grabbing my hair, running them down my back."

His soft lips parted from your lips with a gasp, where he began to descend, moving from your chin to your neck, kissing the bruises left the night before.

"You ... You squirm with impatience while I would bother you."

His voice was warm, but soft and husky, and still dark in the evening . He invited you, asked you to indulge yourself more deeply and lose yourself in his touch, in his tempting mantle of entertainment.The front door of the house rattled shut, indicating that you and Vinnie were left alone "I guess that's my signal," he chuckled, pressing his lips against yours once more, kissing you feverishly."Your signal was when I kept begging you," you reminded him in the kiss, their words intertwined as he laced his lips with hers.

A playful smile appeared on his face, your lips pressed against his teeth as he gets closer to you, his chest now pressed against yours. "So needy, right?"

He wakes up to take off his sweatpants and his underwear, when he get completely naked you keep looking.

"Mmm-hmm," you confirmed, running your fingers through his hair, grabbing him so he could rush up and insert himself inside you.

“Vin please”

Vinnie's hungry kiss sped up when he finally heard your pleas. He lined up with you, his tip brushing against your folds sending an impatient impact through your torso until finally, he thrust into you, a loud moan came out of him and you moaned loudly into the kiss.

Slowly, Vinnie's pace began to pick up, filling you completely now each time, your back arched off the mattress. The kiss became hungrier and more necessary, Vinnie nibbled your bottom lip very gently as he grew hungrier for the connection that would fill the void between space and time, that would fill his void for more of you. . Another thought crossed his mind as he took your hands, placing them above your head, intertwining your fingers with his.He gently moved inside you, watching your face intently as he writhed in pleasure, he moved closer to your face and whispered into your lips.

"Open your eyes and look at me." He said softly, but you understood the order. You opened your eyes and found his eyes immediately, watching you intently as he rolled his hips towards you gently, slowly picking up his pace.

"That's princess. Are you okay?" He said kissing your neck, his hand reaching up and grabbing your chest, caressing it in his hand.

"Vin harder,please." You moan and, to his surprise, you met his every thrust, your hips brushing against his. He kissed you generously for your answer, and did what you asked by moving his hips faster, earning a moan from you; Your nails dug into his back harder. His slow, gentle impulses soon became fervent and needy, every time you let out a groan, he quickened the pace chasing your release, desperately wanting to see you wake up beneath him.

"Vin." You moaned: "I'm so close."

"Let it go, doll." He said taking his thumb towards your clit adding additional stimulation, you had to bite your lip to avoid screaming.

"Come for me precious, let me feel you come". You loved listening to his dirty talk while I pound into you, reaching your orgasm at an alarming rate.Vinnie covered your mouth with his hand, muffling your cry of pleasure but not by much. Vinnie's own orgasm followed immediately after yours when he held his hand over your mouth, desperately trying to muffle his own sounds of pleasure by biting his lip and he spilled himself deep inside you, his trusts coming to a stop,

Then he got hold of you and let you rest on him. Vinnie kissed the top of your head as both breaths slowly returned to normal.

"How are you doll?" He asked in his deep, husky voice for a deep love affair.

"In good right now but I'm completely sure that I'm not going to feel my legs tomorrow" You whispered against his chest, lavishing his chest with soft kisses. Vinnie leaned his head against the pillows enjoying your kisses immensely and knew for a fact that he was chaining you to this bed and keeping you here forever.

"Good night Y/n"

“Good night Vin”

950 notes · View notes

jaskiersvalley · 3 years

Text

Weight of Feelings

Witchers had no emotions, that was a common fact in a world where everyone sagged under the weight of their feelings. Spines curved under the pressure of emotions, the more someone felt the harder they crumpled. Positive emotions helped ease the pressure but, given the state of the Continent, nobody could hide their misery. In a world of curved spines only Witchers walked fully upright, void of all emotions, untainted by the weight of feelings. The straightness of their spines was a privilege that set them apart, made them hated. Thankfully they were unable to feel anything in the face of hatred that was thrown in their direction, even being spat on and abused didn't curve their backs.

Jaskier was one of the fortunate, he had a small hump on his back but, by and large, he was unaffected by his emotions, happy and sheltered enough to be one of the less afflicted. He trailed after Geralt, feeling his victories and success for him, buoyed by his glory. All through it Geralt never changed. Even when they were chased from a village without pay, his back remained ramrod straight while Jaskier's hunched a little.

"Why don't I come with you for the winter?" Jaskier asked and Geralt stared flatly at him. It wasn't an outright refusal but silence wasn't explicit agreement. Undeterred, Jaskier pressed on. "I want to see the might of Kaer Morhen so I can better write about you. Give me the source of my inspirations."

"You'll be bored."

"Not when you're around. And your family. I bet they have some great stories."

"We're not some spectacle." If Jaskier hadn't known better, he would have accused Geralt of feeling annoyed. But his shoulders didn't come forward with the new weight of frustration so Jaskier would have been wrong.

He wheedled and pestered until Geralt grunted. When he turned to head to Kaer Morhen for winter, he didn't chase Jaskier away.

"We won't do anything different just because you are there," Geralt warned as they headed up the path. As odd as it sounded, Jaskier didn't expect them to be any different. He'd travelled with Geralt for years, knew what to expect. He wasn't going to be intimidated by Witchers and their perfect posture.

The first sign of something not being right was when they arrived and a stooped old man leaning heavily on two canes greeted them.

"Vesemir," Geralt said giving the man a squeeze to the shoulder. "Are the others back yet?"

"Eskel's a day behind you, Lambert three."

Merrily standing in front of Vesemir, Jaskier introduced himself. Maybe the old Witcher had suffered an injury while fighting and that was why he was so stooped. There had been a fair few fights Geralt had come out of that left Jaskier marvelling about his ability to heal.

"I will wait for Eskel," Geralt declared which made no sense.

Jaskier was given his own room and he made good use of it. Over the years he had come to terms with the fact Geralt couldn't feel, would never look at Jaskier with love, affection or anything of the like. It didn't stop him fantasising about running hands down a perfectly straight back, adoring the strong lines of it. Jaskier had enough love to give, he didn't need Geralt to return it.

Just as Vesemir predicted, Eskel arrived the next day, just as perfect as Geralt despite the scars. He looked to Geralt, eyes flashing wider but Jaskier assumed it was a learnt motion to try and seem more human. The small shake of head from Geralt suggested that they were doing some kind of strange Witcher communication and Jaskier shrugged. He didn't need to understand everything.

That night Jaskier was in his room, getting ready for bed when he heard voices from Geralt's room next door. The words were muffled and he had to press against the wall to hear better, curiosity winning out over respect of privacy.

"I'll do you first, I had a shit year."

Which was an interesting thing to hear, Jaskier didn't think Witchers had shit years, at least not in the traditional sense. Thinking about that, Jaskier almost missed Geralt's reply, "Since Jaskier I've had it better. Not that he knows."

"Well, Wolf, he's about to find out the truth."

There was a lit of rustling that Jaskier could barely hear before an audible gasp of pain was accompanied by a rattle of something being dropped.

"Breathe through it."

Cheeks heating, Jaskier didn't want to imagine what the two were doing. But if he was correct then he was going to have to give a very subtle talk about the many merits of lubricants and polite practices.

"Your turn," Geralt rumbled, voice strained.

Jaskier jumped away from the wall at the pained cry from Eskel and the sound of a body hitting the floor. Without thought he was rushing round, barely having the moment to grab the bottle of lube from the floor next to the bed. Brandishing it, he knocked and opened the door without thought.

"Oh." He was frozen in the doorway, jaw lax with shock. Eskel was on the floor, spine horrifically curved while Geralt was hunched as he stood over him. They were both shirtless, two similar corset-like contraptions on the floor next to them.

Familiar eyes stared at him and Jaskier knew that all the sadness and anger he had imagined over the years hadn't been made up after all. Geralt's back curved even more the longer Jaskier stared, forcing him to crane his neck to keep looking at him.

"The fuck?" Jaskier managed to grit out, lube all but forgotten in his hand. "What's going on?"

The short answer was that Witchers weren't as emotionless as everyone believed them to be. Instead, they had perfected the art of corsets that kept them straight for most of the year. In the winter, they could finally shed the contraptions and spent the months trying their best to uncurl enough that, come spring, they could cram themselves back into their corsets for another year on the Path.

Two days later Lambert arrived. He took one look at Jaskier and snarled a vicious "no" even as Geralt and Vesemir greeted him. Eskel was still in bed, unable to get up just yet, his spine too twisted to walk even with the support of a frame or crutches.

"It's okay," Vesemir tried to reassure but Lambert wasn't having any of it.

He stepped back, shaking his head. "I will not humiliate myself in front of a human."

"You can't spend all winter in your corset."

No matter how much they argued, Lambert refused, staying far from the others to make sure nobody could surprise him and take the frame holding him upright from him.

At least Jaskier didn't mind. He was far too busy trying to prove to Geralt that he didn't care for such a heavily curved spine. His lot in life was shit, the emotions he carried weighed a lot. Slowly, under his gentle care, Geralt's spine began to straighten. Jaskier was allowed in Eskel's room too, his songs and chatter helping him.

Lambert lasted two weeks before he sought Geralt out, glaring and Jaskier. With Geralt dragged away, Jaskier spent the night alone. But the next morning Lambert was at the table, as twisted as the rest of his family, eyes haunted.

Jaskier liked to think he helped the others with his presence. He kisser the twists of Geralt's spine, whispering soft sweetness in his ears, revelling in the way weight lifted off tired bones under his touch. Come spring, Jaskier bore witness to the agonising task of the Witchers wrestling themselves back into their corsets.

"After Deidre I had to sew extra supports into Eskel's one," Geralt had whispered one night. "You can still see the scars from where the bones snapped as he dropped, piercing his stomach and lungs."

Each Witcher needed the help of the three others to get into their garb. There were curses, yelps and lips bitten raw but once again there were three upright Witchers ready to head out on the Path. Emotionless, backs perfectly straight and faces void of anything other than blankness.

Returning to the world, Jaskier didn't say anything. He still kissed Geralt when he could, standing on his tiptoes to reach familiar warm lips. They made their way up another mountain, hoping to beat the others to the dragon. It all went so horribly tits up, Jaskier didn't even know what had happened. One minute he was trying to entice Geralt to a break on the coast, a little time to themselves. The next Geralt was hurling rage filled words at him, crushing his hopes. Somehow the worst was when Geralt turned away. Something pressed harshly on Jaskier's back, his shoulders hunched and he staggered under the weight as his spine twisted. It hurt, he cried out but Geralt didn't turn around.

Alone, twisted and in agony, Jaskier had no other option. He crawled down the mountain.

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #the witcher #bitter ending #tldr: feelings have literal weight

69 notes · View notes

ecrivant · 3 years

Text

under the yoke | porco galliard

(porco galliard x reader)

an exploration of porco’s life after the warriors leave for paradis, told through a collection of vignettes.

word count: 2.8k

He sat, crumpled, clutching a hand which bore bloodied and broken knuckles, unfeeling. His white clothes, once pristine and perpetually ironed and representative of honor and heroism and potential, were now marred by redness. Covered in the eviscerated gore and dermis which, from his forelimb, surged. The hole in his bedroom door, framed by splintered wood and dressed with remnants of that same sanguinary amalgam. The air, once tenanted by irate bellows and gesticulation, stood oppressively still. Occupied, now, only by his swallowed sobs. From the window: the muffled, revelatory sounds of the Warrior commemoration ceremony one street over; and he, in his room, washed in the quiet, aching aftermath of ebullition. Another roar, hoarse, abraded, a guttural eruption. He launched forward in an attempt to lash out, again—at the door, the wall, himself—but his legs buckled beneath him and his palms, outstretched by instinct to catch his exhausted form, scraped against the floor, leaving bloody trails in their wake. His corporeal pain, once numbed by rage, now crept along skin and burrowed into bone, and he cradled his own form, laid fetal, and wailed. A prolonged, cathartic cry which propagated another, and another, until his lungs burned, raw and void of breath, and head thrummed, and soreness and anguish within him suffused. From outside the window, a cheer; within, cries, spates of ‘why’s,’ directed at no one. The Armored Titan, squandered—his own failure from which he already imbibed such abject and indefinite nemesism. His mouth tore open in a disfigured cry; no sound emitted. A breathless, silent whine; vision blurred by tears.

Sight and sound dissolved as blood poured from his wounds, relentless. Numbness returned—he remarked from afar the peaceful exit from his own body. He was vaguely aware of his door slamming against the wall as it opened. His name, a hazy and distant vocalization, repeated, urgent. A violent shaking of his body. On his cheek, a soft touch. He maybe saw your face. Concerned, no, fearful eyes. His own voice, thick in his throat, pathetic and begging and desperate:

“Please just let me die.”

The tremors of footsteps on wood, of weak limbs. Then his brother, his mother. You. The vague feeling of being lifted to his feet, of being stripped of his clothes, of being laid on the bed. A cloth, cold on tender skin.

Marcel’s embrace.

Sleep so abnormally dreamless and pitch that he was sure he had died, pervaded by a feeling of absence.

He awoke in the darkness of night and felt he was not alone. Eyes adjusting, he saw one body in a chair next to him, another in his brother’s bed. His entirety complained, aching. A low groan escaped him. The one in the chair stirred at the sound and eyed him in the dark. He could all but see the scrutinizing gaze. A grip on his uninjured hand, squeezing. His brother’s whispered apology.

Marcel rose from his seat and roused the other, who groggily sat up and listened for a moment before rushing over to the bed. Another hand in his, this time soft and un-calloused, and timid. He, now acclimated to the dark of the room, saw your scrunched face and teary eyes and quivering lip. You bowed your head to hide them, instead bringing his hand to your forehead, still trembling. As if in mourning.

“Let him sleep.”

A gentle command, for your sake and not his. He wished for you to embrace him but could not bring himself to say it.

—

He woke to his mother’s insistence that they see Marcel off. He first thought of you.

“Mom, don’t make him go.”

He felt his brother approach his bed, slow, timid. A kiss on his temple. A whispered promise:

“I’ll be home soon.”

—

He staggered as he climbed out of bed. The bandages on his hand and forearm, the hole in the door—ugly reminders of his abortion. Weak fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Fresh blood seeped through the gauze around his knuckles, spreading over the fibrous surface like a creeping, infective redness.

He made it to the port just as the boat undocked and withdrew from the shore. He saw you in the crowd, hand excitedly waving in the air as if a flag enlivened by breeze.

He returned home and undressed himself and laid back in bed and closed his eyes just as his mother reentered the house and forthwith tended to her sleeping child’s wounds.

—

A knock at his door.

“Porco? It’s Pieck and Zeke.”

“Tell them I’m alright.”

His mother bit her lip before shutting his door again.

He did not wish to see them, though he thought of them each day. Becoming less like people and more like deformed effigies begotten from his own envious thoughts. Though a given, since the beginning, that Zeke would claim the Beast Titan, he considered that he could have inherited Cartman. A moment of clarity told him Pieck was more than deserving of her inheritance, and he flushed with guilt. The candidacy, Reiner, they had made him so spiteful.

Still, he did not wish to see them.

Another knock at the door. He repressed the annoyance that flared in his chest.

“Yes?”

He could not help the edge that slipped through.

His eyes widened when you stuck your head around the door. Eyes asking for permission to enter. He moved to make room for you on his bed, granting it. Mattress dipping as you sat. Your hands gently turned his injured arm in inspection—its gauzy covering now gone and replaced by a dusting of red-rimmed scabs and pale, white scars. The haphazard gash in his wrist nearly but a memory. The touch, gentle, nearly imperceptible. Again feeling guilty, as he had not thought of you in weeks, though you should have been the first to which he turned. Your non-affiliation with the Warriors was something he unknowingly craved. Soft fingers grazed his arm and the sillage of your scent hung in the air, calming him. He needed your touch, a same and even greater need than that night before the Warriors’ departure.

You did not speak and instead wrapped your hands around his. Heedful of his injuries. Even in the dim candlelight of the room, a ray of moonlight flooded through the window and struck his floor—an expansive stain of red, impossible to fully remove, illuminated. You gazed at him, sad, as if you pitied him. He wished he had not seen it, perhaps he was not meant to, and he asked you to leave before he could suppress his anger. He spurned your pity.

You were surprised but not hurt: instead, he was met with a melancholic look, one of understanding. As you walked out, shutting the door behind you, he wished you had been hurt—he envied your emotional control, your empathy. Hot tears spilled from his eyes, and they blurred his view of you leaving the front stoop and walking down the street, swallowed by the night.

He grabbed his pillow and hurled it at the wall. It landed with a dull thump. If he was anything like you, he could have controlled his anger and kept you with him. Spent the night in your presence. He gritted his teeth and slammed back onto the mattress, taking notice of the missing cushion. He rolled to the side and slept without it.

—

He could not say when he finally rescinded the grudge he held against Pieck and Zeke. He began talking to them again, finally caving on his self-imposed strike after realizing he was lonely, but it felt more like a return out of necessity. He was not sure he truly missed their companionship; though dulled, the spite and anger and jealousy were all still present.

At the same time, he immersed himself further into Marley’s all-encompassing military-industrial complex. Endearing himself to Magrath. Continuing his training. Helping where he could. As if to fulfill some sick, vicarious fantasy where he was a Warrior, as well, only left behind with Pieck and Zeke. The schmoozing felt insincere, dirty, yet he continued, to what end? He was worse than Reiner—a fucking ass-kisser with no goal in sight. Subconsciously aware his constant exposure to Marleyan army affairs only exacerbated and prolonged the pain of his failure.

“Why still be involved?”

He frowned at your question—a large part of him assumed you would support him, regardless. At least support him based on the fact it was somehow comforting for him, a twisted form of self-actualization. He narrowed his eyes as you continued.

“Maybe it’s better this way. You—”

You cut yourself off, hesitant. He urged you to say your piece, an edge in his voice.

“If you’re not a Warrior, you can live a long life.” With me, the implicit addendum. He ignored it, quiet long enough that you felt emboldened to continue.

“Sometimes this war, it feels so pointless.”

Faced with futility. Your extrapolated silver lining. Something repressed urged him to give in, to agree. Whether flaccid will or a desire to live with you, he could not be sure. You had always felt so nice.

Though he could not, could never, bring himself to despise you, he convinced himself to despise the words you spoke.

“What are you, a fucking pacifist now?”

You shrunk away, the vitriol in his voice, a disarming blow. To serve Eldians was his life’s purpose, and you were meant to support him indefinitely, it being in your nature. You began to speak, but he ignored it. Anger flaring. The more he thought on it, the easier you became to hate. All the years he had known you, you were nothing but a backgrounded entity. His very antithesis. Your affinity for pacifism was no surprise to him—it was very much like you to sit to the side and wish for things to happen instead of taking it upon yourself to actualize them. You moved through life without purpose, a passive body with no real substance. It was a wonder he had ever liked you at all.

“You know it should have been me. I should have been the one to go to Paradis, not Reiner.”

The hurt in your eyes urged him forward, though, in hindsight, he wondered if it was your own hurt, or hurt for him, which shone in your gaze. A sadness, pity, that he could not let go of his apparent past transgression, could not overcome his own self-hatred. Were there truly many differences between you?

He lashed out once more, another jab. A sadistic self-projection.

“How can you live a life so devoid of purpose and meaning? Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. I was meant to be a Warrior for humanity, so that’s what I’ll do. And I don’t care how I get there.”

He flinched, less at the words and more at the way some form of the truth so willingly poured from his mouth. Quiet, eerily pervasive. A surge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Like bile. Your tears stung his throat.

“Never would humanity’s true savior be so selfish.”

You stood and turned at the heel and strode off, quickly wiping at your eyes. It was his turn to be winded by your words.

—

He slammed his fist against your front door, rapid and repeated like a heartrate. Your father answered and saw the raw desperation in his eyes and led him to your room. He opened the door and collapsed before he reached you. Spoken through choked sobs—the pain, cotton forced down his throat:

“Marcel is dead.”

Your arms were around him as if your last shared moment, at this point years ago, was not one of bitter vitriol. He, eviscerated by guilt and all but gutted on the floor before you. Your unrelenting sympathy, so willing to forgive his malignity—to think you had nothing but love to give in return for his spite. You held him unflinchingly as he disintegrated in your arms. Unafraid to shoulder the weight of his tangible unraveling. He thought of that moment years ago, alone in his room, bleeding out, a result of his own rage, and realized true pain was nothing like it. To be so utterly excavated by grief and pain that your own form has no choice but to erode into itself. His screams caught in your shirt. He bit down on the fabric, tasting blood.

He lied in your bed that night and felt nothing. Your touch, once so verily craved, was unaffecting. Still, you ran your hands along his sides and caressed the shapely variations of his form, and you pressed your lips to his neck and back, and he allowed you to straddle him and kiss his face and chest and arms and endeavor to extract his pain through your ghostly contact. He knew you felt nice, even if he himself could not tell. Your comfort reached him and dissolved on contact, yet he still indulged and met your touch with his own. Nevertheless unfeeling.

—

From you, he had never seen true anger. Though, when he told you he was to support Pieck in Paradis, he saw it—it was quiet, nothing like his violent, external fulminations. Instead, your stare held unprecedented intensity, some amalgam of rage and fear that made him instinctively flinch; and, for once, it did not seem like selfless emotion. He sadistically reveled in the way you finally felt fear for someone other than him.

He was leaving Marley with some naïve intention of returning, to be with you upon doing so. Yet, you both knew your shared life was a moot point after his inheritance of the Jaw Titan—he had betrayed you, and in some way, his own selfish wishes. He had not matured at all, forever and always a slave to his desires. To die for Marley, you informed him, and no matter how many times he countered with his ambition to save the Eldians and salvage the remnants of his past failures, he invariably, though subconsciously, acquiesced to your position. His ultimate objective: to die for a cause.

Your anger, short-lived, ephemeral, even. It gave way to such harrowing sorrow. He wondered, as he held you, if you finally allowed yourself to cry selfishly, to cry for the death of your own desires.

You kissed him, desperately. Long and sweetly brackish from tears. He laid you down his bed, the one in which years ago he lied as well, craving your embrace in the darkness, and touched fingertips to bare skin. His despairing memorization of your body. Your breathy murmurs, tearful; yourself, a numinous beauty he sought to worship. He could not elude his adoration for you, and as you made love that night, a shared intimacy so imbued with and pervaded by heartache, he knew he would die regretful. His pain and yours, fatefully pre-written. He had always been destined for stagnation, abjection, sorrow, loss—driven by some cruel divinity and jejune, self-sacrificial desire to fulfill his own doomed fate. The cruelty of fatalism.

“Come back to me,” you had whispered.

—

In his last moments, he thought of that night. He did not deserve a final thought so pleasant. He instead thought of you presently, home in Liberio, waiting for his promised return. Is this how Marcel felt, as he breathed his last breath? Did he think of his little brother to which he promised return? He all but laughed at the ironic cyclicality of life. Falco would inherit his thoughts, and his brother’s thoughts, and one day see the reality of anguish and broken promises and futile desire, perhaps on the evening of his own violent death.

—

Through his love, he also immortalized you—forcing you to live on as some perpetually degraded image and, eventually, simply an ephemeral feeling of comfort in those who would inherit his memories. He figured you would hate the thought. Part of him wished he could loose you from this eternal cycle, freeing you from his memory and thus the endless lineage of memory you would come to inhabit. Or maybe he wished for this selfishly, wanting you to be experienced by no other.

—

You would hate his last words, spoken at Reiner out of abject spite, selfish, though they were more of an assurance than anything. A closure for his younger self, whose apparent failures haunted him until this moment.

—

He wished you had not asked him to return; he wished he had not believed he would.

—

He was surprised by his own fear. As he allowed himself to be eaten, he only thought of dying. It would be too painful to think of anything else. Yet, you somehow slipped through, one final time.

—

hey, my first request! thank you @casualityrantfun for your porco suggestion! fleshing out porco’s history was honestly so much fun; exploring side characters’ arcs may be my new favorite thing. also, i’m sorry that this probably isn’t exactly what you wanted; you asked for fluff but i can’t seem to write anything that isn’t tinged with some kind of melancholia.

anyway, thank you all so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed the piece! i kind of fell in love with porco while i wrote this, so expect some more writing for him lol. feedback and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

also also, merry christmas to those who celebrate it! and regardless, i hope everyone has a great holiday weekend! xoxo <3

taglist: @flam3bird

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan x reader #aot imagines #aot x reader #porco galliard #galliard #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard x you #porco x reader #galliard x reader #porco galliard imagine #writing!

140 notes · View notes

ghirahims-trophyhusband · 3 years

Text

My art has been kinda stagnant as I’ve been on my ipad for 2 weeks and not my beloved cintiq, but I’m still going to try and draw, even if it’s only basic headshots until then ghjkfd.

Left: Niamh Weaver, my MCU self insert who makes AIs for a living, is hired to work on Ultron by Tony and then becomes the local Tall Robot kisser. Feels nice to give him a face finally! (also the colour choices in their hair was accidentally blue and pink/red, but fitting since they’re bisexual ghfdgdf)

Right: A test run of making Aldrich look older with grey hairs after some feedback from friends! If I wanted to give them a proper ‘silver fox’ design, I’d likely end up changing their hairstyle as well like I did the lines around their eyes, but this was a fun test regardless! /blows them a kis

(Niamh is a trans woman but does use he/they pronouns, and Aldrich is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns only, thank you!)

#my art #niamh weaver #dread king aldrich coulstra #fo #mcu #if u want to be added/removed let me know uvu #i return to my cintiq tonight thank GOD

16 notes · View notes

ichorai · 3 years

Text

cellmates ; three ; j.wy

parts ; one. two. three. four. five. masterlist. six coming soon.

pairing ; jung wooyoung x reader

summary ; stuck in jail after stealing a necklace off the princess, what happens when your new cellmate with an impossible escape plan comes along?

words ; 4.7k

warnings / includes ; medieval fantasy au, blood and grime and death and everything in between, some curse words, future ateez cameos, future suggestive / mature content, cellmates to (future) lovers !!

a/n ; all i have to say is ...... im sorry ,,, ,,, , it’ll get better i swearr

cellmates masterlist.

The gentle hum of chirping crickets filled your ears as you pushed open the circular window in Yunho’s room. A breezy gust of the night’s crisp air billowed in, blowing pleasantly over your flushed skin.

“You can sleep here for the night,” Yunho had said while shoving rumpled clothes off the bed and stuffing them into a rucksack. “I’ll take the couch.”

“I haven’t slept in a real bed in a long time,” You murmured, dropping yourself onto the thick blanket with a contented sigh slipping past your lips. “Thank you, Yunho.”

The pink-haired man flashed you a sweet smile, and padded out the room with a soft good night. It seemed as if he had given up trying to convince the two of you to stay, reluctantly accepting that you would be leaving in the morning. After he left, you cracked an eye open to see Wooyoung standing awkwardly by the doorway.

“Good night,” He said. It was the first time he’d really seen you at ease; your face void of dirt and hair unmatted and a rather pretty smile teasing your lips upwards. Back when the two of you were in the prison cells, he never really had the chance to look at you properly. But now, as he watched you happily lounge star-fished atop Yunho’s bed, Wooyoung couldn’t help but realize just how attractive you were. The light from the oil lamp casted long shadows over your face, only illuminating your features all the more so.

“It’s not too late yet,” You whispered, and Wooyoung sat down on the foot of the bed when you gestured him closer. “I’m afraid if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up back in the cell. And you wouldn’t be there… like all you were was a dream.”

Wooyoung had little else to say than, “I’m not a dream.” And he reached out to take your hand once more, trying his best to comfort you, but clearly to no avail judging by your skeptical expression.

The both of you could tell the other didn’t want to leave. Wooyoung got up nonetheless, scratching the back of his neck rather bashfully. You wanted so badly to tell him to stay. To ask him to hold you longer. To have him tell you that it was going to be okay.

Instead, you bit your tongue and watched as he left the room, blowing out the oil lamp on the way. The room lapsed into darkness. You shut your eyes, shifting to crawl under the blankets with heavy limbs. The weight of what had happened earlier that day was suddenly crashing back onto you, and you shuddered at the thought of escaping the hands of death just a hair's breadth away. And then you prayed to whichever being out there that would listen.

Please, don’t let this be a dream. Please let him be real.

Wooyoung couldn’t sleep. No matter how hard he tried, and no matter how ridiculously comfortable the bed was, he just couldn’t seem to succumb into the alluring realm of unconsciousness.

So, he did the only sensible thing he knew. He threw the woolen blankets off his legs and made a bee-line straight for your room. It must’ve been hours since he left you, wide eyed and scared on Yunho’s bed. It was probably just the guilt gnawing away at him.

He really hoped this attraction he felt to you was purely physical. That would most definitely cause some problems later on if he didn’t sort it out soon. But Wooyoung wasn’t one to confront his internalized emotions head on, and decided to put it off for some other night of existential dread. For now, he was content with just knocking on your door at an ungodly hour of the night.

“Come in,” Your voice was muffled through the wooden barrier, and it creaked lowly as he pushed it open. “Can’t sleep?” You asked softly, propping yourself up with your elbow.

His dark hair flew into his eyes as he shook his head.

“You can say no if you want,” Wooyoung started tentatively. You could barely make out his figure in the dark, squinting at him through slotted, tired eyes. “Can I sleep here tonight? I can sleep on the floor, I just… I think I got used to you being there.”

Even in the dingy room, Wooyoung could sense your surprise.

“The bed’s big enough for both of us,” You croaked out.

Wooyoung wondered if you were thinking straight.

“Are you sure?”

“I couldn’t sleep, either. Kept thinking about you.”

“I’m flattered,” Wooyoung said, trying to suppress a grin as you shuffled to one side of the bed to make space for him. It was strangely natural, how he laid in the spot next to you, the bed dipping under his weight. Your back instantly molding into his front, a barely-there hum of content released from your closed lips. His nose was in your hair, arms hesitantly laying over your midriff. When you didn’t give him any sign to stop, Wooyoung tugged you closer and whispered like a love-sick fool, “You smell good.”

He could feel your stomach contract as you laughed heartily, “We smell the same. We smell like Yunho.”

“Just take the compliment.” He grumbled.

And then suddenly, you turned in his arms, your face alarmingly close to his. His eyes widened comically, heart just about ricocheting out of his ribcage. Balled-up fists rested against his chest; he wondered if you could feel the thundering of his pulse. Alright, so maybe this attraction wasn’t purely physical.

“Tell me you’re real,” Your voice was a mere wisp of a thing. His ears strained to hear you properly.

He replied in a gentle tone that just about had you melting into him with a relieved exhale, “I’m real.”

“So, Virelis, huh?” The words were whispered, a hint of amusement dancing at the open-ended question. Wooyoung’s eyes flicked down to your lips. His vision had adjusted to the dark so he could see you just fine, but now he was starting to wish he wasn’t able to see you. He didn’t really fancy the idea of you kicking him out of bed for being inappropriate.

“Do you have another place in mind?”

“No, just… it was unexpected. Yunho certainly seemed unsure.”

“He’ll come around.”

A pregnant silence laid over the two of you.

“You don’t have to come with me, you know,” Wooyoung spoke in a muted tone, unsure. “I don’t want you to have to feel like you owe me some sort of debt.”

Pulling back slightly, you shook your head vehemently, “No! I’ll come with you because I want to. Besides, Virelis is probably the smartest option for us. Considering the possibility they won’t shoot us down the moment they see us. We might look Cerulean, but we can’t change that.” At Wooyoung’s doubtful look, you repeated once more, “I want to come with you.”

Before Wooyoung could think twice about his words, he blurted out, “Now that’s a sentence I’d never thought I’d hear from you.”

It took a second for you to piece together the connotations of his words. You scowled deeply, hitting him square on the chest, “Oh, don’t be a child. I’m going to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Don’t go to sleep angry at me,” Wooyoung pleaded with a playful smile on his face. You tried to shift back to your original position, but he kept a firm hold on you, leaning down closer. The previous wavering tension that hung over the pair of you dissipated, leaving Wooyoung in a spur-of-the-moment confidence.

“Then make it up to me,” You said quite breathlessly, eyebrows raised at him with a teasing lilt.

Perhaps Yunho spiked the apple cider, or maybe the two of you were just desperate to have some sort of physical comfort, or it was the fact that you somehow managed to look absolutely ethereal beneath the moonlight. Up this close, he could see the small details; the fading scar across the bridge of your nose, the hint of charcoal still smudged under your jawline, and your enticing lips, slightly parted as you stared up at him.

“And how should I do that?”

“Promise me you won’t snore, and I’ll die happy.”

Wooyoung pulled a funny face, which had you reeling in laughter, “I was hoping you’d propose something else.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Instead of answering, he lifted a hand from your waist to your chin, bringing your face upwards towards his ever so slowly. Your lips met in the middle, warm and tasting faintly of mint paste. Dark hair was threaded in between your fingers as you raised your arms to loop around his neck. Somehow Wooyoung managed to tug you even closer, sealing any remaining distance the two of you had between each other. The kiss started out slow and delicate, but was quick to become frantic and rushed. His hand slipped under the large shirt that you borrowed from Yunho, his cold fingers a stark contrast to your burning warmth.

“We should be sleeping,” You muttered once he broke away for breath, gently leaning his forehead against yours.

Smiling, Wooyoung said with a cocked eyebrow, “Am I really that bad of a kisser?”

“Quite the opposite, in fact. If we keep going, I don’t think we’d be able to stop.” Suddenly, your words become more serious. “I don’t think now is the right time for… this. Whatever this is.”

Wooyoung ran his tongue over the back of his teeth in thought, then nodded slowly. “You’re right… we need to rest up for tomorrow.”

Arms unwound from around his neck, and he let you go back to your original position, the curve of your back resting against his chest and his hand precariously placed on your hip.

“Y/N,” He breathed out, sneaking one last kiss against your shoulder blade. “Tell me you’re real.”

“I’m real, Wooyoung,” You said through a yawn. “Good night.”

The glare of the early rising sun filtering in through the circular window hit you square in the face. You groaned sleepily, burying your face into the cotton pillow but to no avail; the room was light and you were already awake, despite your tired muscles pleading for more rest.

The spot beside you was cold from absence, and you sat up whilst rubbing your knuckles into your droopy eyes. Wooyoung wasn’t there next to you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if last night was nothing but a mere figment of your imagination.

The blanket slipped off of you as you clambered from the bed and onto the colder floor and padded out the room to go downstairs. It was then that you heard the faint chattering of Wooyoung and Yunho’s light-hearted banter, the aroma of honeyed banana oatcakes and hot coffee making your stomach growl. Yunho was the first to spot you, waving you over to the table, where Wooyoung was already helping himself to his third serving.

“Sorry we didn’t wake you up earlier,” Yunho said while pouring you a cup of dark coffee mellowed out with almond milk. “Wooyoung said you deserved the rest.”

Your eyes flickered to said man in the seat across from you, who averted his gaze as a faint red blush settled across his cheekbones. Doubt started to cloud your mind; had you really imagined last night? It had all felt so real.

“I hope you two didn’t get up to anything weird last night. It’s my bed, after all.” Wooyoung hit Yunho on the shoulder with a half-hearted glare.

Oh. So last night had happened. You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or worse.

Clearly flustered, you raised the steaming cup to your lips and took a generous sip. The plate of honeyed oatcakes was pushed across the table to you, Wooyoung sending you an awkward grin.

“I packed you guys everything you’d need,” Yunho said in a tone that was much less cheery, sadness flooding his expression. He gestured to bulky packs that were slumped against the table legs, “Food, bottles, extra clothes, medical supplies, some weapons, matches, maps, a coffers’ worth of gold and silver coins, but I doubt those would be worth much in Virelis - ”

You cut off the pink haired man’s rambling by gently placing your hand over his, “Yunho… we can’t take all this. It’s too much.”

“If I’m not going with you, then this is the least I can do. You guys need this stuff more than I do.”

Although reluctant, you nodded gratefully, finishing off the rest of your breakfast.

“Well, it’s time to go,” Wooyoung said uneasily once the food was all cleared away, heaving one of the packs onto his shoulder. Tears glossed over both of their eyes as they embraced each other warmly. “We’ll send letters when we can, bud.”

That seemed to make Yunho brighten up considerably as he swiped away the tears. He turned to you, engulfing you in a tight hug.

“While you two were asleep, I ‘borrowed’ a boat from the fishermen. It’s waiting for you by the river.” He mumbled while you gripped him back.

“Oh, Yunho,” You said in awe, almost tearing up yourself. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

“Just… look after him, will you?” He jerked his chin to the dark haired man who watched the exchange with fond eyes.

You planted a solid kiss on Yunho’s cheek, watching his features morph in surprise, “I will. I promise.”

The river was loud. It just about drowned out Wooyoung’s voice, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you hadn’t heard a single bit of what he’d been talking about for the past five minutes. With a strained smile, you nodded at him feverishly. He seemed to be somewhat satisfied at your response.

Just as Yunho had promised, there was a small boat tied to a wooden stake, half in the water and half laying on the rocky riverbank. The two of you heaved the surprisingly heavy raft fully into the water, panting while dropping your packs in.

“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” Wooyoung suddenly asked, face an alarming shade of red, though you couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or from pushing the boat. You almost tripped and face planted into the waters at the unexpected question.

“Well… what is there to talk about, really? We didn’t have sex.”

“Does it have to be sex to mean something?”

You went quiet at that. Wooyoung swung his legs over into the boat, and you followed suit as he helped you in.

“I don’t know, Wooyoung. Of course it meant something to me. I just don’t think it’s the best time.”

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be upset, “Yeah, I understand. We can talk when you’re ready, then.”

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence as you picked up the damp oars hanging off the sides. Meanwhile, Wooyoung went digging through his pack to look for a map and a compass. Inside the boat, it felt much smaller than it looked from the outside; your knees kept bumping into Wooyoungs’ with every minuscule rock of the boat.

“We’ll be sailing for a couple days. Should be nice weather around this time. Might get a little sunburnt, but that’s not much to worry about. You aren’t afraid of sharks, are you?” Without awaiting your response, he continued to droll on. “When we get to Virelis, we need to immediately state who we are. They’ll take us in once they realize that we’re on their side.”

“What if they don’t believe us?” You said while maneuvering the oars to keep the boat steady.

“They have to,” Wooyoung muttered firmly. “Why would a pair of Ceruleans willingly walk into Virelis? That’d be suicide.”

“We could be spies.”

“Well, are we spies?”

“You know that’s not what I meant - ”

The boat suddenly jolted as the two of you broke out of the river and spun into the ocean. You struggled to keep hold of the slippery wooden oar shafts, sending a withering glare to Wooyoung, who seemed unperturbed by the disturbance.

“You don’t have to keep rowing, you know. The wind’s taking us in the right direction. At this rate, we’ll be there in three or four days max.”

Hesitant, you lowered the oars and folded your hands in your lap awkwardly. Were you to spend four days uncomfortably staring at Wooyoung? What were you going to do to pass the time?

As if he could hear your thoughts, Wooyoung said without raising his head from the map, “Yunho packed in a book for you. Thought one of us’d get bored eventually, the idiot.”

“Wooyoung…” you fiddled with your fingers in uncertainty. “Do you think we’ll ever go back to Cerulea?”

Finally he tore his gaze away from the map, raising a quizzical eyebrow, “Why would you ever want to go back?”

“I don’t! It’s just… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

Wooyoung’s eyes softened. He gently reached out to take your hand in his, “It won’t be for long. Virelis will be great for you, trust me.”

“Have you ever been?”

A sad smile crossed his face, “Not officially, no. I’ve seen it on the horizon while sailing to another country, though.” You thought he’d elaborate more, but Wooyoung opted to stay silent for once. The more he seemed to talk about his life, the more adventurous and exciting it seemed. You wondered why he threw it all away to be a measly squire for some lord.

The quiet between the two of you stretched out for quite some time. It was a comfortable silence, one that you spent studying Wooyoung’s side profile. He knew you were staring, so he took the opportunity to murmur, “I don’t regret it. Kissing you, that is. I’m sorry if I was weird about it before.”

You struggled to hold off a flattered smile, “You don’t have to apologize, Wooyoung. I think I was just scared. It’d been so long since I’ve touched anybody, and then… you came along. It was just so sudden and I felt as if I wasn’t allowed to touch anyone because I’m a filthy, disgusting commoner. Like… I don’t deserve you.” You gestured vaguely towards him, and he captured your hand swiftly.

“You deserve more than me,” Wooyoung wound your fingers together, pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. Then, more hesitantly, he added on, “Not to sound creepy or anything, but while you were showering… I heard you crying. And it just hurt so much to hear you in pain. Even more so when I knew that I couldn’t do anything to help.”

A small scoff escaped you, “Wooyoung, you broke me out of prison.”

“Oh, right.”

Those were the last words either of you said for a long time. The sun was quick to set hours later, the sky a warm blend of pinks streaking against orange and blending into darker royal purple. You had fallen asleep while reading the little adventure book Yunho had packed, face sticking onto one of the pages. Wooyoung thought you were cute, what with your cheeks smushed against the paper and a subtle pout tugging at your bottom lip. Since he kissed you last night, his thoughts consisted of little else than Virelis and, much to his dismay, your lips.

By the time you had groggily peeled yourself off the book, blinking blearily, it was already dark. The moon was frighteningly bright, casting a hazy pearl-hued glow onto the waters.

“Had enough beauty sleep?” Wooyoung teased, nudging your knee against his.

“It’s your turn,” You drawled out through a yawn. “I’ll make sure we stay on course.”

He nodded gratefully, handing you the map and curling into a little ball on his side of the boat. He must’ve been exhausted, falling asleep just about immediately, deep breaths raising his chest up and down in rhythmic motions.

Being alone with your thoughts now had you thinking. First, you thought of Virelis, and the several promises it held. Just one wrong step, and everything would come crashing back down on you. What were you doing, really? Did you actually plan on spending the rest of your life with Wooyoung, running away from Cerulean guards? What other choices did you have? There was always the option of running away by yourself. But you knew you couldn’t do that; you’d gone and gotten yourself attached to the sleeping man on the other end of the boat.

Besides, Wooyoung was the closest thing you could call family now. You couldn’t just let someone like that go.

He’d been asleep for only an hour or so when you spotted something amongst the horizon. The sky was still heavily laden with darkness save for the glowing moon, sun showing no signs of rising any time soon. Because of this, you took quite some time squinting into the dark waters to see what was there.

At first, you were keen on brushing it off as a jagged rock sticking out of the water, and turned back to the map unfurled across your lap. But something didn’t sit well with you, a queer gut feeling told you that something felt wrong. So you looked back up and stared some more.

“Wooyoung,” You hissed underneath your breath while prodding the man across from you. “Woo, wake up.”

He stirred and mumbled irritably before pushing himself up. His hair was sticking up every which way, eyes tired and droopy.

“What is it?” He asked, voice groggy. “The sharks won’t hurt you, just leave them be.”

“It’s not sharks, Wooyoung. Look,” You lifted a shaky hand to point behind him.

There, floating starkly against the harsh glare of the moonlight, was the silhouette of a large pirate ship. And it was turning straight towards you.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Stay quiet, maybe they’ll just pass right by us.” Wooyoung, now completely awake, muttered curses under his breath as he seized the oars, quietly dragging them through the water to carefully push your much smaller boat out of the pirate ship’s pathway.

It was hard to stay positive, especially considering the fact that the ship was practically barreling towards you at an alarming rate, as if it was gliding just above the waters. As it grew closer, it seemed to multiply in size, causing both you and Wooyoung to suck in a large breath.

Despite the darkness, you could clearly make out a large flag hung proudly off the main mast, a banner of crimson and gold depicting a gleaming skull sitting in a pool of blood and swords. Wooyoung squinted at the flag, a variety of colorful swears tumbling past his lips. Blindly, he let go of one of the oars to grapple for your hand. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and you let him hold you as your pulse rang through your ears.

You wanted so bad to just close your eyes and pretend like the ship wasn’t there. But of course, that was far too much to ask for. For the first time in a long time, Wooyoung looked to be scared. His grip on your hand tightened and that had you faintly wondering if this was the end.

“Whatever happens, we won’t be going down without a fight,” Despite telling you to be quiet, Wooyoung supposed it didn’t matter now; they were coming whether you liked it or not. You had nothing to say in reply, so you nodded slightly, heart racing.

Water stirred around the boat restlessly when the pirate ship skidded to an abrupt halt beside your smaller vessel. Several men looked over the side of their ship with dark, glinting eyes reflecting the orb in the sky, stared down at the two of you greedily, whooping and leering. As if they’d done this a thousand times, they threw over several claw hooks attached to ropes, the jagged metal digging into the rickety wood of your boat. You and Wooyoung desperately attempted to paddle away whilst simultaneously trying to unhook the sharp metal from the boat.

The pirates were much quicker. They hollered as they slid down the hookline with exhilarated whoops, grabbing both you and Wooyoung with calloused hands and rough ropes that cut into your flesh. Struggling, the two of you yelled and shouted and fought against them but, alas, they were used to this. One of them struck you against the back of the head. The world went spinning and you came tumbling down with a mangled yelp, the boat rocking dangerously.

Spots of black and purple and green dotted your vision. Everything seemed to blur together. You faintly recalled Wooyoung bellowing your name in panic, and then someone binding your limbs together none-too-gently before hoisting you up onto the ship’s deck as if you weighed little more than a feather.

The ship smelled strongly of alcohol and salt and something else foul that you couldn’t quite decipher. You only realized that you were crying when the stingingly hot tears pricked your cheeks as you wailed for Wooyoung, who had also been bounded and tossed onto the deck. His head hit the planks particularly hard, a fresh cut dripping a dark crimson blossoming across his forehead. The rest of the pirate crew seemed to be enjoying this, egging the fighting pirates on as if you and Wooyoung were part of an entertaining theatrical play.

He was putting up much more of a fight than you did, growling and thrashing and biting into the pirate’s arms until they yelped and pulled away with teeth marks embedded into their skin. He even managed to loosen one of his arms from his binds and reached out towards you, but a pirate stomped on his hand and dragged him back by the boot, showcasing his crooked teeth with a grin.

“Stop!” You sobbed. “Please, stop!”

Either they didn’t hear, or they just didn’t care. One of them hoisted you up to your feet and you frantically kicked at his ankles but he merely laughed and tightened the knots on your binds to secure you against the main mast. You watched in horror as they rounded on Wooyoung, throwing punches and kicks and spitting at him.

“Wait, no! Please, no, let me go! Wooyoung!” You screamed until your voice grew hoarse and struggled against your bonds so hard that your skin was raw and bloodied.

Eventually, they pulled Wooyoung up to his feet. The sight of him, broken and anguished, bloodied and bruised and exhausted, shattered your heart into a million pieces. You were sure they had broken several of his bones, noting the way he wheezed and shuddered.

“Wooyoung!” There was a deafening roar of applause as the pirates jeered and taunted. Wooyoung locked eyes with you, despair clouding his features. Your head was pounding heavily and you were crying so hard that you could barely see much of anything. And yet, through all the tears and dirty pirates, you saw his face starkly against the chaos, and his forlorn, defeated expression was what drove the dagger right through your ribs. It looked like he was about to say something, but it was too painful to speak. You knew that if he could, he would probably say, ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.’

Hiccuping, you cracked open your mouth to weakly croak out his name once more.

No. No, no, no. I can’t… I can’t lose him.

Their laughs echoed into the night, a looped song of victory playing broken and distorted in your numbed mind. And just like that, they picked him up as if he was a rag doll… the man that you grew to love and care for… and they tossed his limp, broken body overboard. The resonating splash of the ocean was loud and clear, mimicking the feeling of your stomach plummeting to the ground.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How you realize how much you loved someone just when they’re gone…

127 notes · View notes

penmansparadise · 4 years

Text

Damon Salvatore Imagine Requested - Forever

* I DON’T OWN ANY GIFS POSTED* *CREDIT TO GIF OWNERS*

It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted any imagines! I’m sorry for being MIA a lot, but I appreciate all of my followers. Anyway, this was a request from my Wattpad! Let me know what you guys think, and I hope you all enjoy it! Xx.

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Reader

Warnings: Mild language and mentions of sex. It’s also a little steamy in the beginning.

Word Count: 3324

_______________________________________________

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling slightly. You let out a low moan as his lips connected with your exposed neck. His tongue drew circles on your sensitive skin, and you were sure there was going to be a bright blue bruise when he was done. You let your fingertips trail down his toned chest feeling every muscle ripple under your touch. His right hand moved to cup your breast over your bra, earning another moan. He smirked against your neck and let out a breathy chuckle. The way his breath brushed over your skin sent shivers down your spine. Your eyes were closed in complete bliss when the front door flew open.

"Hey, Damon, I was curious if – OH MY GOD!" Caroline threw her hands over her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you had company."

You scrambled out from under Damon's wandering hands and pulled your shirt over your head. Standing up, you did your best to fix your hair, even though you knew it looked like a mess. Damon huffed,

"It's fine, Caroline. We were just catching up. It's been a while since I've last seen Y/N."

He smirked at you sending your stomach into a fit of butterflies. You could feel the blush creeping up your cheeks when he took your hand in his. You gave Caroline a curt nod as Damon led you out the door and to your car. As you fumbled around your purse for your keys, Damon's hands began to wander your body again. You giggled as he traced the curves of your body and then started to twirl a strand of your hair around his pointer finger.

"So," he said, "same time tomorrow? And, hopefully, we won't be disturbed."

You rolled your eyes at him, but leaned in and looked up through your eyelashes.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

He smirked at you before planting a hungry kiss on your lips. You gave his chest a little pat, then got into your car and drove off watching his figure disappear in your rearview mirror.

You and Damon go way back. Back in 1895, you were considered the best seamstress in Mystic Falls, Virginia. Men and women alike would seek you out to patch up pants or create custom made clothes. Damon sought you out one day to make him a custom suit, and that's when your friends with benefits relationship began. It started out innocent. He would come back week after week to see you. At first, he would bring in shirts that needed new buttons or a pair of pants that needed to be tailored. But, soon, he would just start showing up. There was always a strong sexual tension between the two of you, and one day, in the small closet in your shop, you acted upon it. The rest was history. The two of you laid some ground rules:

1) No sex during work hours; only in the evening when no one will suspect anything.

2) No forms of PDA allowed including, but not limited to: hand-holding, kissing, hugging, and the like.

3) No pet names unless during sex.

And lastly

4) No feelings!

Your friends with benefits relationship lasted for years. It wasn't until the 1920s that things began to change. Stefan went through his ripper phase, taking Damon away from you. He left Mystic Falls, went to war, and off after Stefan, and you went to New York City. You went years thinking that he died in the war. That was until, fast forward to the present, you found yourself back in Mystic Falls and staring down the back of your beloved Damon at the old bar.

After that meet up, the two of you picked up right where you left off. For months, Damon would call you when he craved you and vice versa. At one point, you gave him a spare key to your house for late-night meet-ups. The rules were relatively the same, but somewhere along the line, you couldn't pinpoint exactly when it happened, you began to feel something more. When he would kiss you goodnight, your dead heart would jump alive. When he called you "love" or "baby girl," your whole body would tingle. There was never supposed to be feelings, and you kicked yourself for breaking the most important rule. You tried to push them away, but the harder you pushed, the stronger they grew. One night, after receiving a text from him, you were forced to face your feelings.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, taking in your clothes and slumped shoulders. Your throat already felt tight with the thought of what you had to do.

"Fuck," you said to your reflection.

You did one last once over before exiting your house and driving to the Salvatore Boarding House.

The house was dark, as it usually was during your late meet-ups. You entered the house like normal and went to Damon's room. Your footsteps and shallow breaths seemed to echo off the tall walls. You pushed his door open, and he was perched in his bed, shirtless and smirking, like usual. Instead of joining him, you stood in the doorway. Tears were already threatening to spill over, but you did your best to swallow them back. Damon could tell something was wrong.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

"No, Damon," you said, "I can't do this anymore."

You cleared your throat as his eyebrows arched upward.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

"W-why? If you don't mind me asking."

"I'm just," you stopped and took a slow but shaky breath, "I want something more with my life, Damon. We can be just friends, and that's it."

Damon's mouth fell slightly agape. He took a breath in to speak, but you cut him off.

"Just friends, Damon. Please."

His dark eyes were void of emotion as they bore into yours. He was quiet for a beat before sighing and simply saying,

"Okay."

You gave him a nod, then turned and walked out. As soon as you were walking down the long hallway, you let the tears fall. You knew the house like the back of your hand, so being unable to see where you were going was not a problem. It became an issue when you ran into a solid object you soon realized was Stefan. His hands gripped your arms, preventing you from falling. You kept your head down as you tried to wipe the sadness from your face.

"Woah, woah, woah. Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Stefan," you said, doing your best to wiggle out of his hold, "I just need to go."

His feet were planted, and his hands did not slack.

"I'm not gonna just let you run out of my house crying. Come sit with me and have a drink."

You hesitated, staring at his empathetic smile before finally giving in. His smile widened as he led you to the sitting room. You and Stefan talked about everything and nothing all while drowning your feelings in bourbon. He told you what his favorite movie was, and you told him why you had a fear of flying. He detailed his darkest moments during the 1920s when he turned into The Ripper. You told him about life in the city and your affair with the notorious mob boss Lucky Luciano.

"You did not have an affair with Lucky Luciano."

"I'm telling you, I did! He was so tall and looked so good in those pinstripe suits. He bought me anything I wanted. Jewelry, purses, clothes, shoes, anything. And, he was a great kisser."

He just laughed at you before pouring another drink. Bottle after bottle was emptied while the two of you laughed throughout the night. At some time during the early morning hours, you ran out of liquor. Stefan had his arm draped over the back of the couch, and your head found residence on his shoulder. You were drunk, but you didn't care. It felt nice to be cuddled up next to someone fully clothed for a change. You nuzzled into Stefan's neck.

"You know, we've never actually bonded like this."

"Well," he said, already chuckling, "you were always too busy fucking my brother to notice me, so..."

You punched his arm lightly and threw your head back laughing.

"Oh, shut up!"

Your eyes met his and held his stare. His eyes were much softer than Damon's, and they looked at you with such patience rather than lust.

"I like this, though."

Your eyes darted down to his lips before finding his eyes again.

"I like you, Stefan."

He let out a light laugh,

"You're drunk, Y/N."

"No, seriously," you said a little too quickly, "I want to do this again."

"Me too."

The two of you held the other's gaze for a bit longer before you started to lean your head toward his. You knew that the liquor was making you more confident than usual, but you didn't stop. When he leaned in too, you knew for sure you wanted to kiss him. Your eyes shut just as his lips landed on yours. It was slow and sensual. His hand held the back of your head, deepening the kiss just slightly. It was nice, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you couldn't help but compare it to kissing Damon.

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled you back to reality. You pushed yourself away from Stefan and brushed your fingers through your hair. When you looked up to see Damon's hard stare on you, your cheeks grew warm. Every feature on his face was more rigid than usual. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were as dark as his jet-black hair. Without dropping your gaze, he grabbed one of the empty bottles and grunted.

"I see you two had a good night."

Neither Stefan nor you said anything in return. Instead, you stood and grabbed your bag, avoiding Damon's stare.

"I should get going. Thanks for last night, Stefan."

He didn't say anything back as you rushed out of the house. Even as you were getting into your car, you could feel Damon's eyes on you. You ignored the heavy feeling in your chest as you drove off.

Damon moved on faster than you expected after that encounter. When you went over to see Stefan, Damon would always be wearing a different girl on his arm. You tried not to care, but your heart consistently betrayed you. It was only a few weeks after you and Stefan shared that kiss before he asked you to be his girlfriend. He took you to dinner, and just before he dropped you off at home, he popped the question. You said, "Yes," even though you felt your heart was not truly in it.

Much to your surprise, Stefan was the perfect boyfriend. He treated you like a Queen and took you on dates. He held your hand, opened doors for you, and brushed stray hairs out of your face. His kisses were so sweet and innocent, something you never experienced before. He was everything you should have wanted.

About two months after you started dating, Stefan told you he loved you. He took you to a beautiful grove for a picnic date. It was so well planned. The flowers were in bloom, decorating your surroundings in a sea of vibrant blues and yellows. He had all your favorite foods neatly wrapped in cling wrap, and your favorite drink chilled to just the right temperature. The date was picture-perfect, but you could feel his energy was off. When he began to fidget with the basket, you started to feel sick. You knew what was coming.

"I know it's only been two months, but I've known you for years. I feel so comfortable around you, Y/N, and I feel like it's the right time to tell you how I really feel."

His eyes were so sincere when he took your hands in his.

"I love you, Y/N."

You looked down, feeling like you were going to throw up right there.

"Stefan."

The silence was deafening. But, when you didn't say anything else, Stefan let go of your hands and sighed in defeat.

"It's Damon, isn't it?"

"Stefan, please-"

"You're in love with him, aren't you?"

You kept your eyes trained on the checkered blanket, too afraid to look up at him.

"You always have been."

A small sob escaped your mouth as tears poured out of you. Through hazy vision, you looked at Stefan.

"I'm so sorry, Stefan. I really tried to move past him. I tried to forget him, but my heart just won't seem to let me. I don't know what I have to do to let him go."

Stefan's eyebrows furrowed, and his face softened at your broken figure.

"It's okay, Y/N," he said, pulling you into a tight embrace, "I always knew. Don't be sorry for how you truly feel."

His hand smoothed down your disheveled hair as you continued to cry into his chest.

"I'll love you whether you're my girlfriend or just my friend. Do you hear me?"

He moved your frail body away just enough to make eye contact.

"I just want you to be happy, with or without me."

Your bottom lip trembled at his reassuring words.

"Thank you, Stefan," you said, nearly choking on each syllable.

He just nodded before pulling you back into his arms. He held you like that until your sobs turned into shaky breaths. When he thought you were calm enough, he separated your body from his and smiled playfully.

"So, I'm guessing we're breaking up, right?"

The two of you both chuckled, and you shoved his arm before nodding. You finished eating and, although you were no longer a couple, you still enjoyed your evening with Stefan. After cleaning up the picnic, he drove you home.

When he pulled up in front of your dark house, you turned to him.

"Thank you for everything."

"You know I'll always be here for you, Y/N."

You reached over the center console to pull him into a hug before exiting the vehicle. He waited for you to get inside then honked once as a "Goodbye." You waved to him before shutting the door. As soon as you locked the door, your living room lamp switched on. You stumbled back, nearly fainting until your eyes settled on the familiar figure sitting on your couch. Even though you urged your body not to react, your stomach erupted with butterflies.

"How the hell did you get in here?" You said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Damon pulled out a key ring with a single key dangling from it. He twirled it around his finger with a smirk playing on his lips.

"Spare key, remember? Once upon a time, I would have to let myself in late at night because you were too lazy to get out of bed."

You rolled your eyes and groaned.

"Damon, I thought we agreed on not talking about that?"

He stood up, and you could tell something was off. His usual hard features softened, and he wasn't looking you in your eyes.

"Yeah," he said, balling his fists at his sides, "but I didn't know we agreed on not talking at all."

You stayed silent. His eyes finally landed on you, and it felt like a blow to your chest. Betrayal and pain played so clearly on his face.

"When were you going to tell me you were dating Stefan?"

You scoffed at him, unable to control your annoyance.

"I didn't think I needed to check-in with you."

"I'm your friend, Y/N! Usually, friends share that type of information."

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. All the emotions you had kept bottled up, your anger and hate toward him after you left that night, bubbled to the surface.

"You didn't inform me about every girl you fucked after me, and there were a lot! I really didn't see it as a big deal, Damon."

He stayed silent that time. The tension was almost palpable as the two of you stood there. His eyes were set on you, but you couldn't bring yours to meet his. You knew if you did, you'd break, and you had enough crying for one night.

"Stefan and I broke up anyway," you finally said, barely above a whisper.

You could hear the small breath Damon took in at your comment.

"You did? Why?"

You swallowed hard and tried to straighten your posture.

"He said he loved me, and I couldn't say it back."

"Why?" Damon said, voice low and gruff.

You could feel your knees weaken from his rasp. Even without using his hands, he had this type of effect on you. You groaned, mostly from annoyance at yourself.

"Damon, why did you come here tonight? I know it wasn't to get the juicy details about my break up."

He took a step toward you.

"Answer my question. Why couldn't you say it back?"

"Because I love someone else!" You said, eyes finally shooting up to meet his.

He was close enough to touch, and you had to refrain from reaching your hand out.

"Now," you said, "you have to answer my question. Why are you really here, Damon?"

His eyes raked over your body, sending chills coursing through you. When his eyes finally met yours again, you felt like you couldn't breathe.

"I miss you."

Your heart dropped. After all this time, he still only wanted you for pleasure, and nothing more. You let out an incredulous laugh and shook your head. You went to walk away, but he grabbed your hand and stopped you.

"And I want more this time. I want more than just sex, Y/N," he said to your back.

You slowly turned to face him again, ready to listen. He ran his hands through his already messy hair and sighed.

"I want to know your favorite color and your favorite novel. I want to know why you can't sleep without a fan on, and why you're scared of flying."

His eyes were pleading as they held your gaze.

"Dammit, Y/N, I want to know all about New York City in the 20s, and how good of a kisser Lucky Luciano was!"

You opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn't form a sentence. For a moment, you just stared at him in shock.

"You were listening that night?"

He dropped his gaze to stare at your dainty feet.

"I want to talk to you like that, and kiss you when we can't talk anymore."

Silence fell between the two of you. You kept your eyes on him, waiting patiently for him to look at you. When he finally did, his normally sharp stare was so gentle.

"Who do you love, Y/N?"

"Damon-"

"Who do you love?"

Your whole body was on fire under his soft stare. You looked from his eyes to his lips and back, desperately wanting to feel his lips on you again. Every nerve in your body was on alert as you felt his large hands carefully grab yours. You took in a short breath to muster up the strength to speak.

"You, Damon."

A smile of relief took over his face before he moved his hands to the sides of your face, and pulled you into a kiss. Your body tensed at first but soon melted into his touch. You trailed your hands up his arms until they found the back of his neck. Your nails dug into his flesh as you held onto him, afraid that he would disappear if you didn't. His lips moved so smoothly against yours. When he finally pulled away, you were breathless.

"I love you so much, Y/N. I always have, and I always will."

"I love you too, Damon. Forever."

He smiled before planting a sweet kiss on your nose.

"Forever, Y/N."

#damonsalvatore #damon salvatore #damon salvatore fanfiction #damon salvatore fanfic #damon salvatore imagines #damon salvatore imagine #the vampire diaries #thevampirediaries #The Vamprie Diaries #the vampire diaries fanfic #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries imagines #the vampire diaries imagine #TVD #tvd fanfic #tvd fanfiction #tvd imagine #tvd imagines #damon salvatore x reader

206 notes · View notes

edelwoodsouls · 3 years

Text

wrap me in sunset and sleep [fic]

Wilde hasn’t been fine in a long time. But it’s okay; Zolf can bear the load. (Not to me. Not if it’s you.)

Word Count: 1,776 | Also on Ao3

Nights in the North are cold.

Zolf is used to the cold. Days aboard a ship, soaked in salt water and bitter air, and hours spent in the chill below ground of the mines, have both prepared him for this atmosphere.

Wilde, however, is not. The last couple of years have hardened him, yes- but they haven't changed his love of the finer things. Of the small comforts - a warm bed, a good drink, an arm around him as he sleeps.

It is this argument that convinced Zolf. "I'll be so lonely, Zolf," Wilde had grinned, with a flicker of that old, familiar spark in his eye that has always made Zolf ache. "I just can't get warm, after all that being dead nonsense."

Zolf had rolled his eyes. Grabbed one of Wilde's gesturing hands out of the air, held it close between his own. "Feels plenty warm to me."

Maybe it's his own bias. To him, Wilde is an ever-flickering flame in a world increasingly plunged into dark. Those moments, between a bloody body sprawled across snow, and the sudden gasp of breath in frozen lungs- those were darker than he ever dreamed the world could be.

And he's been living in twilight longer than he can remember.

"Then let me keep you warm," Wilde had whispered, pulling Zolf's hands to cup his face. The touch of skin on skin had felt like an open flame, and a gentle breeze, all at once.

"Okay," Zolf had said, voice barely more than a whisper.

He couldn't have dared to imagine, when they first met, how this man, this insufferably annoying bard, would change him. Worm his way under every steel guard Zolf has ever erected, and find a nook to nestle in, at home in his heart.

It takes them a while to find the opportunity. The news of the seed, the infection, the garden, parade through as cruel distractions, as if fate is counting down the extra days it can keep the two of them apart.

Finally, they return to the ship, newly fixed and gleaming. The garden has left everyone- off, a little. Distracted, and distant, drifting in a sea of memories and what-ifs and heartache.

Zolf isn't unaffected, but he learnt to live with his ghosts a long time ago. Hears their calls every night in his dreams, their sneers at every choice he makes and doesn't make. Just because they were corporeal for a little while, doesn't change things.

It's Wilde he's worried about.The garden definitely hit him worse than the others. His eyes are unfocused, stuck towards the horizon. Head cocked slightly, as if the whispers of spirits haven't left him behind. The tremor in his hands is back, his fingers cold to the touch.

He's quiet, but not in a Wilde-like way - not the stern reservation Zolf has grown accustomed to. It's lost, and vacant. As if the world is merely a stream passing him by.

Zolf links his fingers into Wilde's as they approach the ship. The gesture is accepted without complaint, without any registration. Wilde lets himself be led up onto the deck.

"Get some rest, you lot," Earhart yells down by way of greeting, from up in the rigging. "You can debrief in the morning."

"Not now?" Zolf asks, frowning.

"You look like you're all about to drop dead," she sniffs. "It won't do any good to report in this state."

"Are you being nice, Earhart?"

"Just practical. Go below before I change my mind."

Zolf tips a salute in her direction, and doesn't ask twice.

He turns to Wilde. In the dying light of the evening, the sun unfiltered by clouds, Wilde is haloed in a soft warm glow, not unlike the aura of magic he used to protect everyone in the garden. His shock-white hair almost dances in the breeze, brushing against his jaw, his slightly-parted lips, his distant blue eyes.

Zolf isn't a religious man anymore, but for Wilde he could make an exception.

"Wilde?" he asks softly. "You with me?"

For a moment, the words seem to vanish into smoke, and Zolf is more scared than he wants to admit that, maybe, the void that has gaped beneath Wilde's feet for years has finally claimed him.

Then the clouds seem to part. Wilde's eyes find his, his fingers curl to squeeze Zolf's. Something like a smile, still a little dreamy and disconnected, tugs at the corners of his lips.

"I'm here, Zolf," he says. "Thank you."

"Let's get you into bed."

"At least buy me dinner first," Wilde's smile splits into that familiar, teasing grin.

"Maybe tomorrow," Zolf says gruffly, glad that his beard hides the heat rising in his cheeks, somewhat. "If you can get a full night's sleep, I'll buy you the best dinner money can buy aboard a flying airship in the middle of the aurora."

"Is that a promise?"

Zolf takes a breath, letting the cold air sober the moment. "Yes, it is."

Wilde nods, satisfied. And maybe- a little nervous? Relieved? It's hidden under several layers of bravado, but Zolf has learnt to read every line of that face, every spark in those eyes.

"Come on," Zolf finally breaks their eye contact, feeling sure his blush has crawled to places it definitely can't hide. "Earhart wasn't wrong when she said we need sleep. You look like a strong gust of wind would knock you over."

"I bend with the wind, Zolf. Like a tree. Resilient and tall, and an absolutely stunning view."

"Yeah, yeah. And I'm the boulder that is dragging you downhill to bed."

"Lead on, good rock."

And Zolf does, not daring to let go of Wilde's hand even as they descend into the narrow, warren-like corridors of the ship.

He leads them to Wilde's room, and Wilde does nothing but smile, small and almost-hidden, when Zolf closes the door behind him.

"I'll stay," Zolf offers, as Wilde sits heavily on the bed and begins to unlace his shoes. "If you want, that is. I can stay."

"It would be pretty hard to sleep together, if you were in a different room."

"Well, yeah..."

"And it's not as if we can sleep in your room, half my legs would hang off the end."

"True," Zolf concedes, feeling half a step behind. He has never been sure, exactly, what this thing between them is. Isn't used to people wanting him, choosing him, when there are any other options to go with.

"And it does get dreadfully cold in this room, being so close to the outer hull-"

"Okay, Wilde, I'll stay. Just wanted to check you hadn't..."

"What?" Wilde's face grows serious, and Zolf's gut squirms with guilt at instantly killing the mood. "Forgotten? Changed my mind?"

Zolf nods wordlessly, unable to look him in the eye.

"Zolf." Wilde doesn't stand, but beckons him over with a hand. Hesitant, nervous, Zolf sits beside him on the bed, not quite touching.

Wilde reaches out, cups his hands on either side of Zolf's jaw. "I'm not going to change my mind," he says, slowly, watching to make sure each word lands where it's supposed to. "Whatever this is, I need you to know that. I need you to know that I need you."

"Really?" There's a lump in his throat, chewing up any thoughts of words, until they scratch and ache.

"Really." Wilde takes a careful, shivering breath. "You know I worry the same thing, about you? That you'll wake up one day and see the cracks, see that I'm this- shackle, around your ankles, dragging you down. And you'll leave me, and I wouldn't blame you even a little bit."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere." Zolf rests a hand against Wilde's, revels in the warmth, in the contact, in the quiet peace of this moment- something neither of them has known in a long time.

"That's good," Wilde breathes. His eyes have drifted downwards, but he says nothing.

"Wilde?"

"Can I-" He's hesitating, unsure. "I don't know, if you- I know you- that is to say-"

"Just kiss me, Wilde."

He doesn't need telling twice. He closes the gap in a moment, magnets drawing the two of them together.

For all that Zolf has, maybe, perhaps, in private moments, imagined what kind of a kisser Oscar Wilde might be, nothing compares to the reality. His lips are warm, and soft - gentle, but insistent. His fingers curl into his hair, resting comfortably there.

A single moment leaves Zolf breathless. Ten seconds, and he thinks he might never come down from that buzzing, lightheaded feeling.

Eventually, Wilde pulls away. Zolf follows his lips for a moment, before the world returns, the chill of the evening air, the wind outside the window, the perpetual ache in his bones.

Everything feels a little distant, in the aftermath. This night, this moment, is just the two of them, just the warmth clasped between their hands and the shiver of their breaths as their lungs try to remember oxygen.

"That was..." The words have scattered, just out of reach.

"Show-stopping? Stunning? Perhaps a little magical?" Wilde grins, preening under Zolf's gaze.

"All of the above," Zolf smiles, softly, carefully. "Definitely worth repeating."

"Maybe in the morning. After all, I need to get that solid eight hour sleep if I want to be treated to dinner, right?"

"Right."

"And before you ask-" Wilde flourishes his hands, face drawn down in an exaggerated frown, "I am the big spoon."

Zolf can't help the laugh that bursts out of him, rough and explosive, startlingly loud. "Whatever pleases you," he manages to say. "Although I have it on good authority I am very good at hugs."

"Oh, the best," Wilde nods knowingly. "But for now, I do the holding. I need... I need to know you're safe."

Zolf throws his arms around him, before Wilde can do so much as process his movements. That fracturing, spiralling look on his face is one Zolf would do anything to fold away in a drawer to be forgotten.

"I'm here," he whispers. "I'm safe, and so are you. We're going to fix the world, and go on holiday, and settle down somewhere beautiful and peaceful, with a theatre for your plays, and a bookshop with all the latest Campbell novels for me. Does that sound good to you?"

Wilde returns the hug, squeezing him as if Zolf might vanish at any moment. "You know what? I think that sounds perfect."

When they sleep, finally, rocked by the gentle drift of the ship, and the steady rhythm of each others' hearts, it's the best either of them has slept in years.

#rusty quill gaming #rqg #fanfiction #zolf smith #oscar wilde rqg #zolf/wilde #own work #morgan writes #fluff #hurt/comfort #rqg spoilers

12 notes · View notes

bgharison · 6 years

Text

Jot it Down July -- Fluffday the 20th

I did literally “jot down” the idea of this story, on the back of a school paper, on Friday. And it’s fluff. So I’m counting it as a Fluffday post. Because fluff. Fluffy fluffy fluff.

***

Steve had become rather accustomed -- okay, dependent -- on Danny to navigate him through huge, life-changing epiphanies. So the fact that Danny wasn’t there for this one would have been humorous, and he might have laughed.

Might have, if he could just breathe.

***

Danny was stuck at the courthouse finishing his deposition after the winter formal fiasco, so it had fallen to Steve to pick up Gracie. He’d been on the approved pick-up list since . . . well, he couldn’t remember, really, when Danny had added him. He sat in the pickup line, thinking back to the days when Grace was in elementary and would come bounding down the steps, her backpack as big as she was. Now she came down the stairs so gracefully, a stylish messenger bag across her shoulder. It was somewhat routine, but still, Grace . . . every time, every damn time, she would get this look of apprehension. Steve had quickly learned to call out a word of reassurance the minute she was within earshot.

“Courthouse,” he yelled through the open window of the passenger door of his truck.

Grace smiled, then, and hopped up into the truck.

“Just a deposition,” Steve assured her. “He’s going to pick up Charlie from your mom’s and meet up at our house. You have homework?”

“Not so much that I couldn’t swim first,” Grace said, grinning at him.

***

Grace was still in the shower, sluicing off the salt water, while Steve started chopping vegetables for the salad to go with the pizza that Danny was going to pick up. Her homework was already spread neatly on the far end of the dining table, and Steve grinned as he passed it with a stack of plates and silverware in hand. Chemistry. Algebra. She’d pulled out the subjects that she might need help with, ones that she knew were his favorites.

It hit him about the time he put down the fourth plate, the smaller, melamine one they used for Charlie, in case his exuberance sent it sailing to the floor. Again.

He wanted this. This. This honestly mundane, completely domestic . . . he wanted this. The two kids, the bittersweet balance of alone time and kid time that came with shared custody, the homework, the dinner, the laundry, the smell of Gracie’s shampoo, Charlie’s sticky kisses, and Danny . . . waiting for Danny’s step on the porch. Tonight.

Every night.

Waiting for Danny to be there . . . like a sixth sense, watching, waiting, listening, restless until Danny was there, to fill the Danny-sized void that he felt, like a missing limb, like a phantom pain, when Danny wasn’t there, next to him, where he belonged.

He had a fleeting thought that maybe it was the shared liver until he realized that he’d felt this way since . . . well, at least since Danny’s visits in prison, his lifeline . . . definitely since Danny had flung back the canvas on that truck in North Korea . . . absolutely since he’d gone to Columbia and pulled him out of that hell-hole . . .

“Uncle Steve?” Gracie was standing at the end of the table, halted mid-way through pulling out her pencils and calculator, looking at him curiously. “You okay?”

He wasn’t. He wasn’t okay, not by a long shot. He was absolutely terrified.

A muffled, gentle kick at the door. Steve knew without conscious thought, could picture Danny, balancing pizzas in one hand, holding tight to Charlie’s hand with the other -- the kid was adorable, for sure, but he was also completely and totally reckless and unpredictable, and fast, they’d discovered, that time he’d gone chasing after a cute little gecko and Danny’s knee gave out and it had fallen to Steve to catch up to the toddler, who laughed uproariously when Steve had tossed him into the air and caught him, and blew a raspberry on his belly, and --

“Coming, Danno,” Gracie was yelling, looking at Steve quizzically over her shoulder as she went to the door.

“Hey, Monkey,” Danny said, as the door opened, and they somehow managed a seamless handoff of both pizza and Charlie, Danny kissing her on the cheek in the process. Grace, Charlie, and pizza headed toward the dining room. “I’ve got a cold six-pack in the car, be right back,” Danny tossed over his shoulder.

Steve stood in the doorway, watching as Danny hustled back to the Camaro, his slippahs padding softly. He’d changed into a t-shirt which might have shrunk just a bit in the wash, the way it pulled over his broad shoulders and powerful back, and as he leaned into the car to grab the Longboards, Steve noticed the curve of his ass, hugged perfectly by faded, low slung shorts. Steve ran one shaky hand over his face as his other arm propped him against the doorway. He’d known, obviously, that Danny was a very attractive person, hell, anyone not legally blind would notice that, Kono had certainly made more than her fair share of inappropriate comments, especially after that little undercover situation, which had prompted her to declare loudly, without inhibition, to the entire office, that Danny was an amazing kisser and . . .

Okay, so armed with that knowledge and apparently an overwhelming episode of self-awareness, Steve realized that not only was Danny attractive, generally, he, Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett was attracted to him, specifically.

Like, specifically and sexually, which, what even and oh, hell yes, there, his anatomy was already well ahead of his brain.

“You okay?” Danny asked, looking at him exactly like Gracie had.

And again, no, no, he wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot. He was absolutely terrified, and of course, his adrenaline-crazed system did sometimes equate terror and excitement -- okay, he’d admit it to himself even if he’d denied it vehemently to Danny, not that he thought Danny had ever believed him, and he was even pretty sure he’d caught Danny sneaking a peek to see just *how* literally accurate his assertion was that ‘maniacal, reckless plans and generalized explosives turn you on Steven, I swear to God’ . . .

“Steve?” Danny asked. He’d reached the top of the stairs and his head was tilted, the same identical head tilt on Gracie and Charlie -- and how, how had Rachel ever thought she could deny that Charlie, blond, blue-eyed, sunshine personified Charlie was Danny’s -- the three of them, all three of them, with the head tilt, and the way they made Steve feel home and mine and love . . .

Danny snapped his fingers in front of Steve’s face, trying to get his attention.

“Hey, honey, I’m home,” he joked.

Steve would admit later that he might have made a strangled noise, but if so, it was a very SEAL-like noise, and most emphatically not a whimper, no, definitely not a whimper as he reached, frantically, for Danny’s shoulders and hauled him to his chest. Danny stiffened in surprise until he got with the program and let the bag slip down gently out of his hand until it could thunk, unharmed, those last couple inches onto the porch.

“Danny,” Steve murmured, one big hand coming up to cradle Danny’s head. “Danny, you’re home. Do you get it? You and the kids, you’re everything that is home to me. God, Danny, I want -- I need -- I -- you, Danny. You and the kids, it’s --”

Danny’s arms wrapped around him, murmuring nonsense, like he would to soothe Charlie. And at that point, Steve thought, he could pull this off, he could pull himself together, slap Danny on the back and give him one of his sincere -- God, how sincere, he hadn’t even known -- ‘love you, buddy’ hugs, tell him that he was just damn glad to have him and the kids there, you know, this was really nice, partner, sharing an evening together. Punch him on the shoulder, thank him for the beer, let’s eat and then you can play with Charlie while I help Grace with chemistry and --

And then, he realized, that Danny had noticed. Danny had noticed, if his sudden stillness and his stunned but careful pulling away from Steve was any indication and oh shit, oh shit, Danny’s teenage daughter was in the house, if Danny noticed, then Danny might misunderstand and --

No. Steve would rather risk losing Danny’s respect than losing his trust so he blurted it out --

“It’s you, Danny, it’s because of you, I swear to God.”

“It’s -- come’ere, you goof . . .” and Danny was reaching for him and pulling him close again and . . .

Oh, thank fuck, Danny didn’t misunderstand, Danny was on board with this very new development, apparently, unless he had, like, Charlie’s sippy cup or something in his pocket. And then Danny’s hands were reaching, one wrapping around his neck and one tugging a bit impatiently at his shoulder and --

“You giraffe, what --”

And Steve could work with that, he could, hell, everyone he’d ever kissed so far in his life had been shorter than him, he knew how to make this work, he could show Danny and so he did. He really did, if Danny’s slightly blown pupils were any indication when they paused for air a few minutes later.

“I didn’t know, Danny, I . . . I meant it, I always meant it, I’ve loved you and the kids -- God, I love the kids -- but I didn’t know, not until tonight, I just -- “

Danny smiled up at him, soft and fond.

“You knew,” Steve said. “How?”

“Well, not my first rodeo, Steve,” Danny said, a little wistful, but mostly still a lot turned on.

“Oh. I -- oh. Oh, see, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” Steve said. “I didn’t know. Until I did. If you knew, Danny, why didn’t you -- why didn’t you say something, why --”

Danny leaned around Steve and grinned at Gracie and Charlie who were shamelessly observing the whole thing, Grace with a slice in one hand and her cell phone in the other, Charlie looking a little confused but mostly happy.

“I couldn’t risk our friendship,” Danny said. “I couldn’t risk Uncle Steve. I had to be sure, Steven. When you have kids, you have to be sure.”

He looked back at Steve, his eyes questioning, challenging.

“You can be sure,” Steve said firmly. He cupped Danny’s face in his hands and kissed him again, slipping one hand down into Danny’s back pocket. “You can be sure of everything,” Steve whispered, a promise for later, for a time when they didn’t have the kids.

“Right now,” Danny said, clearing his throat and stepping away from Steve reluctantly, “I’m sure we have some dinner and possibly some explaining to do.”

Steve heard Grace’s giggle behind him and jumped as if he’d been tased. He felt his ears turn hot.

“You’re funny, Uncle Steve,” Charlie declared. “You jumped but Grace didn’t say boo.”

***

Late that night, Danny peeked in the door to the guest room.

“It’s late, Monkey,” he chided gently. “Put the cell phone down and get some sleep.”

“Ok, Danno,” Grace said. She peeked at him slyly over the top of her phone. “Sweet dreams.”

He pointed at her in mock sternness. “Okay, no wisecracks from the peanut gallery.”

She giggled again. “Danno?”

“Yeah, Grace?” Teenagers. They could sit silent from school pick up to eleven pm, and just as you reached the end of your energy, that’s when they wanted to get into the deep conversations. Danny took a deep breath, ready, regardless of his fatigue, to answer whatever and as many questions as Grace had. He was only a tiny, tiny bit aware of Steve cleaning up in the kitchen, only a little bit conscious of the coffee brewing and the Irish whiskey that Steve had pulled down from the top cabinet. Grace came first, always, and the man waiting to make him an Irish coffee and hopefully kiss him senseless knew that, and that’s why this was going to work.

“I’m glad Uncle -- I’m glad Steve decided to pick a different base,” Grace said. “Finally.”

#jot it down july #fluffday #h50 #mcdanno

151 notes · View notes

theawkwardladyjay · 6 years

Text

Egochristmas #10: Frost

Okay, so really quickly. Finals week is starting so I might be a little inactive for the next few days. I’m going to try to keep getting these out because honestly, I’m really enjoying this. However, there might be a few late updates. Sorry.

You can also read it here.

Hopefully, you enjoy this!

He wandered through the trees, reveling in the silence. Snow covered the ground, muffling the world with its beauty. The branches of the trees bent under its weight, small clumps of white falling from them every now and then. A few white drops floated into his hair, but he doesn't wipe them away. These flakes were not his to command.

The sound of a branch breaking echoed through the quiet. He paused, gazing through the underbrush in search of the source as the noise slowly faded. He caught sight of a large, antlered beast striding away from him; the Lord of the Mountain. It paused and turned towards him, an air of impatience surrounding it. When it continued its way forward, he followed.

They made their way through the woods slowly, the creature continuously stopping to ensure he was still behind it. Eventually, they found themselves in a small clearing. Frost covered the ground, but not a clump of snow passed the trees. He hesitantly stepped over the tree line, watching the creature curiously.

It turned to him, a deep knowledge in its eyes that no man could hope to achieve, and bowed its head. After a moment, it straightened and turned away. Before he could say a word, it was gone.

He huffed and looked around the grove, his confusion growing when he saw nothing but the frost. Cautiously, he stepped towards the center. The Lord had brought him here for a reason. It would be blasphemy to ignore its call.

The frost crunched softly under his feet, disrupting the hushed peacefulness. He stood in the grove for several minutes, the cold beginning to seep into his clothes. A violent shiver tore through him and suddenly, he could feel a pair of eyes on him.

He stiffened under the being’s gaze. It sent a chill down his back, causing another shiver to course through his body. Slowly, he turned, searching the snowy terrain for any sign of the creature.

There was nothing there.

He blinked, moving to turn, and there it stood.

His breath caught in his throat, the cold gasp burning his lungs. It eyed him curiously, standing several feet away at the edge of the trees. He stared back, mesmerized by its horrifying beauty.

It almost looked like a man. It was a little shorter than himself and much scrawnier, although he knew it was several times as powerful. It took a step forward and it was much closer than it should have been, still gazing at him with the utmost curiosity. He stood his ground, despite the anxiety knotting in his stomach.

It took another step, once again jumping several feet with the simple movement. It was now close enough that he could feel the chill radiating from its body. With a start, he realized that it wasn’t wearing a shirt at all. A thin layer of hoarfrost covered its entire body.

His breath escaped him in a single, awed exhale. The ice crystals shimmered in the sunlight, accentuating every feature of the creature. Its pale skin seemed to glow under the ice, its brown hair sticking out against all the white.

It took another step towards him and they were face to face, their breaths mingling. Every exhale of the creature sent a shiver through him, its breath unnaturally cold. He could see slight discomfort twist its mouth as his warm air blew onto it. He traced his eyes along the pretty lips, wandering up the face until he met the creature’s eyes.

He froze.

They were an impossibly bright blue. He was sure that someone had taken a clear pool of water and poured them into the irises. The hoarfrost scattered across its eyelashes, making the bright blue pop even more.

For a minute he couldn’t breathe. All that mattered were those eyes. They transfixed him, sucked him into a void of cold, cold blue.

The creature blinked and the spell was broken.

He gasped, sucking in air greedily. The creature didn’t move, its gaze turning confused.

When he was able to breathe normally again, he looked at the creature’s nose, not daring to meet its eyes again. “What do you need?” he whispered.

Surprise flittered across the creature’s face. It tilted its head slightly, seeming to think about his words. Then it spoke, its voice broken and disjointed, “Cold.”

“Cold?” he repeated, “But you are cold.”

The creature looked frustrated. It spoke again, its pitch warbling, “No cold.”

He shook his head, confused, “I don’t understand. There’s snow all around us. I don’t know how to make things colder.”

The creature let out a high pitched squawk of annoyance and grabbed his chin, forcing his head up until he was staring into its eyes. He struggled against it, but the chill from its fingers was spreading through him, freezing his muscles. Soon, he couldn’t move. The cold settled into his bones and there was nothing he could do but look into the creature’s intensely blue orbs.

“No cold,” it said again and he suddenly understood.

A feeling of an eternal freeze settled through him, his skin aching as ice settled over it. He wanted to tear himself from the creature’s grip, end the pain he was feeling, but it had him firmly under its spell.

Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes when he felt the tear of rejection rip through him. Multiple times it tore into him, the cold surrounding his body doing nothing to sate it. Then an intense pain spread through his neck. He screamed, trying desperately to claw at his throat. But his arms refused to move. His tears trickled down his cheeks, freezing onto his skin as the creature’s breath washed over him.

It let go, releasing him from the torment. He crumpled to the ground, sobs wracking his body. The creature knelt in front of him, its gaze pleading.

“Please,” it whispered hoarsely, “Help.”

He looked up at it. He knew what the creature was asking. His gaze landed on its lips again, tracing over them slowly. A shudder raced through him at the memory of what touching it did to him. Hesitantly, he nodded.

The Lord had brought him here for a reason.

With shivers spreading through him, he leaned forward, stopping centimeters away from the creature’s lips. He glanced up, searching for any sign of hesitance or disgust. When he saw none, he pushed forward, pressing their lips together.

The creature jumped slightly at the contact, but then it was pushing back. Its lips were unbearably cold against his mouth, but he ignored that, swiping his tongue along its bottom lip. It didn’t respond to the silent question. Taking that as an answer, he slowly pulled away, causing the creature to whine. It placed a hand on the back of his head and pulled him back, slamming their lips together.

He grunted, surprised at the bold movement, but quickly caught up. He could feel ice settling in his hair, the creature’s cold hand uncomfortable against his scalp. He pushed the thought away and deepened the kiss, swiping his tongue along its lips with more pressure than last time.

It seemed to understand this time and hesitantly opened for him. A surprised squeak escaped it when their tongues brushed, but it quickly caught on, pushing its own tongue into his mouth.

He brought a hand up and cupped its cheek, drawing it impossibly closer. They stayed like that for several minutes, only pulling away so he could breathe before delving back in. Eventually, he didn’t notice the chill coming from the creature anymore. Even the hand in his hair was a comfortable pressure now.

He pulled away to grab yet another breath and peeked his eyes open, shock running through him. He pulled back with a yelp, staring at the creature.

Ice no longer covered it. Its skin had gained some color. It was still pale but no longer deathly so. It stared at him, obviously hurt. He met its eyes and found they were still as breathtakingly blue as ever. However, they no longer drew him in like a whirlpool.

“What?” he muttered, his mind racing.

The creature looked down at itself and laughed, its voice still broken, “I’m normal again!” it looked up at him, glee written all over its face, “I’m not cold anymore! I’m normal!”

He shook his head, trying to think through what was happening, “Okay, I’m sorry, but what?”

The creature grabbed his hands and clasped them together, entwining their fingers, “You broke my curse. I made a mistake a long time ago and The Lord of the Mountain froze me. He stuck me here until I could find someone that understood me better than I could understand others and that was you! Thank you!”

“So, you’re an actual person,” he verified, “Like a human, like me?”

“Yes, silly! Did you actually think I was a fairy? And you still kissed me? You are a daring one, aren’t you?” he stuck his hand out, “My name’s Anti. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. By the way, you are an amazing kisser.”

“Okay, wow. I’m Dark. You’re not too bad yourself.”

Anti grinned and a small blush spread across his cheeks. He looked at Dark slyly, “I’m sure The Lord wouldn’t mind if we did it again, just to be sure the spell is properly broken.”

Dark snorted, “You are not at all subtle, are you?” he leaned forward, cupping one of Anti’s cheeks again, “Come here then. Don’t make me do all the work again.”

Anti snickered and pressed their lips together, a happy sigh escaping him.

The Lord of the Mountain watched from the trees. With a shake of its antlers and an exasperated snort, it turned away from the two mortals, leaving them to their happiness.

#egochristmas #danti #darkiplier #antisepticeye #the lord of the mountain #my writing #fanfiction

28 notes · View notes