it's 4 am and i have work tomorrow but a certain dweeb reminded me of the glory that is project yasuo and yasurivens so
apparently past me doesn't know the difference between the post button and the queue button but in my defense it was Very Very Late
"You're not the most comfortable to lean against, you know."
Yasuo chuckles, and steel-tipped fingers ghost along Riven's arm. "Bear with it," he replies, because even if Riven really doesn't like having to rest against cold, hard metal, she still doesn't make any attempt to move away. That has to amount to something. "If you're still going to stay with me, it's a feeling you're going to have to get used to."
Riven scoffs, and for perhaps the umpteenth time that night, closes her eyes to try and sleep again. A muted mechanical whirring echoes against her ear, and she reminds herself that this is what she'll hear in place of the steady heartbeat she's listened to for years. But in the end, though he is now more metal than flesh, he's still Yasuo--and really, that's all that matters. "I know," she says, though after a moment of thought, she adds a question, quiet but steady, "...Can you even feel me right now?"
Yasuo pauses for a long while, and it almost seems like he isn't going to answer her. But when he does, his voice is low, like he's admitting a secret he isn't very proud of. "...Not like I used to. I can't feel your skin or your scars anymore, but... there's warmth."Â
And perhaps instinctively, perhaps not, Yasuo's hold around Riven's shoulders tighten and draw her closer. There's a heavy weight in his tone that betrays what strong exterior he's trying to put forth, because Riven can hear it--a deep-rooted regret that resonates within her as well, constricting her chest with every shallow breath.
"Bear with it," she echoes, and reaches up to intwine her fingers with Yasuo's own. They're cold--he's always so cold almost everywhere, now--but she knows that eventually, her warmth will transfer over to him and it won't be as bad. There are still little victories worth celebrating, because not all of Yasuo has yet to be transformed into metal and hextech. His head is still very human, even if the visor and helmet that protect it aren't--and he proves it with the kiss he presses to her hair.
"Hey--My words, not yours," he chuckles softly, and Riven almost smiles.
"Maybe you should've thought twice before giving me something to use against you, then."Â
"It's something that happens regardless of whether or not I try." Yasuo's lips curve into a lop-sided grin, and Riven feels that light sense of dread hit her almost immediately. "You're my--"
"Don't," she cuts in, exasperated. "I'm not like you; I still need sleep. And I won't have my night be ruined with any of your terrible pick-up lines."
That makes Yasuo laugh, finally, and beneath the electronic edge his voice has gotten, it still sounds like him. This time, Riven fully and truly smiles as well. "I actually need to pick you up, now? I've fallen behind in all these years."
"Work on catching up, then--tomorrow."
It feels good to be able to say that. Tomorrow. (Tomorrow, I'll see you. Tomorrow, you'll still be there. Tomorrow, I'll say good morning--and you'll say it back to me.)
I'm trying to hold it together. Head is lighter than a feather. Looks like I'm not getting better, not getting better. Wait! I'm coming undone. Unlaced! I'm coming undone. Too late! I'm coming undone. What looks so strong's so delicate. Wait! I'm starting to suffocate, and soon I anticipate. I'm coming undone. What looks so strong's so delicate.
i tried not to make it shippy and i failed sorry except not really sorry
It never gets any better because she doesn’t let it. Riven is a walking contradiction in how she marches onwards to a future that so many have brushed off as impossible, but all the while, her mind is obsessively fastened to the past. Every night, she wakes from a nightmare of rougher days, of days when she’d led her company into an obvious trap, of days when she’d slaughtered men and women and entire families for little reason more than following orders, and of days when she sought for little more than to champion a city that would only turn its back on the soldiers that fought so diligently for its ideals.
Yasuo watches her toss and turn in her sleep, brow furrowing and lips twisting into a frown before red eyes finally blink open to find his own. Her breath is leaving her is sharp rasps, and immediately, she turns away.Â
It’s painfully clear in her body language how she tries to soak up all her pain, like it’s only hers to bear and not even Yasuo can help, but that isn’t true and he wishes she’d finally get it through her stubborn, thick skull.Â
"Riven," he murmurs, and she doesn’t look at him still, but he knows she’s listening. "Hey. Look at me."
"Go to sleep, Yasuo," she says, and there it is again, Riven trying to be strong when she’s not, Riven trying to shoulder all the burden because she thinks she has to.
"You're a harsh woman," Yasuo says, but his tone is light and his lips affectionate as they find their place by Riven's neck. Riven lets out a soft breath as she reaches back, fingers searching for the long, messy strands of Yasuo's hair before they tangle in dark locks. It isn't often that they allow themselves to indulge in so much affection--more a fault of Riven's than Yasuo's, really, but she's never been an overly affectionate woman and her mind is constantly focusing more on personal objectives than personal pleasure--but tonight is different. Tonight, there is a whisper on Yasuo's lips that goes unheard in Riven's ears and a murmur on Riven's tongue that never leaves her mouth.
"Don't say that as if you didn't already know," Riven retorts, and tilts her head back against Yasuo's shoulder as her fingers tug him close. Her lips brush by his with every spoken word, and she can feel how a shuddering breath leaves him when their eyes finally meet. "If you wanted someone meek, you should've run the other way."
Because Riven is a warrior who will push harder than she's ever been shoved, ruthless and relentless and everything that embodies true Noxian strength. She is rough skin and bloodied hands, burning eyes and an unbending will; she is harsh to some and despicable to others, but never once has she thought about changing any part of herself for anyone's sake but her own.
And that is what Yasuo loves most about her.
(She is someone who can meet him with equal force. She isn't a maiden to be protected or a trophy to present around; she is stronger and sturdier and someone who can just as easily kill him as he could kill her.
Riven is a far cry from the ideal Ionian lover, but Yasuo needs her as she is now.)
"Hey now," Yasuo murmurs against her lips, "I never said that. It'd be a little more than strange if you suddenly changed on me."
"Then just say it as any man would." Riven leans in closer, and now she's speaking against Yasuo's lips as his arm tightens around her waist. He hesitates for just a second, but it's all the time she needs to wait before she presses her lips against his own.
have you guys seen dhurain's new art because i did this morning and it woke me up better than coffee ever did
It's cold and a fire isn't possible with how thoroughly the rain has soaked every branch and leaf for miles all around them. Riven grits her teeth, reminding herself that she's faced worse weather under worse conditions, but it does little to ward away the chill that seeps into her very bones. In the corner of her eye, she can see Yasuo shiver and rub his arms, trying to generate what warmth he can even though it's ultimately a hopeless cause.
He's removed his top and tried to wring it to the best of his abilities, but in the cold there isn't much hope to have it dry quickly. He keeps his pants on for decency's sake, and though Riven can't care less about whether he's stark naked or half-clothed, she still appreciates the sentiment.
"Doesn't look like the storm's gonna let up any time soon," he says, and nothing has been more obvious than Yasuo's attempts to keep his eyes pointedly away from Riven's form.
(Unnecessary, but... considerate.)
"No," Riven agrees, but it's a half-hearted response because her attention is elsewhere.
Yasuo's skin is riddled with small scars, and each one is a testament to unsavory stories inked in blood. Riven doesn't know how Yasuo feels about them or if he thinks about them at all, but to her, they're badges of honor. He's walked--and continues to walk--an endless path that threatened to swallow him whole, and though he's received his fair share of injuries along the way, he's still alive and well and strong.Â
It makes her wonder what the story behind each scar is, but she doesn't think to ask. It isn't her place to want to know, and the crack of thunder that rumbles across the skies reminds her that she has more pressing things to worry about.
She finishes unclasping her armor and places it down by her feet, feeling awfully light and incomplete without their familiar weight. But she's wearing cold, wet clothes and she doesn't need anything that'll be more of an impediment than not, so they stay off.
Yasuo takes that time to sneak a glance, but his gaze lingers despite himself and he watches Riven reach up to untie her hair. The movement reveals her neck and a hint of her back, where he catches a glimpse of a scar--undoubtedly made by acid, not by any sword or axe--that splashes across her skin. It's not pretty by any definition of the word, but a part of him still feels the distant desire to run his fingers along the distorted edges and hear her speak.
He knows that she's suffered, and that she's suffering still. It's evident in her eyes and the weight that presses down on her shoulders, in the memories of battle that still linger in her every step and coil tight in her fingers. She's struggling to outrun the demons of her past by desperately reaching for the goal that shines bright ahead of her, but she's being dragged three paces back for every two that she takes forward.Â
Yasuo, more than anyone else, knows what it's like. But Riven is also the most stubborn woman he's ever met, and their differences start with how she refuses to share what plagues her so incessantly. (She's strong for it, of that he has no doubt; but God, more than anything Yasuo just wants to grasp her shoulders tight and shake her, yell if he must in order to get his points across. This is no longer the woman who decimated his land and quite possibly murdered his elder; this is a woman riddled with guilt, someone who is punishing herself more than anyone on Ionia ever could and ever will. The cold bite of steel would be a mercy compared to what she plagues herself with.)
A sneeze from Riven interrupts his observations, and he realizes--albeit a little belatedly--that she's probably a little colder than he is. He has the luxury of being able to strip off at least his top, but Riven's dress clings to her like second skin and only worsens the chill.
"You cold?" Yasuo asks, even though it's obvious that yes, of course she is. He sits down with his back against the jagged wall of the cave and pats the empty spot beside him, adding, "C'mere, sit. No point in both of us freezing our asses off when we could be doing something about it."
Riven regards him for a silent moment before acquiescing, and moves to sit by his side. It feels like Yasuo's the one shivering until he wraps an arm around her shoulder and tugs her close, and Riven realizes that no, they're both shaking because the wind is howling now and a cave can only block so much. He doesn't say anything when they're pressed so close together, and she doesn't either; instead they remain with their own thoughts--thoughts of the cold, thoughts of their situation, thoughts of the past and the present and the future and the growing warmth beside them--until they fall asleep.
(But by then, Riven's leaning against him with her head resting on Yasuo's shoulder, and the fingers of Yasuo's free hand remain just a hair's breadth away from touching hers.)
offensiveminki was like yo what u want and literally the first thing i thought of is dorky ass hobos bein stupid and holding hands, end me now
"You know, back when I was younger, I always wanted a pretty wife with slim fingers."
Riven glances at Yasuo, an eyebrow raised at his sudden confession. She can't fathom just what brought this up, but it's nothing particularly important so she can't bring herself to care. "You're with the wrong woman if that's the sort of thing you want," she replies, and goes back to sharpening the edge of her blade.
Riven's fingers are, by any definition, ugly. They're long but also calloused, riddled with scars and cuts and the occasional bruise. Her nails are short and blunt, and her skin is more often dry than not. These aren't the hands belonging to a woman; they're hands belonging to a soldier, of someone who has always prized the sword above all, and Riven is proud of them.
Yasuo chuckles, and watches with keen eyes as Riven slides the block of wood along the blade's edge. "Hey, I said back when I was younger. A man's tastes tend to change over time."
"If you're trying to be charming, it's not working." But even as she says this, there's a hint of a smile on Riven's lips. She's never really cared if others thought her as pretty or not, in part because in Noxus, strength had always mattered far more than beauty ever would. But it's glaringly obvious just where Yasuo is intending to take this conversation, and she has to admit that it's a just a little flattering.
"Always such a tough nut to crack," Yasuo sighs, but his tone and grin suggest that he's far from actually exasperated. As soon as Riven sets the wood down, he reaches to take her hand in his own and winks as he presses a kiss to her knuckles. "...Someone with nicer hands wouldn't be able to fight half as well as you do, anyway."
"Half is an insult," Riven replies, but as soon as Yasuo's lips leave her skin, she intertwines her fingers with his. (And it's quite a sight, she thinks, to see their hands clasped together. Both are scarred and stained with blood, the hands of warriors who haven't felt the touch of home in years, but they aren't alone and that's more than enough.)
