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seangelfish · 11 months

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Matching keychains

Ramuda Amemura x Reader

Genre/s: Angst (no comfort)

Word count: 2,788

Plot/Summary: This feeling has always been lingering in the back of his mind, but he knew that this can't last forever. Despite loving you for so long, he finally decides to let you go.

A/N: I recommend you listen to the instrumental of Buster Bros' Re:start whilst reading this as I was listening to it whilst writing this and honestly, it made the angst 10x worse! I might continue this fic because I actually really like it, and I love Ramuda so why not?

[I love Hypmic so much and I've always wanted to write fics surrounding the franchise, but I'm still pretty new to it, so please bare with me on how I portray these characters. I'm trying my hardest to make these accurate to the character as possible. Thank you for understanding and I hope you enjoy reading!]

There was something important that you needed to get done today and it involved you visiting the most popular toy shop in Shibuya. This city was known for its shopping let alone its vast entertainment, fashion, and restaurants, so this task was bound to be easy for you!

You stepped inside the building in awe at the wide range of plushies. They ranged from big to small, from animals to people to even little accessories for them as well! You were already tempted to get something for yourself, but that wasn't the reason why you were here.

You wondered around the shop trying to find a specific item in stock. It was extremely crowded, so you ended up bumping into a lot of other customers.

Hmm, where could it be? you thought to yourself, already overwhelmed. It should be here...!

Thankfully, a shop assistant caught your eye and helped you find the item that you were looking for. Once you were shown the selection of plushie keychains, your worries disappeared just like that. You thanked the worker profusely.

You giggled to yourself as you picked up the two matching bunny keychains. One was pink whilst the other one was white. Both bunnies were wearing bows of the other's colour. It was so cute!

"Ramuda would love this!" you chirped.

Yes, the sole reason you came to this particular area was to buy a little gift for your boyfriend, Ramuda. You saw the two plushies advertised on your Twitter feed and instantly thought of him. You thought it would be so cute to have matching keychains with the love of your life!

You exited the store happily with the plushies you just bought. You can't wait to surprise Ramuda with them, and it was a perfect day to do so because he had asked you to meet up with him this evening.

"I wonder what he has planned for us tonight~" you wondered excitedly.

In his shop, Ramuda was anxiously scribbling in his sketchbook, thinking of ideas on what new clothes to design but to no avail because all he could think about was you.

The page he was currently working on was now filled with messy, indescribable pencil scratches. Whatever he was doodling wasn't pretty and he knew of it. He just wanted to rip everything out, destroy everything until these feelings of his were no more.

"Are you okay?" asked Gentarou, looking at Ramuda's sketches from behind his shoulder.

And as on cue, Ramuda immediately slammed his sketchbook shut and answered cheerfully, "I'm A-OK! I'm just having art block at the moment! Nothing too serious. I'll try again later~!"

Gentarou didn't believe a second of it, but shrugged it off.

"Just so you know," Gentarou began. "You can always tell–"

Ramuda cut him off. "I'm alright," he said slowly.

He jumped up from his seat to give his usual little twirl.

"Well, I'm off to see (Y/N) now~!" he exclaimed. "She's waiting for me, so I have to be there quick! I'll be back, so you don't need to close the shop. See you later~!"

Gentarou watched his friend skip out of the shop hurriedly. Once he was gone, Dice entered.

"I just saw Ramuda run out," he stated. "He wasn't looking too good. Is he okay?"

Gentarou merely shook his head.

You idled around the park, taking in the cool breeze and the amber sunset above. It truly was a beautiful evening and you couldn't wait to spend it with Ramuda.

A thought popped into your head. You should take a picture of the plushies you bought today with the sunset in the background!

You placed the two bunnies down on one of the park's benches, positioning them together as if they were holding hands. You giggled to yourself at how embarrassing this was, but it was such a cute idea! You were thankful that the park was empty at this time.

You quickly snapped a picture and to your satisfaction, it was the most beautiful picture of a sunset you have ever taken. You couldn't wait to post this on your Instagram page with your lover tagged!

"(Y/N)!"

You could hear faint footsteps running towards you. Shoving the plushies back into your bag before Ramuda could see them, you turned around to greet your boyfriend with the brightest smile on your face.

His pace slowed down as he stopped a few metres away from you. Seeing you smile at him like that made his heart ache. He would usually match your expression, but this time, he returned your smile with a look of such emptiness that it just wasn’t hard to miss.

Your smile faded away quickly.

"Ramuda... are you okay...?"

The distance between you two was unbearable, but you knew that you weren’t permitted to cross the invisible barrier Ramuda was holding up. So, you stayed stuck to your spot, and he did too.

“(Y/N),” he repeated, but with sadness to his tone. “Remember when you asked me where my parents were… or what my childhood was like?”

You didn’t know where he was going with this.

He continued, “…or which high school I attended? Who I was before I became a fashion designer? Before The Dirty Dawg? …But I didn’t answer any of it?”

You stared at him. He wasn't the Ramuda you were used to seeing everyday. His demeanour was completely different, but it wasn't too much of a surprise to you. Sometimes, you'd catch glimpses of this other personality, but you doubt he'd ever catch you noticing it.

“…I had none of what you had, none of what the average person has had in their lives. You could even say that I did not even have a life before any of this. You may not believe me, (Y/N), but what I’m going to tell you from this point on is the truth. Unfortunately, I can’t give you too many details as it’s not in my right.”

He watched your expression, the confusion and worry on your face. You wanted to ask him why he was bringing this up now, but you continued to stay in your spot, awaiting his explanation.

As he stated before, he didn’t bring up too many details. Though, he confessed that the personality he presented to others including you was all made up – a lie. He mentioned that he wasn’t the ‘real Ramuda’ and that he could never be the real one. He told you that he merely exists for someone else, not himself, and if he were to disobey them, he would be killed. He described himself as ‘defective’ as if he was a product. He revealed why he was a massive sweet tooth as the lollipops helped him to continue living.

“And that’s why… we should break up,” he said finally. “I’m just going to cause you trouble if I continue to be with you.”

You were speechless. It was so much to take in. He had finally told you about his background, but now he was suggesting that you two should break up. You didn’t know what to say, but all you wanted to do in that moment was to touch him.

“So please–” he began.

You pulled him in, letting his chin rest on your shoulder as your other hand held his head gently. It was getting hard to breathe as tears streamed down your face. Ramuda was frozen, his eyes showing nothing but perplexity.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that all on your own," you whispered. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t too attentive or if I wasn’t there for you.”

Ramuda chuckled with some sort of annoyance.

“It’s not your fault, (Y/N). You were always there for me; I just never made those feelings known. But we need to end things now. You can never truly be happy with me for who I am and what I will have to deal with in the future. Things will get too complicated and not only will it hurt you but me as well.”

Even when he was saying all of that, his arms couldn’t help but hug you back. He couldn’t stop himself from shedding a few tears. Why did you believe him so easily? Why did you trust him so much? Why do you still care about him even after confessing that his whole character was fake?

And as if you were reading his mind, you replied, “I don’t want to end things with you. I don’t care about who you were, I just care about who you are right now… even… even if it’s a lie. I don’t care. I know how kind and passionate you are. We can easily overcome these obstacles, can we not?"

Ramuda was silent, pulling away from your embrace. He shook his head and looked at you sadly.

“(Y/N), I’m going to let you go, and so should you. This is my final decision.”

"Ramuda!"

He smirked. “I’m not going to lie though, I really do love you, and it sucks because I’m going to keep loving you.”

"Then–"

He shook his head, interrupting you. “But we can’t keep doing this. I can’t risk you getting involved and I can’t keep you from being in a better relationship. You can’t be happy with me. So, go find yourself a better man; someone that will always make you feel safe and happy… like Ichiro or something.”

Before you started dating Ramuda, you were close friends with Ichiro. This was during The Dirty Dawg days where the leaders of each division were grouped together. Your friendship with Ichiro was genuine and he was so lovely towards you. You would always laugh with him and shared each other’s stories. People often caught you together by the lake watching the sunset.

Ramuda always felt guilty that he robbed you off a beautiful relationship with Ichiro. But despite knowing your mutual feelings, he still shoved his way through the bubble you and Ichiro had together. He did all he can to pop that little bubble of yours, he’d butt into your conversations whenever he got the chance. He didn’t care whether you liked Ichiro or if Ichiro liked you back, he just wanted you to be his. He liked you too after all! And eventually, with all his attempts of breaking you two up, he succeeded.

“What?! Why are you saying that?!” you cried. "Why would you tell me to go find another lover when all I want is you?! My feelings for Ichiro are in the past now! I don't want him, I just want YOU. Why is this so difficult to understand that I don't care about who you are?!"

“(Y/N), stop!” he shouted. “I’m not going to change my mind!”

He was crying. He was crying as much as you now.

“If I didn’t get in between you two, you would’ve been in a happier relationship. You wouldn’t need to worry about me or the troubles I will cause. You wouldn’t need to worry about where he is or what he’s doing unlike me! He’s genuine and he’s real. He’s probably everything you’ve been looking for in me!” he said as he choked on his words. “I’m sorry for doing that to you two. I should’ve ignored you back then so you wouldn’t need to hear me say all this stuff now.”

The tears in your eyes wouldn't stop flowing, but you were also getting fed up with him. You just wanted to reason with him. You didn’t want to end things like this, not now and not ever.

“I said I don’t care!” you yelled. “Ramuda, I just want to be with you! I will only ever love you!”

Ramuda was stunned at your words, but he laughed even with the tears gushing down his face. He cupped your face with both of his hands and kissed you softly – his last kiss to you.

“Ah, (Y/N), I’m really going to miss you,” he croaked. “I… I really am going to m-miss you…”

"Ramuda, please..."

"It's time for you to forget me, okay?"

How did such a beautiful day turn into something so sad? You just wanted to give him your matching keychains…

He whipped out some sort of device – a hypnosis mic? – and sang something. There was no time to react as everything became a blur. You tried calling out his name once again, but the last image you had of him was of him smiling at you with the glassiest eyes you have ever seen.

A few months from now...

There would be times you would feel some sense of melancholy in the air. That feeling would happen whenever you'd enter a particular shop or area, but you never knew why you felt that way.

Ramuda lived his life as usual. Before he took you home, he erased everything of his existence from your phone, computer, and physical photo albums – anything he could get his hands on. It pained him that he had to do this, but he wanted you to start anew. He hoped that you were still able to fall in love with Ichiro again even if it will hurt him.

"And done!" said Ramuda, finishing off his sketches. "It's perfect. The ladies would love this collection~!"

"Oh, you’re finally done?” Dice said as he munched on his lunch Gentarou paid for. “That was fast.”

Ramuda giggled. He was proud of himself for completing such a task. He couldn't wait to see how the final product will turn out.

"Oh, by the way," he started. "We're going to participate in the Division Rap Battle next week, so be ready~!"

You were convinced by your co-workers to watch the DRB with them after work, so you decided to clean your photo storage. You liked taking pictures whenever you’d attend concerts after all!

As you were going through all your photos, you stumbled upon a photo you didn’t remember taking. It was a photo of two bunny plushies sitting on a bench in front of a beautiful amber sunset; a pink and white bunny who looked like they were holding hands.

"I didn't know I had plushies like that..." you said slowly.

You got up and looked around your room for those plushies. As a result, you made a huge mess, but you were just happy you found one of them. It was the pink bunny with a white bow. However, you couldn’t find the white bunny anywhere, and you searched everywhere for it.

"Weird," you commented, looking at the pink bunny. "When did I buy this again?"

It was fluffy and soft, and the feeling of melancholy washed over you once again. You still didn’t understand why you keep getting that feeling. You shrugged it off like you always did.

Attaching the pink bunny keychain to your bag, you left the house to meet up with your co-workers to get to the stadium.

The stadium was packed. The girls around you were squealing over a particular figure, Ramuda Amemura, who was currently rapping against Matenro.

You haven’t seen Ramuda in a while despite living in the same city. You were good friends with him when The Dirty Dawg was still around, but after they disbanded, you two never kept in touch. He slowly became distant with you which kind of annoyed you because you had heard from the others how he still kept in touch with Ichiro and Samatoki.

You would see him a lot on social media though. He was super popular with the girls, and he had the best fashion sense that was to your taste. You even purchased some of his pieces online.

He was now active in Fling Posse and his raps were as brilliant as they were before. He seemed more energetic too.

You watched him from the seats attentively as the girls around you cheered him on. But you were extremely confused because as Fling Posse lost against Matenro and was ushered to leave the stage, you spotted it – the white bunny keychain, the same one in the picture that matched your pink bunny keychain you currently had hung on your bag. Ramuda had the bunny attached to his hoodie.

And yet you still didn’t understand why this sense of melancholy came back to you, tugging on your heart strings even more than ever. Even when your eyes locked with Ramuda’s for just a second, even when your eyes began to water, you still didn’t understand why you were feeling this way.

For some reason, you just wanted to chase after him and hold him tight, but all you could really do was watch him smile at the crowd and walk away.

Intro page | Hypnosis Mic masterlist | Requests rules

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #ramuda amemura #amemura ramuda #ramuda x reader #ramuda amemura x reader #fanfic #hypmic fanfic #hypnosis mic fanfic #ramuda x reader angst #hypmic x reader angst #hypnosis mic x reader angst

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solarwonux · 3 years

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Cherry || Vernon

vernon x f!reader: soulmate!au

w.c: 4k

warnings: angst, heartbreak, suggestive themes but very minimal

note: this is one of the works I’m most proud of, so I really hope you guys like it or love it as much as I do. Let me know your thoughts, yes this is a repost and I reposted it for good reason, hehehe.

p.s: read the sequel: sunflower hehe

masterlist || sunflower

The sun was shining down, peeking through the delicate petals of the cherry blossom trees as the two of you strolled hand in hand underneath them. “Why do we do this every year?” Vernon asked a soft smile decorating his face as a gentle breeze blew effortlessly causing the pink and white flowers to fall from their perspective branches into your hair.

“It’s tradition.” You said ruffling your hair, trying to get the un welcomed flowers to fall out. Vernon shakes his head reaching over and slowly untangles the dainty petals from your unruly hair. A soft giggle falling out of your cherry painted lips before you stood up on your toes to kiss him.

He smiles against them, moving his hand from the top of your head down to your cheek, his thumb caressing it gently. A colorful burst of emotions spiraling in the pits of your stomachs, a comforting warmth embracing the two of you. He pulls away, a small whine falling out of lips while he chuckles resting his forehead against yours. Locking his eyes with yours. He searched them admiring the way they looked against the pink and white of the Sakura trees. And he decided that this was why he always came with you to see the cherry blossom trees once they were in full bloom. The feeling he would get in his body as he watched you gaze up at them with so much adoration and care was indescribable and something, he would never trade for anything in the world.

But now as he was looking down into your glimmering eyes, he panicked because felt it. The sinking feeling in his stomach. The same one he had been ignoring for the past month as the bright colors around him started to fade, turning into pale versions of themselves. He knew what it meant, but he also knew that he loved you like the way the moon loves the stars. So, he kept ignoring it, pushing it aside, burying it underneath all the precious memories he kept of you. Because accepting the fact that one day he’d fall out of love with you was something he never wanted to face.

He sighed, closing his eyes tightly. He had somehow convinced himself that this was all in his head. And that the second he would open his eyes again the color he had grown to love would come back into his world. But of course, the universe had its way of working and right now it was working against him because when had opened his eyes, the color around him continued to fade.

“Are you okay?” You said wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s waist. Lately you noticed he had been acting differently. Listening to sad songs, spacing out and confusing colors with one another, but the two of you were going through a rough period in life. Money was starting to become tight and both of your jobs weren’t enough to pay for the overwhelming amount of bills, fights between the two of you had started to happen more frequently as well. But you just assumed that this would pass because as long as the two of you were together, you’d be able to take over the world someday.

“Mhm, I was just thinking of songs I could add to my new mixtape for you.” He winked playfully. A giggle escaping your throat. Vernon’s smile falling as the feeling of joy he would get whenever he heard your laugh was nowhere to be found.

“It’s been five years and you’re still making me mixtapes.” You smiled widely. Another cool breeze blowing, rattling the trees around you causing the petals to fall again, making you look like an ethereal angel. And if Vernon wasn’t so panicked or scared, he would’ve let himself indulge in this moment wholeheartedly. But he was terrified.

“It’s tradition.” He spoke, placing a soft kiss against your temple, grabbing your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. “And I love you.”

“I love you more.” You smiled reaching up into his hair and grabbing the single pink petal that had found its way into it. You held your thumb out to him where the petal had stuck. “Make a wish.” You whispered watching as his face contorted into something you couldn’t decipher.

Every year the two of you made a wish together underneath the falling flowers and every year he had thought it was childish, but he never once complained. Now he wondered if what he was going through was punishment for being so selfish back then. He sighed lowly before placing his thumb against yours and closing his eyes as tightly as he had closed them before. The two of you mumbling underneath your breaths, unknowingly wishing for dreams that had started to become unattainable as the days passed by.

When he opened his eyes again the disgusting feeling returned but decided to push it aside again as he smiled and hugged you tightly. The air leaves your lungs along with a gentle laugh. He frowned noticing that the color he had once associated with your laugh disappeared. “Let’s go home, it’s wine night.” You pulled away from him, tapping his nose with your index finger. “You promised you’d watch The Bachelor with me.” You smirked before pecking his lips and pulling your hand from his. The feeling of emptiness increased as he watched you walk away awed by the trees around you. Leaving him behind to deal with the fact that maybe in a few seconds, minutes, hours, days or months; his home wouldn’t be with you anymore.

The heat was unbearable making the clothes stick onto your bodies. The two of you were sitting out in the balcony of your apartment because although it was hot outside, for some reason it was hotter inside. Your bare legs were resting on top of Vernon’s clothed ones, his dress shirt opened, revealing his glistening chest.

“How was work?” You whispered, wrapping your cherry red lips around the straw of the lemonade you had made in a desperate attempt to cool down.

“The air broke again, at this point I think they’re doing it on purpose just to go home early.” He chuckled looking over at you, the brightness of your lips making his heart palpitate out of time.

Ever since that day at the park, the colors had faded almost to a black and white, except for the bright red of your lips. He wondered why you still wore it, especially during the summertime where you usually opted for soft pink colors. And on days where the two of you stayed home doing nothing, but he never voiced his curiosity. Mainly because it was the only color about you that hadn’t practically faded to nothing and the color that he had started to associate with hope.

“How was your day off…did you miss me?” He smirked his hands mindlessly massaging your calves, kneading out the tension.

“Awful, I had to move the couch all by myself…my body hurts.” You pouted sitting and wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head against his shoulder.

“I told you to wait for me before rearranging the living room.” He said turning his face and placing a small kiss into your hair. “But you’re impatient and stubborn, which is why I don’t feel bad about your pain.” He said wrapping his arm around your shoulders and bringing you closer to him, wishing the touch of your skin still gave him the same effect as it did before. But as of recently he hadn’t been able to feel anything, and he hated it.

In fact, he had started to hate a lot of things ever since that day at the park. He hated coming home to face you, seeing a smile reach your eyes when he couldn’t offer you one anymore. He hated lying through his teeth, telling you he loved you when he honestly wasn’t sure anymore. He hated listening to you talk about work and how Janice—your co-worker had started cheating on her husband with Mark—the IT guy. He hated feeling your lips against his and your hands on his skin. Because it all meant that you still loved him. That your world wasn’t fading like his was. That the universe had no other soulmate for you but him. It hurt him because he was so sure that he loved you and that you were the only one for him, but as the days passed by, he was reminded more and more that you weren’t. And he hated himself and the universe for punishing you in such a cruel way.

He was angry and frustrated trying to convince himself that whatever he was going through was just a phase. But he was starting to run out of energy and that’s what scared him the most.

Vernon wanted to fight with you over stupid things again, like leaving the empty milk cartoon inside the fridge. He wanted to feel happiness whenever he woke up next to you with the sheets of your body, one of your legs caging him in and your mouth open as small snores fell out of them. He wanted to see you walk down the aisle in the prettiest white dress as he cried his eyes out like a child. He wanted to see you carry his children and complain about the weird cravings he was preparing himself for you to have. He wanted to move into a house with a big lawn and a backyard so he could run around it with his kids, while you sat back, your loud laughter erupting around them. He wanted to grow old with you, retire in a quiet town with a golden retriever.

But he knew his wish was getting farther as the days passed by and he hated it.

“Yet you love me and my impatient and stubborn ass.” You giggled planting a kiss against his cheek, the residue of your red lipstick left behind as a gentle reminder. He took a deep breath returning from whatever daydream he had been inside of. He turned towards you, his best fake smile etched on his face. “And I will never stop.” He said before connecting his lips with yours, the sparks erupting inside of you just like they had done the first time, unbeknownst to you that Vernon had stopped feeling them long ago.

The leaves had changed color. At least that’s what you had told him when you came home one day boosting about how pretty the scenery had been while you were walking home. And he wished he would have joined in on your excitement especially because fall was his favorite season. The season he had first laid eyes on you five years ago on a Monday morning. Where he rushed inside the bakery by the University campus for a quick breakfast before class. He had bumped into you, crushing the chocolate croissant you had in your hand against your chest, urgent apologies escaping his mouth as he tried to help you clean up your shirt. Stopping once he noticed he could see the color of it—a pale yellow. He raised his head, his eyes locking with yours as you stared at him speechless, holding the remainder of your croissant in your delicate hand.

“Fuck me.” You breathed out, your eyes getting wide as you realized what you had said. “Not like that, I didn’t mean it like that…I’m just—wow this is wild.” You blushed putting your hand against your cheek as you looked around taking in your surroundings.

“Shit.” He cursed hearing his phone buzz uncontrollably in his pocket signaling he was going to be late for class, he could care less. He wasn’t sure why he had done it, but he hugged you tightly, the colors hitting him like a wave, and he couldn’t be happier. You stiffened in his arms before relaxing and hugging you tightly, a comforting sigh falling out of your lips. “I-I found you.”

He shook his head trying to push back that memory, Nostalgia clouding his judgement just like it did whenever the memories of you flooded back to the surface. He tightened his hold around your waist cuddling you into his side even further. It was Sunday and the two of you had decided to stay in after a stressful week at work. You were mindlessly drawing inside of your notebook, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you concentrated. Vernon had always scolded you on that habit, claiming your lips were too beautiful to be put through that unnecessary stress. Now he didn’t have the energy to tell you anything about it.

You sighed feeling his thumb graze the skin of your hip, his lips finding your neck as he searched for anything that could make him feel. You smiled putting down your pencil and sat up, turning your head a small pout on his lips as he tried pulling you closer to him. “You’ve been so touchy lately.” You grinned placing your hands against his chest.

“Are you complaining?” He smirked moving your hair away from your neck and finding your sweet spot. A soft sigh coming from your lips.

“I’m not…” You paused moving your head away as he let out a whine. “It’s just not you.” You whispered looking down at your closed notebook, running your index finger against the spine.

“What do you mean, I love touching you.” He spoke removing his hands from your body, untangling himself from you. “Do you not want me touching you anymore?” His heart breaking slowly as words flew out of his mouth before he could process them.

“No…I love you touching me, it’s just you’ve never been this overly affectionate before.” You shrugged, opening your notebook again and grabbing your pencil as Vernon let out a frustrated sigh and stood up from the couch.

“I can’t show my love to you anymore without you getting suspicious.” He scoffed, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. You slammed your notebook shut throwing it aside before standing up to face him. Anger that you had been pushing aside for months coursing through your veins.

“Do you?” You spat out, closing your hands into fists at your sides. Vernon gives you a confused look making you roll your eyes. “Do you love me?” You spoke feeling smaller than usual as you fought back tears, Vernon’s heart stopping.

“O-Of course I do, why wouldn’t I love you anymore.” He ran a hand through his hair, his words coming out of his mouth at lightning speed as he tried to process everything. He should’ve prepared himself for this moment instead of walking on eggshells around you, worrying about making the wrong move. And for the most part he had succeeded but he knew that one day you would catch on and he guessed that day was today.

“The other day when I asked you to hand me a yellow marker you stared at them for longer than usual before handing me the blue one. You usually gloat about the leaves around this time of the year and this year you seemed to care less and finally you’ve been dressing in just black and white clothes and when you don’t nothing matches. So Hansol I’m going to ask you again and I need you to answer me honestly.” You grabbed his hands holding them up to your chest as he stared at you wide eyed. “Do you still love me?” You choked out. A single tear falling from your eye and Vernon swore he heard your heart cracking along with his.

He closed his eyes, counting to five before opening them. The color of your bright red lights staring back at him. The same color he had started to hate because he understood why that had been the only part of you that hadn’t faded. He took a deep breathing wiping your fallen tears with his thumbs wishing he could still see the color of your eyes burning holes inside his.

“Yes, I do still love you.” He said pressing his lips against your forehead. Your heart breaking because although that was the answer you needed. It wasn’t the answer you wanted because it was a lie.

He knew you hadn’t believed him as he heard your sobs, but he held you closely hating himself even more now that you knew the truth.

The first snowfall of the year had fallen, while the two of you were having dinner on the rooftop of your apartment building. The first snowflake landing on top of Vernon’s nose, the first smile you had given him ever since that Sunday afternoon. You laughed at his confused face as it rang in his ear like a sweet melody that had slowly started to go out of tune, but he didn’t care. You laughed, you smiled, and it made his heart swell knowing it was directed towards him.

You had put your noodles down, your eyes glowing as you watched your surroundings turn into a pale white, the bitter cold hitting your bones, but you didn’t care because it still meant you could feel something. You turned to face Vernon as he watched you with calm eyes, hating the way his gaze made you feel. You looked down wrapping your arms around yourself welcoming the numbness that accompanied the cold.

“Let’s go to the bakery.” Vernon spoke standing up and gathering the trash on the table. You looked up opening your mouth before closing it again looking for words to say. But you had ran out of them long ago and it frustrated you. So, you nodded agreeing with him, because despite everything that was going on between the two of you. The traditions that two of you had built still mattered.

“You’re paying for the hot chocolate this time.” You said nudging your side against his as the two of you walked down the street hand in hand. His touch had started to feel foreign to you and you wondered if he felt it too.

“I always do.” He chuckled, shaking his head, bringing your hand up and resting it against his heated lips trying to warm you up. You tried everything not to pull away because days were getting harder than before knowing that one day the universe will finally give him the person he was meant to be with. But you were selfish just like Vernon was and just like every other human being on this planet was, so you pretend. You let him treat you the same way he had always treated you. You let him touch you the same way he always touched you and in return you’d do the same, opting to deal with your heartache when the day the two of you would have to exchange your goodbyes came.

“Wait outside.” He said as the two of you stopped in front of the infamous bakery you had first met five years ago.

“Deal.” You nodded taking a seat on the bench the owners of the bakery kept outside. A small kitten poking out from behind the legs making you smile widely. Vernon watched you, admiring the way you carefully picked up the kitten and placed it on your lap. Your heart was too big for your body sometimes which is why this whole situation was worse. He nodded once before walking inside.

Vernon took his place in line looking around, wishing he could remember the colors of everything he once had grown to love, trying to decide whether the glass display where all the sweets were laid out was still the same one as before. He racked his brain for a while before deciding that it wasn’t, adding it to the list of items that had changed ever since his life started falling apart.

“Next.” He heard the cashier yell. Vernon took a step forward looking up at the menu displayed behind the bar as his hands searched for his wallet in the pocket of his jeans.

“Two peppermint hot choco—shit.” He said as his eyes finally landed on the cashier in front of him. His heart stopping, his breath catching itself at the base of his throat as the feeling he had once felt with you rush through his veins.

His world that was now completely black and white, the world that had you in it. The one he had gotten accustomed to the last year slowly started changing. The colors return to their rightful places, starting with the cherry stain of her lips, fully understanding why he suddenly stopped seeing the color adorn your perfect lips days ago.

His chest tightened as her eyes widened and he knew she had seen it too. The fear that he had kept locked away in a wooden box, spilled out as his hands started to shake. He ran a hand through his hair tugging at the roots before closing his eyes shut. Scrunching them tightly hoping he’d see black and white once he opened them again.

A fool he was because the second he opened them the colors came rushing in faster than before. The color around her felt foreign to him because it wasn’t the colors he had grown to love when he was with you, and that broke him.

“S-Sorry.” He mumbled before rushing out of the bakery, bumping into passengers along the way, whispering his apologies. He pushed the door open, the annoying chime ringing his ear as his eardrum threatened to burst. His gaze landing on you and he swore he could physically feel his heart shatter into millions of pieces. Pieces he would no longer want to put together if it meant a life without you.

You paid him no mind as you beamed petting the head of the small kitten, humming the same song you would sing to him whenever he had trouble sleeping. He approached you slowly, the bitter snow crunching underneath his feet. His shaking hands down by his side as he stood in front of you. His bright shoes coming into your line of sight.

“Wow, that was fa—.” You stopped mid-sentence the second you finally raised your head to look at him. Tears falling down his face, making his cold cheeks even colder. He fell in front of you. His clothed knees scraping against the frozen payment.

“I-I don’t want this.” He sobbed, his arms tightening around your legs as he buried his face in your thighs, making the kitten meow in protest and jumping off. “I w-want to keep loving you.” He hiccupped.

You rested your hand on top of his head, letting your fingers tangle themselves into his dark locks. As you blinked back tears trying to come up with any comforting words to say as the two of you faced the moment you had been avoiding ever since that spring day at the park. The same moment that had kept you up at night as he soundlessly slept next to you. The reason why wore the atrocious red lipstick, even if it was out of character and clashed with your outfit. But you kept wearing it knowing it was the only color Vernon had been able to see, your heart breaking each time he unconsciously smiles whenever he saw it.

You knew this moment would come; you knew it would hit the two of you like a dozen bricks. The tightness in your chest getting worse as he held you, his sobs mixing with the sound of the chime from the bakery door.

“Is everything okay?” A soft voice spoke making your head turn, Vernon’s nails into your calves. You silently watched as everything around her faded at a rapid pace. Your breathing getting faster before the sob that you had been holding in finally fell out of your lips.

The last color you had seen before everything turned black and white, was the shade of her cherry red lipstick.

#seventeen fanfiction #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen vernon #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #svt imagines #svt fanfiction #svt x reader #vernon imagines #vernon fanfic #vernon scenarios #vernon x reader #vernon angst

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

A Show of Good Faith

Part Six of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.1k what i fuckin tell yall

Warnings: SMUT, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie, canon-typical violence, slight description of blood/injury

***

Isn’t it weird that nobody really ever talks about what happens immediately after you have a dead body in front of you?

It’s the part leading up to it that’s usually the most crucial, obviously. The adrenaline of the actual moment is overwhelming—you react without thinking, danger pumping through your veins alongside your blood and sharpening your survival instincts until they’re deadly. You do what you have to do to stay alive, nothing more. So it’s not really until you have a still moment with the evidence of your actions right there in front of you, glassy-eyed and staring lifelessly up at the ceiling, that you suddenly don’t know what to do.

Shocking is a word.

Debilitating is another.

Things… things come in flashes. You have blood on your hands; it’s thick and cold and electric blue in color, not dark or warm or crimson. One of them is vibrating violently, clutched around something heavy and clunky and unfamiliar, something with a handle made to fit a six-fingered grip. The kid is passed out in your other arm after expelling all his energy helping you take down the brutal assailant, choking him with… with some unknown baby shaman toad powers and holding him in place so you could grab this knife and you could… and you could…

The body of the man you just stabbed lays in a bloody pile on the floor in front of you. It was self-defense, but the reasoning behind it doesn’t take anything away from the gore, the blank state of shock rendering you motionless for Maker knows how long.

Corellia is a fucking shithole, you knew that coming in. If it was a sewer even with the Empire’s shipbuilding industry boosting the economy, it’s even worse after its collapse. To circumvent any unnecessary danger or attention, you chose to land the ship in one of the dense forest areas on the outskirts of the tracking fob’s radius. But unluckily for you, rats like forests just as much as they like sewers, and one of them apparently crawled his way onto the vessel a few minutes ago.

You drop the vibroblade to the floor with a clatter and slide down the hull wall, clutching the baby to your chest and trying to calm your breathing. There could be more of his friends close by. What you should do is climb into the cockpit and find somewhere else to lay low, send Mando a coded message with word of your new location.

But there’s a dead body in front of you.

And it’s… it’s dead.

Strangely, you default to something you’ve never actually done before. Something you probably shouldn’t ever do, in case your companion is in stealth mode or trying to hide from something, because it’ll immediately give away his position. You could theoretically get him killed, but you’re not thinking straight.

Your wrist trembles as you hold it in front of your lips. “Uh… M-Man-Mando?”

The sound of blaster fire and grunting crackles through your emergency comm link, before you hear a quick, breathless, “What’s wrong?” come through the speaker.

“It, uh—” you stare down at the oddly-colored blood on your fingers, wondering how you voice is able to come out so calmly, “it s-sounds like you’re busy, I’ll—I’ll just—”

More grunting. A thud. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You’re at a loss for words. You take a second to look down at the dead body, before lifting your wrist back up to your mouth. “I’m o-okay now, but I… but someone followed me into the Crest and he tried to… I-I mean he’s—he’s dead now, but—”

“Are you hurt?” He suddenly sounds urgent. It’s ridiculous that he didn’t actually sound urgent until now. “Is the kid hurt?”

“We’re—we’re both fine, but…” You look down at the child in your arms. “But the baby did something I—I c-can’t explain—and now he’s… I-I think he's asleep…”

“Good,” he replies shortly. You can hear him running now, pounding footsteps and heavy, quick breaths. Another blaster shot. “We need to get out of here. Rendezvous Sector-15, soon as you can. You’ll see me.”

“Do I…” Maker, you sound like an absolute idiot. “Do I just… just leave the body here, or…?”

“I’ll take care of it when you get here.” He doesn’t sound frustrated with you, but for some reason you feel incredibly frustrated with yourself. You should be able to pull yourself together, but your hands are all tingly and you can’t actually feel your fingers unless you really work for it. Stars, when’s the last time you actually blinked? “Can you fly?”

You don’t respond. You don’t even feel like you can stand up right now. The blaster shots scream through the crackling comm link for a second, and then you jump when he barks your name even louder than the gunfire.

“—Listen to me,” he urges, and you blink rapidly, the seriousness of his low growl hitting you right in the chest. “You can fly. Understand? Get the kid, get in the cockpit, put your seatbelt on. Fly out to me, right now. We’re leaving.”

His voice doesn’t call for argument. It’s abrasive and rough and unquestionable enough to get through to you. Of course you can fly, you can fly with your fucking eyes closed. Coming that firmly and doubtlessly from him, it’s a universal truth.

“Copy. Sec-Sector-15.” You say, adrenaline beginning to pump blood through your veins again. Just. Just don’t look at the body, okay? Don’t look at the body, you can do this if you don’t look at the body. “I’ll see you?”

“You’ll see me,” he repeats. And then the noise cuts off with a click.

You struggle up to your feet, heart pounding. You can do this. You can totally do this. You can walk, because you can fly. Duh. Mando said so.

You admittedly almost fall a couple steps down the latter while trying to climb up it one-handed, the baby held tightly to your chest, but you’re eventually able to get the both of you into the cockpit. The kid is carefully buckled into his little booster seat before you’re collapsing shakily into the pilot’s chair and swiveling forward.

Okay. Flight check. Now. To your left, flip down these few switches here—one two three four five—okay, good. To your right, press those two buttons sitting just above the nav console. Yep, got it. Up top now, those two red ones overhead. Good. Good, you can do this. Type coordinates into the nav comp. Sector-15, locked. Easy. This is easy. That big, knobless lever to your right—yes, the one with the exposed threading at the end, push that long metal stick forward and set thrusters to full. Okay. Left thruster, looks good. Right looks good, too. Okay. Seatbelt… seatbelt is… Seatbelt: on. Hatch: sealed. Shields: engaged. Flight check complete. Now all you have to do is take off.

Now all you have to do is take off.

All you have to do… is…

You stare down at the joystick in front of you blankly.

And then you shake your head back and forth frantically, hoping the rapid movement will jar some sense into you. Maker, get it the fuck together. What did Mando hire you for? You told him you were useful, didn’t you? This is what you do. You fly. So fucking fly, yeah?

You lift the ship off the ground and immediately take her around southeast, taking deep breaths and feeling the powerful rumble beneath your chair. Yeah, you can do this. Don’t think about the blood on your hands, the dark streaks of sickly purple now smudged all over the controls. Don’t think about the dead body in the hull. Don’t think about how you’re the reason it’s dead. Just fly the ship. This is something you can do.

You coast over the thick treetops and into the industrial sector, carefully scanning the gritty streets below. You don’t know what he meant when he said you’ll see him—until you suddenly see him. Smack in the middle of the airspace, rising phoenix strapped to his back and hovering a few hundred feet above absolute chaos wreaking havoc in the slums below. Blaster flares light up the night sky, though the sparks and flash grenades illuminating the dirty Corellian streets have nothing on the beauty of seeing those small twin jets in the darkness, the ones beginning to fly towards the ship.

“Got eyes,” his voice says through the comm link. Relief pounds through you. Stars, relief shouldn’t feel like this much of a struggle for your cardiovascular system, should it?

“Beginning deceleration,” you confirm breathlessly, slowing down and pressing a few buttons to open the hatch with your free hand. You bring both of them back down to swing her around until he’s got a clear path, feeling the ship dip just slightly with the sudden weight of him dropping in.

“Landed,” he grunts. “Set course for Nevarro.”

You floor it and elevate the Crest up through Corellia’s smoggy atmosphere, punching in coordinates in the meantime. The ship dips just a touch once more while the computer takes a few seconds to calculate a hyperspace path, and your eyebrows narrow before it quickly pulls back up again. It’s not until you see the manual hatch override indicator light blink next to the nav console that you realize he must’ve dumped the body before closing the door himself.

Well, that’s one way to handle that, you suppose.

The computer beeps quietly when it’s finished. “Standby for jump,” you tell your wrist.

“Copy.”

You triple-check the positive seal integrity readings before your hand is reaching for the double-reinforced hyperjump control, still trembling slightly. You lean all your weight forward into it, trying to keep your arm from buckling as the stars slowly shift across the observation shield for a split second, before you’re being hurled into the interdimensional wormhole.

Quiet. Hyperspace is fucking quiet. You forget, sometimes. Not how quiet it is—but how loud everything else is, not until you’re hurtling through the closest thing to purgatory you’ll ever experience in life. It looks… indescribable, even after the thousandth time. Empty space collapsing in front of you and expanding behind you simultaneously. Starlight streaking across the windows, space-time curving around the ship faster than the ship itself is moving through it. You take a moment to consider it as you unbuckle yourself shakily, before standing up and checking the seat behind you.

The kid is still knocked out cold, but you press the button to close the shield to his crib just in case, setting an alarm protocol to Mando’s remote arm brace should it open.

And then you slowly make your way around bulky cockpit chairs and down into the hull, shakily climbing down the ladder one step at a time. As soon as you turn around, there’s a caped wall of beskar rummaging through something with his back to you.

“Did you…” You announce yourself while looking around, trying not to sound as small as you feel. This is a such stupid question, you already know what he did with the body. But you… you should make sure, right? “You already took care of… of the…”

“Yeah.” Mando spins around and pulls out the cot from the wall at the same time, and you jump when the bed rattles loudly on its track and ricochets a few inches backwards after reaching its full extension. He quickly makes his way around it and over to you. “It’s gone. Come here, you’re hurt.”

“I’m f-fine,” you insist, feeling your hands shake when he abruptly grabs the left one and turns it over, pulling your wrist out towards him and up to the light so you both can see. “What about the qua—oh.”

There’s a long, ragged slice decorating the inside of your forearm, dried blood staining the ripped fabric along your sleeve. You blink down at it, not able to recognize its pain even with the evidence of the injury in front of you. It doesn’t look deep, but its edges are a little nasty and it’s still bleeding. Why can’t you feel it? Shouldn’t you be able to feel that?

He makes a noise through his helmet—something you can’t quite figure it out. Something between a short growl and a low huff of breath, before he’s grabbing your hips and steering you over towards the bed, lifting you up and setting you on its suspended platform when you’re close enough.

“Didn’t find the quarry,” the Mandalorian says quietly, turning around and looking through the first aid kit once more.

“You didn’t find the…” You blink down at your injury. He didn’t even find the quarry? But then what was all that ruckus about? And why are you going back to Nevarro to collect payment? Shouldn’t you be turning around and… and…?

He’s suddenly in front of you again, and this time he’s got a… a syringe in his hands? An E-bacta shot, you realize with an uncomfortable jolt. He pulls the cap off and sets it down on the bed next to you before holding out his gloved hand for you, waiting patiently but expectantly.

“No,” you immediately tell him, heart beginning to pump faster as you bring your arm up and hug it to your chest. You didn’t even know those things were street legal—they heal incredibly quickly but people have been known to abuse them because… well, because they’re supposed to give you a wicked fucking high. Bacta isn’t addictive and there’s no possibility of overdose, but this shit is concentrated. You can’t imagine how expensive it was. “Don’t b-be ridiculous, Mando—you—you almost bled out from a knife wound and we didn’t use one of those.”

“What do you think that is?” He looks down at your arm.

“It’s a scratch!” You exclaim, starting to feel a bit hysterical now from the adrenaline comedown. Maker, that needle is big. You knew bacta injections were thick but holy fucking stars. “It doesn’t even h-hurt! I could’ve… I could’ve done this to myself on accident for all I—”

“This has boosted antibiotics, too,” he cuts you off, quickly losing his patience and grabbing your wrist when you still don’t hand it over to him. He levers your forearm down, holding it parallel to the floor on your lap. “We don’t have any bacta kits left, I looked. This’ll work fast and it won’t scar. Hold still.”

“No—” you try to pull your hand away, hating the way your voice jumps when you’re aiming for calm and reasonable. “—I’ll be fine, w-we shouldn’t waste th—”

He tightens his grip. “Listen. This isn’t a scratch. It’s a torn laceration from a dirty Corellian vibroblade. Now I’m giving you at least a quarter dose, so hold,” he tugs your wrist forward, “still.”

You see the large needle heading towards your arm with determination and you’re instantly going rigid with panic, whipping your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut as you suck in a terrified breath.

You wait like a statue for the pain, frozen in anticipation and fright, but it never comes. Slowly peeking one eye open, you look back to find a chrome visor staring intently at you, unmoving.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you eventually gasp when he doesn’t say anything, and Maker, are your eyes actually starting to water? “I-I’m sorry, I’m just—that’s a b-big needle and—and I actually just k-k-killed someone and it’s just—” oh stars, here come the sniffles, “—I’m s-so sorry, I’m trying t-to keep it—keep it togeth—”

He carefully places the syringe down on the bed next to you as you turn your head away from him and try to stifle your short, panicked breaths with the back of your hand. But then you’re being caught and pulled forward, hauled into an iron chest without a single word.

It should be uncomfortable, you think. You should want to take the armor off and feel the muscles of his arms wrap themselves tight around you instead of cold metal, but for some reason, you don’t. He feels… right like this. Like the beskar is a natural extension of his body, like it holds just as much comfort as his bare chest does.

The Mandalorian stands there between your knees and silently embraces you, holding stoic and steady for you, tilting his head so you can calm your breathing into the crook of his neck. It’s covered in fabric but it smells like him, warm and soft and damp with sweat. You breathe him in, clutching him tight with your uninjured arm and feeling your heartbeat gradually begin to slow as it’s pressed against cool metal.

“E-bacta has calming properties,” he says quietly after a moment. “It’ll help more than this.”

“Shut up.” You mutter against his throat, doing everything you can to drown yourself in him. Maker, he smells good. He just got finished bringing down an entire Corellian sector, why the fuck does he smell so good? “I'm not—not letting you stick that thing in me.”

“Yeah?” He returns softly, dragging a hand up your back. “Bet I can make you want it.”

“Not happening,” you grunt, tightening your hold on him. “You’ll put regular bandages on my arm until we can resupply on Nevarro and save that torture device for another poor soul who needs it.”

“This isn’t over,” he eventually warns you, gently pulling away. He turns around and starts picking out gauze and tape from the first aid kit regardless. “I was just blindsided. Tears don’t work on me, but. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

You relax, smiley and dopey-eyed and happily sticking your arm out for him for whenever he comes back, so fucking glad he gave in. You’ll get bacta on Nevarro, that sounds perfect. “So… so all that fuss and you didn’t actually find the quarry?”

“Someone tried to take off my helmet,” Mando replies shortly, starting to rip open a few packets of sterile gauze strips without looking at you. And then he doesn’t say anything more, like that should be explanation enough.

“Ah.” You remark after a second, thinking about how many blaster fires you saw. Maker. “I see.”

What a pair you two make. Someone who went into shock from hurting another person in defense of your life, and someone who brought an entire block down because another person tried to take his helmet off.

Something he’s done with you twice now. Without ever being prompted.

Stars, you’re both so different, aren’t you? Such massively different problems, different ways of life. You’re suddenly struck with how much you could learn from him, if he was ever willing to share. How much the both of you could probably learn from each other. His assertiveness; your humanity. His decisiveness; your consideration. His secrets; your honesty. None of them are true opposites, not in the way people normally think. They’re not polarizing, they’re… complimentary. Filling in the gaps neither one of you can fill in yourself.

“Does that scare you?” He finally asks, when you’ve been quiet for too long.

“No,” you tell him blankly, watching his hands work. “Just… no. Not really. I mean. It makes sense. Was just thinking about how different life must be for you.” You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Showing my face, telling people my name. Things I take for granted, I think.”

Maker, maybe you’re getting a little too honest here.

“Is that why you never ask about those things?” He’s quiet. You both stare purposefully down at your arm as he begins laying down the strips of white cotton over your cut. “Because you recognize what it means to give them up?”

“What—like your name?”

“Anything,” he says, and though he keeps working, his hands start to slow down. “You never ask me about anything. My name, my past… why I don’t take the helmet off. Everyone always asks, but. You never have.”

You shrug a shoulder. “Figured you get tired of telling people no, don’t you?”

His fingers still, hovering over your injury. He doesn’t move, so you elaborate.

“I mean… yeah, I’ve thought about those things, but…” you speak slowly, choosing your words very carefully. Your eyes narrow with the effort, trying to pinpoint and voice your exact opinion without making assumptions. “But I respect you. And your creed. I call you Mando because that’s what you told me to call you. And if you don’t take the helmet off, then you don’t take it off.” You shrug once more. “Some things don’t need explanations. They just are, and I’m okay with that.”

It’s a while before he goes back to dressing your wound, and even longer before he speaks again. When he does, he’s almost completely finished securing the bandages and it’s barely above a murmur. “Nobody usually thinks that simply about it.”

“Well. Fuck ‘em.” You blurt. “I think it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy. You should be the one who gets to decide who you are and what’s important to you, right? No one else.”

He stops again, this time tilting his visor up to look you in your eyes. You blink up at your own warped reflection.

“I think that shit is yours. Fundamentally. Doesn’t matter if you want to share it, change it, hide it, or burn it away forever. It’s your decision, and you’ll tell people what you want them to know. So fuck ‘em if they don’t respect that,” you tell him bluntly. “They obviously don’t know anything about you at all. Else they wouldn’t be asking.”

He doesn’t move. He just stares silently at you for a few seconds, and Maker, for some reason you wish now more than ever you could see his face. Even though it contradicts everything you just said, you wish you could see his face. What color are his eyes? You bet they’re brown. You bet they’re a warm, deep brown—expressive and soft and lovely behind such hard, unforgiving steel. His features are probably just as warm as the rest of him. Dark hair, wavy hair. Plush, gentle lips.

His hand comes up slowly. Gives you ample time to pull away before he’s softly cupping your cheek, tilting his helmet to the side as he studies you.

“Would you.” He’s quiet for a moment. And then he clears his throat through the modulator, before he tries again. “Would you like to know my name?”

You go shock-still, blinking at him and barely breathing. Why? Why is he asking this? He wants to give you his name? Immediately after you just told him why you don’t need it?

Your throat is a desert. “Only… only if you want to give it to me.”

He tilts his head the other way and takes a moment to consider you, gently trailing the leather of his thumb along your bottom lip. Your eyes dip down the length of his body, heat suddenly filling you when you realize how close and well he’s positioned right now, how his hips are at the perfect height standing right between your legs like this.

Mando slowly lowers his helmet to look down at your parted thighs, too. And then he’s shifting the visor to the side just a bit, eyes catching on something on the bed next to you. “Want to give you a few things,” he says lowly.

You probably would’ve melted into a puddle if he didn’t immediately hold up the E-bacta shot in front of you in both hands.

Your heart starts pounding though, all the same. “No—”

“Listen to me,” he tells you calmly, as if you could do much of anything else right now with how much space he’s taking up in front of you. His size and proximity gave you a thrill just a second ago, but now he’s nothing more than a giant fucking metal wall armed with a needle and blocking your escape. “I want to give you a few things, but only if you say yes to all of them. Are you going to listen?”

Maker, your heart is racing, rapid calculations going off in your head as your eyes flick between the syringe and his visor. Where the fuck is he going with this? “Y-yes. I’ll—I’ll listen.”

He holds the shot up between the two of you, as if you didn’t see it the first fifty fucking times. “First. I’ll give you a quarter dose of this. I’ll be gentle and I’ll give it to you somewhere where it won’t hurt, where you won’t even be able to see it, and it’ll make you feel better. Even good. Okay?”

You narrow your eyebrows at him. “You’re not doing a great job at selling me h—”

“Second. I’ll give you my name.”

Your breath catches. He continues on casually with the terms of the deal, as if he didn’t just set your whole world on fire with five words.

“You can’t ever use it around other people,” he tells you. “Only here. With me, on this ship. In front of the kid is fine. But if anyone else ever asks, you don’t know it. Okay?”

“Okay…” you whisper after a second, your chest filling with flames.

“Third.” He slowly catches your uninjured wrist in a gentle grip and begins to guide it forward. “If you… if you want, I’ll… I’ll give you this,” he murmurs, bringing it down to cup his cock. “I… won’t be gentle. But I will make you feel good.”

Maker, he’s already rock hard under your palm, throbbing and swollen for you. Almost as quickly as the urge first came on, you suddenly don’t want to escape anymore. Instead, maybe you can just… appeal.

“What if we…” You carefully reach down into his pants, holding his hips still between your knees and beginning to caress his cock. His skin is like silk under your hand, as hard as the beskar he straps to his body but so warm, and pulsing with life. “What if we reverse the order, maybe?”

“No,” he grunts immediately. “You’ll take the shot first, it’ll be a—” his breath catches when you give him a good, rough squeeze. “—a-a show of—of good faith.”

“That’s literally the only thing I don’t want from this all-or-nothing deal,” you reason, wrapping your legs around him to bring him closer. He acquiesces cautiously, slowly moving forward. “I’d be an idiot to give it up first. Ideally it should go second if there are three terms.”

“I know what you’re d-doing,” he tells you flat out, though he makes no attempt to stop it at all. He just growls low in his throat when he’s close enough for you to lean up and bite down onto his neck, one of his hands landing on your thigh and locking down onto it tight. “It won’t… won’t work. You’re—you’re t-taking the shot first, that’s the deal.”

“I could try crying again,” you proposition breathlessly, squeezing his cock once more and feeling him shudder.

“Ngh—meant it when I—” he gasps when you brush your thumb over his head, dampening the fabric covering his neck with your hot breaths. “When I-I said that you—you need to w-work on your… your negoti—tiating—”

“What if I just ask you really, really nicely?” You whisper, slowly starting to jerk him off. Your grip is tight and strong, and he practically sags and grabs the metal bedframe on either side of you. “Will it work if I ask you to please fuck me? Please? And then I’ll take your shot?” But then you’re struck by a sudden thought, and maneuver your head away just enough to look up at where his eyes should be. “But we don’t… we don’t actually have to… y’know, do the other thing, though, if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

Mando abruptly pulls back, pinning you with a blank chrome stare. “W-what?”

“If you…” You want to find some way to word this to get the correct sentiment across, but it’s difficult with him looking at you so hard. The last thing you want to do is sound ungrateful. Your hands stop moving, carefully letting him go and resting on his hips instead, so he knows this isn’t you just trying to find some way out of this. “You don’t have to tell me your name, y’know. It’s okay, I’ll—I’ll take the shot, it’s fine. We don’t need to… to turn something like that into a. A deal, or anything. You can still tell me if you want, of course, I just… I don’t want it to be part of like, some sort of… agreement between us, or something.” You tap a thumb over his hipbone, tilting your head. “So I’m taking it off the table. Even if you were the one who put it on there. No pressure. I’ll take the shot. And then you can tell me whatever it is you want to tell me after that. Apart from that. A… a show of good faith.”

Mando holds still as a fucking statue in front of you. If you couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin under your hands, you’d say he looks like a droid in sleep mode almost. He stays like that for so long, you actually start to worry a little bit. Was that a thankless, bitchy thing to say to him after he offered to reveal such a big secret about himself? Should you have just kept your mouth shut?

You suppose he was right, your negotiation skills could use a bit more work. You did technically just… willingly give up something incredibly valuable in exchange for absolutely nothing in return, didn’t you? Actually not absolutely nothing, you just agreed to have an actual fucking needle shoved into your body just so he wouldn’t feel any sort of obligation to reveal himself to you whatsoever. That’s like… rule number one of what not to do when negotiating, isn’t it? Fuck, what have you done? Is it too late to take half of that shit back? Can you start this whole thing over real quick? How much pressure do you think that glass syringe can handle? You know you can’t outrun or overpower him, but do you think you’d be able to smash it with your foot before he can stop you? No. No fucking way, you would. Don’t be stupid, don’t be fucking stupid.

And Maker, he’s… he’s still not moving. You actually start to squirm a little bit under his unreadable gaze, before he eventually brings both hands up to your face and gently cradles your jaw in his gloved palms, bringing you to a still.

“Unbelievable,” the Mandalorian says softly, tilting his helmet at you and carefully brushing his thumbs along your cheekbones. He doesn’t sound upset. He sounds truly mystified by you. Stumped. Reverent.

You blink at him. “What?”

“Nobody w-would… but you’re…” He seems like he’s trying to find the words to describe what he’s thinking, but he can’t. “You can’t—you… t—? Not just. But be—because of. On—on… pr-prin…”

“I… I do still want you to fuck me, though,” you eventually whisper when he never finishes his sentence. He’s not the best with words, but that’s okay. You’re perfectly willing to entertain other mediums. “First. Even if it is part of a deal, I don’t give a shit.”

You bring your hand back to wrap tight around him, beginning to pull up and down in strong, steady strokes once more. The tips of his fingers tighten just slightly on your jaw.

“Please,” you whisper, turning your head to kiss one of his palms. “Just show me, it’s okay.”

He stays like that for just a split second more.

And then he’s suddenly whipping one of his hands down to grab your wrist. The other wraps itself more fully around your jaw in its absence and firmly holds your head in place in front of him.

“I won’t be gentle,” he tells you once more, voice coming out hoarse and shaky. “I—I c-can’t—”

You nod in affirmation as much as you can with his iron grip wrapped tight over your chin like this. “Th—”

You can’t even get a single word out before Mando shoots both hands down to grab your hips, abruptly yanking your ass off the bed. Your legs have just enough time to buckle once they hit the ground, but then he’s spinning you around and practically shoving you right back on top of the metal platform, facedown with half your upper-body and both arms hanging over the edge.

Your pants are being snatched over your ass and down your legs as you still work to adjust yourself to the chaotic shift in position. Holy fuck, he wasn’t ki—

Something blunt presses up against the apex of your thighs, pushes forward, and oh, holy fu—

—oh—holy fuck—

You’re surprised you have enough breath to shout as loud as you do when he slams full-force into you, rattling the bed as he sheathes himself in your slick warmth to the hilt, fully armored behind you and pressing cold beskar tight up against your ass and thighs. You claw your fingers over the smooth metal surface under the cot and try to brace yourself on something, but there’s nothing to hold onto. Fuck, he’s so fucking thick. Forcing you to yield to his hardness, tightening his grip on your hips and keeping you locked in position.

And then he pulls out and then slams back in—starts pounding into you, using your body as a counterweight to thrust himself into and Maker, you would probably be screaming if you could even breathe right. The inability to inhale just means you can hear him groan through the modulator, shuffle up closer to you and start to drill into you harder.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he murmurs, and fuck, you would think he was suffocating you if it weren’t for both of his hands being anchored to your hips. It blazes through you like wildfire, burning your lungs and setting your body alight with flames. He leans over you and clamps a hand down over your shoulder, and your eyes roll back when he moves up and adjusts his angle just the slightest bit, pounding down into you instead of just into you, and—

“Maker, h-how did I deserve this?” He whispers quietly to himself, delirious and tight as stars explode behind your vision. His helmet rests on your shoulder blade, the beskar as heavy and unyielding as his thrusts are as he pummels into that one blinding, heavenly spot, over and over and over again. “What did I d—where were you when I was—when I was—?”

You finally gasp a ragged, desperate breath in like you’ve been underwater for the last minute instead of under him, taking his cock the way he needs to give it to you. And then you’re writhing, grinding your body back against his as much as you can, choking on the burning air and trying to put your needs together into a coherent sentence.

“T-take your helmet off,” you finally manage to lift your head up and beg, “please—please, I-I won’t—I won’t look, I sw-swea—” and then your cunt clamps down hard when he shoots up from you and practically rips the thing off his shoulders without another word, the sound of steel clanging loudly on the floor by your feet.

His hand comes around your throat and yanks you to the side before his teeth are sinking into your neck, not a single break in his hard, pounding rhythm.

He probably gets about ten good thrusts in like that before you’re going rigid under him and cumming—hard.

Everything below your waist locks down tighter around him than a fucking vice, and then you explode wet and hot around his cock with a hoarse shout, squeezing him and spasming through each rough, steady thrust as it launches you higher, and higher—

“Fuck—” he snarls into your neck, and then he suddenly kicks up from the rapid slapslapslapslap that got you over the edge to a surging, brutal bam—bam—bam that wrings a sharp, ragged cries from your throat. Your face screws up and you try not to scream at the sensation, wondering how it was possible that he could make the bliss even more debilitating. “Fuck, th—your cunt gets… s-so fucking tight when you cum—”

You just whimper for him helplessly, listening to the vulgar sounds of him fucking into you, the loud squelching as he keeps rocking mercilessly deep.

“You hear that?” He murmurs next to your ear, and the slick sound of it echoes obscenely through the silent hull. His voice is soft, contrasting blindingly with the way he’s holding you down and fucking you so strong and steady through the aftershocks. “Fuck—you get fucking wet after you cum, too, don’t you?”

You try to move, try to adjust yourself just slightly, but he locks down around you and holds fast to his rhythm. Fuck, it feels like he’s fucking the air out of you faster than you can breathe it in, grip like iron and tightening the more you struggle.

“‘M never leaving this,” he slurs, dropping his head to rest between your shoulder blades. “Never. Fuck, I’m—you’re—you’re never getting rid of me, sweet girl, I’m—I’m never—never f-fucking leaving—”

“Fuck, I’m—” you gasp, closing your eyes and trying to focus on the spark of a feeling deep inside you. “Stars, I think I-I might—”

And then Mando licks a slow, warm line up the curve of your spine and a second orgasm is suddenly burning a fucking hole through you, tearing another broken wail from your throat. You spasm and arch under him, bearing down on his thick cock and trying not to sob.

“Fuck, there we g-go—” he grits against your skin, picking up his speed and fucking hammering into you, completely deaf to your hoarse squeal at the change in tempo. “Good. Ngh, fuck—you—y-you want me to cum now?”

“Please,” you beg. “Please cum, p-please—”

“Where?” His voice is tight, breathless and shaky. “Tell me where—quick—”

“Fuck—inside,” you moan, eyes rolling back at the thought of taking his load deep inside you.

Mando’s hips stutter. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, they jerk back in before they could fully extend all the way out, and your abused lower muscles start to squeeze him in anticipation.

“I can’t—” he rasps, “—I’ve—I-I’ve never—and y-you’ll—”

“Safe,” you wheeze, because you don’t have enough air in your lungs or composure in your thoughts to tell him you have an implant contraceptive. All you can manage is a shameless, breathless, “Cum deep,” half-tossed over your shoulder.

Your hair is gathered and locked in a tight fist behind your head and if you thought he was fucking you full force, you soon realize he was only at about an eight. He flattens you against the bed and yanks your head up, arm coming around to brace across your chest and starting to just fucking wreck you from behind.

The change in angle forces his cock to spear up against something that blinds you, something so raw and impairing that you can’t speak anymore, even if you could find the air to.

“Fuck—m’gonna cum,” the Mandalorian grits, the bed rattling on its tracks as his head drops to your shoulder, “f-fuck, s’too fucking good, sweet girl—m’gonna f-fucking cum, I—”

He plows his hips into you just like that once, twice, three—

You lock down and everything goes blurs and goes out of focus, white hot pleasure ripping you apart from the inside as you do scream this time, clamping down and straightening your spine and convulsing in ecstasy.

He snarls and bites down on your neck, grrriiinndding his cock as deep inside you as it’ll go and shuddering above you. You can feel him pulsing, throbbing as he growls his way through it, breathing heavy and giving you his load just how you asked.

Mando pulls out of you much quicker than you want him to and stumbles backwards, suddenly dropping to his knees on the floor behind you with a metallic clang. He doesn’t do anything more than that, though; he just stares at your fluttering hole as you slowly start to leak his cum, one of his hands coming up to brace itself on the back of your thigh as he catches his breath and watches.

Fuck, you’re spent. Panting and exhausted in the same position he left you. You try to move, but you can’t. You just sprawl there on your tummy and slowly wait for the feeling to return to your body.

But then he says something. It’s too quiet—a soft, one syllable word you can’t quite make out.

“Wh—?” Your muscles feel like lead. “I couldn’t hear y—”

Gloved hands trail gently over your ass. And then you feel a small, sharp little prick on the swell of one of your cheeks, but it’s gone after a split second.

And then… fucking bliss.

You sag into the metal bed, feeling the room begin to spin. Fuck. He gave you the shot. The fucker just gave you the shot. How dare he? Before you could even work yourself up to the point of tears again? While you’re still… still fucking dripping with cum right in front of his face?

Until—

“Din,” he says softly. “It’s Din.”

Din.

How perfectly appropriate, you think.

Short, simple, and to the point. No flourishes. A quick, one-syllable punch of air. One singular, closed I vowel sitting quietly between two consonants, guarded on all sides. Hard at first, but then tapering off to a soft sound if you let it. Din.

“Din,” you whisper, fighting the overwhelming high with every last fiber of your gradually depleting consciousness, wanting so desperately to hear the word out loud with your own voice before you’re pulled under, trying to make sure it’s real. It comes out sounding that way, too; weak and quiet and straining for these last few precious moments with him.

Both of his hands wrap around the back of your knees and you feel his plush lips press gently against your upper-thigh, just below the curve of your ass. He opens his mouth and licks hot and warm along your damp skin, pulls both your knees apart just slightly and then starts to drag his tongue to the side a bit, and then—

And then everything goes dark.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #fanfic #no-droids #smut

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ateezinmymind · 3 years

Text

The Answer

Mingi x reader

Angst, fluff ending

tw: mentions and views of self harm, depressive symptoms, long distance relationship, foul language, hospitalization, overdose, kinda cliche — please don’t read if sensitive <3 stay safe

~hopelessly holding on for life, he was the answer

>My dear Mingi, I’m sorry it’s been so long... some things are going on. I don’t want to scare you, I miss and love you so much. I’m waiting.. waiting for you to come home to me. I’m falling out of control, I don’t know what’s to come, but I will fight hard for you... to see you, hopefully soon<

Folding the letter back into its envelope, Mingi looks out the window. Watching the waves crash against the rocks and spray the air with mist, the gray sky do no part in comfort. Sighing out with exhaustion he stands up from his creaking chair, away from the stack of letters sent in from you. It’s been two months since you’ve last seen each other. Two months and he hasn’t felt you. Two months that you’ve been alone and crumbling.

The struggles you’re going through he reads, affected him as well. Looking back to his littered desk, he walks back to reread one particular letter sent 2 weeks ago.

>Mingi, I’m sorry, I messed up bad. Do you remember when I talked about staying safe? I’m so sorry. Mingi please forgive me. I’ll do better. Please don’t leave me, I’ll fix it. Please just don’t hate me. I miss you, I can’t help myself. What I feel is getting worse and worse. I miss you more everyday, and I can’t help but feel I’m making you drift further away from me...I love you<

Wiping his face of warm tears, Mingi slams his fists into the desk. “Fucking hell y/n, why” buckling to the floor he sobs out in agony. He needed you to hang on for just a little longer, just a little more and he’d get you. Blaming himself for the fact you’re hurting made him feel broken..why did you do this. Why did you think he was going to leave? Never had he thought of running away from this. He loved you then and loves you still..but he can’t do anything to save you.

———

It’s so gray, the sky. The roses Mingi gave you the last day you saw him, are now all dried up and falling apart from the touch. Getting off the bed, making your way into the bathroom turning on the luminescent light bringing a stare to yourself. Putting your arm down, you wince in discomfort. The tears pricking your eyes before now threaten to leave their hiding.

Using one arm you pull off your shirt, up and over your head, bringing your gaze to the littered scars on your skin. “What the fuck have I done…” crying out loud, you look away from the mirror and down to your arm. Droplets of tears falling onto the flesh. You were hopelessly holding on, pretending this would bring him back sooner.

Turning on the shower, you sit on the toilet seat waiting for it to warm up. Was Mingi going to come back to you? Is what he writes in his letters what he really feels? Is this all a joke? Pulling yourself up you get rid of your bottoms and get in the water. Hoping all this would wash away

———

Mingi thought sending letters to each other would be better for you..to be a way to distract you from the negative aspects you might be troubled from. Things always went downhill when he had to go, no matter how hard you both tried it just happened. But by far this is the furthest you’ve gone. The furthest you’ve done to try and bring him back sooner. Mingi was breaking himself over it..

The meer fact you needed him for happiness, made him feel drained. His health became worse and worse as yours did..meals tasted like a flavorless paste, he couldn’t focus on his work. He was sleeping less and less, thinking on and on of what you’ll do next. And how bad it’ll be, praying you weren’t going to do something terribly stupid and regretful.

During your nights, waking up with urges for a distraction either ended with pain coursing through your arms or pain through words to send away. Writing the letters, the letters full of darkness that was overwhelming at times did nothing but worsen your feelings. Maybe it was rereading your sick words, making you feel more helpless and weak. Why would Mingi even want to stay with you, why would anyone love someone who was losing themselves? You couldn’t help but ponder the hope for help..was this capable of healing?

———

~4 months~

>My love, y/n..I’m writing this letter to you with my heart. I understand you haven’t written me back in awhile, I’m praying you’re feeling well. Things have been rocky over here, but I see the end. Y/n, the end of this is coming, happiness is coming. There’s been talk around, and it’s a possibility that I’ll be able to move back. Isn’t that wonderful?! I miss you very much. My favorite flower, you are the love of my life. Sending these with this letter to give you a reminder for the times you aren’t able to realize your worth. Please take care..I’ll see you soon<

Mingi had sent that 3 weeks ago and things were numb..you couldn’t find the strength to write him back. Pulling the jewelry out of the envelope, the rose charm dangling with its ruby glow, you fall into your bed holding it close to your heart. “Why is love so hard?” Closing your eyes, hoping to release this exhaustion just for awhile..head pounding you can’t find a break. Opening your eyes, your body beams straight to your bathroom..controlling itself you reach for the prescribed medication sent in by someone you don’t even remember. You don’t remember who they were, you were forgetting who you were. Nothing felt right, waves kept crashing into you..but there was no help from drowning. And the next thing you knew the tide washes it’s darkness over you.

———

“Y/n I think you are being silly, I love you more..there’s actually no way you can have love more than mine”

“You are the silly one to say such things, you know it too Mingi.. everyone knows it, my love for you is indescribable”

Scoffing out in disagreement, the both of you lean into each other’s embrace. Mingi wrapping his arms around your frame, fills you with warmth and safety. You have him, Mingi, he’s yours. Here. Now. Don’t waste it.

Then just outside the window, the crashing waves rise once again..and you remember, Mingi isn’t with you.. none of this is real. Was his love even real? Did you make it all up for a distraction? It’s too late. The ocean crashes through the window and fills the room with it’s cold water. Knocking you down, screaming, squirming, you kick for air. Clutching your neck, scratching for the feeling of the wind to fill your lungs—

———

“Y/n!!”

Jerking awake, eyes dart around the white ceiling tiles. The smell of sanitation and the sound of beeping fill you with stress. What happened? So many questions race your mind..but are all driven away when a squeeze comes to your hand.

“Y/n??”

Looking forward, it’s Mingi..he’s here. With you. Not sure what happened, not sure if this is even real. Tears streaming down his face erupt your own. “Y/n, I thought I lost you..” choking out Mingi throws himself into you. Shaking your frame with his involuntary sobs, everything is moving so fast. All slows when you wrap around him. Time stops, right here, right now all is okay. You’re okay, you’re going to be okay. Mingi is here. Now you know the truth, anything could happen. But you know it’s going to be okay.

“Y/n you scared me so much..w-when I saw you.. I thought you were gone. I thought you weren’t coming back to m-me” releasing you, he looks at you with his tired, puffy and red eyes.

“You look terrible”

Apart from your croaking voice, you bring a smile upon your wet face. Making Mingi burst out in a crying laugh

“You’re back”

———

Holding each other’s hands, opening the front door to your apartment you see everything is cleaned. Different from what you thought before, when Mingi turned on the light, it wasn’t as aggressive as you remembered. Entering the room, the smell of line-dried linens with hints of fresh fruit and spring fill your nose. It’s comforting, this is the comfort of your home..why didn’t you realize it before?

You’ve been so hidden away in your own mind, that the blessings around you weren’t meeting you. How come Mingi brought this all back? How come you only realized this when he’s here?

“I brought you fresh roses y/n, but this time there here because I’m staying. I won’t be leaving again” wrapping his arms around your body, you melt into his chest. “I promise”

Standing there in each other’s embrace you break the silence, “Mingi, do you think I’m a freak?” Breaking away, you look into his eyes. His expression confused and shocked, lifting his hands to cup your face Mingi leans in and places his forehead to yours. “Y/n” seeing the corners of his mouth twitch and his bottom lip wobble, you close your eyes and bring your hands over his. “I would never think of you as something that you’re not even capable of being.” Feeling his lips land on yours, so soft, like a pillow, comforting and right. Kissing him back, you two dance with love.

“You aren’t a freak” letting go of your face and reaching down to your arms. Pulling your sleeves up, feeling the rigid bumps over your skin. He soothingly rubs his thumbs over the marks and kisses you again. “You’re so strong, and you just were in need of direction” folding your sleeves back down he continues, “you were just a bit lost, but it’s okay...because you found the answer y/n...and there’s no need for your pain any longer”

Pulling you towards your bedroom, he picks you up and lays you on the bed. “I’m with you forever...my love, there will be no more worry”

———

He needed to remind you every time available, that you were his life. If you were gone, so was he. Mingi didn’t ever want to think about you laying there lifeless on the bathroom tiles again, his heart stopped..

He was your answer, but you were his life. You were the oxygen he breathed.

You two were meant to be each other’s source of completion.. and together you two knew things would be okay..

#ateez #ateez mingi #ateez angst #ateez blurbs #ateez fic #ateez drabbles #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #mingi ateez #ateez fluff #mingi #song mingi #kpop writing #ateez writing #kpop angst #ateez reactions #angst

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

Text

A Place to Belong Chapter 45: A Father’s Love

Chapter 44

Read on AO3

Claire swore she had never been happier in all her life.

Jamie had been antsy all through breakfast, despite Claire’s endless assuring squeezes of his hand under the table. She thought he was going to explode when Brianna set her spoon down and said:

“Ready, Da?”

It had amazed Jamie to see how confident she was, how unabashed, unafraid.

“Ready, lass.”

Now, Claire stood outside the corral, arms crossed atop the fence, leaning limply on the worn wood.

“D’ye ken how to brush a horse, Brianna?”

“ ’Course I do.” Brianna stuck her nose up at him quite adorably.

“Aye, forgive me fer asking such a foolish thing.” This at first made Claire nervous, but the way Jamie smiled after he said it, the way Brianna giggled, convinced her that they were only teasing one another.

So natural together.

“Can ye show me, then?”

Brianna nodded curtly, almost smugly, and brushed Alastair precisely the way she always did.

“See?” she said pointedly, her little nose in the air again.

Claire shook her head at her cheekiness. Perhaps her daughter took after her just a bit too much.

“Aye, that’s braw, a chiusle,” Jamie said gently. “Short wee flicks; who taught ye that?”

“Fergus. Said he learned from you.”

That took his breath away; a long lost memory of showing his son how to properly care for a horse long before he ever even learned to ride. “Aye. I suppose he did.”

Jamie took his own bit of hay and began brushing Alastair’s other side.

“Fergus,” Jamie continued. “He isna cross wi’ me fer taking his place wi’ ye in the corral?”

She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on Alastair’s coat.

“That’s good. I wouldna want to upset him, or you.” Brianna didn’t respond. “I ken ye’re…used to things being a certain way. I’m very grateful that ye allowed me to spend this time wi’ ye.”

Brianna smiled and looked up at him. “He likes you.”

“Does he, now?” Jamie moved in front of the beast, narrowing his eyes slightly, pretending to size him up.

“Aye,” Brianna confirmed with a little giggle. “He likes when ye do this. I’ll show you.”

She nestled herself right beside Jamie and reached a hand up to cup right beneath Alastair’s snout, then ran three fingers gently up and down between his eyes.

“Ye have to use three,” she said very seriously. “Two doesna feel as good, and four would make your fingers get too close to his eyes, and he doesn’t like that.” Brianna glanced down at his hands. “Except your fingers are giant…so maybe you should use two fingers.”

Jamie laughed out loud. “D’ye no’ ken well enough now that I’m no’ a giant?”

She giggled. “ ’Course. But ye still are giant.” She gently removed her hands from Alastair’s snout, but not before rising up onto her toes and pressing a wee kiss right on his nose. The sight of it warmed Jamie’s heart to its very core.

She’s fiery, aye, bold, brash…but so, very tender as well.

Like her mother.

“Your turn,” Brianna said, cocking her head to Alastair.

Jamie nodded and carefully placed his hands exactly where she had, taking care to use two of his giant fingers.

“Like this?”

“Aye.” Brianna beamed in approval.

“Ye’re a very clever lass, Brianna,” Jamie said tenderly, stroking Alastair. “Very caring and considerate. Ye took special care to learn exactly what yer horse likes and doesna like.”

Brianna’s grin grew ever wider, and Claire’s heart was fit to burst.

“He trusts me,” Brianna said proudly, rocking on her heels.

“Aye, I can see that. He’s a lucky horse.”

“He trusts you, too, now.”

“Then I am a lucky man.” Jamie removed his hands from Alastair’s snout.

“Kiss his nose!” Brianna said urgently, as if the matter were serious as death.

“Oh, aye,” Jamie said sheepishly. “Canna forget that.”

Claire had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the sight of Jamie bending slightly and kissing a horse’s nose. He was putty in their daughter’s hands.

“Alright then, lass. Let’s see how ye ride.”

Brianna bit her lip with excitement.

“D’ye need help mounting?”

“Only a little,” she insisted. “Just can’t reach her neck yet. So I need a hand.” She put her foot in the stirrup and looked up at him. “But you don't need to hold me. Fergus hasn’t done that since I was seven.”

Jamie chuckled softly; to hear her talk you’d think it had been quite a while since she was seven, and not a mere few months ago.

“Alright then, lass.” He reached his hand out to her. “Up ye get.”

Jamie was quite impressed to see the way she heaved herself over, despite how she gave several little bounces before fully committing to it. How many times, he wondered, had she attempted this with Fergus, only for her to fall short and collapse into the lad?

“See?”

“Braw, Brianna. Very braw, Indeed.”

She smiled smugly again. She took hold of the reins.

“You should take hold of the rope before Mummy starts shouting,” Brianna said.

Jamie threw his head back for a loud laugh at Claire’s expense, and Claire rolled her eyes, though she could not help her own laughter.

“Mummy shouts, does she?”

“Oh, aye,” Brianna said gravely, nodding, looking very much like her auntie. “If Fergus isna holding on for just a little tiny bit she has a conniption.”

Jamie laughed even harder at that, never imagining an eight-year-old to come up with such a word.

“Am I hearing things, Brianna, or did you just accuse me of having conniptions?” Claire called indignantly from behind the fence.

“But it’s true, Mummy! ‘Fergus!’” Brianna’s speech immediately melted into Claire’s posh English. “‘Take hold of the rope this instant! Fergus! Don’t you dare let her go!’”

Jamie’s eyes were leaking with tears of laughter.

“You are both in for it when you get out here!” Claire called, though, again, she was powerless to stop her own fit of laughter. Brianna’s impersonation really was quite spot on.

“Then we’ll stay in forever!” Brianna declared, sticking that nose up again. “We’ll eat grass and hay like the horses! Won’t we, Da?”

Jamie had to wait a few more moments before his laughter subsided enough to answer. “Aye, lass. We’ll be just fine out here. But I’ll only stay if ye brush my hair wi’ the hay the way ye do Alastair.”

Brianna laughed out loud.

“You are insufferable! Both of you!” Claire called.

“Why thank you.” Jamie gave a low bow, causing Brianna to laugh all the harder. “Alright then, a nighean.” Jamie finally took hold of the rope. “Off we go?”

Brianna clicked her tongue and gave the beast a light squeeze with her legs, like an expert wee jockey. Jamie didn’t know what he expected exactly, but he hadn’t expected her to be so natural. Claire had told him the lass loved her horse, but he had no idea how deeply this love ran for her. As he held the rope and led her around the corral, watched her steer the reins, listened to her gentle praise of the creature, he could not help the tears in his eyes, nor the hard lump in his throat.

It’s almost as if I taught her myself.

Claire, too, was nearly beside herself with emotion. This image, her daughter’s father smiling up at her, glowing with pride, doing something together that they both loved so deeply, it was more than anything she ever dared hope for. It was indescribable, overwhelming; the fierceness with which she loved them both.

“Yer Ma said ye were a fine rider, Brianna. But she didna tell me ye were a natural,” Jamie said, the pride in his voice uncontainable. “Reminds me of myself as a wee lad.”

“Mummy says I get it from you,” she said lightly, grin wide as ever.

“Does she now?”

“Aye.” Brianna nodded, curls bobbing. “She says I get a lot from you.”

“Aye, my thick skull being one,” Jamie said, recalling their first encounter.

She giggled. “Aye.”

“What else does she say ye get from me?” His voice was suddenly light, lilting, entranced at the idea of his child taking after him.

“My eyes and hair, o’ course,” she said, then her nose wrinkled slightly. “My temper.”

Jamie laughed. “Aye, s’pose that’s so. Though I’d wager yer mam had something to do wi’ that as well.”

“That’s what Auntie Jenny says.” Brianna nodded in serious agreement, causing Jamie’s head to toss back with laughter again. “Once, I heard Mummy say to Auntie Jenny: ‘She’s far too good at lying.’” Her posh English came back, much to Jamie’s delight. “And then Auntie Jenny said, ‘Oh, aye, that she gets from her father.’” She thickened the Scot in her voice, then, imitating Jenny’s cadence quite impressively.

Jamie laughed again. “That’s true, indeed. Yer mam canna lie to save her own hide. I always say she’s got a glass face. Ken what I mean?”

“Aye.” Brianna nodded, smirking.

“Yer a sneaky wee thing as well, then? Listening to yer Auntie and Mam talking?” She blushed a bit at that, but her mischievous wee smirk didn’t go anywhere. “Ye get that from me as well,” he whispered, leaning in.

She giggled. “I’m always scaring Auntie wi’out meaning to. ‘Ye scairt the bowels out of me!’”

“Aye! I used to get that a lot when we were bairns.” Jamie’s cheeks were sore from smiling. “Yer also quite braw at switching between tongues. Dinna get that from me or yer mam, I should think. That’s a trait that’s special fer Brianna.”

She beamed at that, sticking her chin up proudly. “Aye. Mummy says I sound more Scot when I’m excited or angry. But I can sound whatever way I want to,” she said smugly. “When the Redcoats come I talk full Scot so they dinna find out I’m half-English. Works every time.”

Brianna’s tone was light and playful, but Jamie couldn’t help it when his face darkened with that knowledge. How often, he wondered, did Brianna have to hide who she was? Did they stuff Claire in the priest hole? Or did she manage to get away without speaking every time they came by?

Jamie cleared his throat, afraid of putting her off with his silence. “That’s very clever, lass.”

“It was Mummy and Auntie’s idea. When they come, we pretend that Auntie is my Mummy and that Mummy is my Auntie. Though I canna say ‘Mummy,’ have to say ‘Ma’. Too English, ye ken.”

Jamie nodded hesitantly. “Does it happen often?”

“Not as much as it used to.”

“Ye’re a brave wee thing, Brianna.”

“Och, it isn’t scary,” she assured him. “It’s fun pretending that Kitty’s my real sister and no’ just my cousin.” She smiled warmly.

Jamie’s heart felt heavy. To Brianna, it was a game, a fun source of entertainment: outsmarting the British. She got to do her playacting and pretend that her very best friend was her sister. She had no idea what the dire consequences would be if the charade was discovered. He hadn’t even asked Claire, or Jenny and Ian for that matter, how they’d fared in terms of Redcoat harassment while he was gone. He hadn’t at all considered the implication of Claire, clearly English as soon as she opened her mouth, raising a child so thoroughly resembling Red Jamie. Jenny’s idea to pretend she was hers was a braw one indeed.

“Ye get along well wi’ Kitty, then?” Jamie said lightly, eager to change the subject.

“Oh, aye. She’s my very best friend since the day I was born. We fight sometimes, but Mummy and Auntie say it’s because we’re both stubborn as mules.”

He chuckled. “Aye, the two of ye seem to share the thick-skull trait.”

She nodded. “Maggie is my best friend, too. But it’s different than wi’ Kitty. Maggie doesn’t like horses like we do, and she doesn’t like to run around or shout. She’s very quiet.”

“Nothing wrong wi’ that.”

“I know,” Brianna assured him. “Playing with Maggie is just different than playing with Kitty, that’s all. We paint instead of running and shouting.”

“Aye, that makes sense to me.”

“Maggie helps Mummy in the garden,” she went on. “ ’Course I do, too, but Maggie really loves it. Says she wants to be a healer like Mummy when she grows up.”

Jamie’s heart warmed at the knowledge that Claire was passing her gift down to his own kin, her bonny wee niece. “And what about you, Brianna? What do you wanna be when ye grow up?”

Her face screwed up, her nose wrinkling again. “I dinna want to grow up, Da.”

He laughed out loud again. “Aye, that’s fine, lass. I dinna want ye to grow up just yet either.”

——

The day continued as such, and eventually Claire ended up sitting on the wooden fence, leaning on her hands, knocking herself off balance every time either Brianna or Jamie had her tossing her head back. At one point, Fergus appeared behind her and deliberately spooked her, almost causing herself to jerk forward and fall on her face. Brianna insisted that Fergus join them in the corral, so he did, walking alongside Jamie, holding onto Alastair’s bit to keep pace as Jamie led with the rope. Claire could not hear what Jamie and Fergus were saying, but there was a great deal of laughter, from them and Brianna as well, and it warmed her from head to toe.

They haven’t skipped a beat.

My boys.

“Mummy!” Brianna called, jolting her out of her blissful reverie. “I want to go fast! All around! May I?”

Claire shielded her face from the sun with her hand. “Alright,” she called back. “Would you like to ride with Fergus? Or me?”

“Neither!” she cried. “I want tae ride wi’ Da!”

Claire could literally see the wind being knocked out of Jamie. She blinked in shock for a moment; not shock that Brianna would want to ride with him, but purely because Claire was not at all used to Jamie being included in the mix. Even as he stood right there in front of her, it hadn’t even been a thought in Claire’s mind that Jamie would participate in something that had become somewhat ritualistic for this family.

Our family. Mine and his.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Alright, darling. Let Da get you down, and then we’ll put Alastair away and get everyone else saddled up.”

Claire could hear Brianna from where she sat, insisting that she did not need help dismounting, and she chuckled to herself. Jamie stood back and let her dismount, instinctually putting his hands out to catch her when she wavered on the ground. She didn’t miss a beat, however, standing up tall and brushing his hands away. Claire shook her head, laughing, and she heard Jamie and Fergus laugh as well.

Brianna led Alastair back to his stall herself and, with a bit of help, she removed his saddle and bridle herself as well. Jamie ruffled her hair proudly, beaming down at her. It was such a simple gesture, so natural for a father to do to his child. And yet it meant more than the world to Claire, and to Jamie as well. She could tell.

“Aye, she’s spirited,” Jamie said as he and Claire were saddling their horses, and Brianna helped Fergus with his. “Like ye said. I kent it well from this past week, but tae see her out here…” He shook his head, his grin wider than ever. “She reminds me of myself as a wee lad.”

Claire chuckled. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

“Och.” Jamie rolled his eyes, but his grin did not fade. He finished saddling his horse, and he leaned on the leather with his elbows. “She wants to ride wi’ me, Claire.”

Claire looked up, gazing at him over her horse with eyes aglow with adoration. “Of course she does.”

Jamie’s eyes glistened, and Claire was overcome with the desire to kiss him, unfortunately unable to reach him over two horses.

“You’re slow!” Brianna cried. “Fergus and I are done already.”

Claire and Jamie snapped out of their longing gazes and whipped around. “Aye, slow indeed. If ye’re sae clever, get o’er here and help us, aye?”

Brianna bounded over, helping with the finishing touches of the bridles and saddles.

“Do you have the rope, Fergus?” Claire asked.

“Aye, it was with my other things,” he confirmed, holding it up.

“What’s that for?” Jamie asked, leading his horse out of his stall.

“For you. And Brianna,” Claire said. “It goes around both of you so she doesn’t fall off the horse if a seizure comes unexpectedly.”

“Which it never has,” Brianna said with slightly more attitude than Claire appreciated.

“I know that, Brianna Ellen,” Claire said with the smallest hint of a threat. “It’s just in case. You know that.”

With one final look, Brianna shrank, nodding. “Yes, Mummy.”

“And don’t try to pull a fast one on Da,” Claire went on as the four of them emerged outside from the stables. “He knows all the rules and all the precautions.”

“Yes, Mummy.”

Claire exhaled lightly with a smile. “Alright. Here we go, love.” She crouched down to kiss Brianna’s head. “Have fun with Da.”

Brianna smiled, squinting in the sun. “I will.”

Claire mounted her horse, as did Fergus. Brianna looked up at Jamie, shielding her eyes with her hand.

“I do need your help mounting this time,” she said. “Your horse is giant. Like you.”

Jamie laughed out loud, then crouched down to poke her nose. “I’d look rather foolish on a wee beast like Alastair, would I no’?”

“More than rather,” she said, giggling.

“Alright. Up we go.” Jamie scooped her up under her arms, and Claire did not miss how he lingered with her there. She knew the feeling, the overwhelming knowledge that you alone were holding your child, you alone were their safety. He deposited Brianna on the saddle, then swung himself on.

Jamie felt the air blown out of his lungs as Brianna inched back, pressing her entire back against Jamie’s chest.

“Make sure you tie it tight,” Claire said as Jamie began winding the rope around them both. “Stop the horse immediately if she slumps over. You know what to do.”

“Aye,” Jamie said, finishing off the knot. “I’ve...I’ve got her.” He placed a protective, loving hand on the top of her head, pulling her tighter against him with the other. Claire smiled sweetly at him.

I’ve got ye, lass. Now and forever.

“I get to hold the reins, you know,” Brianna said.

Jamie chuckled. “Aye, lass. I know.”

She nodded curtly, taking the reins in her hands, and Jamie willed his fingers to stop trembling as they closed around her tiny wrists.

“Ready, lass?” he whispered into her ear, and her enthusiastic nod had her curls tickling his face.

“One...two...three…” Brianna said, anticipation building in her voice. “Go!”

In perfect tandem, Jamie and Brianna snapped the reins, and Jamie squeezed the horse’s torso with his legs, and they were off.

Jamie was in awe. If Brianna was happy on Alastair in the corral, she was alive now.

She hunched over as much as the restraint of the rope would allow, and Jamie followed, crouching as much as he could without crushing her. She really was excellent with the reins, even at this speed, and Jamie hardly had to intervene. Her hair was free and wild, obstructing his vision more than was probably safe, and he made a note to plait her hair next time. After a while, she was whooping with joy, positively laughing her head off, and Jamie could not help but join her.

“It’s like flying!” she cried over the pounding of hooves and rushing of wind. “Aye, Da?”

“Aye, lass!” he called back, his stomach flipping with joy. “Indeed i’tis!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Fergus and Claire occasionally blur into his field of view, but he could hardly see anything but the fiery tendrils dancing in front of his eyes, could hardly process anything over the whooping laughter of his daughter.

His heart physically ached with how deeply he loved her.

Her joy was putting a light inside of him that he did not think existed, was bringing to life something that he had thought long gone. He’d expressed to Claire that he did not think he could connect with children anymore, that his spirit had been too broken beyond repair.

But Brianna was putting his spirit back together, and she wasn’t even trying. All she had to do was squint up at him with that gap-toothed smile, or shake her head so that her curls bounced, or cry out with joy on her horse.

She was making him whole again.

My beautiful, sweet, cheeky, perfect lass. My flesh and blood. My daughter.

----

And that's a wrap on this one! Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and Happy New Year as well! All my love! Stay tuned for a sequel to this story sometime in the new year!<3

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jamiemackenziefraser · 3 years

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All that Was Fair

Chapter 5: You Can Never Go Home Again

Chapter Summary: Jamie and Claire deal with the fallout of her revelation.

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Read chp 5 below the cut:

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Chapter 5

“What do ye mean, ye canna go home?” Jamie asked as his own concern began to ramp up in earnest.

Claire was trembling again, her hand anxiously squeezing his and her free arm still wrapped tightly around herself. Drawn to comfort her, Jamie gathered her into a one-armed hug and pressed her against him. He could feel her distress pulsing through her like an electric current.

She rested her temple on his collarbone— deflated by the enormity of what she was saying and desperate for safe harbor— and then she finally expanded.

“I don’t know anything, Jamie, really. But if I’m right, the only way I could return to my plane of existence— to my realm and the seelie court— is to go back through the stones. But I can’t do that, Jamie, I can’t. I think it might kill me.”

During her revelation, a flurry of emotions was swirling inside Jamie so vehemently that he lost hold on the present for a second. His heart was breaking for her. The thought of being forever stranded in an unfamiliar place— away from her home and people— the terror and loss must have been debilitating. At the same time, some secret part of Jamie was rejoicing. Losing her so soon after she’d dropped into his life and changed him forever would have crushed him. But if she really couldn’t go home, that meant that she would stay with him….

Jamie could only dare to hope about the possibilities.

But as soon as that thought surfaced, he began to feel guilt twisting in his middle. She was quite obviously suffering. Her body was shaking against him, overcome by the gravity of the realization, and here he was delighting in her news.

Hooking a finger under her chin, he raised her face to look up at him and saw her eyes were glittering with tears.

“Listen to me, mo nighean donn, ye’re no’ alone. I’m right here wi’ ye, and I willna let anythin’ happen to ye. If this is true, ye can stay wi’ me for however long ye choose, and I will care for ye and see ye safe.”

Tears dripped from her face and onto his hand where it remained rested gently under her face. She nodded a little against him, lips wobbling as she tried to hold back the tide of her emotions. His heart broke for her all over again.

“Come here,” was all he could say, and then he was wrapping her fully in his arms.

She went willingly, all but collapsing onto his chest. Both of her hands clutched one of his arms and she buried her face into his shoulder. The moment their bodies made contact, she began to cry. Hitched sobs escaped her as she tried to contain the onslaught.

“It’s alright, mo Sorcha, let it out,” he murmured into her hair.

She did, and simply cried against him as the reality and weight of what was going on truly hit. And all he could do was hold her.

He didn’t like seeing her like this. Ever since she’d woken up in his arms while he was carrying her down from the stones, Claire had been so incredibly brave. She’d been taking everything miraculously in stride. Curious and inquisitive, she was bold in her explorations and delighted in the human world. Now though, she seemed thoroughly broken. More than wary, she was fearful of the unknown she’d been thrust into without any possibility of return to what she knew. It was one thing to explore, he supposed, but quite another to be condemned to a life of the unfamiliar.

In that moment, Jamie promised himself that he’d make this world safe for her so that she’d never have to feel this kind of fear again.

And if she’d let him, he’d walk beside her through it.

“We’ll sort it out,” he whispered, “no matter what. Together.”

She nodded against him, tear-soaked face pressing against his shirt. It would surely be stained and damp, but it was of no import.

He brought a hand up to her neck, cupping the tiny curve of the base of her skull, and began to knead his thumb in gentle circles there. At the same time, Gaelic started to flow instinctively from his lips, and he made shushing sounds in between the mindless reassurances. It’ll be alright. I’m here, mo nighean donn. Dinna weep. All of this and more he whispered into her hair, his lips barely brushing it as he breathed the words.

A whimper escaped her as she cried, and if his heart wasn’t already shattered into a million pieces at seeing her like this, that tiny sound would have obliterated it.

He had no idea how long he stood there— holding her as she cried for the life she had lost— but it felt like hours to him. Finally, she began to calm. Her crying subsided and breathing slowed until she went quiet against him.

Carefully, he drew back to look down at her. The bonny face was streaked with tear stains and her lips looked somehow a deeper color than usual. Her golden-eyes held grief, ringed with red, and moisture beaded on the long, dark lashes. But behind it all was an incredible strength. A determination held in those whiskey depths.

He cupped her face with both hands and began to gently smooth his thumbs over her cheeks to clear away the tear tracks.

“Ye’re sae strong. I ken ye’ll be okay no matter what happens,” he told her with complete conviction.

That brought another single tear rolling silently down her cheek. She held his gaze as it made its slow trail downward, as if pleading for him to make it all better. He wished to God that he had that power. But there was nothing he could do, save perhaps distraction.

“Here, I have another thing to show ye that I think ye might like,” he said as a thought struck him.

Letting go of her face to instead take her hand, he led her across the room to the counter where a box of tissues lay. With his free hand, he withdrew one, and then gently used it to clean her face as he explained, “we use them to dry tears and such.” As he wiped away the moisture on her cheeks, one of her hands raised to take the edge between her fingers and rub cautiously.

“It’s soft,” she commented with a tremulous laugh and a watery smile.

The way she said it— a hint of her usual delight and awe creeping into her voice despite her sorrow— made Jamie indescribably happy.

“That’s what I thought ye’d say,” he chuckled fondly.

It seemed to have been just the thing to help her, because once he’d finished drying her face, she straightened up and mustered another smile for Jamie.

“Will ye show me more things?” she asked. Her voice was still thick with emotion but she seemed eager to gather herself.

“Of course,” he said, his tone still laced with soft understanding.

Jamie’s thoughts raced as he tried to come up with the best thing to show her that would take her mind off things. The TV came first to mind, but he quickly dismissed that as being just a bit too overwhelming for this moment. They’d have to work up to that. Jamie thought about everything he knew Claire liked, and suddenly the perfect idea came into his head.

“There’s somethin’ I think ye’ll like verra much in the basement. That’s eh— the level below this.”

His house’s basement was small— just a carpeted room with a couple odd couches, his old tv, and Adso’s litter box haphazardly arranged. Jamie didn’t spend much time down there, and as a result, didn’t bother cranking up the heat enough to warm it much. Being low as it was, it was always cold.

He led Claire by the hand down the steps. She seemed a bit wary of descending but simply clutched his hand and followed. When they emerged downstairs and he flicked on the lights, her gaze swept over the room. She looked at him inquisitively, obviously wondering what exactly he was going to show her here (it was admittedly quite unimpressive, apparently even to a faerie).

Giving her a smile, half to reassure her and half in excitement for the kick she was likely to get out of what he had to show her, he strode over to the little machine that lay in between the couches, pointed it toward Claire, and pressed the “on” button.

“This is called a space heater,” he announced proudly.

It was a small, portable one, about a foot tall and with one opening so the heat all went in one direction, but it created a remarkable warmth.

The moment Claire felt the heat emanating from the machine and blowing onto her legs, her face spread into a wide smile. She eagerly leaned down, hands outstretched toward the machine in fascination. A laugh bubbled from her as she delighted in the feel of the hot air.

But Jamie noticed that she was reaching even closer, and quickly caught her wrist before her fingers could make contact with the heated grate.

“Dinna touch it, it’s too hot,” he warned, “but ye can be jes’ by it.”

She gave him a single nod, looked back at the machine, and then suddenly plopped down to the floor. Crossing her legs, she scooted as close to the heater as she could and hovered her hands in front of it, just like one would warm their hands in front of a campfire.

“It’s so warm!” she squealed, and wiggled her fingers, luxuriating in the flow of hot air.

Jamie was patting himself on the back for how well he was beginning to know her. As much delight as she was getting from the wee contraption, he was getting just as much— if not more— from seeing the carefree happiness return to her bonny face. The smile that lit up his life was turned up toward him as Claire looked for his response.

“Aye, I believe I have ye all figured out, Sassenach,” he teased, “the way to yer heart is all things soft and warm.”

She playfully narrowed her eyes, a glimmer of humor there that reassured Jamie immensely.

“I think I may still surprise you yet, my lad.”

Jamie laughed. “Och, I dinna doubt it.”

As Claire turned her attention back to enjoying the space heater, twisting and turning her body so that the warmth touched every part of it, Jamie thought about what to do next. His mind just barely started to leap to long term implications— Christ, his job! He had to work tomorrow. And she’d need clothes. And—

He had to stop himself before he went mad. What he needed to do was to focus on taking things one step at a time. At some point when Claire was well and truly occupied, maybe when she went to sleep for the night, he’d sit down and try to think through everything. But for the time being, he just wanted to continue to distract her so she didn’t fall back into that horrible despair.

When his eyes refocused on the scene in front of him, Claire looked like she would have been hugging the machine to herself if she was allowed. She was huddled as close to it as she possibly could be, absorbing every bit of warmth.

“Do ye want tae see more? I could show ye the rest of the house so ye feel a wee bit more comfortable. Ye could ask me all yer questions…”

Just as Jamie was finishing making his offer, Claire’s hand shot up, grabbed Jamie's, and tugged him down. Startled as he was, he went with her pull, and plopped down on the floor next to her.

“Just another minute...” she purred, and he could only laugh in response.

Since Claire was cuddled so close to the space heater, her body blocked any heat from actually reaching Jamie. He didn’t mind, but settled himself slightly further back so that he was behind Claire and comfortably resting back against the bottom of the couch as he waited for her to finish basking.

To his surprise, Claire scooted backward, shoving her way in between his splayed legs so she could recline against his chest. Jamie was so taken aback— as he always was when she touched him so brazenly, making his mind spin— that he simply complied when she took both of his arms and wrapped them around her. He found himself hugging her from behind as she let out a contented sigh and rested her temple against his jaw.

There wasn’t a single thought in his head about what he was doing as he instinctively turned his face just a bit to press his lips to the soft skin of her temple.

She didn’t seem to mind at all. She didn’t even react. But the second after he did it, a wave of guilt surged over him. It wasn’t his right to kiss her like that; Claire wasn’t his to kiss. Sure, she’d initiated all this contact that made his heart flutter, and sure he was absolutely falling for her, but he’d known her for only two days. Her entire world has just crumbled out from underneath her feet, and he was her only anchor. He couldn’t possibly take advantage of her with his romantic inclinations. Not to mention, she wasn’t even human. Although for some reason that argument didn’t dissuade him as much as the thought that Claire might feel obligated to return his affections in exchange for his help. He couldn’t do that to her. It wasn’t fair.

He wanted to run away from her, to withdraw himself and put some distance between them so he could finally think clearly. He wasn’t entirely sure that he’d be able to control himself when she nestled up so close to him like this. But the thought of withholding physical comfort which she so clearly desired, even needed… it was intolerable. So he stayed put.

Claire was completely unaware of the turmoil going on in Jamie’s mind, and she sighed contentedly against him. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest as it nudged his with each inhale and exhale. That feeling of closeness did nothing to help the clenching of affection in his heart.

Damn it, Fraser, pull yourself together. You can be her friend— her guide— her protector— but leave foolish notions of anything more out of it.

She tilted her head to peer up at him.

“Are you alright?” she asked, apparently seeing the expression on his face that must have been something close to heartbreak as he agonized over her.

“Jes’ fine,” he mustered a smile, “have ye had enough warmth now tae get ye through a wee walk about the house?”

She chuckled at that, and it sent vibrations through her that Jamie could feel reverberate through his own body.

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of this, but I’m ready for what else you have to show me.”

***

#All That Was Fair #update #outlander fanfiction #claire x jamie

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narcisocacoplex · 3 years

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Ascendance of a Bookworm and the Multiversal Marketplace of Ideas

Something that fucking stuns me about contemporary isekai as a genre is the way that it handles cultural transmission from one world to another. There’s a very consistent formula (as with all things in standard-issue isekai), and it all hinges on this fascinating system for deciding what gets to filter in from Earth through the protagonist and what is handily discarded when it would become an obstruction.

Consumer goods and services penetrate through the protagonist into the fantasy setting most easily. The single most consistent thing that isekai heroes reinvent in their otherworlds is cuisine. Almost universally contemporary Earth cooking, whether it’s Japanese, Chinese, or Italian (it is very rarely anything else), outperforms anything the locals produce, if only out of sheer novelty.

This sort of thing often forms the basis for the isekai protagonist’s horizontal monopoly—I’ve lost track of how many of these books I’ve read where an overwhelming portion of the plot is dedicated to the hero managing human and material resources as their multiple intersecting businesses proliferate like a cancer across the setting. It turns out that more than being a world savior, isekai readers fantasize most about being an entrepreneur living for the grind—albeit freed from the trouble of having to come up with your own ideas, as you can just re-hash the achievements of thousands of years of human endeavor instead and take the credit. Call it the McFly approach.

What’s peculiar is that less tangible and/or economically exploitable things don’t penetrate or are actively stripped away in the transition from life on Earth to life in the fantasy world. The most obvious point that comes to mind has to do with basic political and ethical conceits like the right to the most basic forms of self-determination. Isekai protagonists are indescribably quick to roll over for and get cozy with flavors of aristocracy and totalitarian power that the global public has been consistently taught not to trust.

Consider, for example, Ascendance of a Bookworm. I’ve lost track of how many people I’ve seen argue that Bookworm’s one of the standout isekai titles, and I can see why: it’s extremely committed to realizing an in-depth fantasy setting that’s not neatly explained with Dragon Quest allusions; the protagonist has an interesting array of flaws and limitations; in spite of the level of power on which the characters operate, it consistently creates convincing scenes of tension and peril in multiple dimensions; and the story is driven by a legitimate interest in something larger than the narratives the author has already consumed. This much is all great.

But the thing that strikes me about Ascendance of a Bookworm—the thing that keeps me from liking it at all—is that all of this craft and effort is sunk into a narrative about how there is no escape from serfdom. Myne starts at the absolute bottom rung of society, and through a conjunction of hideous self-neglect, total accident, cosmological convergence, and internecine political infighting, arrives at a position of frighteningly far-reaching authority. As Rozemyne, the archduke’s adopted daughter, she makes decisions every damn page about how her vast entourage will spend their lives in service to her agendas. Huge swathes of these books are just characters talking about how they’re going to move around various subordinates and, critically, which subordinates can be put in positions where lives won’t be at risk because of a failure to communicate across inviolable class boundaries.

While Rozemyne frequently shoots herself in the foot because she still takes as a given from time to time that people deserve to be treated like human beings and not disposable chattel, it’s never really up for consideration whether any of the societal structures that create this profound alienation should, perhaps, be changed.

And it’s not like dramatic social change isn’t a subject the story explores! Rozemyne’s whole objective in this story is to establish a thriving printing industry and universal literacy so she can go back to the standard of living she was used to as a Japanese bibliophile. She’s radically altering the cultural and industrial landscape of this other reality; it’s just that she’s not interested in changing the parts where, if you’re an aristocrat, people will act weird if you don’t murder peasants that look at you funny.

It ends up feeling kind of sinister, like the narrative is trying to convince you in slow, small steps that hey, maybe the problem here really is with Rozemyne not being willing to walk all over people as much as she could given the latitude afforded her (it’s worth noting that in many regards it’s the only latitude she’s got; the nobility are just as bound by bizarre, self-destructive social contracts as every other social class—it’s just that they can take it out on the people beneath them), and she’s already buying orphans in bulk from the church to staff her printing operation.

This is not helped by the most persistent fantasy elements of the setting. “Mana” in Bookworm is, on its face, a fantastical gloss made to legitimize the divine right of kings and the great chain of being. People have limited but varying capacity for mana, which is both trainable and heritable; the people bred for high mana capacity rule the country because their expanded mana reserves let them pump blessings into the surrounding environment, improving crop yields. Literally every noble is a miniature Fisher King, and when nobles withdraw their support from whatever fiefdom’s getting shafted, it withers and the people who live there suffer. This may be cruel, Rozemyne opines, but It Must Be Done to remind people how order is kept, however much she may not like it. Human survival in this setting hinges on the nobility’s generosity with their mana, and if there’s another option, it’s not really up for consideration.

I think periodically about how, as dense and thoroughly realized as this setting is, there’s really only one “nation” that I’ve seen so far in this series. There are rival fiefdoms, internal struggles, and cultural variations from region to region, but nobody’s really “foreign.” Everyone speaks the same language and follows the same broad set of customs. I wonder, when these thoughts come to me, how someone from a different nation in the same world might think of the culture represented in Ascendance of a Bookworm, and the thing I keep circling back to is “oh, those are the people who can’t do without owning other people.”

Part of the thematic messaging of this series, however inadvertent it may be, is how quickly a contemporary Japanese person adjusts to these expectations, even if they might make an effort to be as lenient as possible in most cases.

But pasta and hardbound books—those our hero will fight tooth and nail to introduce to this world.

#long post #meta #close reading #isekai #light novels #lit crit #minors dni

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meterokinesis · 4 years

Text

How It Feels to Have a Heartbeat

Read it on AO3!

Part of the ATLA Big Bang 2020! I’ll be rbing art for this fic as well.

Summary: From the time he was a child, Sokka has seen ghosts. After years of dejection, he's learned to keep his observations to himself. This works fine until their mother is killed at the hands of a Fire Nation soldier and Sokka begins to see Kya everywhere, always lingering next to Katara. After being thrust into the Avatar's mission, Sokka must grapple with his abilities on a large scale.

(Or, five times Sokka saw ghosts and one time he didn't.)

Sokka was three years old the first time he saw a ghost.

His grandfather, his father’s father that is, had died a few weeks before. Sokka’s parents had explained that he was now in the Spirit World, where he would watch over them. That didn’t explain why Ataatattiaq lingered by their doorway the day after he was buried, but Sokka noticed how he followed Dad around during his first few days as chief, and how he smiled at Hakoda’s good work. Two weeks later Attatattiaq was gone, but Sokka still felt him in the way Dad smiled and performed his duties as chief. He felt his grandfather in the pride Hakota had for his children too.

________________

The ghosts didn’t stop after that.

Sokka became used to seeing them, and by the time he was ten it wasn’t unusual to occasionally see the spirits of the recently passed spending a few extra days with their loved ones before they moved on to the Spirit World. He’d even worked out general rules for how they acted:

1) They can’t wander around however they want. They have to be attached to someone or something—like a loved one or their most prized possession. 2) They can’t speak. Or at least, they can’t speak to Sokka. 3) They can touch things, but the physical world won’t feel it. 4) They’ll stay as long as they need to, and no longer.

Sokka never told anyone about the ghosts because he didn’t need to. Gram Gram handled all the spiritual goings-on in the Southern Water Tribe, and she always told him to stop making up stories. So he did. It was more fun to have a secret, anyway.

________________

Everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.

Well, to be more precise, everything changed when the Fire Nation killed his mom.

He remembered the grey, sooty snow that littered the pristine white hills of the South Pole. He remembered how Katara cried when she told him and Dad. He remembered running home, only to be kept outside to take care of Katara while his father tended to their mother. He remembered Hakoda telling them that Kya was gone. Not dead, gone. And he remembered the chill in the air as they buried her, the only casualty. And he remembered seeing her again.

The night Sokka buried his mother, he tossed and turned. The polar leopard pelt he slept on was made of needles, irritating him with every movement. Too exhausted to sleep, he opened his eyes to a faint blue glow emanating from the corner of the room.

Sokka moved his head just slightly, the figure quickly coming into sight. There was Kya, hand sweeping over Katara’s hair the way she used to when they were toddlers and refused to go to sleep. She looked at his sister with this mixture of indescribable warmth and love and sacrifice, the kind Gram Gram would tell stories about on the coldest nights of the year. Kya didn’t look up, though Sokka stayed awake until dawn began to break. The entire night he watched her while she watched Katara, their own quiet vigil.

Kya wasn’t there every day, but Sokka got used to her presence. She watched as Katara learned to sew, her face never losing its eternal pride—even when Katara dropped a stitch. She smiled as Katara progressed in her waterbending. She held her daughter when Hakoda left for the war. Sokka swore he even saw her cry the first time Katara healed someone.

She never looked at Sokka, but that was okay. Katara needed it more.

________________

When Sokka and Katara found Aang, she kept her distance. Instead of staying a few feet away from Katara, she now hovered on the edges of Sokka’s vision, a barely-visible gleam of blue. That should have been the first clue that something was wrong with Aang, an early hint to exile him before he got them all killed.

Sokka should have known that danger follows the Avatar wherever he goes.

Kya flickered in front of Sokka, her edges fuzzy in a way he’d never seen them before. Katara was nowhere to be seen.

Sokka pushed himself to a standing position, trying to approach his mother. In five years, this was the first time she’d ever reached out for him, the first time she’d looked away from Katara. Kya pointed, and in the distance Sokka saw the outline of the abandoned Fire Nation battleship.

He was running before the flare even fired.

When Katara and Aang came back, he had already made up his mind. Get the Air Nomad out of his tribe, make sure Katara was okay, and prepare for war. As he banished Aang, he saw Kya run her hand over Katara’s hair just like always. She didn’t glance his way.

When the Fire Nation attacked for the second time, Sokka was sure of one thing: he would defend his tribe or die trying. His war paint was smooth and wet on his face, a feeling he by now knew all too well, but he refused to let it show. Fifteen was probably too young to die, but it was worth it for Katara. He would protect her, just like he always had.

He understood Kya. Though he and Katara fought on an almost daily basis, he couldn’t imagine letting someone hurt her. At least, not while he was alive.

________________

As Sokka clung to Aang—the Avatar’s—giant sky bison, he tried to hold his head high. He had done it, or at least part of it. Katara was safe, the village was safe, and now Katara could become a waterbending master—just as Mom had wanted it. He tried to ignore how Kya sat in the corner of Appa’s saddle, the deepest sadness he’d ever seen in her blue eyes. He’d done the best he could.

Maybe one day he’d be able to explain it to her.

________________

The Southern Air Temple was a graveyard.

This wasn’t a surprise, of course. No one had seen Airbenders in a century, and any who had managed to survive the Fire Nation’s attacks were clever enough to know that living at an Air Temple was a death wish. But Aang still believed, so Sokka said nothing.

As Appa set down at the temple, all Sokka could see were ghosts. Old men, young boys, those with arrows and those without. They milled about, playing games and pulling pranks. One, an arrowless boy who looked about Katara’s age, played hide and seek with a group of younger kids. They were all so young.

Sokka watched the game unfold, and after about ten minutes a pattern seemed to emerge. The boys would play for a few minutes, then reset. They always went to the same hiding spots, and the same kids were always found. These children—ghosts, they were ghosts—were trapped in an endless loop of playtime. An eternity of childhood. Sokka couldn’t remember what that felt like.

He watched in silence for another few moments, wondering what it was like to grow up playing for fun and not for war. Sokka had known since the day he was born that one day he’d be a warrior. It was inevitable, a fact of the universe. The sky was blue, polar orcas ate turtle seals, and Sokka was made for battle. It was nice, in a way, knowing what your path was from birth. Then the Avatar had to screw it all up.

The day went on. Aang and Sokka played airball. Sokka got thrown into a wall. He and Katara argued over whether to tell Aang about the Fire Nation helmet. Sokka got buried in snow. The usual.

Sokka shook the snow off him for the fourth time that week and followed Aang and Katara toward the temple. The ghosts were denser here, and older as well. Where the younger boys had no arrows, these ghosts did. They were dressed in monk clothes as well, and many sported beards. They milled around, a few pulling off to the side to speak in small groups. Sokka did his best to avoid them, but as they got closer to the sanctuary, it was impossible. A few spirits passed through Sokka, and though he didn’t feel anything, he shivered.

Aang opened the sanctuary, and the crush of spirits was gone. There was nothing, except for Aang and the soft glow he gave off. This was almost worse than the overwhelming crowd, sort of like the second after coming inside while a snowstorm rages. After feeling everything, it was disorienting to feel nothing at all. Sokka lingered near the door, half in the quiet and half out of it. A foot in both worlds, just like him.

When Aang finished talking with his past lives, Sokka was the first one outside. Aang gave off an uncomfortable sort of glow, as if his spirit multiplied and divided itself when the occasion arose. He waxed and waned like the moon, and Sokka didn’t know what to do with that. Aang didn’t fit into the rules, didn’t fit into his plan. He liked the kid, sure, but something about him felt wrong.

His stomach clawed at itself, and for the third time that day Sokka remembered how little he’d had to eat. Unlike Aang, not everyone could live on plants alone.

WHRRRRRR.

Sokka glanced at Aang for confirmation, but deep down he knew. The Fire Nation had tracked them, and they had the disadvantage. He reached back and his fingers closed on his club, ready to attack. He’d join these spirits of people long-dead, wandering through cold empty halls.

Instead, an animal hopped out.

“How about we eat it?” Sokka blurted out, his stomach rumbling in agreement. Aang glared at him, then picked across the temple, following the rodent—was it a rodent? Or maybe a monkey?—down a stone path. Maybe they could eat it later.

The lemur—he had decided it was a lemur—was constantly just out of reach, and quick, light-footed Aang reached the destination first.

“Hey, did you find th-” Sokka started as the structure came into view, but cut himself off.

By the time Sokka stepped into the tent, Aang was on the floor, a spirit gently rubbing circles on his back. A spirit that looked a lot like the statue near the entrance.

“Hey buddy,” Sokka said, voice hushed, “I was kidding about eating the lemur.” Aang didn’t respond, and only then did the various masses cluttered near the walls begin to take shape. Specifically, they were pieces of Fire Nation armor. Broadly, they were tokens of death. He reached out to touch Aang, maybe to comfort him the way he used to comfort Katara.

Instead, Aang began to rise, his eyes and tattoos a blinding white. Sokka gasped and reeled backward, the cold packed dirt leaving scuffs on his palms. The wind picked up, whipping Sokka around like a rag doll. Aang was both living and not, a ghost in a human’s body and a person with a spirit’s abilities. He was hard to look at, and even harder to breathe around. For a twelve year old, his soul felt centuries old. Maybe it was the Avatar thing, but part of it just felt like Aang.

Sokka clung to the stone tiles of the temple, scrabbling for a secure hold. If he really wanted to, Aang could throw him off the mountain without a second thought. But he wouldn’t… right?

Katara materialized in the corner of Sokka’s vision, her arm thrown over her face as a shield against the wind. She screamed something inaudible to him, but when he opened his mouth to respond it was as if the breath was stolen from his lungs.

Everything went black at the edges as Sokka tried to regain oxygen, sputtering and coughing as he gripped the stone tiles.

Katara pulled at the back of his shirt, using him as a tether. In his ear, she screamed, “What’s happening?”

“He found out Gyatso died,” Sokka yelled back, pushing himself up on wobbly legs. Blindly, he fumbled for Katara’s hand, the way that Southern Water Tribe kids had been taught to do in times of danger. When things were rough, grab a buddy. Sokka was lucky enough to have a built-in one.

“Aang!” Katara began, shouting over the howl of the wind. “This isn’t you!”

Aang glowed in response, but did not speak.

“I know how you must feel. I lost my mother to the Fire Nation. But just because you lose a part of your family doesn’t mean you lose all of it! Sokka and you and I are our own family now. But you have to calm down, it’s not safe!”

Sokka bit back a retort about how both of them lost a mother, instead holding Katara up as the wind tore at her hair.

The glow dimmed as Aang sank back to the ground and the windstorm quieted. After a minute or two, it was just the three of them. Katara stumbled toward Aang to wrap him in a hug, and Sokka followed a second later. He hesitated on the edge of the group before deciding to clap Aang on the shoulder the way he’d seen the men in his village do.

“Aang?” Sokka croaked, his voice still raw. “Just because they’re gone doesn’t mean they aren’t still with us. They’re looking down at us, somewhere. Gyatso is probably so proud of you.”

Aang nodded silently, then forced himself to his feet. Katara followed close behind, ready to catch him if he should fall. Sokka lingered for a second, and he was rewarded with the blue spectre of Monk Gyatso blinking into reality beside him.

Gyatso gazed after Aang and Katara in silence, a soft smile on his face. Then, he turned to Sokka and gave a shallow bow, which Sokka quickly returned. Gyatso winked, and then he was gone, the only trace of him a light breeze ruffling Sokka’s hair.

Sokka grinned to himself, then sprinted after the others.

“Hey, so are we going to get something to eat or what?”

________________

Something about Yue was special.

It wasn’t just that she was pretty, because Suki had been pretty too.Yue was ethereal, the kind of girl people wrote poems about. Something about her drew him in, but he couldn’t name what. Yue seemed to contain multitudes, an ocean so deep that Sokka would never reach the bottom. But he was fine with drowning while he tried.

Yue seemed most at home under the moonlight. It made her brighter somehow, like she shined from the inside out. Sokka had never known someone like that, as far as he knew, but she seemed familiar.

The Northern Water Tribe wasn’t anything close to what Sokka had expected. Katara fumed whenever she came home from healing lessons, and Kya glared at Pakku when he came close, as if he had somehow slighted her. Maybe he had—Sokka didn’t pretend to know anything about ghost rivalries.

Speaking of rivalries, he hated how the boys in the village looked at Yue, like she was a piece of seal jerky or something. He heard Hahn talking about the power he’d have once they were married, about how pretty she was. Those things were true, of course, but she was so much more than that. She was funny, and kind, and smarter than anyone gave her credit for. It took everything in him not to tell her so each time he saw her.

Quick jokes turned to conversations turned to secret meetings. On nights when the village was silent and the moon was bright, the pair sat under the stars and talked about everything they could think of. Yue, while isolated, had been taught by the finest tutors. She was a master of philosophy and storytelling, and once confessed to Sokka that if she wasn’t a princess—if she wasn’t bound by duty to be nothing more than a pretty doll made of snow and glass—that she would have liked to see the world, to perhaps go to the mythic spirit library. In return, Sokka shared his adventures, recounting battles and run-ins with the Fire Nation. Most of all, he told her about home.

On one such night, he finally confessed, something he had never done before.

“I have something to tell you, but you have to keep it a secret,” he blurted out in the middle of a discussion about snow rat legends.

Yue leveled him a look, her gaze probably kinder than he deserved.

“Who will I tell? My mother? Hahn? The moon?” It was a jest, but she was earnest. Her gloved hand crept over top of his, holding it in place. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

Sokka nodded, swallowing hard. “This is going to sound strange, maybe even like I’m lying, but I’m not. This is the truth, I swear on my Gram Gram’s grave. Well, she’s not dead yet but you get the point…” he rambled.

“I see ghosts. Or spirits, I guess you could call them? Either way, I see them. A lot. Like my mom. And my grandfather, for a little while. And all the Airbenders. They don’t talk or anything, but they’re there. And I know it doesn’t make sense because y’know, science, but I’m not crazy an-”

“Sokka.” She cut him off, leaning in. “I believe you.”

He blinked back, startled. Then he blinked again.

“You do?”

“I do.” She relaxed back against the hard-packed snow wall of the building behind them. “There are much stranger things in this world than a boy who sees spirits. Maybe that’s how you found Avatar Aang—your spiritual connection.”

This was not how he had expected this conversation to go by any means. Screaming or horror he had prepared for, but not Yue’s easy fascination.

She was still talking, but he hadn’t caught most of it.

“I’m sorry, what?” He asked meekly, trying to feign a smile.

“Tell me about them!” She responded, her face bright. “I want to hear all about the spirits you’ve seen.”

“Ah.” Suddenly his mouth was drier than the desert, like he had just drunk seawater. “Well, the first one was my granddad. He disappeared after a few weeks, after my dad took over as chief. Then there were a few more, like people who went out for hunts and didn’t come back. I’d see them wandering through the village and realize that they’d died out there. Those ones were particularly sad, because I didn’t really understand death yet. I was a little kid, y’know? It took a few times before I started to recognize who was a homecoming warrior and who was just a ghost.” Yue nodded sagely, patting his hand comfortingly.

“Then my mom was killed when I was ten. Katara took it pretty hard, she was the one to find her. Mom hangs around more often than not, keeping an eye on her. She doesn’t really interact with me, just Katara. I think that’s fine. We can both protect her.” He peeled his gaze from their intertwined fingers up towards Yue’s face. The way she looked at him made his heart ache. Her other hand came up to cup his face, and in this barren, frigid place she was so incredibly warm.

He leaned forward, expecting a kiss, but she remained where she was.

“You are spectacular, Sokka. I cannot wait to see who you become.”

A second confession caught in his throat, but it died as he took in the way she looked at him. Instead, he smiled. This could be enough.

“Thank you, Princess.” That’s right, Princess. Not only that, but a princess who was betrothed to someone else.

Yet still, that night when he crawled into his camp roll, he couldn’t help but smile. What had once been a shadowy weight on his shoulders was now a gentle secret held between Sokka, Yue, and the moon.

________________

The clandestine meetings had only grown from there. They rode on Appa and went on long walks, ever the picture of North-South friendship. But at night, they’d sneak out to the walls of the city to have the things never afforded to them. Sokka’s childhood, or at least his adolescence, had been built on war games and paranoia. Yue’s had been similarly solitary. As the only daughter of the chief, her experiences with her peers had been limited to formal dinners and suitors vying for her hand.

In a way, things had only gotten better since Sokka told her about his spirit-sight. They were bound by something neither could explain and did not particularly care to attempt to.

Occasionally, these meetings resulted in acting as juvenile as possible, other times they’d sit and have serious discussions until the sun began to rise over the horizon. This was both of those.

Sokka shushed Yue’s giggles as he dropped a snowball off the top of the wall, ducking back down as it landed on the head of the sleeping guard below. A glove slapped over his mouth did a valiant effort of suppressing his laughter, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her doing the same. Could Hahn do this, make her laugh like she had never seen joy before? He doubted it. He doubted Hahn would ever do anything that would make him worthy of Yue’s attention, much less her hand in marriage.

“You’re looking at me like that again,” she murmured, the mirth gone from her voice.

“Like what?” Sokka asked incredulously, but deep down he knew.

“Like you love me,” she said simply, her gaze not wavering.

Sokka’s heart plummeted to his stomach, but gallantly he responded in a wobbly voice, “And what if I do?”

Yue smiled as if that was the saddest thing she had ever heard.

“I’m betrothed to Hahn, Sokka. I need to do this, for my people. It’s my duty, just as protecting your tribe is yours.”

Once, Sokka had watched as an ice shelf plummeted into the sea after a particularly warm summer. It had been the loudest sound he’d ever heard, a gut-wrenching, booming, cracking noise. Now, the sound of his heart splintering had beaten it out.

“You’re not marrying your people, you’re marrying Hahn. Hahn, who doesn’t care about you at all. Not the way I do.” He grasped her hands tight, holding on for dear life. “No, Sokka. This is how it has to be,” she said wetly, and it was only then that he realized she was crying. “You have to let me go.”

He nodded numbly and released her hands, but did not stand. She looked at him through tear-tipped eyelashes, and a beat of hesitation filled the air. Yue leaned in and placed a single kiss on his cheek, then rose from their secluded spot and walked into the night. Sokka sat there, slumped against the wall. He wondered if broken hearts had ghosts too.

________________

The achingly quiet peace of the Northern Water Tribe didn’t last long, but he hadn’t been naive enough to think it would. It seemed as if no matter what, the Fire Nation would always come through to destroy it all again.

He butted heads with Hahn, to no one’s surprise, so Chief Arnook had assigned him as Yue’s bodyguard. It took everything in him to tamp down the little flutter his heart had made. She had made it clear that no matter how she felt, she would marry Hahn. And Sokka had to deal with that, the way he had dealt with all of the other little heartbreaks.

Grey snow fell over the Tribe like an omen of doom. Fear twisted in Sokka’s gut, and it took everything in him not to immediately abscond with Yue to somewhere that the Fire Nation would never reach, if such a place existed. But that wasn’t his job, and it wasn’t what Yue wanted.

The next day flew by in a flurry of movement. The Fire Nation attacked, then stopped, then began again. Katara and Aang were struggling to hone their waterbending in time for battle. The Northern Water Tribe troops clearly knew as little about their enemy as the Fire Nation knew about them, and Sokka, ever the strategist, could not see an outcome where they would make it out alive.

It all came down to Yue, as many things did. The Spirit Oasis was beautiful, a spot of tropical warmth in the arctic desert. Unfortunately, the sheer energy of it was overwhelming. There was so much there, a quality Sokka couldn’t hope to quantify. It was like how the iceberg felt, magnified by a hundred. It seemed that Kya agreed, because she lingered outside with him. His mother’s blue-ish figure remained just out of reach, but if he tried to forget that she’s dead, she could almost be real. Almost.

Yue burst out of the Oasis, panting.

“The Avatar’s floating and glowing and Katara says it’ll be fine but we need to go get help and—”

“Woah, woah, woah, catch your breath. He’s in the Avatar state. We can go get Appa, but Aang can take care of himself,” Sokka reassured her, leading her away from the Oasis and toward the city. Kya watched reproachfully from outside the Oasis, refusing to leave Katara. That was fine, at least she’d have one of them.

Sokka doesn’t worry until he sees Kya waiting next to Appa, her mouth pinched in the way it always got when she had bad news. Even after six years, Sokka had that look seared into his memory.

Katara.

He grabbed Yue’s hand and pulled her into Appa, then raced back to the Oasis. He had already lost his parents to the Fire Nation, albeit in very different ways. He refused to lose his sister too.

Of course, because this was Sokka’s life and very few things can ever go the way they were meant to, Aang got kidnapped. In the middle of a siege. By the Fire Nation. Lovely. At least Katara was okay. If anything happened to her… well, Sokka wasn’t sure what he’d do. Nothing good, no doubt.

This is how Sokka ended up driving a Flying Bison with a saddle full of the Avatar, his kid sister, the girl he loved but could not have, and the unconscious disgraced prince of the Fire Nation.

Then, as if the night could not get any worse, the moon turned blood red. Of course it did.

Yue slumped against Sokka, her eyelids going slack. His heart pounded in his ears. Something, that ethereal ineffable quality that Yue had always possessed was gone now, disappeared into thin air.

“Something’s wrong with Yue,” he hissed, only to find Aang already nodding.

Yue coughed weakly, and Sokka handed the reins off to Katara in order to cradle Yue’s head in his lap.

“I was very sick as a baby,” she began quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the howl of the wind. “I didn’t cry or even open my eyes, and they said that I wouldn’t live very long. My father had seen a vision when I was born of me as the Moon Spirit, so he prayed to Tui every day for my recovery. He placed me in the Oasis on a full moon, and Tui healed me by giving me a little piece of her life force.”

Sokka’s mouth dropped open, but he bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything. So this was what had been different about Yue, in addition to everything else he liked about her. She had been touched by spirits, just as he had. Twin flames of a living spirit and a boy who saw ghosts.

Wordlessly, Katara steered them toward the Oasis. Sokka saw a man in Fire Nation armor below, holding a large white fish above his head. Yue gasped, and tears began to run down her cheeks. Sokka silently wiped them away.

Aang and Katara climbed onto the snow when they landed, but Sokka remained with Yue. Katara and Aang could save the day with their bending, but Sokka would always save the people.

Everyone was yelling and Sokka clung to Yue, his boomerang in his free hand. He could do this small thing, he could save her. He had to.

Sokka had forgotten that, in the stories, spirits moved on when they had to. No sooner and no later. He was but an observer, a stowaway audience to the wheel of time.

________________

Sokka lowered Yue next to the pool, but his hand still clung to hers.

“Sokka,” she began, not unkindly. “You have to let me go.”

“No,” he pleaded, squeezing tighter.

“Yes,” she murmured, and before he could speak, she was pressing her lips to his. Her hand came up to cup his face, just like it had all those nights before, and he felt a tear slide down his cheek. He couldn’t tell whether it was hers or his.

She turned to touch the white fish, and Sokka watched as her spirit flowed out of her and into it. Someone—the old man who had been watching—placed it back in the water. Sokka cradled her body, even though he knew she wasn’t Yue anymore.

Katara and Aang hung back, but Sokka tipped up his head to see Yue floating over the pool. She looked like a goddess or something in a white flowing robe. Just like all the other ghosts, she looked painfully real.

She floated down to him and touched her forehead to his. Yue mouthed something, but he couldn’t hear her. She never knew the rules, how could she? He’d never gotten the chance to tell her. Her dainty hands tipped his chin toward hers and she kissed him, but all he felt was air. It was the thought that counted.

And then she was gone, filtering away like moonlight through the clouds. Instinctively, he squeezed where she once was, but there was nothing but air.

Sokka slumped forward, and out of the corner of his vision, he saw a hand touch his shoulder. He turned, expecting to see Katara or even Aang, but instead there was Kya. She smoothed a hand over his wolf tail and he could see her mouth the words to the old lullaby she used to sing to them when they were young.

And all at once, Sokka began to cry.

________________

There was a tea shop in the middle ring that Aang liked, which meant that Sokka was usually the one who had to get everyone’s orders. He didn’t mind so much; the old man who ran it was nice and gave him advice. None of it really made sense, but Sokka appreciated it nonetheless.

The only downside of this was the ghost that lingered in the shop. It was silent, like all ghosts, but it had this quiet energy about it. Him — it was a him. Sokka had taken to calling him “Topknot Man,” in honor of his topknot. It was vaguely Fire Nation, but it wasn’t as if Sokka could ask about it. What would he say? There’s a spirit of a young man who looks like he could be Fire Nation sitting in your shop all the time. What gives? He wasn’t an idiot.

The ghost was sitting by the window today, watching the people pass by with a smile. The old man—Mushu—was talking a mile a minute. His son or nephew or something was adjusting well. He’d had a date and it hadn’t been terrible, all that jazz. Sokka nodded along, but he was watching the ghost instead.

“Sokka? Did your thoughts get buried by badgermoles?” A raspy voice asked, drawing Sokka back.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just thinking about stuff,” he responded sheepishly.

“Ah, yes, stuff. My nephew is incredibly concerned with it as well.”

“The Spirit World. I’ve been thinking of it a lot.”

Mushu nodded. “It is a lot to consider. There are many things we will never know about our spirits after they’ve left their bodies.”

“I… I like to think that sometimes people stick around,” Sokka murmured into his drink.

“Well, of course they do. But that’s only for the spirits to know.”

“The spirits. Of course,” he sighed and paid for his drink. “Thanks Mushu, have a nice afternoon.”

As he walked by the ghost on his way to the door, Sokka could swear the man smiled.

________________

Jet was an asshole. But that didn’t mean he deserved to die.

There was something indescribable about actually watching someone die. It was like one second they were there—whole and full of a brightness Sokka had spent his whole life trying to describe. And then it was gone, and in its place a shell. That’s what Jet was like; one second a candle burned, and in the next it was snuffed out. It was nothing like Yue’s death, which felt painfully natural. Jet’s death was a hitch of breath, a cut-off sentence.

Sokka pulled Katara away from the body, leaving Smellerbee and Longshot to their friend. He buried his face in the top of her hair, trying not to pull her hair-loopies. When he looked up, it took everything in him not to gasp. There was Jet alright, hovering next to his body and looking sadly at his friends. Sokka reached out, but Katara just hugged him tighter. Right, no one else could see him.

Jet glanced over at Sokka and gave one, solitary nod—the kind Sokka associated with warriors and people who played at being them. But he swallowed hard and nodded back. He blinked, and Jet was gone.

________________

Jet wasn’t like Kya—there was no rhyme or reason to when he showed up. Sometimes it was in the thick of battle, like the attack on Ba Sing Se, and others it was during quiet, forgettable moments. Nonetheless, he was a welcome presence. The rebels never seemed to notice his presence directly, but they relaxed when he was nearby. They fought better too.

And every now and then, Jet would look Sokka’s way and smile or nod or wink. In those moments, Sokka would forget he wasn’t alone, just for a second.

________________

Even in death, Jet seemed to harbor an affection for Katara. Sokka, of course, was not fond of this.

Katara lingered by the bow of the ship—Hakoda’s ship—staring off into the waves. Aang was below decks, trying not to die and ruin everything. And Sokka? Well, he’d spent his days plotting their next steps. He made plans for as many contingencies as possible: if Aang was fine, if Aang died, if Aang lived but couldn’t be the Avatar.

The wind teased at his wolftail, curling the edges of the maps he had laid out on the ship’s deck. Ahead, an otherworldly glow flickered. Sokka glanced up and stifled a gasp. On the railing sat Jet. Had he been flesh and blood and bone, he and Katara would have been close enough to touch—close enough to kiss. Instead, he stared out at the waves beside her, contemplating something Sokka couldn’t put his finger on.

“Katara!” Sokka cried out, waving his hands at her. “Can you come over and look at this?” She rolled her eyes, but complied, leaving Jet and the sea behind. Katara bent over the maps and plans, and Sokka stared over her head to make eye contact with Jet. Quickly, he pointed from himself to the spirit in that childish I’m-watching-you way then bowed his head as well. Sokka almost missed the way Jet stuck out his tongue back at him.

________________

Sokka used to hate Zuko, and everyone knew it. He was stuck-up and jerk-y and not worth Team Avatar’s time. It didn’t help that he was pretty enough to make Sokka’s heart skip a beat, even with the scar. Especially with the scar.

It didn’t matter what he thought about Zuko—what mattered was fixing everything after they’d broken it all apart. At times, Sokka found himself staring at his ceiling, wondering why exactly they had been the ones chosen for this. They were kids after all—powerful kids, but kids nonetheless. A bender for each element, with an incredible warrior and a boy who saw what shouldn’t be seen to boot.

The war had been over for a week, and Sokka tried not to notice the ghosts that crowded the streets of the Fire Nation. There were so many—all of them aimlessly wandering. Sokka darted through the palace in a desperate and frantic hope of escaping them. After multiple wrong turns and frequent evil glances from the staff, he finally ended up outside the right door.

Sokka raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could connect, Zuko opened the ornate door.

“Come in,” he muttered and moved aside to make room for Sokka. The two had become almost-maybe-friends since Zuko joined them to defeat Ozai. In the weeks since, the twerp had started to grow on Sokka, not that he’d ever admit it.

“So, what’s up? What did you call me here for, your princeliness?” Sokka drawled, plopping back on a fancy chair and propping his legs up.

“I need the White Lotus’ help,” Zuko began.

“Then why ask me? Your uncle or Piandao would love to help.”

“Because… because I can’t tell them!” Zuko sputtered.

“Why?” Even Sokka couldn’t tell if it meant why not or why me.

Zuko did not meet his eyes. “Because it’s stupid. They’re just going to dismiss me as foolish. You have their favor for some reason, and I don’t know if I can do this alone.”

Sokka looked up, startled, at Zuko’s outburst. They were friends, sure, but Sokka had already had his magical Zuko field trip. On the other hand, anything that was too silly for the White Lotus was usually right up Sokka’s alley. “Okay, okay, I’ll help. What is it?”

“I need to find the person who killed my mother,” Zuko whispered, as if he was on the edge of tears.

Killed his mother. That… well, that didn’t make sense. He would have seen Zuko’s mom by now if she was dead. Someone that Zuko loved this much wouldn’t just abandon him after she died, right?

“... If I tell you something, you have to promise not to freak out,” Sokka began slowly.

“Okay?” Zuko rolled his eyes, but sat down on the chair opposite Sokka anyway.

“So, uh, I can kinda see ghosts? Like spirits. Of dead people.”

Zuko frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“Like my mom? She shows up every now and then. And Jet hangs out with the rebels and Iroh has this kid who’s always at the tea shop—”

“Lu Ten?” Zuko interrupted, shooting to his feet.

“Maybe? He has a topknot with a fancy thing in it.”

Zuko nodded and began to pace around the room. “But why are you telling me this?”

Sokka cleared his throat loudly. “Because… because if your mom cared about you the way you said she did, she’d be here. At the very least, I’d be able to feel her. But she isn’t, so how can she be dead?” He mumbled.

Zuko stopped in his tracks, but didn’t say anything. Sokka pulled at his collar sheepishly, his stomach churning with every silent second that passed.

“Thank you,” Zuko finally said, his voice just a hint rawer than usual. Then, he began to stalk toward the door.

Sokka’s heart pounded. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Did he think that Sokka was crazy? Was he going to call the guards?

“Wait!” He called out desperately, “Where are you going?”

Zuko tossed the barest glance over his shoulder. “We have a lot of work to do.”

________________

It had been three weeks since Sokka’s confession, and the days had been filled with preparations. Zuko and Sokka would soon set out on an expedition to find his mom, and Sokka would be lying if he said it didn’t make him seven kinds of nervous. Zuko had named him as his official security detail to limit the amount of people tagging along, and it did nothing to quell the queasiness in Sokka’s stomach.

This isn’t going to end up like Yue, he told himself. You’re not in danger. You’re going to help Zuko find his mom. He grimaced and adjusted the pack on his shoulders. For someone with so much money, Zuko seemed too eager to rough it.

Sokka looked out over the entry hall of the Fire Palace. A shadow flickered in the corner of his vision, but when he looked there was nothing there. He shoved down his dismay. Of course Kya wouldn’t come to see him off. She was probably checking on Katara or doing ghost errands or something.

But there it was, that flicker again. This time it came from the columns that lined the hall. Glancing at Zuko, who was talking to the guards before their departure, Sokka slipped over to the other end of the hall.

Leaning against the ornate wall was Topknot Man, who Sokka had gleaned was actually Lu Ten. Lu Ten grinned at Sokka, then drifted closer. Stopping a foot away, he looked at Sokka, then at Zuko, then back at Sokka. He reached out with a single, transparent hand and placed it on Sokka’s shoulder. Though there was no substance to him, Sokka could feel its weight.

Be careful with him, Sokka could hear in the back of his mind, like the words to a song long forgotten. He stood agape, as Lu Ten tried to cuff him upside the head and drifted away. Was this a shovel talk? Could ghosts do those?

“Sokka?” Zuko called somewhere behind him.

Sokka started. “Coming!” He returned, before crossing back to the not-ghost-hunting party. Zuko smiled as he came into view, and Sokka grinned back. Maybe this was why the spirits had chosen him. Maybe it had all been for this moment, when he’d finally get to help.

As the pair walked into the light of the rising morning, Sokka couldn’t help but think that he was finally done with ghosts. He was ready to join the living.

#atla big bang #atla big bang 2020 #hifthah #atla #sokka #zukka #yukka #sokka sees ghosts au #katara #kya #zuko #aang #lu ten #iroh #my writing

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years

Text

Bloodstream (Vampire AU)

Summary: Small towns usually hide big, dangerous secrets. Dolan twins thought it would be a perfect place to lay low...until they meet her.

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, violence, angst and fluff

Word count: ~ 3000

Vampires are bloodthirsty creatures, past redemption, their humanity long gone. Y/N knew that even in the moment she stayed with Ethan and Grayson while everyone else ran. She stayed, her eyes hyper focused on the blood dripping from their chins, their hands drenched with no trace of human skin - all red. She didn't know what happened, why they lost control, but she believed they wouldn't hurt her. Perhaps it's naive, wishful thinking or even her overconfidence in skills she was granted after they first arrived in town, but she stayed put, actually provoking them.

"Why did you do that?" Trying to keep her voice even, calm, Y/N almost forgot they could hear her frantic heartbeat, smell the indescribable mix of emotions oozing off her skin, undiscovered by human senses.

"You know why." Grayson rolls his eyes, wiping his mouth and chin against the sleeve of his once white hoodie, looking at Ethan for justification.

Regardless of his silent plea, Ethan simply shakes his head, turning around to avoid her questioning glare, almost relieved with her presence. A part of him craved for her in every possible way - from a primal human way to a primal vampire way and it's an overwhelming tension around his dead heart that makes him take a step back.

"No, Grayson! I don't fucking know why and I want to understand, I do! But how can I when all I seem to get is dead bodies dropped at my feet as if you're a damn cat showing off a kill!" Voice echoing around the now empty woods, Y/N realized she has to tone down her anger.

She wanted them to suffer for what they did but she didn't want them to die. If anyone found out a vampire slayer is in love with two vampires who kill mercilessly, she'd likely lose her life along with them.

Before she could blink, she found herself gasping for air, not because of the sudden change in her position or the tree she found her back pressed against, not even because of the way Grayson's bloody hand held onto her neck, but because of the intimacy of the way his lips lingered right above her carotid.

Applying a little bit of pressure only to release it had made her arteries run wild with turbulent blood-flow, the kind that played on Grayson's control issues, the kind that made him want to do something he would forever regret - if he could have just a taste and stop, to let her blood warm his heart and make it beat again even if its for a few hours, he might do it, but he couldn't risk her dying. Not now. Not ever.

"I did it for you. To protect you." Drawing the words out slowly, carefully, Grayson leans back and away from her neck, letting her breathe again. He could sense she wasn't scared, not even when he held her at inch length of death, she trusted him and that scared him. He has never been as scared in all his miserable days as he's been scared since the day she walked into his life. For once, Grayson Dolan had something to lose and he wasn't about to let it happen.

"I can't tell you how many people I killed since I came to this town, but I know why they're dead." Swallowing thickly, she watched his lips press together briefly, just for a moment - as if he's contemplating his next words and the impact they might have.

"They're dead so you could live. And I don't feel sorry. Not even a little bit. Maybe that makes me the monster you think I am but I can't regret saving your life." Leaning his forehead on hers, Grayson almost forgot about Ethan who was so clearly growing anxious, frustrated and most of all - jealous. Sadly, to Grayson's greatest dismay, he wasn't the only Dolan in love with a human - a slayer - his Y/N.

She didn't utter a word; she didn't have to. In a blink of an eye, Ethan and Grayson, as well as the bodies of the people she once considered her townsfolk are gone. Shaking, leaning back on the tree, Y/N wondered why she ever got involved with the Dolan twins - why couldn't she leave this particular mystery alone?

To understand that, we'd have to rewind this to the day she first met them, a few months earlier.

There are three things you need to know before you read this:

1. Vampires are real,

2. Their thirst for blood is unmatched by anything but the love for their mate,

3. Humanity is fragile and to love a vampire is to court death.

The sun-rays lit up her pale skin, her favorite season finally chasing away the winter snow she hated more than anything. She wasn't particularly happy about being forced to walk to campus so early in the morning, a cup of tea warming her frosty fingers, reminding her winter's still got a hold of her little town, the kind of town you'd see on postcards. It's easy to feel at home in towns like these, the kind where nothing bad ever happens except for a few college students running wild during rush week.

Smiling, she nods at the car letting her pass the road, recognizing one of her old high school teachers, the one that used to favor her for her "exceptional kindness and talent". She always felt like she disappointed him, her pristine grades and record were supposed to take her far from that town and for a while she was willing to do anything to get out of there, but life always has different plans for us, doesn't it?

Regardless, Y/N wasn't bitter nor did she resent the circumstances forcing her to stay behind when all her friends left. She still found happiness in small things - watching the sunrise that reminded her there was a fresh start every day if we're willing to take it, in the beautiful scenery - nature always calmed her nerves and it reminded her of her late father who always took her camping and taught her basic survival skills, and then there was the very college she goes to - the place her parents met for the first time, giving her a feeling of closeness to the ones she loved the most but had to say goodbye to.

Nostalgic, half lost in her thought, Y/N didn't pay attention to her surroundings, a daydreamer as her friends uses to call her. Perhaps that's something she would have changed, that day and that moment she was too lost in her own head to see she was seconds away from colliding with a force of nature - Grayson Dolan.

She didn't register the moment of impact, rather the moment a strong pair of hands gripped her waist and left arm, holding her in place with a sturdiness she didn't possess on the best of days. She heard her books fall on the pavement, one of them breaking at the seams and she didn't bother looking up, rather down at her precious books.

Quickly, she bent down to collect her books and assess the damage on her favorite book, the man doing the same, managing to take the books before her, forcing her to look into his eyes without escaping it.

Grayson could see wind-stirred waves in her eyes and he knew if one were brave enough to enter their depths, the world would blur and he'd fall so deep in love that he'd choose to stay there – right in the midst of her storm, no matter what. Of that, he was completely sure.

"The Vampire Academy? Really?" His almost mocking tone made her snarl, narrow her eyes and force the books out of his hands. If there is anything she hates, it's someone judging a book by its covers and she really hated when people deemed her a vampire fanatic because of her favorite series. The Vampire Academy is so much more than a story about vampires and that's a hill she was willing to die on.

"You bumped into me and the first thing you want to do is mock my choice in literature?” Standing up, she raised her chin defiantly high, perhaps because he's a lot taller than she is or because she simply hated being perceived as weak and naive, but she was ready to hand his ass to him and in the most merciless manner possible. “Seriously?" She humphed, swallowing thickly as she held his gaze captive.

"You're right." Raising his hands in mock surrender, he chuckled at her attitude. Licking his lips, he raised an eyebrow before speaking again. "I'm Grayson Dolan and I'm very sorry about your book." Putting an emphasis on very, Grayson smiles too, hoping his usually disarming smirk would make her swoon like all the other girls do.

Shrugging, she pulled the books closer to her chest, her gaze falling to her feet inadvertently, wishing she could rip him a new one but he's apologetic. After all, she felt guilty about the small incident anyway and while he may be a closeted asshole, she wasn't about to chew him out for being decent enough to apologize. Every asshole needs someone to show them they are capable of change, right? Well, she certainly thought so.

"Alright." She shrugs again, a nervous tick Grayson realizes but reserves that observation to himself, deciding it would be best not to antagonize her much more though he wants to. Y/N certainly peaks his interest and it's not just about the fact he can sense her blood type just by the smell of a recent scratch on her forearm, but the fact that she's awkwardly, innocently feisty but also beautiful in the most effortless way possible, the kind where she's absolutely blind to the little things others notice and adore about her.

"Not gonna tell me your name?" Grayson steps in her way, stopping her from leaving him high and dry, effectively making her heart skip a beat loud enough that his brother heard it from the football stadium. Those earthly hues he enchanted everyone with, rimmed with thick, long, dark lashes that brushed his cheeks every time he closed his eyes, seemed to bore into her every time she looked into them and nearly lost herself. Suffering, loneliness, longing, desire; his eyes held all those deep seated emotions and for a moment she had to physically restrain herself from placing her palm on his cheek and softly asking him who hurt him so deeply.

Shaking her head, she pushes those thoughts down and reminds herself she’s probably seeing this comely man through the eyes of her wild imagination, her reality check lost somewhere on the ground ever since he bumped into her. "No. You haven't earned that yet." Smiling, she winks at him cheekily, enough to cause him to change his initial opinion - there is nothing innocent about her and he's more than willing to find out what hides in every dark corner and crease of her complicated mind.

He inhaled her scent as she passed him by, sauntering toward the entrance, purposefully too. She knew his eyes never left her form, she could sense his gaze taking her in, and usually she'd feel overexposed, making her self-conscious of every step she makes but she wanted to leave a lasting impression on him. For some unfathomable reason, Y/N found herself glancing over her shoulder at the grinning man, rushing inside faster to hide just how fast her heart is beating and how blushy his attention made her.

Shaking her head, she wondered why him. She wondered why would he be the first man to make her feel like that after years of never even looking at any man. One thing was certain - Y/N wanted to know every single part of Grayson Dolan's heart and soul.

He's not perfect as he seems, but she wants to know him, all his virtues and flaws and she wants to love and hate him and argue and cuddle and go on adventures and stay at home being lazy. She wants to hype him up and have him be her cheerleader too. It doesn't even have to be romantic in any sense even though she couldn't deny the spark she felt just by the way he looked at her. He would be a part of her life and she would make sure of it.

Rumors fly in small towns, there is nothing surprising about it. That's how Y/N had found out more than a few things about Grayson Dolan and apparently, he has a twin brother. When two guys manage to switch universities in their senior year and at the beginning of the summer semester, it’s bound to create a buzz.

From what she remembers, Grayson Dolan is very tall, muscular and from her vantage point, all she could say for certain is how sharp his jawline is. Of course, she managed to memorize his smirk and gaze, both intimidatingly intimate, the kind that grips your soul and haunts your dreams. He oozes charming confidence but also arrogance she'd usually frown upon. All in all, in few minutes she knew him, Grayson Dolan had left an impression worthy of an afterthought, the kind that turns into a daydream where your mind makes up scenarios that are highly unlikely to happen.

As it will turn out, she wasn't nearly as imaginative as she thought.

Taking her seat, relieved it's the last class for the day, Y/N glanced at the door, her eyes catching a striking man as he enters the room, his presence alone enough to make her question reality, pinching herself only to groan under her breath. In that very moment, his eyes met hers as if he could hear the silent pained 'ouch' she mumbled under her breath.

Averting her gaze, she sat up a little straighter, clearing her voice nervously before looking into her bag for a pen, anything to avoid eye contact with a guy she could easily tell was the fated twin of the man who was still taking over her waking thoughts and she was certain he'd be there when she closes her eyes too.

"Need a pen?" The low, dark voice makes her turn sideways, noticing the guy had taken the seat next to her without hesitation, his brown eyes focused on her with interest she truly wanted to squash. If anything, Y/N didn't want a guy too close to her, especially with what her father told her: "You're going to change the world one day. It's in your blood - our family blood."

Anyone would think it's just delirious talks at the end of a man's life, but there was something in his eyes when he told her, something she couldn't disregard.

"I got one." She shrugged, looking back at her bag, trying to remain calm despite feeling his lingering gaze on her.

Heat washed over her, the kind that comes when you're both embarrassed, nervous and extremely uncomfortable. The main reason for it all wasn't just Ethan but the fact that her pen was missing...and her back up pen too.

Ethan knew that too. She had no idea he had swiped them during lunch, aware he'd need a conversation starter with the girl his brother had decided was worthy of his attention after centuries of ignoring romance and love in any form. Ethan had expected a little more if he were completely honest, especially since Grayson spoke about her alluring blood and enticing personality, but he figured there's more beneath the surface.

Unlike his brother, Ethan loved making women giddy, enjoying every bit of attention his immortality gifted him with and what most humans never understood, it's that vampires have more than the gift of immortality kept by human blood.

Vampires have strength unimaginably greater than any human as well as speed no human eye could follow. Their skin isn't always cold, as long as they drink hot beverages or human blood, even their hearts might beat again. The sun won't hurt them, crosses and holy water and garlic wouldn't cause any damage either, but fire might - as well as their hearts pierced with a wooden stake or their head being chopped off? That’s a sure way to rid oneself of a vampire.

"Just take it." Ethan pushed one across the table, winking her way when she dares to look his way once more, enjoying the pink tinted cheeks barely covered with her hair way too much not to crack a smile - a smile that could melt a hundred hearts.

"Alright." Taking the pen, she clicks it eagerly, pressing her lips together to hold back a smile from him. "Thanks." And that's when the longest hour of her life began, completely unaware she became prey and not just in the eyes of the handsome twins that recently joined the campus, but of many more who'd come looking for her - a direct blood relative of Buffy Summers - the last vampire slayer and her power had finally awakened.

Completely unaware of her destiny, Y/N went about her day, falling asleep just a few minutes before midnight strikes, a certain vampire sitting nearby, listening to her breathing evening out and her heartbeat slowing down.

"Are you really going to stalk her now?" Ethan clicks his tongue, watching Grayson roll his eyes. "Don't be a cliche, brother. Either kill her and get it over with or leave her alone. It's not that hard."

Cracking his knuckles, Grayson narrows his eyes, a few dark, blood filled veins becoming increasingly prominent on his face and his once brown eyes are now clouded with darkness.

"Someone is here." Grayson whispers and Ethan chuckles.

"Yeah. Us."

"Are you really that dense? There is something creeping on that girl and it's not just us. And it smells foul." Scrunching his nose, Grayson whips his head around to her window, noticing a speedy shadow moving up the wall, and before he knows it, Grayson's instincts take over.

It only took a moment, but the next thing he knows, Grayson’s primal nature had acted for him and he was grateful. He couldn’t exactly sit by her bed and protect her all night – he couldn’t even enter her home without an invitation, but Grayson could at least protect her home.

Why?

Even he wasn’t sure on the actual reason.

"What the fuck did you do?" All he hears is her heartbeat, even as Ethan whisper shouts in his ear. All he can feel is her scent invading his senses once more, the foul stench of the creature he just beheaded no longer standing in the way.

"What I had to." Grayson spat on the body of the creature he killed without a second thought and he couldn't help but smile. As he did, the temperature fell a little. Even in the dim light of the streetlight Ethan saw his bared teeth.

"This is what will happen to anyone who dares touch her."

#dolan twins #grayson dolan #ethan dolan #grayson dolan x reader #ethan dolan x reader #ethan dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan vampire au #ethan dolan vampire au #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan fic

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vminity21 · 4 years

Text

Apricot | pjm

Pairing: bestfriend!Jimin X female!reader, college!au, friendshiptolovers!au

Genre: fluff/smut/slightangst

Word Count: 5,244

Warning(s): language use, mature content, slight angst involving confessing feelings, unprotected sex, oral (m & f receiving), slight f!dom, rating: R/18+

Summary: You have been head over heels in love with your best friend Park Jimin for what feels like forever, but you are too afraid to tell him the truth. When your fears happen to tread into your dreams, you finally work up the courage to tell him how you feel, but does he feel the same?

Tapping the end of your pencil upon any form of a desk is a habit you have vowed countless times to break, yet with your focus solely upon the daydream spinning like a pinwheel, you hardly notice the coffee eyes peering over at you. “Hey,” the jab of a pointy elbow disrupts you enough, lightly jumping at the gesture just to find your attention returning to the monotone voice of the professor. To make sure the coast is clear, you then veer your gaze to see a concerned Jimin- orange strands glisten beneath the long, rectangular lights tickling the lateral canthus’ of his eyes, and you feel an overwhelming sensation of longing, but you refuse to make it known. “Are you okay?” He mouths, leaned comfortably in his seat; you rest your chin firmly in your palm as you hold his stare.

“Yeah,” you promise, almost dazed, nodding in confirmation. It takes absolutely no effort when the minute class ends, you scramble to scoop up your textbooks, exiting the room with your best friend by your side. Picnic tables are sparse along the campus, and finding one empty, the pair of you occupy it for a few minutes before going your separate ways to the next class.

“You must be out of it,” Jimin observes, breaking the brief silence before you turn to dig into your backpack for a granola bar you have not been able to stop thinking about. Peeling off the wrapper swiftly, you offer him a piece of the snack, him lifting a quick hand gesture in rejection.

“I was up late last night,” you admit, breaking off some of the bar and popping it in your mouth.

“Please tell me you didn’t turn in the music paper late-”

“I sure did,” you chuckle at the way Jimin shakes his head at you, though the way his plump lips break out into his infamous smile, your heart skips a beat as it always does, because how can someone be so beautiful? He runs a slow hand through his hair while his eyes move to watch the surroundings,

“You live dangerously I’ll give you that. I can’t survive unless I’ve had a solid eight hours of beauty sleep.”

“No wonder why you’re so flawless,” you muse, him abruptly shifting to look at you once more, snickering in disbelief at your comment.

“Don’t lie to me,” he kids, gradually standing to his feet before he throws his arms up to stretch them; Jimin lets out a long yawn, “I think I’m going to go check on Yoongi. He’s been missing Mo a lot lately, so I’m going to keep him company. Catch you tomorrow?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Smiling, you are almost caught off guard from where he gently squeezes your shoulder, and the inward wish for him to stay envelops your senses much more than you want to confess, but you understand his wanting to go check on a friend who may need him. Plus, you understand how Yoongi feels because missing someone can be consuming and that is something you are remarkably familiar with.

Turning on a heel, Jimin treads to the sidewalk that leads to where his dorm room awaits, only making it halfway up the sidewalk, he spins to face you, stepping backward with a large smile he bellows, “Your birthday is coming up by the way. I know you’re not a fan of it, but you’ll have to get over it!”

“I won’t!” You lean to your side to get a better view of him, voices carrying in the light breeze.

“We’ll see,” he winks before jogging further into the distance leaving your fluttering heart in anticipation for what he has up his sleeve.

Palms along with the slight bend of your fingers clear within your vision, and your breaths slow in a strange wonder of why you are where you are. Bare feet planted along the cold, dark mush, yet there is no color to be noticed other than black and white, and you twirl your hands in awe of the dull gray painted upon your skin. Rattling trees are enhanced from the way your senses have heightened, and sporadic rumbles from the earth seem to emit in unison with flashes clouding your peripherals. The long grass of the field encompassing your frame sways, and whatever lingering shadows fade into the distance, you hardly notice anything other than that something is missing.

It does not rain, rather, lightning makes an appearance as if to signal the arrival of something… or someone. Furrowed eyebrows, you gather beyond the land a silhouette completely adorned with colors you have not been acquainted with, and as the figure no longer remains blurry, your heartbeat quickens at the sight. You watch him as he dances, leaving traces of color in his wake- every inch being shaded in behind him, completing the picture as if created just for you.

His arms are outspread, and within one of his hands holds a bubble blower which decorates the atmosphere, and upon instinct, floating bubbles hover to where you are; a giggle escaping your lips at the mere touch of one popping. Carroty tendrils gleam beneath the glowing yellow of what you see to be the sun, no sign of gray to be seen now that this soul has arrived. When he notices you, there is a halt- all is silenced, and even from what appears to be a short pace to be where he is, you have never been so fixated on the brown orbs that seem to reflect the same interest.

The two of you step to be nearer to one another, and for some reason, a nostalgia slithers its way to you exposing the urge to confess an undying secret, and as if he reads your mind, you raise your palm, him following suit before your hands press together simultaneously. Your gaze flickers to watch the way the pair of your fingers intertwine, goosebumps pleasantly spreading over your limbs, but what really captures your attention, is when you mouth,

“I need to tell you something,” because he mirrors the exact words you just whispered. His lips part as do yours, investigating each other’s gapes deeply. “I-I need to tell you something,” you repeat just to realize he is reflecting every movement you make. Stepping backward in shock, you frantically say it over and over again, “I need to tell you something. I-I need to tell you something!”

“Tell me what?” Jimin’s voice breaks through what happens to be a dream prompting you to gasp as you jolt up, pulling the covers tight to your chest. Your breathing calms as you flash a suspicious look at your amused friend, playfully reaching to shove his shoulder while the drowsiness from your slumber gradually dissipates.

“What in tarnation are you doing in my room? And, who said I had anything to tell you?”

“Listen,” Jimin chortles. “You have been talking in your sleep the past five minutes, and if I’m not mistaken, you have an urgent message to deliver to somebody.”

Scoffing jokingly, you roll your eyes, “It was just a dream. Now, get out. I need to get ready.”

Obeying, Jimin’s snickering at you as you wisp past him to prepare for your day ahead. Straightening your hair, brushing your teeth- twice, and caking on deodorant- you meet him out in the hallway, the two of you heading to your first class of the day. Little does he know, his presence always makes the pace of your heart quicken, and this is not the first time he has woken you up from sleeping. Of course, the subtle desire to wake up to him every morning huddles in the back of your mind. And as you ponder the dream you have awoken from, is it possible that Jimin has something to tell you, too? Or is it simply just a hopeless wish?

“And, Happy Birthday by the way,” Jimin’s steps slow just enough for you to notice the comical way he smirks at you.

“Don’t remind me,” you blow at a piece of stray hair that falls into your vision.

“Too late,” Stopping fully, you are astonished when his strong arms pull you into a tight embrace that the faint smell of his cologne reaches your nostrils. “It’s your birthday, and you are worth celebrating.”

“Says who,” your voice is muffled against his warm chest, your body easing into him before tightening your arms behind his back when you gently rock from side to side.

“Says me,” he cuddles you much closer, pressing his nose into your shoulder, and the way complete peace waves like an ocean over your heart, it feels indescribable, almost heavenly. But, does he feel the same, too?

“You’re going to make us late,” you murmur, although a tease, you honestly wouldn’t mind being late to class if it means being enveloped in his arms, but of course, reality hits, and he saunters behind you into the classroom when you finally find the will to pull away. If only the daunting questions didn’t produce fear, then maybe you would have admitted your feelings by now, or so you assume, but is heartbreak a risk you are willing to take?

When you reach your desk, coming down from the dazed high of Jimin’s hug, a soft gasp erupts past your parted lips, eyes widening in surprise. “You’rrre welcome,” Jimin leans into your shoulder, his smile so wide that his eyes disappear, and if you could kiss him, you would do it right now even as students start filing in to take their seats.

Sitting right at your desk enclosed in a plastic case appears to be a yellow frosted cupcake with rainbow sprinkles decorated on top. And all you can fathom is this- is this all a coincidence? Or do your dreams about Jimin have a deeper meaning that you are in denial about? Either way, you know you can’t hide your feelings forever. And as you settle into your chair, a few minutes before class is to begin, you bask in the glory of his voice as he speaks, longing for the day you can work up the courage to tell him how you truly feel.

In the middle of the meadow you stand, all hues washed away into the gloom of loneliness, yet the prickles of grass nicks your ankles, reminding you of the trees standing lifeless in the sense of no movement, hardly a sound is created. The fabric of a dress is clung between your fingers, the material scrunched in your palms, yet you loosen them upon realization that you are nowhere amid harm. Toes curl to feel the cold pad of the earth, but the air is stilled, calmed in silence, yet temperate enough to maintain comfort. You turn in time to notice a table, not far into the distance, eyeing what looks to be a small cupcake centered without anything else surrounding it.

Curiously, your slow footprints crunch the grass toward the strange discovery, and the thought of sinking your teeth into the soft dessert makes your mouth water in excitement. The crave is so strong, you wonder of the significance behind the treat, and colliding with the fossils of your memory, you cannot seem to find a reason; sprinkles sporadically embellish the swirled icing prompting you to swipe an index finger through to taste the delightful sweet of sugar now melting on your tongue. Closing your eyes, your intention is to reach for more frosting, and upon re-opening them, bewilderment overcomes you at the sight of colors blooming on every horizon, painting along to even reveal the deep mahogany of the table. Tilting your head, you notice something is missing, and unexpectedly, the blur of clementine strands enters your peripherals causing you to whip your vision to see the man you have met in prior slumbers, mischievously grinning at you.

Squinting at him in response, a mere smirk arises on your lips, wondering what he has in store, but he is not the only one who has a trick or two hidden away in his sleeves. Trailing down from his expression, you see that in his hands lays the cupcake, the wip of yellow frosting you pilfered evident from its once perfected layer. Wind happens to miraculously exist when you hear the subtle rattle of leaves, your hair tickling the backs of your shoulders where the tinge of sunrays are felt, and you find it endearing that when he is present, so is the world you truly seek.

He gestures the dessert to you, and instead of taking another bite, you catch him by surprise when you return the baked good to the table. Watching you carefully, the spark of another desire looms along your mind where your arms raise for your hands to place gently on his shoulders. Brown irises flicker to read your expression, and when he prepares to lean in, tip of his nose daintily brushing yours- you suddenly jolt, laughter reverberating throughout the atmosphere when he widens his eyes before leaning back to release the same boisterous sound, your running frame igniting him to follow suit. He chases after you playfully as you cavort through the land, sneaking glimpses behind you to see how close he is. He never misses a step, arms outreached to catch you panging frequent squeals of glee to escape from your smiling lips, but he misses every time as you dodge into the opposite direction, he least expected. A short time passes underneath the fervor of the sunlight resonating amongst the scene, the light of it all serenading the pair of you into a wonderland you never imagined would welcome you with such happiness.

When he manages to round his arms around your frame, your feet fly out from under you causing the two of you to tumble- rolling together down a lush hill until the pace slows. He hovers above you, each of your chests rising and falling with the same exhilaration before bursting into the same merriment that gifted the surroundings with joy. The tips of his feathery, orange hair tickles your forehead from how near his proximity is, and his expression softens in the hopes of continuing where it was originally left off. When he leans in, without warning, with what strength you have, you turn to pin him down, giggling at his startled, yet amused glance. His smile is the most beautiful smile you have ever known, him shaking his head at you for accomplishing the trickery he had not seen coming.

Gazing down at him, your hair falls from your shoulders to lightly touch the sides of his face, and you feel the comfort of his hands nestle on your back. Your fingertips glide to hold his face, his dancing eyes lighting your heart- everything about him finalizes you in every aspect- the missing puzzle piece you have longed for- the sunshine to your rainy day. And, no matter what, you will never look away.

Bubbles swarm the universe in a glistening cascade when your lips finally meet, creating the power of what the two of you hold for each other, and one thing rings mesmerizingly clear:

He is the rainbow that conquers every storm.

One thing you contemplated from the moment your eyes fluttered open to the gold tinged spin of your ceiling fan was whether you were going to refuse to move until the anxious weight over your shoulders disappears, or get your ass out of bed and finally tell Jimin how you feel. Now, the answer to the hounding question happens to be blatantly clear because in front of the door, you stand, heart profusely thumping. The door that your best friend, unbeknownst of your arrival, lives behind stares back at you as if it is laughing, taunting you to make up your mind. Mumbling profanities to yourself in frustration, you lightly pace from side to side, scolding yourself while you nip at your fingernails, begging inwardly to get a grip.

Uncertain of how many minutes faded into time, you shake your head, pausing to inhale deeply and exhale slowly, slamming your eyes shut as you try to steady your quivering hands. Feet planting in front of the door, you suck in your lips, before reaching to knock. It is only seconds when you hear the familiar bellow of Jimin calling to someone, most likely Yoongi, letting him know that he is getting the door. The anticipation is smothering even when you attempt to ease your breathing, and when the door opens you feel your heart leap.

Jimin’s eyes light up in sheer happiness when the recognition evident in his eyes sees that it is you, “[Y/N]? I didn’t know you were coming. Couldn’t get enough of me could you-”

“Jimin, I’m in love you with you.”

The words tumbled from your mouth before you even had the chance to comprehend it; Jimin’s stare enlarging along with his jaw that drops in astonishment. Clenching your teeth, you don’t even give him a chance to respond, rather, you dash past him, nearing to the bookshelf that holds an ungodly amount of college textbooks mingled with sparse figurines- the door to his bedroom only being a few feet away, holds memories of numerous homework filled evenings and crumpled paper balls the pair of you would throw at each other out of boredom. It takes an immense amount of bravery to collect the words you are not only wanting to say but needing to say when you finally spin around to meet his face as he slowly closes the front door behind him. His shoulders are tense while his thick lips rest in a straight line, but that doesn’t stop you.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you confess, your heart tearing at his face that remains unreadable, “I’ve waited so long to tell you this; and honestly, I never thought I’d see the day that I would, but here I am,” you gesture your arms swiftly in the air as if to signify your existence, “Jimin, I am so in love with you that I can’t even think straight. Literally, you smile, and I feel like I’m going to combust into the oblivion!” Wince. You have never been good at being cheesy because what is cheese without something to spice it up a tad; and what the hell is a confession of love without some questionable statements? “And, who gave you the right to be so sweet and thoughtful, and to pretty much have all of the qualities I’ve always wanted in a man. I see you almost every day, and yet, I miss you like I haven’t seen you in a month! We balance each other out so precisely that it terrifies me, and I don’t think there is anyone in this world I would rather be with. I mean seriously, Jimin, I would give the last half of my brain cell just so you could have a whole one!” You hate the fact that your eyes are welling with tears, but your emotions are pouring out, and at this point, forget the spice, “Even when my world is at its gloomiest, I’m reminded of yet another promising color you represent, it’s like you paint every picture around me so perfectly that there’s no such thing as flaws.” Because he has always accepted you for who you are. “And, for goodness sakes, even when I think I’ve had enough of you, you appear in my damn dreams, like I can’t-”

Jimin crashes his lips to yours not even giving you an opportunity to recuperate, his gesture so rapid, yet so potent, your back thuds against the bookshelf where sounds of trinkets swivel without plummeting to the floor, but either of you could care less. Deepening his kiss, your fingers slide to tangle with the plumy tufts of his hair while his remain cupping your face with not one plan of ever letting you go. The way your heart had gone from an intimidating beat to an effortless wave of soaring is beyond you, and when you dreamed of kissing him, you never thought you would ever really get to. Sparks igniting beneath your chest is more than an explanation, it’s a sensation you are finally experiencing, because the man you have been hopelessly in love with is completing the other half of your heart in this very moment.

Everything you have ever dreamed of is unfolding before you in the blink of an eye, and when he breaks the kiss, his forehead touches yours whilst he runs the tip of his thumb at the corner of your mouth. “I fell in love with you the moment I met you,” all emotion resonates from his brown eyes, “Plus, you’re fun to tease, I mean how could I resist?” You shove him as he snickers, you’ll show him a tease.

“Oh yeah?” You arch an eyebrow in attempt to challenge him, his face scrunched adorably, before your shoulders slump, “Oh! Goodness, Jimin, just kiss me!”

Chuckling into the kiss, it doesn’t take long before breaths are starting to increase, especially when his hands grip your hips in order to pull you closer. This time when you snatch his lips roughly, he sneaks a quick brush of his tongue over yours kindling the urge for you to graze his bottom lip between your teeth. “Shit,” he moans, and the mere second you feel his bulge against your stomach, the suppressed desires inside you start coming alive. No words are exchanged, both of your hands still bundling in his shirt, you drag him to his bedroom, him following without a second thought. Shutting the door, his cologne scent wafts in every part of his room, the fan blowing cool air above, you twist him around, him stumbling backward while your hands on his chest guide him.

His eyes never leave your face, even when you push him onto his bed, moving your knees on either side of him to straddle- his hands moving to grip your ass while you lean into him, him relishing in the feel of your breasts before you grasp his chin. A look of mere surprise fills his eyes while you seductively tilt your head, tracing his jawline with your stare, the gush warming your core causes you to grind your hips along his- with the way he feels about you, he will do anything you say.

“Mmm,” his grin moving to kiss your neck, “What have I gotten myself into?”

A hearty snicker leaves your lips, “How about you let me show you?”

“Oh, fuck,” his shoulders relax especially when you run your lips along his jaw, nipping his ear lobe, your warm breath causing him to shiver, his hair tickling your nose signaling to let the tufts tangle between your fingers, bringing your lips to his, holding his kiss before he parts them just enough to greet your tongue once again with the tip of his. Both hips grinding, the longing for the feel of his skin is what you want next. Lips locked, your fingertips trace from his jaw down his neck to carefully swirling along the tops of his shoulders.

When he moves to tug at the bottom of your shirt, you stop him, “Nuh uh uh uh,” you taunt, “I believe I want to see you first,” Jimin moves his hands almost immediately in mock defense which leads you to interlace your fingers with his, a loving look forming within his eyes, you laying him down just to steal a few more long kisses before jerking his shirt off- you rising to rest on your knees while he basks in all your glory. He is so toned, and you can hardly contain yourself, running your fingers along his abdomen, his chest rising and falling rapidly from just your touch. Gradually, you break the trance by giving him a toying smirk, running your hands along your body before lifting your shirt above your head, exposing your red laced bralette, his eyes widening at the sight, him nearly floored by the beauty he has yet to see. The next step you take is tracing the top of your jeans until your fingertips slowly unbutton, unzipping to reveal a matching lace thong, a soft moan escaping Jimin’s throat while his legs tense under you from the indisputable feeling hounding him below.

“You okay there, Chim?” Your voice so sexy, it can haunt any ones’ dreams, but in the loveliest way possible. He runs a hand through his hair though his back is still pressed against his pillows. “Need a little help there?”

“Oh, [Y/N],” he breathes, “I am more than okay,”

He can barely withhold himself from stealing your frame, tearing off your lingerie and sexing you right then and there, but he also is enjoying every bit of your movements, your dominant gaze, the way you hold yourself, pleasing him with the mystery you have yet to expose. Without another moment for him to ponder, you bring your hands to the button of his pants, replaying the slow way you unbutton them, unzipping them, and pulling them down his quivering legs- tossing his pants and underwear onto the ground where your clothes now lay.

Salivating at the view, your hands grip his thighs, him hissing in response. He wants you so bad, all it does is add fuel to the flaming yearn to please him. You begin. Sucking so hard, he lifts slightly, his breathing staggering while you lap your tongue along his tip, diving in once more, his taste lingering in your mouth, his hands moving to your head while you move up and down, his moans are music to your ears, and he could finish right now, but you’re not ready for him to. Lifting to rest on your knees again, you gesture for him to rise- him still recovering from the ecstasy of your mouth, he watches you- you letting him palm your bra, leaving tender kisses along your cleavage, his lips causing your heat to clench, especially when you kiss him again- this time unhurriedly- letting desire take over especially with the way his lips mold with yours- so lovingly, so passionate.

He wants to make you feel good, you can tell by the way his fingers move to slip into your underwear, gliding along your sopping entrance, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head with how turned on you are for him. “Ohhh, fuck,” he exhales, his forehead meeting your chest while you grip his shoulders. Him pumping his fingers within you, you run your hand to the back of his head, gripping the orange strands, but not to the point to cause any pain, you tug just enough to get him to meet your stare, his eyes squeezing from how much that mere gesture turned him on even more than he already is.

Slanting your head knowingly, you speak, “Wanna taste?”

He whispers, “So bad. So so bad,”

Pinning him down, his fingers released from your entrance, you whip around to where your back faces him, his heated hands smoothing along your ass, appreciating the thong flooding his line of vision, him then moving it out of the way so he can take in the sight of your drenched heat the moment you bend forward. Swaying your hips from side to side, you give him another minute – him moving his hands to grip the front of your thighs.

That’s when you hear it, the parting of his lips before the tip of his tongue swipes along your entrance. “Mmmm,” you moan, him spreading your folds in order to give another long lick before he hungrily flicks his tongue along your clit- savoring the taste he’s longed for the second you two shut his bedroom door. “Oh, Jiminnn,” your voice sounds higher from the way the shivers wave across your body- him sashaying his tongue relentlessly on your entrance, building the feeling to the point you can come at any time.

He nearly melts the moment you begin to pleasure him too, stealing his erection with your mouth, sucking while he licks simultaneously- the both of your moans drowning out the noise of anything outside the room. When you feel the brink of an orgasm about to take its course, you spring forward, grasping his area within your palm, you rise and fall to fill your entrance with all of him. He can’t even comprehend, he just lets you ride him, getting lost in the feeling of being inside you, his breath hitching at the sight of your figure dancing on top of him.

Though he is in love with your body, the perfection of your curves, your beautiful mannerisms, and your glistening eyes- nothing beats the fact how in love he is with your heart of gold, the way your smile lights up any room you walk into, your determination to complete any goal you have listed on your heart, or the way you stole his heart the second you were introduced to him. Jimin is in love with you.

Jimin is in love with all of you.

Every single bit.

His hands move to your hips, lifting you to move you under him. You’re astonished at first, him hovering above you, his hand cupping your cheek for his thumb to stroke it. Both of your pants are heard though the moment is nowhere near lost. “God, you’re so beautiful,” you murmur. Awe dawns his expression, him moving to rest his forehead upon yours, his hair shading his eyes, his bare legs tangling with yours, his heated skin soothing among yours. It’s clear the two of you have a chemistry that neither of you can put into words.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, pressing a tepid kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“And, I love you so much,”

Jimin kisses you- sultry and steamy- relighting the fumes of desire- your gasping breaths mingling with the whirling of your tongues until he brings his penis to your heat- thrusting in you whilst your fingers scratch down his back. Time passes before the climax begins, you muffle your screams into his shoulder, him releasing in you once both of you finish. The sensitivity reeling- he collapses beside you- your hand immediately finding his, intertwining your fingers before turning to flash him a musing look. “Sex like that, I don’t think I’ll ever leave,” you wink.

“If you keep looking at me like you want a round two, I don’t think I’ll let you,” he chortles. Slipping under the covers, your laughing smile buries partly into his chest, while you shake your head at him, but at the same time you are coming down from a solace you never thought could be possible. You let a few minutes pass by first, stifling a smile,

“Oh, um… Jimin?”

“Hm,” he hums, eyebrows furrowing as he peers down at you in concern.

“If you ever buy me a cupcake again, I will smush it in your face.”

Lips breaking out into a huge smile, he chuckles at you incredulously, “Bring it on,” and with that, his fingers tip your chin, pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth, completing you like the sun to the sky, the greenery to a meadow, the icing to a cupcake,

A rainbow after a long and treacherous storm.

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letsperaltiago · 4 years

Text

write your story on my heart: come on and make your mark

In the safety of his mom's hoodie Mac Santiago-Peralta quickly learns that his parents are quite alright if not his favorite people in this big, scary world.

the skin to skin-contact oneshot no one asked for 🤔

read on ao3

“One last push! You’re doing so good, honey.”

The second his powerhouse of a wife delivers her last push, fully welcoming the newest addition to their family into the world and the safety of his auntie Roro’s hands, Jake feels his entire cosmos shift and turn upside down. It’s a transition, a feeling he thought the million hours of googling and studying parenting books had prepared him for, only now realising that there is no such thing as being prepared for this very moment.

No book, binder, higher power or even the tangled depth of some Reddit-forum he’d once found could possibly have prepared him for the immense, indescribable joy he experiences rushing through every cell of his body when he hears the first, notably loud cries of his son.

Loud cries are a good sign: it means he has strong lungs, Jake remembers.

“Jake,” he’s snapped out of his reverie by the sound of Amy’s breathy whimpers. Surely she’s more than exhausted after pushing a human out of her. “He’s-” she interrupts herself when she heaves resulting in her knocking her head back against the pillow to gain a breath, meanwhile her eyes search Jake’s face for some kind of conclusion.

The strong urge to take care of them both at the same time, his son and his wife, is tearing him in two separate directions. Although he does quickly settle on turning to Amy. He knows and trusts that his newborn is safe in Rosa and, he shudders a bit at the thought, he has to admit, the fire-fighters care when he sees said glorified EMT is checking his son’s condition.

One last time, he comes to realise this will be, he immerses himself in the feeling of being just the two of them; to have eyes only for her because soon, even though he doesn’t mind one bit, his heart will officially be shared with someone else.

“Yeah, he’s here, babe. He’s here,” he lets out in an euphoric mixture of a breath, smile and sniffle as he leans in to kiss his wife’s forehead. Beneath his touch he can feel her trembling from the adrenaline, still very much red and sweaty but oh, how she’s never been more beautiful to him, and although it’s a very close second, not even clad in white on their wedding day.

His lips stay plastered there for a few seconds but somehow feels like an eternity put into slow-motion. Yes, he knows he could be attending so many other, more useful, matters, but there’s no resisting the overwhelming pride he’s currently feeling knowing his incredible wife once again, this time more than ever, has proven to be the superhero he’s always known her to be.

“You did it,” he exclaims joyously through the cry threatening to crawl up and out of his throat once his lips slip off of her skin. From his new vantage point, having pulled back the slightest, he can tell she’s crying along to the sound of their son’s furious wails, and he can’t blame her. It’s paradoxical: somehow the most beautiful and heartbreaking sound he’s ever heard.

“You’re so incredible, Ames,” the words come spilling out of his moth hopped up on adrenaline which results in them stumbling over each other but he doesn’t care. She needs to know how amazing she is.

As intimate as an interrogation room containing their best friend and some random firefighter can be, their moment runs out the second the firefighter lets them know that their baby is perfectly healthy and gently places him stomach down, wailing at the top of his lungs, on Amy’s still heaving chest. Alongside this the two freshly baked parents stare in disbelief: they created this little and so very wanted human who’s now finally, after 9 months of pregnancy and even longer time spent wanting and trying, screaming into the soft fabric of Amy’s hoodie.

Amy’s hand are immediately drawn in, rushing to cup the tiny being in her hands, one supporting his bottom meanwhile the other his head. It’s all so much: the soft surface of his skin, the vibration coming from his screaming, and more importantly healthy, lungs resonate against hers making everything that more and finally completely real. Every ultrasound scanning, all the fluttering kicks from inside her womb and even the contractions: this kind of real beats everything prior to this moment. Her son is really here, in flesh and blood, resting against her chest instead of bundled up inside her womb.

“He’s amazing,” she lets out with a sob as she attempts to study Mac’s every feature.

“He sure is,” Jake is quick to chime in placing a hand on his son’s back before leaning in to kiss the tiny head tenderly, of course keeping in mind the fragility of a newborn’s skull, something all the baby books have told him about. He then looks backs to his wife and kisses her lips.

Her crying almost sabotages her ability to kiss him back, but she stables herself just enough by moving a hand to rest on her husband’s cheek and then it hits her like never before that she’s currently, right then and there, holding her entire world in her hands: Jake in one and their son in the other.

McClane Santiago-Peralta. Mac.

He’s a perfect 9 pounds and 21 inches, they’re later told at the hospital; he’s soft, pink and brand new; he’s here and he’s their son.

Caught up in what feels like her life’s biggest whirlwind of a moment, kissing her husband and holding her screaming newborn, she faintly make out Rosa and the firefighter telling them they’re going to leave them alone for a while to go meet the incoming ambulance and and actual EMTs.

Jake and Amy pull apart as the door closes and encapsulates their new little family of three in the interrogation room.

“I love you so much, Jake,” she smiles both with her lips and deep brown eyes which radiate so much joy through the tears that it makes Jake shed a tear too when he tell her “I love you too. So much.”

Their attention shifts back to Mac quietly whimpering for attention having only been partly soothed by his mother’s hold and is still very much upset with the fact he’s been thrown right into such a big, bright world without warning.

“And I love you too, my baby Mac,” she coos in addition to her declaration of love as she lets go of Jake’s face to hold her still naked, probably very hungry and cold son even closer.

Although Amy without a doubt had the birthing suite Hitchcock and Scully had built her to thank for making the birth surmountable, it wasn’t exactly destined to do what it was doing right now meaning that a lack of heat was noticeable.

“Shhh, yes, I know,” she strokes the top of his head in an attempt to comfort the whimpering bundle, “it’s all so big and scary out here, but we’ll make sure you’re okay. We got you.”

Mac’s cries have definitely quieted down, lost momentum, since first appearing in their world just minutes ago but he’s still very clearly voicing discontent and Amy can feel her brand new mom-heart bleed. She mentally turns over every page of every baby book she’s ever read furiously trying to find a solution to her son’s crying and discomfort.

“Your mom’s right, bud. No need to cry. We’re here with you,” Jake bends over the gap between him and the stretcher, down to his son’s eye level as if it’ll convince him to calm down only to comprehend that a newborn probably doesn’t care about his father’s promises. Mac is a man of actions not words.

“Jake,” Amy whimpers hit by realisation, so suddenly set on one thing and one thing only and it of course immediately gains her her husband’s full attention. “Help me put him on my chest.”

A look of confusion dawns on Jake as they share a look, Amy’s eyes pleading for him to understand.

“But Ames, that’s where he already is?”

“No, like on my actual chest. Skin to skin-contact, Jake.”

It comes out matter of factly and memories of many textbook pictures of cute, tiny babies lying against their mother’s bare chest right after birth come rushing back to Jake instantly replacing his confusion.

“Oh yes, that, right! Of course.”

She briefly pauses to think although its hard when her train of thoughts is very much controlled by the worry growing within her every time Mac lets out another loud whine or cry. At least he’s on top of something soft, she thinks in an attempt to reassure herself when looking down at him and her now very messy, gooey NYPD-hoodie and then, all out of the blue, it hits her: the messy but soft and warm NYPD-hoodie. Beneath it she’s only wearing her maternity bra (she’d started wearing them already months ago once her boobs had grown too big for her regulars once: also they were way more comfortable) so surely her idea was worth the try.

“He could probably fit into my hoodie,” she wonders or rather declares out loud. Her son needs somewhere warm and safe, so, regular procedure be damned.

“I mean,” Jake studies the features of the grey piece of clothing, “it’s quite big and if you just tug down the neck whole he could probably fit in there with you.”

So they give it a try.

While Jake momentarily takes possession of his son, immediately tearing up again at the very surreal feeling of holding life, which he’s created, for the first time, Amy unclasps and removes her soft bra. In terms of the last step she tugs open, as wide as physically possible, the neck hole of her hoodie to welcome her son. It’s not pretty nor graceful but the hoodie is indeed really big (especially now that Mac is no longer in her womb) and together they manage to carefully place him to rest against his mother’s skin and under the soft material of the hoodie, only his head, under Amy’s, emerging from the neck hole. They hold their breaths for a second, both internally begging for their invention to be enough to soothe their son completely.

Amy instantly feels better knowing she’s sharing her bodily heat with her son, and, even more rewarding is the fact that it also seems to pay off: after a few more whimpers, slowly fading into barely audible sniffles, a silence lastly settles over them.

From where he’s resting chest to chest, skin to skin, with his mother, Mac finally, for the first time in his life, seems fully content and settles for dozing off as the easiest way to handle being completely knocked out by the intensity of being born.

Jake and Amy exchange a surprised, having feared the worst outcome since today already had followed a certain chaotic discourse, but ecstatic look as all there is left to be heard is the sound of approaching ambulance sirens.

“This feels incredible,” she speaks quietly in an attempt to not disrupt her son’s newfound state of peace, checking on him once more to make sure he’s not being squished by her chin, and although this time there’s fabric creating a barrier between her palms and his skin, she allows her fingers to fall into a sweeping motion across the tiny frame.

“It looks incredible,” Jake whispers back not believing his own eyes because the scene currently playing out in front of him sure can’t be real. It’s too good, something he years ago wouldn’t even dare to dream of, and although he doesn’t want to be that person, he wants to live in the present, Jake can’t fight the urge to grab his phone and snap a picture, just one that he can make his lock screen picture the second he has a minute to do so. For now he figures it’s enough and puts his phone back into his pocket allowing him to lean in and join his wife in caressing their son.

“Always told you you look crazy good in hoodies,” he smirks knowingly thinking of all the times he’s told her this only to be met by disagreement and dismissive comments before pecking her temple tasting small beads of sweat, salt, on his lips.

“Even now covered in placenta?” her exhausted eyes manage to throw him a teasing look ahead of redirecting to admiring Mac’s beautiful, finally peaceful being. Jake’s eyes trail behind, staying on her with the most loving look when he utters, “especially now covered in placenta,” before following her lead and looking at Mac.

The sirens from before have faded, disappeared, letting the new parents know that the ambulance must’ve reached the precinct. Despite this fact, they forget and enjoy the quiet before the storm, their first peaceful moment as a family.

All in all Mac seems pleased with his new favorite spot on his mom’s chest. Even as she holds him a bit tighter, securing him to her chest when she’s wheeled out of the integration room by a newly arrived EMT, Jake right beside her to make sure they’re alright every step of the way, Mac doesn’t budge; even in the ambulance when one of her hands leaves his back to hold Jake’s while the sirens make an encore, Mac stays quiet.

This might not be his mother’s womb but he knows he’s home.

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laurelleghuleh · 3 years

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OCAF | Ch. 7 ″Bruises”

“You taste like camomile and freedom” Masterlist

Warnings: read the masterlist first

Song: “Addio” by Dirk Maassen

DAPHNE’S POV

“I think they’re gone. We have to head back now…” Levi suddenly said.

Our bodies were still glued one to the other, so close that their borders were blurred, so close that I could no longer tell where one started and the other ended. Our foreheads connected and our breaths, still unsteady, mingled in the small space they were granted between us.

As soon as I heard him say those words, I felt like landing from an unknown planet, regaining possession of my body and almost being able to sense again every inch of my skin, and Levi’s against mine.

"I think they’re gone. We have to head back now…” I repeated those words again, in my head, trying to isolate them one by one and assimilate them. And yet they were inconsistent, they made no sense at all.

I believed I could read them again, written all over my face, which was reflected in Levi’s eyes, right there in front of mine. Everything around me regained its weight, its smell and its sound: the racket of the people a few streets away, the pungent smell of the Underground, that kiss just to distract our chasers and the body of Ruth thrown into the trash.

Again, I felt my heart running wildly in my chest and furiously slamming against my ribcage, the sound of my thoughts going crazy on both sides of my head and breaking against its walls, my legs getting weaker.

Levi seemed to notice it and he told me, grabbing me by the shoulders "Hold on to me, I’ll bring you back up". I barely protested with my head, but at that moment it seemed impossible for me to do anything else.

I hated being so weak sometimes. I hated always being at the mercy of my emotions. At that moment I actually hated everything and I felt like I was going completely insane.

"Come on," said Levi, then he looked around, he wrapped me around my waist and activated the three-dimensional maneuvering device with his other hand. I held on to him, closed my eyes and let him do whatever he wanted.

I couldn’t stop formulating rambling thoughts and a strong sense of frustration seeped through my skin, down to my bones. If I’d opened my eyes at that moment, I wouldn’t have been able to stop the tears.

As soon as we reached the manhole and the ground, I escaped from Levi’s grip, pushing him away. I felt like I was close to losing control of myself.

I began to walk in the darkness of that old abandoned canal, looking for the trapdoor and, inadvertently, I opened my eyes. A warm flow of tears completely wet my face, I felt like overflowing and I could no longer tell if I was blinded from the darkness or pain.

"Daphne, wait..." tried to call me Levi and as soon as his hand touched my arm to stop me, I dodged it with unexpected violence. I could hear his footsteps right behind me and his voice slowly trying to call my name again.

I struggled in the dark, trembling and holding my chest tightly with my hands to block a strong urge to burst, until I realized I was under the trapdoor. I stopped, undecided about what to do: it was too high to reach. Suddenly I felt again Levi behind me, who forcefully blocked both my shoulders. He didn’t say anything, he just squeezed me tight and reactivated the device.

When we arrived in the basement, I moved immediately away from him again. I plodded along, despite a little light had returned and I could finally see again. My legs didn’t seem to cooperate, and even keeping my eyes open had become torture.

Levi’s steps religiously followed mine up the stairs: at that moment his figure behind me felt like something suffocating yet reassuring.

I could not fully realize what surrounded me, I kept walking on the memories of someone else, probably a soldier of the Scouts who I must have been once, a few hours before, someone who knew those corridors and where her room was.

But one thing was sure, I wasn’t alone. Levi was walking a few steps away from me like he didn’t want me to intrude on that pitiful funeral march. On the other hand, around us there was an endless and messy row of curious cadets, intent on discovering what had happened. It felt like a deja-vu. Nevertheless, I proceeded, like I was sent to the gallows.

Their eyes focused on me had no weight, as if they couldn’t reach me and a bubble protected me from their every whisper or look.

Without even realizing it, I was already in front of my room. When I crawled just a few centimeters from the entrance, I felt again Levi’s body dangerously close to mine.

Both his fists moved forward and stopped on the doorjambs. Then his face leaned close to my ear and so Levi said, almost whispering: "Please, Dafne, say something".

Unable to spell a word and still trembling, I gripped the handle of my door.

"Say something, anything" he continued.

"No..." I whispered so softly that I couldn’t even hear myself.

"Daphne, I know you’re in shock but..." he tried to say grabbing me by the shoulder to make me turn around.

Helpless, I let him play with me as if I were a puppet and as soon as our eyes met his expression instantly changed. My face completely marked by tears must have somehow struck him to the point where he wasn’t even able to finish his sentence. He swallowed soundly and kept staring at me.

I felt my eyelids heavy and my face sore. I faintly opened my jaw and after a couple of attempts I managed to stutter: "Alone... I want to be alone"

"No, Daphne, listen," he tried to say.

"Leave me. Alone." As I articulated those three simple words, I felt my throat burning and its walls cracking trying to let out that feeble thread of voice. At that point, I couldn’t hold back any more tears.

I quickly opened the door and then slammed it. I left Levi out and as I let myself fall to the ground with my shoulders glued to the wall, I pictured his reaction.

There was nothing more to hide, it was just me in that room, which at that point seemed really someone else’s, a stranger, a good soldier, definitely not me. I had left my sisters in those monsters’ hands, with that flimsy promise to come back, to come back and save them.

Who am I kidding? I had no plan and any attempt was constantly boycotted by something or someone, by Marta, by the master, by the aristocrats, by money, from time, from fate, from that stupid fate written in someone's name. Supposedly my destiny was not to turn into a fucking tree, but to continue to flee aimlessly, chased by something, that was breathing down my neck.

There, on the ground, with my head in my hands, I let myself go to an uncontrolled, desperate and humid cry. I felt my back arch unnaturally at every hiccup and the tears dropped down on my clothes, on the carpet, everywhere.

I tried to calm down thinking rationally about what to do next: going back to the Underground now would be suicide, I didn’t know what was happening. On the other hand, staying still seemed to be equally impossible. Every good plan, every little thought was promptly overshadowed by that image that would have never stopped haunting me. Ruth’s dead body and the memory of her loud laughter, of her abrupt manners, of her quick comebacks, the memory of her alive. Those images seemed to not match that horrid show I had saw down there. And yet I was sure that was her.

Ruth was around the same age as my sister Abigail and growing up they became quite inseparable, despite their differences. Ruth had always had a bad temper and Abigail’s candor often hurt her to the point of inadvertently pissing her off. But Abigail had always been far too lenient and good, and she always managed to be immediately forgiven.

Ruth was sly, stubborn, one would say far too unreasonable sometimes, but she would have fought tooth and nail because of something she firmly believed in. She had even managed to fool Marta and gain some advantages, like working in the betting rooms rather than always work as a prostitute.

She had an eye for cards and bets and was extremely good at putting in place any rude customer, despite her small figure.

My chest squeezed at the thought of what might have happened to her. Knowing her pretty well, she could very well have asked for it... but how to justify those pustules all over her body? What if it was the master? What if other girls ended up in the same condition as her? What if there’s a plague going on?

I felt overwhelmed by all those thoughts and just mentioning the others, Nina’s face immediately appeared in front of my eyes, still flooded with tears. Nina...how is she doing...I thought.

Ruth was a loose cannon who was hiding a secret, that one day would have surely cost her her life. Her clandestine and unclear relationship with Nina had always been well hidden mainly by the discretion and mysteriousness of Nina, much older and smarter than Ruth.

I always thought that Nina was one of the most fascinating, charming and sharp women I’ve ever met, and I always wondered how someone like her still couldn’t escape from there, and first of all how she even ended up in that rathole. Her only religion was money and what they could give her. In that world and within those walls very little actually, but that tiny feeling of power gave her an overwhelming and indescribable pleasure. And yet, her only love was Ruth and her big amber eyes.

It killed me that I couldn’t know what was going on and that I couldn’t do anything at all, so my anger suddenly seemed to reinvigorate my legs. I made my way into the room and everything that had accidentally found itself in my path was thrown away or completely disintegrated.

The tears kept marking my face, while every throw, every punch didn’t seem to make a big difference. The anger kept boiling inside me and at that point I had shouted so much that I had no more air in my lungs.

Once I was drained, I let myself fall to the ground again, in the middle of the room and so I decided to lie there, on the floor, surrounded by sheets, pieces of wood and broken shards.

A little wind suddenly seemed to warm my cheeks and I could not hold my hand from touching my lips. As soon as my fingers felt that flap of skin, I impulsively retracted them, as if it were not mine anymore, as it belonged to someone else. Levi.

There was another unfinished business: that kiss and his, and my unexpected reaction.

While I was trying to slow my heart rate, other memories of that moment suddenly resurfaced. It was definitely more than a moment and perhaps it was more than a plan. More than a kiss. At least for me.

From the first time I saw Captain Levi and felt his piercing eyes on me, I was completely mesmerized. Inexplicably, I had to admit it.

Growing up I had always rejected attraction in all its forms, as an evil illness that would lead to further weaknesses, such as love and a possible relationship. My spasmodic obsession with Abigail and my sisters already made me constantly insane, let alone let someone else enter that precarious balance of feelings. Luckily, no one had ever caught my attention, much less had I ever allowed a man to sneak into my head and enslave me to my futile and surely evanescent feelings.

I had learned with time to distinguish my work from personal pleasure, which I could get only from myself or from a client trying to isolate myself from that trivial form of entertainment. I had never judged my clients, I knew perfectly what they wanted and what they were desperately looking for, but for me that was just mere role-playing, that I put up to live and hope not to get killed by the master or by Marta in a tantrum.

I had trained my body and mind to navigate parallel tracks, my heart and my brain to never communicate. Yet Captain Levi seemed to have created a short circuit.

It was not his undoubtedly magnetic appearance that struck me, but his aura. Levi could walk and everyone around him would hopelessly be inclined to show him reverence, to show him respect and to comply with every order, despite his cold and unreadable ways, often severe and almost intolerable. He must have earned that kind of devotion, he must have been a good captain and this idea had often been clear to me, in his attentions and his words. I had this feeling that Levi wasn’t that impassive character he was playing. His speeches had always been full of wisdom, heartfelt and honest.

Those were the words of a soldier who must have been through a lot. When I found out he came from the underground too, I was even more intrigued and that mystery became more and more fascinating. And I was worried about myself it could have become far too tempting.

I found myself too often fantasizing unexpectedly, even if for a short time, about him. What’s wrong with me?

None of those feeble dreams could, however, compare with what I had experienced on my skin a few minutes before. Levi had once again shown this unpredictable mixture of warmth and impulsiveness, softness and lust. And I couldn’t shake that feeling off of me, which seemed to completely pervade me again, while I was still on the ground, unable to do anything else.

He had slipped so deeply under my skin that he completely clouded the memories of Ruth and my past. Even that kiss, however, had the bitter aftertaste of loving forbidden things and I immediately thought it would be better to forget about it as soon as possible. I had already enough on my plate.

It was just part of the plan, we managed to convince those two goons that we were just a couple of lovers looking for a quiet place."Play along," he said, "Play along," and so I did.

That kiss meant nothing and should have meant nothing more than that.

LEVI’S POV

I clenched my teeth when the door closed in front of me. There wasn’t much else I could do at that point, and for a while I stood there, slightly leaning forward, while I tried to call her name again.

I kept telling myself that I shouldn’t have kissed her at a time like that and especially without her full consent. I thought it was the easiest thing to do and now I felt helpless at the possibility of having once again faded that dream of peace between us.

If on one hand I couldn’t go back on my steps, on the other I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss and that intoxicating taste that I couldn’t wash out of my mouth, and the memory of her soft skin under my fingers and that eager desire of her, more of her.

"Captain Levi" I suddenly heard coming from behind me.

Erwin had just shown up and his unmistakable voice kept calling me at least a couple more times. Then I finally turned to him.

"Could you tell me what’s going on?" he asked, "What’s happening inside Daphne’s room? What the hell is going on?"

Indistinguishable noises began to follow one another: thuds, shouts and something that sounded like a glass breaking on the ground. I was just about to open the door and break into her room, but I decided to grab Erwin by the arm and I dragged him to my room.

"Levi?" He once again asked me, "What happened to you two? Do you think this is the right time to leave?"

"We were in the Underground," I said without a second thought.

"Are you kidding me? The Underground? With our devices? While we were ransacking the whole castle for-..." then Erwin’s expression suddenly changed and he added, "Oh... now I get it"

"No, Erwin, it’s not what you think," I told him promptly.

"Levi, you know, I have complete faith in your decisions, so just know that whatever you choose to say to me now, I’m gonna take it as read. But don’t abuse my blind respect for you. Now tell me the truth."

"I’m sure it wasn’t Daphne who killed the titants."

"All right. I believe you. Now, what about the devices?"

"She took her device..." I instinctively replied.

"I see... and what did you go to the Underground for? Was she trying to escape?"

"Erwin, I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that."

His jaw tightened and we stared for a while. I didn’t regret any of my answers and I would never tell a soul what Daphne confided in me or what I saw down there with her.

"All right..." he sighed "Before I leave though" spoke again Erwin "I’d like to remind you that the 57th expedition is pretty close, Levi. I want you to stay focused. Don’t lose sight of the target. And get that girl in line, I want her to fight in the front row, by our side. Okay?"

I nodded in response. Erwin was absolutely right, that was not the time to get distracted...

"Well, then I’ll see you in the cafeteria for dinner..." and so he left.

Under the lukewarm flow of water, I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened.

One day a mysterious girl from the Underground literally catapulted into my life and brought with her a series of questions that I persisted in not wanting to answer.

I thought of the Underground as part of a past that I would never have access to again. I was not ashamed of my life before the Scouts. That was just what I had been arranged with and my present was what I had managed to do with that. Our mission against the titants had given me a new purpose in life, a noble cause to which I had dedicated body and soul, without any regret.

And yet since that night, I’ve been forced to dig up something latent, my past and the Underground, and with that girl also something that I’ve probably never experienced in my life.

Moreover, having seen that horrifying scene with her down there had upset me so much: I felt Daphne’s pain and her guilt of not having been able to save that girl and all those who still perished in that hovel. Which they still dared to call "Underground Capital". If they called it a catacomb, it would have sounded less ridiculous.

I felt the desperate and childish wish to help her and I thought that maybe showing her the true meaning of our mission could have helped her as much as it had helped me. A small hope was still burning somewhere in my bowels: if we had destroyed the titants, we would have saved everyone, even the Underground.

After I’d cleared myself of all the filth that kept sticking to me, I was on my way to the ground floor. As I left my room, the idea of knocking on Dafne’s door had occurred to me. I needed to know how she was doing, I needed to talk to her.

First, I tried to knock timidly, with a slight knock, but nothing. Then another one, but stronger. I thought about opening the door anyway, but something told me to let her go, maybe I’d meet her in the cafeteria. Leave me. Leave me alone she said. Her broken voice, her completely lost expression, stuck in my head as I proceeded in the opposite direction to her room.

When I got down, I realized that she had not come down yet and as time passed, I realized that she would never come.

It seemed that my presence in the cafeteria had attracted more attention than usual, but I tried not to care too much about it, in the end, nobody dared to ask me anything and I remained in my usual silence.

Before going back to the room, I decided to prepare a plate with something to eat for Daphne and just as I was leaving the room, Hange appeared in front of me.

"Midnight snack?" she asked, blocking my way with one arm.

"No," I answered annoyed. With one hand I twisted her arm to make it lower and I walked past her.

"Levi, wait," she then said.

"If you wanna know, no, it wasn’t Dafne who killed your beloved giants and-"

"I already knew it. I never thought it was her..." As I heard those words, I turned around.

"I just wanted to know what happened to her, I saw her before walking in the hallway, I tried to call her, but... it didn’t even look like her..."

Hange seemed genuinely concerned about Daphne and I didn’t know what to say.

"It’s for her, isn’t it?" she said, pointing at the plate I was holding.

"Yeah, I don’t think she had dinner," I said.

"All right..." sighed Hange "I hope to meet her tomorrow..." she smiled at me, and I answered with a brief nod, and then I started to walk away.

Once arrived in front of her room, I tried to knock again. I tried one more time, but nothing.

So, I decided to put the plate on the ground:" Please, Dafne, don’t make me break down the door. Just open it," I said caught in a wave of sudden and brief anger. No, that’s not good.

I sighed deeply, waited a bit and then spoke again: "Listen, I didn’t see you in the cafeteria... So, I brought you a plate with something to eat. I leave it here... Although I don’t know if you are hungry or not-"

Something stopped me, so I took a second deep breath and then "Actually, I don’t know anything, I don’t know what’s going on" How are you? What was that chaos before? Did you hurt yourself? Are you okay? I actually wanted to tell her "Daphne, answer me" I could only say. Fuck, answer me. But still nothing.

"Say something... Please don’t make me open the door" I just want to see how are you doing. Fuck, answer me

"I need to talk to you," I said, as I kept talking to the door, "I’m sorry about what happened. I’m sorry about what you had to see. And I’m sorry for acting on instinct. I’m not one to apologize, I’m not one to have regrets, but I shouldn’t have..." I stopped for a second "kiss you without your consent, Daphne, I-". Unintentionally I grabbed her door handle and opened it. I wanted to see her, I wanted to talk to her and I was talking too much for my liking. No, I can’t just invade her space like this. What the fuck am I doing? And with the same speed, I immediately closed the door. I shouldn’t have done that.

"All right... Then I’ll leave the plate here"

I didn’t know how much she had listened or if she had listened at all as I had hardly tried to tell her something logical. But all of a sudden, I felt two intense knocks on the door and then another, more delicate.

What the fuck does this mean? Thank you, Levi? But why should you thank me? Ah, for dinner maybe... Or did she wanted to say "Go away, Levi"? Did I picture those knocks? I had no idea what it meant, but I just needed to make sure that she was still alive behind that door and that was enough.

I put one hand on the door and then I said one last time, "I’m sorry, Daphne. Good night."

#Levi fanfiction #LEVI ACKERMAN #snk levi #Captain Levi #levixoc #levi x reader #levi heichou #snk fanfiction #snk fanfic #aot fanfiction #levi aot #read on ao3 #read on wattpad #ytlcaf #levi fanfic

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adeliaharris · 4 years

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My Favorite Books...

1. Harper Lee "To kill a Mockingbird"

The story of a small sleepy town in the South of America told by a little girl. The story of her brother Jim, dill's friend and her father - the honest principled lawyer Atticus Finch one of the last and best representatives of the old "southern aristocracy". The story of the trial of a black guy accused of rape a white girl. But first of all it is the story of a turning era when xenophobia, racism, intolerance and bigotry inherent in the American South are warming to the past. The "wind of change" has just begun to blow over America. What will it bring?

- This is probably one of my favorite books.The book captured from the very first pages and did not let go for a long time after reading. You can say a lot of things but better read it.

2. Khaled Hosseini "The Kite Runner"

A heartfelt story of friendship and fidelity, betrayal and redemption, penetrating to the very core. Delicate, ironic and sentimental in a good way, Khaled Hosseini's novel resembles a painting that can be looked at endlessly set in pre-war Kabul in the 1970s. In this magical city shimmering with all shades of gold and azure two weather boys Amir and Hasan live. One belonged to the local aristocracy the other to a despised minority. One's father was handsome and important the other was lame and pathetic. Master and servant, prince and beggar, handsome and crippled. But there were no people in the world closer than these two boys. Soon the Kabul idyll will be replaced by formidable storms. And the boys, like two kites, will be picked up by this storm and scattered in different directions. Each has its own destiny its own tragedy but they like in childhood are tied by the strongest bonds. You run after the kite and the wind as you run after your destiny, trying to catch it. But she will catch you.

- Psychological novel on the theme of "crime and punishment". Deeply elaborated images, convincing children's characters, a remarkably built plot - everything speaks of a great master. For me it is "heavy" literature but it has the right to be because it calls things by their proper names. And most importantly there is light in the stories of Hosseini! The light of true human feelings.

3. F. Scott Fitzgerald "The Great Gatsby"

A jubilant, sparkling thirst for life, a desire for love, alluring and elusive, exciting pursuit of wealth - but now the dream breaks to the sound of jazz and the eternal holiday turns into a tragedy. "The Great Gatsby" is a novel about "how illusions are wasted which make the world so colorful that having experienced this magic, a person becomes indifferent to the concept of true and false." F. S. Fitzgerald

- I read it and was not at all disappointed! Elegant presentation with high meaning - everything in this life is done for the sake of love. And no amount of money can replace the woman you love... And even if she is stupid, frivolous and idly living her life. I have great respect for Gatsby and contempt for Daisy. There are a lot of wonderful quotes, phrases in the book, it's worth thinking about. I didn’t expect to literally fall in love with this piece! In the future I will definitely re-read it more than once!

4. Daniel Keyes "Flowers for Algernon"

Forty years ago it was considered a fantasy. Forty years ago it read like fantasy. Exploring and expanding the boundaries of the genre eagerly absorbing all sorts of newest trends trying on a common human face bravely ignoring the Cain's stamp of the "genre ghetto". Now it is perceived as one of the most humane works of modern times as a novel of piercing psychological power, as a filigree development of the theme of love and responsibility. It is not for nothing that Keyes called his book of memoirs published in the 1990s "Algernon, Charlie and Me."

- The book is an emotion that will not make you think about something particularly difficult. All the thoughts that it generates are very simple and understandable. Without revelations, of course, but not bad either. The assessment will, rather, depend on the degree of personal sensitivity because the author often uses the concept of "naive hero-evil reality-collision-squeezing out sympathy" during the work.

5. Agatha Christie "Murder on the Orient Express"

The great detective Hercule Poirot who was in Istanbul returns to England on the famous "Orient Express" in which it seems, representatives of all possible nationalities travel with him. One of the passengers an unpleasant American named Ratchett offers Poirot to become his bodyguard since he believes that he could be killed. The famous Belgian brushes off this absurd request. And the next day the American is found dead in his compartment with the doors closed and the window open. Poirot immediately takes up the investigation - and finds out that the compartment is full of all sorts of evidence pointing... to almost all the passengers of the Orient Express. In addition the train gets stuck in snow drifts in a deserted place. Poirot needs to find the killer before the express can continue on its way...

- I liked the book. Pretty easy to read. The plot is "confused" from the very beginning but Mr. Poirot is yet a world-famous detective. It is better to read about all the twists and turns of the investigation on your own, "immersion" is guaranteed.

6. Stieg Larsson "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo"

Forty years of the mystery of the disappearance of a young relative haunts the aging industrial tycoon and now he makes the last attempt in his life - entrusts his search to journalist Mikael Blomkvist. He takes on a hopeless business more in order to distract himself from his own troubles but soon realizes: the problem is even more complicated than it seems at first glance.

What is the connection between a long-standing incident on the territory with the use of mobile devices which happened in different years in different parts of Sweden? What does the quotation from the Third Book of Moses have to do with it? And who, after all, attempted on the life of Michael himself when he came too close to the solution?

- The whole trilogy left a deep impression. Such books appear very rarely. Out-of-the-box characters, amazing Sweden, dark atmosphere. I advise absolutely everyone!

7. Ray Bradbury "Fahrenheit 451"

Perhaps the best of Bradbury's writings. The story "Fahrenheit 451" depicts a dystopian society of the future but in fact - "our reality, reduced to absurdity." Bradbury invented a state where reading and keeping books is prohibited. For the sake of political correctness and general peace of mind the general level of spiritual and intellectual demands of citizens is artificially lowered. But there are rebels and fugitives.

This is one of Bradbury's rare sci-fi works. Very exciting touching and at the same time very lively and dynamic. With a relatively simple plot, it is full of allusions including biblical texts and complex symbolism.

- This is just a great book! I advise everyone to read it! Despite the fact that the author wrote it in 1953 this does not feel at all. A very interesting and poignant plot for our time.

8. Victor Hugo "Les Miserables"

All the works of the great French poet, novelist and playwright Victor Marie Hugo (1802-1885) are covered with a halo of romanticism. The idea of life-giving love, mercy, the triumph of good over evil - this is the core of his novel "Les Miserables". Among the "outcasts" are Jean Valjean sentenced to 20 years for stealing bread for his starving family and the little dirty Cosette who turned into a charming girl and a child of the Parisian streets of Gavroche...

- Brilliant work! So thoughtful, so overwhelming and so humane. The inimitable Hugo put all his philanthropy into this magnificent novel!

9. Stephen King "The Green Mile"

Stephen King invites readers to the eerie world of the death row where they leave in order not to return, opens the door of the last refuge of those who have transgressed not only human but also God's law. There is no more deadly place on this side of the electric chair! Nothing you've read before beats Stephen King's most audacious horror experience - a story that begins on Death Road and goes deep into the deepest secrets of the human soul...

- I have been familiar with the work of S. King for a long time and have read more than a dozen of his books. The work "The Green Mile" is a story that will not let you go for a long time. She leaves a residue in her soul - mixed feelings and indescribable impressions from the story itself, unique and ingenious.

10. Gregory David Roberts "Shantaram"

This art-refracted confession of a man who managed to get out of the abyss and survive, has sold four million copies around the world and has earned rave comparisons with the works of the best writers of the modern era from Melville to Hemingway. Like the author the hero of this novel has been hiding from the law for many years. Deprived of parental rights after a divorce from his wife, he became addicted to drugs, committed a number of robberies and was sentenced by an Australian court to nineteen years in prison. Having escaped from a maximum security prison in his second year, he reached Bombay where he was a counterfeiter and smuggler, traded arms and participated in the showdown of the Indian mafia and also found his true love, to lose it again, to find it again...

- It is very difficult to somehow categorically evaluate this novel. There are many advantages here: a fascinating story of the wanderings of the protagonist in the world of a harsh exotic country. Together with him, the reader develops, absorbs the alien culture and energy of other people, people of another world to which we are not used to. However there is something ridiculous about this. At times it seems that we are watching real Indian cinema - the brainchild of Bollywood naive and merciless. In general I liked the novel, it is interesting, bright, impetuous. During the period of reading this great story, I have never been bored. Despite some controversial points - I advise!

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