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equalseleventhirds · 11 months

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what up besties sorry i haven't been online much but would u like to read the piece i wrote for my final for creative writing? it's metaporically about being trans n neurodivergent n disabled n ppl loving an idea of you more than you, but also it is about a zombie who comes back, not wrong, but not quite what anyone wanted..

(cw for death, electrocution, being buried (not quite alive), and complicated feelings about gender & name but that journey not being completed yet.)

- - -

Grave News

Amelia Marquez, 34, passed away in a tragic accident…

Later, when anyone learns she woke up already buried, she can see the horror movie assumptions playing out behind their eyes. The thought of waking up, trapped in a tiny, dark, airless space, scrabbling at the walls, gasping for breath, the weight of the earth above pressing down, down, down…

She smiles and accepts their pity, their horrified dismay, and does not tell them about lying awake, perfectly motionless, trying to figure out how to move. About how easy it is not to struggle for breath when pulling air into your lungs takes conscious effort. About pushing at different groups of muscles, her body twitching and twisting in the dark, until she works out forward, works out force, works out the flex of her hand as it pushes through velvet, then oak, then dirt, then dirt, then dirt.

Amelia claws her way out of her own grave, not frantic, not berserk, but deliberate. Gradual. Almost mechanical, as she practices moving by repeating the same thing again and again, her patient hands working their way through wood, through earth, to the surface.

(It isn't until later, standing in her parents' doorway and listening to the screams, that she realizes what ceaseless digging does to the human hand. She realizes that she somehow did not feel the pain as she dug. She realizes she needs to buy gloves.)

…the home she shared with her fiancé…

Cole had been so certain about his repairs. Fifty bucks at Home Depot and a couple of days of work, and Amelia’s concerns brushed aside.

“I’ve got this, Ames. Way better than hiring a contractor.” And she had agreed, had let him do it himself, had made dinner for a week while he spent his evenings messing with wires and fuses, assuring her that he was nearly done, that the video on YouTube made it so easy.

Cole hadn’t been home when the lights went out, when Amelia went to the fuse box and tried to flip everything back on. When the jumble of wires in their walls shorted and flared and spread electricity through her body.

When it killed her.

Once her parents call, Cole drops everything to rush over. He falls to his knees in front of her, staring up into her face through a haze of tears and hope and shock.

“You’re back. Ames, Amy, you’re back, how…”

She stares down at her lap, making sure her hands are covered by the blanket her mother had nestled around her.

…a beautiful light in our lives, extinguished too soon. Her friends and family…

Her memorial photo, the black clothes, the incense on the table, are all gone the morning after she comes back, packed away in boxes or thrown out in opaque garbage bags. Hands hesitate before touching her. They keep her at home, talking about rest, about recuperating.

“Since you’ve been…” She sees the glances, the mouthed no, don’t say it. “…in your condition. It’s important to rest up.”

It’s as though they think one wrong move, one wrong word, will kill her again.

She wonders a little bit if they’re right.

Her mother is the gentlest she’s ever been brushing Amelia’s hair, her hands careful, her voice filling the air. “And I unpacked some of your nice clothes,” she says, working through a tangle. “You don’t have to wear sweatpants anymore, I found your skirts…”

Amelia looks down at her loose, comfortable clothes, the t-shirt worn and soft against her skin. She thinks about struggling with buttons on a nice blouse, thinks about whether ruffles will still itch the way they did when she was alive. Thinks about the way the mottled colors on her legs have lasted too long to be called bruises. Maybe she should call it decay.

Her mother clicks her tongue sadly as a few strands of hair pull loose from her head. “These knots…”

“What if I cut it?” Amelia asks. She’d been thinking about short hair back when she was alive. And it would be easier. “I can’t make you brush it for me every day.”

Concern melds with distress on her mother’s face. “You can’t cut it,” she hisses. “What if it never grows back?”

...bright, funny, resilient, the first to volunteer...

Once, she accidentally sleeps for three days. That’s the kind of thing the living joke about—so tired I could sleep for a week, as impossible as that would actually be. Turns out it’s easy for the dead—easy to lie still, easy to stop pushing, easy to drift away into forgiving darkness.

She wakes to her mother weeping, her father pacing in the hall, Cole pale and haunted and clenching his phone in two hands. The funeral home’s phone number must be burned into the screen by now, but he hasn’t pressed the call button. Not yet.

Amelia makes herself sit up in bed, reaches out to him, and sees him flinch.

Right. Gloves.

Even as she twists her face into a smile, she knows she's done it wrong. Her eyebrows are at odd angles, her lips curled strangely. She tries for light-hearted: "Whoops, close one! Don't want to wake up in a grave again."

No one laughs.

...kept forever in our memories and our hearts...

Late at night, she hears her parents whispering. “Is she all right?” her mother asks. “My little girl, my Amelia—she’s not acting like herself. She’s so tired, so...”

“She just came back,” her father says. His voice is firm, comforting. Determined not to let any uncertainty slip through. The same voice he’s always used when her mother worries—the same voice he used when Amelia told him her own worries, her doubts about the future, about Cole. She always ended conversations with her father sure that he was right.

“She’ll be back to herself soon enough,” he says. “We just have to keep her active. Remind her about being alive.”

“But what if she’s not herself? I know we said not to bring up…” Her mother’s voice drops, furtive. “…the Z word…”

“We’re keeping an eye on her. We’ll notice if she does anything that needs… intervention.”

She closes her eyes. Wonders if she can turn off her hearing. Wonders if it would have been easier, staying in her grave.

The next day, she brings up moving back in with Cole. He says he'd be happy to have her, and she pretends not to notice the look he exchanges with her parents.

…brought out the best in people, always ready to help, to listen…

Cole is attentive. He brings her pastries from the bakery near their apartment and tells her about his day—work, his hobbies, a dog he saw at the park. Shows her pictures and videos on his phone. Mentions people by name, and she's not sure if they're new, since her death, or if she managed to forget people she knew about before.

She knows which muscles to move for an understanding nod, an encouraging smile. She knows how to make herself chew and swallow food, how to bring it back up later so it doesn’t just sit and rot in her stomach. She still remembers the right way to ask questions so Cole shares more.

There’s no real reason not to do it, but the more she thinks about it—the more she imagines forcing her body into the right place, the ordeal she’ll have to go through later—the less she wants to do it. She sits silently, pastries untouched, letting the muscles in her face go slack.

“Ames? You okay?”

It takes a second; she has to fill her lungs to respond. She tips one side of her mouth up in what could have been a reassuring smile, once. “Fine. Just tired.”

He sits next to her, worry pinching between his eyebrows. "Of course. I'm sorry. Let's just sit here and watch TV? There are new episodes of all our favorites."

The shows all feel distant, the plots blurred, the characters unfamiliar. She watches with him for hours anyway.

...a kind and giving spirit, she wanted to create...

Shattering the mug isn't intentional. Even if she's started to resent the comforting cups of tea Cole brings her. Even if she's sick of pulling latex gloves over her cloth ones so she can wash the dishes. Even if the cutesy blobs of yellow and pink painted on it have always been too much, too bright, too false-forced-cheer, from the moment she was gifted it eight years ago.

She still doesn't mean to let go of it, the muscles in her hand (and there are so many muscles in the human hand, so many to keep track of, and most of hers are damaged already) loosening and spasming as she's walking to the sink.

The jagged pieces of it surround her, and Cole's hysterical babble of questions and assurances—"Are you okay, I've got it, just hold still"—fades into background noise as Amelia leans down to try and gather the shards.

A hand wraps around her wrist and she turns to meet Cole's wide, frightened eyes. "Amy, your foot."

A full inch of jagged ceramic is buried in her heel.

She does not bleed, even after Cole pries it out.

...although she will never fulfill those plans, her dream will live on...

"Ames, I'm worried." Cole reaches out, stops with his hand just over her thigh. Puts it down on the chair next to her, not touching. "This is... I know you've been through a lot. But you're acting like—"

She turns her head until she can look at his face. Her neck jerks in the wrong direction a couple of times, but she's getting better at it, faster. "Like?"

Cole's eyes are red, and can't quite meet hers. "Like..." His shoulders drop. "Not like yourself."

He waits a beat—two—and gets up, breathing out harshly. "Ever since you came back, Amy. You barely look at me. You barely talk to me. You don't even like doing the things you used to like. I understand about your... condition, but..."

...pray she rests well, and waits in peace for her loved ones...

She sits in their apartment—Cole's apartment—long after he's gone, watching the afternoon sunlight shift across the space they used to share. Her books are still on the shelf. She remembers packing up her childhood bookshelf to bring to their new home. The painting she bought at a flea market is still hanging on the wall. She remembers joking with Cole about picking up a masterpiece for two dollars.

Looking at them now, she doesn't even particularly want to bring them with her.

...invited to celebrate her life at...

Merely dragging her body across the ground would be easier. But, even though she's wrong, even though she's not the person they think about when they look at her, she's still not a mindless, lurching zombie. Mostly.

She walks. One step forward.

Was she ever the person they thought about when they looked at her?

One step.

Maybe now she'll find out.

One step.

...in lieu of flowers, the family asks...

She settles into her seat on the train, making sure her hands are covered. A new start doesn't mean much if she sends an entire train into a panic.

Someone sits next to her, bouncing in their seat. "Hey there! Looks like we've got eight hours ahead of us. What's your name?"

She hesitates. Amelia. Amy. Ames.

"Mel," she says. It's strange in her mouth. Just slightly wrong, the same way she's just slightly wrong. Maybe that’s the right fit.

#algie writes things #what if u came back wrong but not evil just dealing with what it means to be dead but like in a disability way #and also u were transgender but hadn't figured it out yet #......something something society viewing ppl (trans disabled neurdivergent and more) as being 'stolen' or 'killed'#by theses aspects of our lives; as tho a 'normal' (per them) person WAS there but is no longer #but perhaps that 'normal' person never fucking was there #but circumstances make it more difficult to keep up the veneer of faking 'normality'#..........something. etc. u kno.#anyway! metaphors #but also i do love a zombie story so (shrug emoji)

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kiara-ish · 1 year

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Happy New Year!

May this year bring you all prosperity and make all your wishes come true! Take love from my side and warm hugs in this cold winter <3

Also, here is a quick new year special drabble that is not set on a specific timeline. Just something fun to read.

What to expect: Fluff, cuteness

Words: 1.3k+

Summary: Yoongi brings fairy lights to your lonely celebration.

Pairing: Idol neighbour!Yoongi x Reader

m.list | series navigation

"How did you get this? You don't even go out!"

I couldn't stop laughing at Yoongi who tried his best to wrap a fairy light around my small Christmas tree.

"I could ask you too, you know. Why did you not decorate the Christmas tree on Christmas?"

It was Yoongi's turn to smirk and he did that with that attractive smugness he sometimes reeks of as I took the jumbled up fairy light from his hands and started untangling it.

The evening of my lonely new year eve was going great with a half empty bottle of cheap wine and a fancy glass, both untouched and for picturesque purposes only. The room was dark and my lighting options were limited so I let the city lights reflect on the decorations on my small fake Christmas tree.

I did not remember telling Yoongi about my plans but opened the door to his knocking only to find him holding a very tangled up fairy light and a broad grin. Thus began our lame attempt at making New Year's Eve fun.

"Don't you have to make a video or post or something? Maybe talk to your members?"

"I called my members. I am on a break, remember?"

"Of course. You are only and only neighbour Yoongi now."

He chuckled at that and finally stretched the fairy light to successfully twist it around the Christmas tree. He asked to keep the room dark so the fairy lights would shine the brightest and hence, with the dim but beautiful luminescence we sat quietly.

Anyone could have thought that it was lame company and even teenage me would have rebelled the maturity and said, "what is the year end without parties?"

But sitting quietly with Yoongi was a company I would not trade for anything. My eyes occasionally flickered to him and each time, he was serendipitously staring at the wall or the lights or me. When my eyes met his, he would hold the contact with a gentle smile and I would immediately look away as if my eyes burned. He said nothing and the silence continued to be comfortable.

"I had it at home. In one of the boxes. This shit is old," his eyes ran over the fairy lights like a gentle caress while mine remained observing him in secrecy.

"It still works, at least. When I was younger, I remember buying these every year. Somehow they were always broken after one use."

We shared a small laugh before I saw his head shift to look at the disregarded wine bottle in the corner. The corners of his mouth lifted and I awaited a snarky remark at the very least. But it never came. Instead I saw him reach forward, grab the bottle and the glass and pour his fill before downing it. I was in awe as he made a face.

"I'm sorry neighbour but this is very bad."

I felt bad for him and a bit for myself too so I went to assure him but he cut me off, "Not because it is cheap. It is just poor choice."

"Well, in my defense," I moved towards him, dragging myself to in front of him and snatched the bottle from his hand, hoping he would read my playful smile and not be creeped out, "I bought it for a good Instagram picture and definitely not you, hotshot idol."

He laughed out loud at my words and I couldn't help but join him, watching his body shake with each laugh and his eyes turn into mere crinkles. There was another warm feeling bubbling in my heart that was getting difficult to keep in check. Hearing him laugh without a worry, sitting so close to him that if I reach out, the coldness of my fingertips would meet his warm, rough hands. I felt like I could breathe without anything trying to throttle me for the first time in a while.

"This hotshot idol does not buy expensive alcohol, mind you. I'm all for cheap and many."

"Woah look at you discarding humility just like that!"

He smirked at me, definitely not buying my cute attempt at trying to evade the main focus of his words. He hummed at my words before leaning towards me so abruptly that I could barely move back. His proximity had made my breathe hitch, as cliche as it sounds. It was his eyes that had darkened as they bore into mine and the soft golden hue of the fairy lights reflecting on his face, making his skin glow like it was the most expensive gold in the world.

"I'm your bias, aren't I?"

"So what?"

I was determined to hold up the challenge that I saw in his eyes so I kept up the teasing tone while moving my head another half inch closer to him, watching his eyes flicker around my face before they returned to stare straight into mine.

"So," his face neared mine even more, smirking when he felt my sharp intake of air, "you should know how confident I am in my capacities."

It was for a split second and I could barely take another second go to confirm but I could swear his eyes flickered to my lips once before immediately returning.

"Yeah," I managed to stutter, forcing myself to breathe and not blurt out anything inappropriate, "just as much as your fans are confident in you. They love you."

I couldn't help but wonder if he was a psychic because each time he smirked and his eyes stared me up and down, my stomach flipped and my hands sweated.

"I know you do."

My mouth hung open at his wording of the sentence and his dark eyes fed on my widened ones, taking in the flustered red of my face and the frequent gulps of my throat.

"Yeah, they do."

Suddenly he was off my face, laughing again at my biting response while I took deep breaths trying to calm my heart.

"Don't do that," I couldn't help the annoyance watching him laugh at my fluster.

"What did I do? And why are you pouting like that?"

His laugh increased tenfolds while I realised that I was indeed pouting so I quickly fixed my face but wanted to keep up the facade of being annoyed despite every negative feeling melting away from me after hearing his heartfelt laughter.

I stubbornly refused to look at him, staring at the tree even though I could feel his eyes on me.

"You won't look at me now?"

The light was suddenly too bright but I was stubborn in not looking away.

"You really won't?"

There was a shuffle of movement but I did not break my resolve though there was a moment of silence that made me want to check if he was still there.

A few moment passed in silence and I couldn't see him from the corner of my eye anymore so the desire to check got stronger and stronger until I couldn't resist and turned back my head only to find him directly in front of my face.

He was so close. His nose brushed against mine and when he chuckled, the deep waves of his voice reverberated in me, swaying my heart beat, stopping it for a second then making it throb so fast that it felt like it would pop out of my heart.

"Gotcha."

My senses were overwhelmed and it took me a while to process what was going on. Yoongi's lips were on my forehead just between my brows and there was fireworks in the city.

There was a tingling sensation running from my forehead where the soft pillowy flesh of his lips was pressed to my entire body making my eyes flutter close. The fireworks outside was noisy and it reminded of the day and time.

It was a new year and it began with having his lips pressed against my forehead.

"Happy New Year, neighbour."

His voice was croaky and it made my senses go numb as his nose brushed against mine again. I could feel his smile even though my eyes were closed.

The guy from the floor downstairs was really the headstart to my new year.

**adding a happy Yoongi GIF for further happiness.

#bts fanfic #bts #bts x reader #bts fic #bts suga #min yoongi #bts yoongi #happy new year #bts ff #bts drabble #yoongi x reader #suga fanfic #suga ff #min suga #bts fluff #bangtan sonyeondan #suga x reader #kiara-ish: TGOTFD

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

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The Oncoming Storm Part 9: Shadows

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

So much has happened this night that it's kind of hilariously ridiculous at this point. AND YET we are just beginning. Was that kiss a tease? Maybe. Is this still slow burn? Absolutely. Will it be Fun and Complicated™? Yes. Thanks so much for reading! Next update is Thursday. Going to try to push for another double update this weekend! As always, open to suggestions and if I like them I will integrate them~ Hope you're all doing well.

Part 8 Part 10 Chapter Index

“I’m really okay, Liu.” Your voice was tired and shaky. Words were difficult after that. How were you supposed to reset and leave that moment so quickly? Liu Kang had managed, but you imagined it had to do with the fact that his hand was covered in your blood and worry and guilt had taken over.

He showed you his hand as if to prove a point and you adjusted against the wall. The hanfu was still tangled behind you, stuck halfway down your arms so you slipped it off the remainder of the way. Then you pulled up your shirt to show him the wound. It was bleeding through the gauze.

“…I don’t think this is proving the point that you want it to prove.”

“Fine.” You pulled the gauze away and the wound, while ugly, was mostly still closed. A few stitches had pulled and blood flowed freely but it definitely could have been worse. “See? Not that bad.”

“I feel like you aren’t taking this seriously, Y/N.” He showed you his hand again, scooting closer. His fingers, warm, brushed around the wound and you shivered. Your hands were still shaking, your heart was still racing. How were you supposed to relax after any of this? You’d had a vision for the first time in years and then Liu Kang had kissed you! Not just kissed you, he’d kissed you and you weren’t sure it would have stopped at that if you hadn’t been bleeding.

“I am. Look, we need to speak with Raiden. I… whatever it is that I saw, Liu, it’s important. If you think that he can decipher it then best to do it right now while it’s fresh, right?” You were afraid to tell him the truths of your childhood illness. This was all too familiar now and saying any of it out loud meant accepting it as reality. Like you would be willing it into the world with words. “I know my limits, Liu Kang. You have to trust me.”

“I do trust you, Y/N.” He reached to touch your cheek again but spotting the blood on his fingers he pulled back before turning his gaze. “You’ll tell me if you’re feeling sick, right?”

“Yes. I’m tougher than I look, I promise.”

“You’re so pale. And freezing.” He held his hand in front of you with the flame again and you winced at the overwhelming heat. In contrast to the cold you were feeling, it was blazing. He frowned.

“Please stop doing that. I’m not going to crumble. I’m not fragile, Liu.”

“Raiden. Then the infirmary.” Liu Kang stood up and offered you the hand that wasn’t on fire. The heat of the fire was killing you. It was too hot. Everything was overstimulating right now. Liu, the fire, the cold, your spinning head, your throbbing side. It was too much. You took his hand and got back to your feet. Your legs were shaking beneath you but you took a second to focus on your posture, on the weight of your body on your feet, and steadied yourself.

Liu Kang extinguished his fire and slipped his arm around you then urged your arm over his shoulder to support you. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you didn’t need him to do that. Besides, that kiss hadn’t ended the way either of you had wanted. Being close was a comfort until you could talk about it though talking about it seemed like this distant, scary thing already. You walked in silence for a time and you slowed your pace as you made it up a flight of stairs.

“Not too late to go to the infirmary.” Liu Kang was avoiding your eyes.

“We’re already almost there.” You stopped walking and pulled out of his arms to lean against the wall. This didn’t help Liu Kang’s worry. You were certain that what he’d seen happen to you had been traumatic. Then all that he’d done after that... That was a lot for you to consider, you were sure it was just as much, if not more, for him.

“I’m uncomfortable with this.” Liu slipped his arm around you again and urged you away from the wall before you were ready and you nearly collapsed into him. “Very uncomfortable.”

“I know you are, but please just humor me.”

“If you pass out, I’m taking you to the infirmary. Also you’re going to owe me an apology at this rate.”

“If I pass out then I will happily apologize, Liu Kang. I’ll tell you how right you are and make it up to you. I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that.” You caught a small smile on his face and were relieved for that. The tense air was exhausting. You made it up the last flight of stairs before the hall with the electrical sculptures and were met by a monk who hurried up to you and bowed.

“Lord Raiden requires isolation for the night. You must turn back.” He seemed nervous to approach you. Probably because of Liu Kang, you guessed. You were nobody. “What’s going on?” He looked between you and then at the state of you. You were both covered in ink and you were covered in blood.

“We must speak with Lord Raiden. It’s urgent. Whatever he’s doing can wait.” Liu bowed his head in spite of his assertion. The monk hesitated and then nodded before disappearing down the hall and out of sight. Liu Kang helped you to the end of the hall and you stood waiting. He didn’t need to hold you, but still he did and it took all of your self-control no to rest against him, not to bring up what happened. There were more important things, you told yourself.

Thankfully, the monk didn’t leave you waiting long. “Please, follow me.” He led you through the doorway that he’d come through and then bowed to you. “Wait here. He will be with you as soon as he can.” The monk bowed and then walked through the door that he’d led you through, leaving the door open and the two of you alone. Liu helped you into a chair near the back wall and then took the seat next to you.

You leaned your elbows on your knees and sighed. When you sat back up, Liu Kang was facing you. He brushed his fingers over your cheek and pushed your hair back. Then he checked your pulse and felt your forehead for a fever. The frustration he’d radiated with you for not going to the infirmary was gone. Only worry and curiosity remained.

“I’m okay, Liu,” you whispered reassuringly and grasped his hand, pulling it away from your face. He nodded but the look of concern didn’t fade. It wasn’t pity, but it was pretty close. Worry was becoming exhausting. You wanted him to trust you. He said he did, but it was hard to believe it when he was so concerned. It was traumatic, you reminded yourself. You needed to talk about it and there just wasn’t the time in that moment. “Really. I’m okay.”

“You’re still so cold.”

“But I’m also okay.” You snatched his hand back as he felt for your pulse again and offered him a tired smile. Despite your racing thoughts, you understood his worry. You just needed to talk. So much had happened. The door leading into the room from the back left opened and Lord Raiden walked in. His presence commanded your attention. You let go of Liu’s hand, feeling as though you were a child who had done something forbidden.

“What’s happened?” He folded his arms over his chest and approached the two of you. Liu Kang stood and bowed before Raiden. You heard the prayer beads shifting into his palm again.

“Lord Raiden, I’m sorry to interrupt you so early in the morning when you’re in isolation but Y/N has had a vision.” Liu didn’t lift his head as he spoke. “A vision of our future.” He went on to explain how he had found you in the fight pit and how your arcana had attacked him. You went pale. He hadn’t told you that! You’d attacked him? You hadn’t even asked him if he was okay. How selfish of you!

Raiden walked around Liu Kang who turned with him and stood before you, imposing and intimidating. “What did you see, Y/N?”

“I…” You hesitated with nerves. The vision really was jumbled up. When you were a kid, you’d struggled to relay what you’d seen to anyone and when you had managed, you’d gotten in trouble. This was no easy task. The times that you’d spoken with certainty had been during your fits and completely without your permission. It was as though there was something else inside of you doing the speaking in those moments. “It’s fuzzy. There was a man with long dark hair, armor, a cloak and his… his eyes went completely black and there was all this… smoke and shadow.” You caught Liu Kang’s gaze fixed on you and locked eyes with him. He had volumes hidden behind them. Raiden caught your shared gaze and you looked away.

“Could you go get some water, Liu Kang?”

“…of course.” Liu seemed as though he didn’t trust this was a real errand but did as he was asked, disappearing from the room. That left you alone with Raiden and he took Liu Kang’s seat and clasped his hands in front of him.

“Now, tell me.” He turned to face you and while his face was severe, he seemed oddly sympathetic. “Please.” That was the first time Raiden seemed like more than intimidating and you were grateful for that. The comparison to the harshness of your father faded from your mind.

“We were in the pit… well they were.” You went on to explain the details of what you had seen, at least what you could remember. You told him about the warriors who had been training with Liu Kang and Kung Lao, the ones you didn’t recognize. You told him about the pillar of smoke that the dark man had conjured and led his armies through. You told him about the visions of pain and fear.

“Who are these other warriors?”

“I don’t know but I can describe them… there was a woman, an American, I think. There was a man with a series of scars all along his face… They were fresh.” You traced the lines over the side of your face and closed your eyes to try and recollect the vision. “A man… with…” You winced and held your head in your hands, a sharp ringing rattling through your ears. You could picture the others, but there was a disconnected between your thoughts and your mouth as if the words were impossible to form. “They were in so much pain, Lord Raiden. I’ve never seen Liu’s…” Your voice cracked and you covered your mouth. The sorrow was overwhelming. Raiden placed a comforting hand on your back. “I don’t know who any of them were. I don’t know where I was. I’m…” You spoke quickly and frantically, the words pouring out of your mouth faster than you thought them. Where were you in those visions?

“It’s okay.” Raiden urged you to stop and so you did. You felt suddenly spent and weak, resting your arms down against your legs and hunching forward. “Breathe, Y/N.”

You did as you were asked and were grateful for the reminder. Liu returned with a pitcher of water and a cup. He crouched before you and set the glass and pitcher aside on the floor. Then he looked to Raiden as if to ask him what happened.

“How long has she been feeling this way?” Raiden stood.

“Feeling what way?” Liu took the seat next to you again and Raiden placed a hand upon your shoulder. His eyes went completely white and electricity rang through the air. Then he pulled his hand back in surprise, as though you had been the one to shock him.

“…darkness looms over you.” He tilted his head curiously. Your heart dropped. Raiden was haunting to watch. “Something dark from your youth.” He turned his back to them and walked away. “You cannot fight. This affliction will make you weak.”

“No.” You stood and while your legs wobbled, you fought to prove that you could. “I want to fight. I can fight. I’m fine.”

“As you are? It would only lead to your death.” Raiden turned to face you but seemed curious of your determination to defy him. You’d been told no almost your whole life and you had rejected it time and again. This would be no different. You would fight. Nothing would stop you.

“This shadow over you is one I cannot place. It will drain you. It has drained you. Made your blood thin. It is unnatural.”

“Lord Raiden, Y/N’s arcana is strong. It can fight for her if she cannot.” Liu bowed his head before Raiden but the look on his face made you turn away. Fear. You felt your stomach rattle with nerves. What if Raiden was right? What if you couldn’t fight? You would try but the fear you saw on Liu rattled you. What shadow was it that hung over you? Was he talking about your ability to see? Something that you had thought you’d lost in your youth. It had never felt particularly dark other than that it had made you terribly sick.

“I’m afraid that without understanding of this shadow then it might be impossible.”

“We’ll help her train with her arcana, Lord Raiden. We will make certain that no shadow will control her.” Liu Kang’s fear had faded and was replaced with determination, thank god. That was a huge relief.

“Oh? Then I will entrust you with this task, Liu Kang. You and Kung Lao. Make certain that you are careful.” Raiden looked back to you. “This affliction runs deeper than you think. If her arcana is beyond her control as you claimed tonight then it could cause you both great harm. And just as terribly, if this wound was worse than a scrape from Kung Lao’s hat then she might not be here at all.”

Devastation.

You slumped back into the chair and furrowed your brow, holding your head in your hands. You’d fought it and won once before. You would fight it again. You had to hold onto hope that whatever this shadow was, whatever this affliction was, it was temporary. You didn’t want to believe that this was the end of your journey as a warrior.

Liu’s familiar hand fell on your cheek, warm and comforting. You leaned into his touch.

“We’ll find a way. Don’t lose faith.” He assured you and you were thankful for his kind smile. Out of habit, you placed your hand over his. You felt Raiden’s eyes on you, observing you. Your cheeks flushed.

“One of the monks woke me and told me something happened.” Kung Lao walked through the doorway before you could comprehend that he’d joined you. Liu Kang pulled his hand back very quickly. “I stopped by the fight pit on the way over and it was covered in ink. I was worried.” Kung Lao walked toward you but Raiden stopped him and pulled him aside to fill him in on what he knew. You watched the guilt wash over him. He stole a glance at you then turned back to Raiden. His eyes kept flittering over to you. He was battling an internal war, blaming himself for the wound on your side.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You straightened your posture and collected yourself the best you could. There would be plenty of time to dwell on the difficulty of the situation later. Right now you had to pick yourself up and move forward. There was no point in feeling down. “This isn’t anyone’s fault. I’m going to be fine.”

“For now you will recover.” Raiden placed one hand behind his back and walked away from the trio. “When you are feeling better, then we will decipher your vision using my gift. That way we can try and understand the truth of what you’ve seen.”

“And the shadow?” You weren’t sure what that even meant. You wanted to know more.

“We will see what we can uncover.” Raiden assured you. “For now you will be taken to the infirmary.”

“I’m fine.” You didn’t get to argue with them. Honestly, it was almost like you weren’t there and had no say in what happened next.

“I’ll take her there.” Kung Lao lifted you out of the chair without asking for permission or waiting for a response, cradling you in his arms.

“I can walk. My legs work fine.” The further you were from your visions, the more normal you felt. You were certain you could make the journey.

“Just humor me, will you?”

“Fine, but I’m annoyed,” you whispered but even looking at Kung Lao made your face hot. Liu Kang had turned away from you but the memory of the kiss they’d shared in the hall was still in the forefront of your thoughts. Boy, that had made things instantly more complicated than they’d been only a few hours ago.

“I’m willing to deal with that.” Kung Lao bowed his head to Raiden and then carried you out of the room.

***

Liu Kang listened to the footsteps of Kung Lao carrying you back to the infirmary. He gripped the prayer beads around his hand and felt their round shape press hard into his flesh. “How bad is it, Lord Raiden?” Liu Kang was grateful not to be left alone with his questions.

“It is unnatural, this affliction.”

“You said that but I know for a fact that she is not the first to speak prophetically in your temple.”

“Not her visions, Liu Kang. The shadow that hangs over her because of them. There is more to it than meets the eye. Something else. Or someone else. A creation of another world, I would guess.” Raiden walked past him. “I can see into your heart, Liu Kang.”

“What do you mean something or someone? A creation from another world? Can it be fought?”

“I will try to uncover the truth.”

“Why would anyone create this? And why her when there are many others with such a gift?”

“Because of what she has seen, Liu Kang. She saw a warning. If she saw more warnings and could communicate them then they would be valuable weapons against our enemies. More valuable as one who foresees than a fighter. Think of what we could prevent.”

“I will protect her, Raiden. From any shadow.” Liu Kang placed his fist to his palm and bowed.

“Of course you will. She is in more trouble than any of us have yet realized.”

“If we can get control over her arcana, then she can be that much stronger.”

“Yes, Liu Kang. There’s a storm coming, unseen, this is but the calm.” Raiden hung his head. “Liu Kang, about…”

“I know. I know that it’s complicated.” He was deeply uncomfortable discussing this with Raiden. It wasn’t Raiden’s place but if he thought you were of value as a seer, then he could see why it would concern him. “I cannot explain it. There is a thread of fate between us. Some greater purpose.”

“All I was going to say, Liu Kang, was to be careful.” Raiden smiled knowingly.

Liu Kang bowed again and then left without another word.

#liu kang x reader #kung lao x reader #mortal kombat movie #mortal kombat 2021 #ludi lin #max huang #liu kang/reader #kung lao/reader #mk liu kang #mk kung lao #fanfic #fanfiction #slow burn #romance #fluff #love triangle #angst

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mandalorewhore · 3 years

Text

Two Steps Ahead

PART THREE OF HUNTER (formerly hunter and prey)

gif by @princessxkenobi

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Fighting as Foreplay, Rough Sex, Penetrative Sex(PIV), Unprotected Sex, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Top Mando, Sub/Dom elements, Very slight Pain Kink, possible CNC elements although I didn’t write that I also want to warn anyone who doesn’t want to read about rough sex with physical fighting as foreplay Words: 6.9k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando start tracking their first bounty together

A/N: i believe things are happening...interesting

***

“I feel like you have a distinct advantage here.” A bead of sweat drips over your brow as you mop at your sweltering forehead in irritation. Your temple throbs as you press on it, pain shooting down your neck at the pressure.

It’s so fucking humid here. You’re tracking one of Mando’s bail jumpers in the middle of a boggy swamp planet that you never caught the name of and you’ve been walking through the forest for at least 24 hours, only stopping for water and ration breaks. Based on the holo-map you’re currently staring at, this entire planet is one big swamp, with no escape from the damp, sticky environment.

The thing barely makes sense, a jumble of colors and shapes that worsens your headache the longer you try to figure it out. You had borrowed a thin shirt from Mando before setting out, but it does little to protect you from the buzzing swarms of insects, while at the same time it reflects just enough heat to have you sweltering.

Mando acts unbothered under all that padding and armor, trekking through the trees without any visible sign of struggle. You don’t understand how he can stay awake for so long without caf, yourself being covered in caf-patches to keep from passing out. It’s probably somewhat dangerous to have so much of the stimulant coursing through your veins, but oh well. If my heart gives out then at least I’ll escape the bugs.

“Footprints aren’t the only way to track a quarry.” He returns mildly, moving swiftly over tangled tree-roots to avoid the pools of murky water that litter the forest floor. You move with less grace behind him, trying to climb slippery wood and juggle the holo at the same time. The twisted trees of this planet seem to reach inward to point at the forest floor, giving you the impression of being trapped within their clutches. The eerie feeling isn’t helped by the distinct lack of light, odd lichen tendrils drape between branches to create a blanket that absorbs most natural light from the sky. A faint glow emanates from the tendrils, basking the forest with ghostly illumination. You scramble to the top of the particularly tall root he’s perched on then plop down to catch your breath.

“No, it’s not the only way,” you pause to take a swig from your water skin, dabbing off the spilled drops from your chin with your sleeve, “but the footprints you track are apparently all glowy and red. I get to look with my naked eyes for shit like depressions in the ground, which is so fun considering the only paths here are solid wood.”

Mando rolls his helmet on his shoulders, the effect similar to someone rolling their eyes. When he speaks it’s short and gruff, annoyed by your attitude. Which is… appropriate. The hours you’ve spent walking in this heat together is starting to snap both of your tempers. “Stop complaining.”

He’s not wrong about the footprints. You’re mostly annoyed because of how useless you feel, more like you’re tagging along than assisting him on the hunt. Drawing your eyebrows together you try to come up with a plan. Most of those mercenary skills you talked up for Karga don’t apply here, this naturalistic setting is too messy and... wild. Unpredictable. You’re used to the structure that comes with starships and cities, places engineered and civilized.

Tracking people isn’t very hard, you’ve done it plenty of times before. The only issue is that all of your practice came from environments where they left clear signs of direction, displaced gravel indicating a shoe-print, broken branches, a trail in sand. It also helps that your targets didn’t know they were being stalked. The only path here is over hard wooden tree roots, with nothing to indicate direction, not even moss grows over the foot trail for traveling feet to mark. You take in a deep breath and hold it for several seconds before letting out all your air in one huge swoop.

“I’m sorry, “ you tell him sincerely, “I want to help you -and not just for a bigger cut. Is there anything I can do?” You truly do feel bad for snapping at him even if you know you’re right about his advantage. Just because you don’t have fancy thermal settings and footprint tracking doesn’t mean you’re useless. The Mandalorian settles his hands on his hips and surveys the area, looking for a task to assign you. His helmet tilts up and lingers on the trees, and you’re already two steps ahead before he can voice his idea.

“I can climb,” you interject, standing up swiftly and moving. “Trees can’t be more slippery than a spacecraft.”

He nods in acknowledgment. “Find something and your cut goes up by five percent.”

“Ten percent.” You grin at him cheekily, wanting to tease him even if he won’t give it to you.

“Eight, if you find somewhere to camp.”

“Deal.” You return, already halfway to the widest tree you can reach without getting your feet wet. The trunk is covered in knots and twisted vines, ugly but providing fantastic handholds for your hands and feet. Grabbing hold of a sturdy looking ledge you begin your ascent.

The climb is fairly easy even with the woods damp surface, and you reach the forest canopy with minimal effort. Carefully squirreling around the thin top-most branches you attempt to find a break-through point, the wood beneath you bowing a little from your weight.

When you finally poke your head through and see the sky you gasp, taken aback by the sight. You hadn’t hung around in the cockpit during landing, instead choosing to pack the bags while Mando skillfully piloted his ship. The forest floor is all you’ve seen of the planet and apparently you’ve missed a lot.

The sky here is beautiful, a color palette that is completely opposite from the dark, damp underbelly of the forest ground. Swirling aquamarine clouds float lazily in the sky, speckling the orange hued atmosphere above you. There are at least 6 pale moons lined up on the horizon from edge to edge, stars twinkling around each orb as if drawn to their orbit. You drink in the sight greedily, the ache in your head lessening in the natural light. This is so much better than the cold stark metal of space stations that you’re used to living on.

It’s hard to tell the time based on the sky alone, the moons must be constantly present in the sky no matter the time of day and you can’t find a single sun. Maybe this planet lives off the light and heat from each moon, reflected from a distant star? The thought is lovely but you don’t think it’s possible. You file the image away for your daydreams then divert your eyes back to the thick forest, searching for anything useful to tell Mando.

The line of trees is unbroken, a sea of dark green leaves and glowing lichen. An orange sky helps to warm up the pale glow from the lichen but it’s eeriness still sends a shiver through you. Everything on the horizon is of even height, betraying nothing within its depths. It isn’t ideal. You gnaw your lip anxiously, dreading to return to Mando without any information especially on your first hunt together. Eyes flitting around desperately, you try to analyze any possible breaks in the natural pattern of trees.

Could that be a settlement there? You think, looking at a slightly thinner section of forest that might roughly be three miles away. You aren’t sure about the planet’s curvature and how flat the terrain is so you double check the holo, looking for the information.

Something catches your eye as you’re pulling up the data, just substantial enough in your peripheral version that you stop what you’re doing. There is a mist rising from that thinned area, far enough away that you mistook it as some sort of lighting effect from the overwhelming color palette here. That has to be steam right? It’s too thick to be naturally occurring from the bog. There must be machinery over there. A settlement hopefully.

You’re about to climb down when you pause, looking at the still lit holo with renewed curiosity. Something about the map visually paired with your clear view of the forest allows the pieces to fall in place. When you compare the shape of the map to the trees you’re finally able to make sense of what you previously thought was a topographical mess. A built pathway lies here, a body of water there. And clearings. Several clearings not too far from where you are now, the perfect size to settle down in. Hopefully they’re dry.

Either the caf-patches are finally sending you into cardiac arrest or you’re manically happy to finally be of help to your hunting partner, but either way, you’re grinning so widely that your teeth clatter together.

“Hey Mando! Guess what you owe me?” You shout down at the ground, beginning to descend. You’re so excited that you practically slide down the vines, jumping to the ground when you’re several feet high in the air, sore muscles creaking at the impact. The Mandalorian is sitting now, resting with his elbow propped on his knee while he waited for you to come back. There’s a soft pang in your chest and you wonder if he’s tired. You brush it off, feeling as though you’re just projecting, and instead grin widely at him in triumph. “7 percent increase for me!”

He lifts his helmet and looks you up and down. “What did you find?”

You reply chirpily, hands grasped behind your back and shit-eating grin still plastered on your face. “There is a settlement of some kind roughly three miles that way,” you point in the direction where you saw the steam, “and several clearings nearby suitable to camp in, if we don’t want to head in right away. Oh, also we aren’t on the actual path used by locals here, the asset must be making an effort to hide.”

“That isn’t very smart of them,” Din observes, shaking his head at the concept. “Busy path hides more prints.”

“Hm…” You take that in, wondering what other techniques a quarry may use to shake its hunter.

It occurs to you that there is a lot you could learn from the Mandalorian, since so far hunting someone has been notably different from your mercenary missions. You’ll find a moment to ask questions later once you’re settled down for the night, wherever that’ll be. “Do you want to camp or find the maybe-settlement?”

“We should camp,” he responds immediately, rising from his seated position and walking closer to you, “we don’t know what we’ll face there. You can choose the area, since you climbed the tree.”

You pull up the holo-map again and zoom in on the different options, feeling far more energized now that you actually know what you’re doing. There are two spots that seem encouraging, both a short hike away from where you are now but removed enough to grant you some privacy. You’ll still need to set up a watch to prevent ambush or stray travelers from finding you but it’ll be easier if you make an effort to hide. One of the clearings seems to have a running water source, you hope it’s cleaner than the still-water you’re currently surrounded by. Maybe you can bathe there too.

“Lets go here,” you pull up the coordinates for Mando, “that looks like a stream, right?”

He leans into your body for a closer look, broad chest just brushing against you in a way that sends flutters through your tummy. You know he can zoom in with his visor, there is no reason he needs to be so close to you except for your benefit. He seems to enjoy messing with you like this, throwing you off with unexpected touches, looks, and gestures. It’s like a game he plays and you’d be far more annoyed by his teases if it wasn’t so exciting.

“Looks good,” he rumbles low in his chest. “Fresh water would be nice.”

Your heart quickens, but you tried to hide your reaction by teasing him back, tapping your fingers on his helm and stepping away. “I was hoping to clean myself up, actually…”

Mando straightens up at this, visor locked on your face.

“Lead the way.” He returns quietly, giving away nothing. Trying not to smile, you start off in the direction of the clearing, for once moving faster than your armored companion.

Your goal isn’t very far, only about 3 miles north of your previous position and a mile adjacent to the settlement you’ll pay a visit to tomorrow. Large, fuzzy fronds of an alien fern droop down the sides of the hollow clearing, providing a barrier between the forest and empty space in between. The trees still tangle above the open area, blocking out part of the beautiful sky, save a few of the large moons, and old pieces of charcoal are ground into the sandy earth here, a sight that makes you a little anxious. This spot must be used by others, you’ll have to be more careful with setting up the watch than expected.

The water source turns out to be a small spring set on the edge of a cliff at the far end of the clearing, a sizable waterfall cascading down the side and gathering in a crystalline pool. Skipping ahead of Mando to the edge of the pool you crouch and dip your fingers in the cool water, sighing in relief as it relieves some of the warmth in your overheated body.

You’re unable to hear Mando’s approach - how he is so stealthy under 50 pounds of metal escapes you, but you feel him behind you. You smirk. Arching your back as you rise, you turn around slowly and begin to make eyes in his direction however, when you actually see what he's doing, you cringe at yourself in embarrassment. He’s not looking like you assumed, instead he is surveying the clearing skeptically, body-language imbued with disapproval. Your heart simultaneously sinks to your stomach and contracts in frustration. You thought you had finally done something right.

“What? Is something wrong?” You ask him tightly, subtly shrinking in on yourself in disappointment. You try to hide this by fiddling idly with a stray thread on your tunic, stubbornly keeping your head lifted high despite wishing you could disappear. He doesn’t respond right away, instead turning and walking the length of the clearing then back, stopping just in front of you sharply. You meet his visor with your eyes, holding the look until you feel like you’re burning up in shame from the pressure of it.

“It’s too… open,” he finally says, voice halting as he tries to find the correct words. “Anyone could walk into our camp.”

“I figured we’d set up a watch. There’s only one entrance-”

He interrupts you. “One ground entrance. Anyone can climb down from the trees.”

“Maybe, but this planet isn’t supposed to be dangerous, is it? Practically abandoned,” You huff out, fists clenching at your sides as you argue with him. “Besides. It’s… pretty here.”

The Mandalorian sighs, pinching the helmet just below the visor where his nose bridge would be. “Fine. I’ll take the first watch. No fire.”

Nodding in response, you cross the clearing and set your bag down on a log, letting out a sigh in relief. That’s fine by you, you don’t need the extra warmth and the glowing lichen provides enough light to get by. You really did not want to hike again after moving for 24 hours straight. Mando mirrors your movements, leaning his rifle next to your pack before settling on the sandy earth. A loaded pause passes between you, earlier implications at the forefront of your minds.

Letting out a shuddering breath you crouch down and pull your old tunic from your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way back to the small pond. The water is completely clear, an inviting sight after the marshy puddles that made up the forest ground on your way here. You’re facing the water now but you’re still well aware of the man behind you, the intensity of his gaze burning even through the impassive visor. The invitation is clear. Take it off.

But you aren’t sure if you want to give him that yet. The exhaustion from today has wrung you dry, small bickerings between you and your work partner dampening the sweet mood leftover from Nevarro. Apologizing with sex isn’t really your thing. You’d rather stoke the mutual respect between you as allies instead of start up a pattern of fighting then making up.

You crouch at the water's edge, peering into the depths for a moment before splashing your face with cold water, fresh scar throbbing as blood rushes to the surface of your face. The spare tunic you grabbed just brushes the surface of the water, sending ripples throughout your reflection. Curious, you lean over and observe the way the mirror-like pond breaks off into fragments, bits of you here and there mixing in with the moons that lay on russet sky.

Like a painting. You think in awe, having only seen a couple of the artifacts in person. The richest target you were assigned to owned two pieces of art, real paintings on real paper, encased in transparisteel viewing cases before you smashed open the backing to wonder at them. You close your eyes and try to recall the texture of the paint before the rest of your memory catches up and sours the whole thing. The man's home had to be burned in order to erase evidence, his paintings too large to smuggle out of the city.

When you open your eyes the pond has settled with your reflection only- you’re not alone.

“Maker!” You jump at the sight of the Mandalorians gleaming helmet appearing in the reflection. “What the fuck, you sneak.”

He just chuckles in response and offers you a hand, which you take firmly while rolling your eyes and standing. He leads you back to sit with him on the sandy earth, taking ration bars out of his pack- not yours, and breaking them evenly between you. The gesture is surprisingly tender and none too appreciated what with your stomach growling audibly at the bland meal. All at once, you are reminded by the spattering of caf-patches on your limbs, the jitteriness becoming more apparent now that you’re finally still. You’re shaking. Mando notices as well.

“You may explode.” He remarks, prompting you to start pulling off the stimulant, crumpling each piece and setting them neatly in a pile at your knee.

“Good, let me explode. You’re too bossy to work with.” You return with a smirk, hoping your sarcasm lands. He hums in response, pulling one of the patches off of your forearm and flicking it in your direction for you to catch.

Tutting, you roll the patch into a ball and set it at the top of your pile. “Don’t leave a mess, this forest is ugly but at least it’s untouched,” you tell him firmly. Mando just nods.

The ration bars are hardly a delicacy but you shove them in your mouth all the same, appreciating the engineering behind them. They are so calorie rich that a piece the size of your palm can keep you going for hours. However, your body can’t seem to relax despite the food lining your belly- perhaps you actually overdid the caf. You should be tired right now. Staying awake for more than a day isn’t exactly the average schedule but your knee bounces uncontrollably in a frantic pattern, stirring up puffs of sand between you and the warrior.

“You need to tire.” Mando mutters, firmly placing a glove on your thigh and holding the limb down. “Stop that.”

“Sorry,” you reply, trying to freeze yourself and sit as still as he does. Mando always exists so sagely, like a monk. Completely calm when he wants to be before exploding into action, no warm-up necessary. You wonder if he had some sort of meditation training to achieve that. Is that why he sits like that in the cockpit, his back rod straight like a statue? Weirdo.

“Hey…” The palm at your thigh presses again and you suck in a sharp breath. You didn’t even realize you were twitching again. “Do I have to hold you down?” He growls.

You gulp. “Tempting. But no.” Your words come out steadier than you feel. The caf becomes all too much in that moment so you lurch to your feet, his gleaming helmet following your body as it rises jerkily. You feel far too energetic, needing to get the energy out somehow so you can finally pass out. Your idea leaves your mouth before you can truly think it over.

“Wanna fight?”

“...What?” Mando sounds truly surprised even if his body betrays nothing.

“You heard me,” you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, swaying back and forth like a green sailor on the oceans of Mon Cala. “Let's practice our combat, I rarely get to do that.”

He’s standing before you can blink causing you to jerk back, startled by his speed. The Mandalorian poses right in front of you, too close to not be a challenge with his weight settled on one leg breezily.

“Okay. Hit me.”

What a taunting mother fu- You swing your left hand out as if aiming for the unarmored spot on his ribs, which he blocks with ease… leaving his throat open for your right fist to sharply jab.

The bounty hunter doubles over, coughing and clutching his neck with one hand.

“O-Oh shit! I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean, let me-” You scramble with lost movements, trying and failing to help him straighten upright. It leaves you awkwardly placing your palms on his back while the crown of his helmet presses into your belly. “I, um… Mando?”

His arms wrap around your middle in a flash, pulling you tightly against his chest and throwing both your bodies to the ground. It happens so fast that you can’t even shriek before the air is knocked out of you, hitting the sand hard enough to throw it into the air around you. Gasping, you smack full force at the Mandalorian on top of you, his arms still crushing you against him while your legs lock straight together with his knees on either side. It’s sexy, but you’d really like to breathe. He lets up just barely.

“Nice punch,” he rasps, throat clearly affected by the hit. “Don’t think I’ll hold back after that though.”

“Don’t… want… you to…” You shoot back at him, sharp as you can manage while wheezing. Mandos visor raises ever so slowly and pins you, hidden eyes holding you down more effectively than his body. After a drawn out moment of this, your head spinning as you calculate your escape strategy, he crawls up your body to prop himself above you, locking your wrists in one large hand with the other presses against your chest, shoving your back into the earth. It is just enough pressure to squeeze some air out of your lungs and it is then when you know he isn’t kidding about not holding back.

You’re so fucking happy that he isn’t letting you win.

In other instances, you’d panic at the hopeless feeling of being trapped like this, by someone twice your size and clad in the galaxy’s most powerful steel. But the way he spars with you now, full force and not playing easy... it has implied respect for your skill. He knows you can fight and doesn’t spare you the opportunity to prove it.

Only a second or two has passed since he fully immobilized you and you’re still locked in your flattened position. When he motions to stand, pulling your wrists as if to drag you, you know you must make your move now or it will be too late. The only spot he has open on his body right now is… well, right between his legs. The first thing a smaller fighter learns about combating larger foes is to fight dirty and there is no reason you should hold back if Mando isn’t. Your legs had been pinned tightly together before he moved to drag you but now there is just enough room to swing a knee up and hit him between the legs.

Mando doesn’t wear a full codpiece but luckily for you, the padding on his groin isn’t enough to block your kick. A choked sound rips out of his throat and he falls to one knee, the fingers encircling your wrists loosening slightly while he struggles to fight his body’s natural pain response. You wrench one hand free and use it to grip his cowled neckline, planting your feet against his cuirass and swinging yourself into a hanging position before his grip tightens again. He's steady but you try to dig your feet in to throw him forward, hoping to twist around and land on his back with his face down. He totters for one frozen second, both your bodies on the precipice of falling but unfortunately, he manages to wrench himself backwards and land heavily on his back with you on top.

You’re both gasping and groaning at the shock of hitting the ground so hard, and for one breathless moment all you do is stare heatedly at each other on the forest floor, eyes locking through his visor and somehow you know he is grinning.

His smile mirrors on your face when you feel his hands rip at your clothes, wrenching the thin pants off of you down to your thighs forcefully enough to knock your legs together with a dull thud.

“Did I not just kick you in the dick, Mando?” You laugh, working at his belt at the same time. He palms your ass through your underwear greedily, squeezing so hard that you know finger shaped bruises will blossom there.

“You missed.”

“Must’ve hurt either way…” You mutter, finally managing to reach under his thick layers and wrap your hand around his length, producing a low growl from the man beneath you. “Maybe, it's good I missed.”

The only response you get is his hands pulling both your hands to lay on his chest plate then traveling back down your body to tug aside your underwear and grind you down onto his hips, rubbing your now bare slit against his bulge. You vaguely remember deciding against coming onto him as a form of apology, but for some reason, since he started first that all ceases to matter. It feels like a game you’ve begun to play with each other, playing with the tension between you and the Mandalorian until you find out what breaks your resolve. Maybe it started even before you entered this forest, perhaps back on Nevarro or even on the station.

You can’t tell but you don’t want to question it either.

A moan falls from your throat, your hands moving on their own volition to try and remove his belt entirely, or at least enough to pull his cock out. Mando’s glove flashes up again to circle your wrists, immobilizing them and harshly pinning you down with his vambrace lain across your back.

“You yield?” He asks, voice dripping with a sickly triumph. A chill runs down your back and you feel as if he just dunked you into the pond.

“W-What?”

“You yield… I win?”

“Wha- No!” You cry out indignantly, struggling against his iron grip. “I didn’t realize we were still sparring!”

He laughs, fully bodied and dark with some emotion that swirls deep within your core, and you can’t put your finger on it exactly but you know you’ll have to do something before you’re swept up entirely. “Oh, but we are. What shall the winner gain?” He asks, so quietly that it is almost lost in the warped modulator, barely a question and more so a crackling of static.

Fuck, you’re so wet.

You lick your lips and shakily respond. “I am not one to give up, however-”

“Then don’t. Keep fighting.”

Oh, and you love what he implies. There is no reason to argue further and less time to act, so you immediately struggle hard with the upper half of your body, wrenching your wrists to try and distract him from the way your legs are free to swing into his ribs. But Mando doesn’t fall for your feint a second time. In fact, he seems to have expected it, his leg is more than prepared to hook around the back of your knees and hold you against his body, rolling to the side to throw you underneath him.

You’re pinned on your back with nearly his full weight, unable to do more than weakly punch at what you can reach- unfortunately for you all you can reach is armor. Your cry of anger is cut short when Mando flips onto your front, your chest pressed roughly to the floor of the forest.

The helmet appears over your shoulder, his ragged breathing right by your ear. “T-This okay? You want this?” You can’t find your words to respond with the way you're held so tightly against the earth, so you nod as best you can with one cheek pressed into the ground. Mando snarls something furiously, one hand leaving your back to fumble with his pants and pull his cock out, lining himself up at your soaking entrance and running the head through your folds.

His helmet drops back down to your shoulder, the visor turning and burying itself into the line of your neck and you know that if he weren’t bound by his creed then he would be kissing dark bruises there.

“You know this means I win,” he hisses, pressing his cock to breach your tight opening ever so slightly.

“I-I know.” You whimper weakly.

With that, he fully pushes himself into you and if you weren’t so wet you know his size would be unbearably painful. Instead, the stretch is pure bliss, a slow burning sensation that has a hint of sting to it, his dominance lending to complete submission and all you can do is lay there and take it. There is still the strain you grew to know from when he allowed you to use his body on Nevarro, but something about Mando topping you encourages you to open yourself for him with more ease.

He quickly bottoms out then holds himself till, allowing you to adjust to his size. You’re writhing as much as possible under the way he crushes you to the floor, knees carving grooves in the soft sandy earth.

“Fuck,” Mando grits, teeth clenched together so hard that you swear you can hear the grinding in his jaw. “You’re so fucking tight, fuck.”

The position is hard to maintain on the soft ground, his hands keep sliding ever so slightly on either side of you forcing him to adjust every few seconds. His patience breaks after the third time this happens, a growl crackling through the helmet as he settles his hands on your lower back and hoists his body up, knees planted on either side of your thighs, crushing them together with intense pressure on your clit. Your body is locked tight, pussy clenching harder around his cock when he rises into an upright position.

You let out a genuine scream when he draws back then thrusts sharply into you, pain mixing with pleasure in a manner far more biting than on his ship, when he had let you take control entirely, never even doing so much as to thrust into you. It is almost too much for you but even while you struggle to take his cock, you don’t dare tell him to stop, nor do you want him to stop. You’re so blinded by the stretch that you don’t realize he is speaking until you miss several, distorted words.

“Fuck, why did I wait, why did I wait? I should’ve fuck-fucked you back on the station, approached you in that hangar and made myself fucking clear-” Each gritted word is accentuated by a mean thrust, his dick is so big that he has to shove himself inside of you rather than glide, breaking you open in a way that burns so sweetly. Your legs are held together, knees locked and straight, which doesn’t help how tight you are but you can’t budge at all to open yourself to Mando, his hands pressing down at your lower back so heavily that you’re short of breath.

A garbled moan is forced out of you when Mando grinds his length into your pussy as deep as he can possibly reach, hips smashing against your ass while he pulses inside of you and for a second you think he's cumming. But no- he draws himself from your depths and starts to rut his cock between your cheeks, head resting on your upper back and hands by your head.

A powerful hand wraps under your side and settles at your sternum, pulling you back against his cuirass and lifting so that you end up seated together, fitting against him without even an inch of space between your bodies. His hand lifts your hips, other appendage snaking around to position his cock back at your entrance before allowing gravity to do the work, your legs spreading to rest on either side of his thighs as you sink down on him to the hilt.

Once settled, Mando starts to work you on his cock, lifting you like you weigh no more than a pebble then letting go. The head of his cock slams full force into your pussy with the weight of your entire body, each brutal pounding sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Lungs free and no longer crushed to the floor, you’re unable to stay quiet, broken sobs and moans puffing from gritted teeth as he takes what he denied himself on his ship, the memory a thousand miles away as your processing center is fucked stupid.

You can’t say how long this goes on for, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but the next thing you know is that your cheek is back on the sand, burning from the way it chaffs against the floor with each rhythmic thrust that claps against your thighs. You’re don’t even know if you’ve cum yet but it doesn’t matter, not with the way he is fucking the life out of you here in the wilderness. Mando is still talking, still uttering filth and praise through the helmet and all you can think about is how badly you want to hear his real voice speaking that way to you, you’re so close to asking him to take it off but you can’t find the words, you can’t think, you can’t-

Abruptly, he grinds to a halt at the deepest point in your body then pulls himself free, pushing your shirt up lighting fast before cumming across your back with a choked exclamation. You’re both still for a second before your knees collapse, landing flat on your belly and gasping desperately. There is a shuffling noise behind you, accompanied with heavy breaths from the bounty hunter. It sounds like he’s rummaging through something then, yeah- your train of thought is confirmed when a wet cloth wipes his pleasure from your skin, gently trailing along your spine and ass.

You reach behind you and hold his wrist, feeling the fluttering pulse there. “I’ll win next time…” You whisper, drawing his hand along the soreness on your bottom, the area he bruised, you suspect. He laughs- or pants you can’t really tell, but either way his touch becomes more gentle on your body, smoothing out the tense muscles and cleaning you up. Today's travels with the man have suddenly caught up to you and you might pass out right here, half clothed and dirty.

“Come on, get up. Don’t sleep here.” Mando firmly states, helping you up and guiding you across the clearing after you pull your leggings up from where they gathered at your ankle. You’re trembling like a leaf, fragile in your spent state but glowing all the same. Mando sets you down on a log and brings you a canteen of water which you gulp down thankfully. He chuckles. “Wait up or I’ll have to drink from the spring.”

That gives you pause, reminding you of something he said while you lay beneath him. You’re slightly nervous to ask but you do it anyway, warm and satisfied on your perch while he cares for you. “You.. When you were, um- fucking me. Well, you said something about how you shouldn’t have waited. Does that mean what I think it means?”

He nods, “I noticed you for other reasons too, burc’ya.”

“Maybe you should’ve fucked me back then.” Taking another gulp then handing the canteen back, you stretch then slide down to sit on the ground with him, back against the log. “You said that word before, ber-borshaw?”

“Burc’ya.”He corrects,“It means friend in Mando’a.”

“Oh.”You cheeks heat, feeling silly and rude for not recognizing the use of his people’s tongue, also noting that he used it to refer to you twice now, endearingly. It is an honor, one that makes you nervous. You feel like you should apologize, somehow. “Y-You speak Mando’a? I’ve never heard you use it before.”

Mando settles against the log, leaning his broad shoulders to rest against the wood near your side. A few moments pass before he responds, “I chose to not use it around the others. Didn’t trust them.”

“Oh, so you trust me?” You giggle, tapping the side of his helmet with your elbow. Questions burn within you and you may as well ask now, in the quiet afterglow of sex where everything is warm and slow. “Why didn’t you trust them if you started the company with Ran? How am I any different?”

“You aren’t ruthless,” he surprises you by answering immediately, and you can’t decide whether you're insulted or not before he continues. “Ruthless and cruel is all that group ended up being, and it didn’t start out that way. We weren’t just mercenaries, we had a code. In the early days, attacking a slave ship would’ve been out of the question. Ran wasn’t always so full of greed.”

Silence falls after he speaks, letting you mull over his explanation for a while while the waterfall rumbles in the background. Really, his perspective confuses you when you think back on your actions as a mercenary. Desperate to climb the ranks, to make a name for yourself, to earn credits and reputation. You suppose you conducted yourself with empathy, avoiding selection for hits that targeted innocent people if you could help it. You never had much choice in the area but it seems your actions spoke louder than realized. So much energy spent to avoid seeming weak and you never considered that your aversion doubled as strength.

“Friend…” You whisper, not of your own accord. The word floats on your tongue, a specter within your vocabulary. In your adulthood you’ve had allies, you’ve had teammates, you’ve had acquaintances, but to have a friend… it terrifies you as much as it warms your heart. You considered yourself partnered professionally with the Mandalorian and didn’t dare to consider yourself lovers, no matter how much you privately hoped. But a friend is a luxury you didn’t hold close, mainly out of fear. You lost too many as a child. For a faceless man he manages to strike areas that are quite intimate.

You decide that you’ll enjoy being his friend, a bit surprised that you aren’t too hurt by what is essentially a romantic rejection of the crush you held for so long. Probably because this is real , solid and built within reality instead of the silly fantasies you built prior.

This is better than lovers, you tell yourself, the slight ache in your heart melting into the background of your desires, behind lock and key for another world.

“I’ll take ‘friend’, Mando.” You grin, extending a hand to him cheekily. He stares for a second before taking it and shaking, helmet tilting in a respectful nod.

His next words send an unexpected pang throughout your chest, taking all the careful walls you worked hard to set up and throwing them into a blazing inferno.

“Let’s see where it goes.”

Fuck.

----------------

Leather boots prance lightly through thick branches high in the trees, footfalls landing silently with all the grace of an athlete. Through the delicate glasses perched on the pursuers nose, a red glow blooms on the shadowy floor of the swamp, two sets of footprints lighting up to reveal a steady path made by the travelers. A musical giggle bubbles out of the darkly dressed woman as she pulls a small holo-watch from her bag and straps it onto her wrist, pale light mixing with her lavender skin, transforming it into a sickly grey.

Xi’an claps a hand over her mouth to prevent her cackle from ringing through the trees as her plan takes form.

***

TAG LIST (working on it slowly, message if you want)

@velia27 @shrekscoochiehair @tbhitisdbh @sparklingwitches @lazyonasunday @peach-child @leah-halliwell92 @riot-sounds

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inkykeiji · 3 years

Note

Hi Clari!!! I hope you're doing well and had an amazing weekend! I'm sorry if you've already answered something like this before! 😊

I was having big thoughts about the twins, but then I couldn't remember if you'd mentioned the other Todoroki siblings existing in this AU!?!

You may have done and I just missed it, but if the other siblings already do, and if not, did exist in the AU, what would the twins relationship be like with them?

I can imagine Touya being the more approachable of the two, I feel he'd click quite well with Fuyumi perhaps? They both give me those sort of caregiver vibes 😅

Natsuo and Dabi I can imagine being close, not quite as close as in the Touya - Nii series, but I can still imagine Natsuo looking up to both his big brothers because they're so cool! (Dabi is just that smidge cooler to him though 😌)

Would Shoto still be Enji's perfect poster boy, or would Touya have taken that spot?

Would the twins be open to sharing the reader with Natsuo like Touya-Nii did in the Snowman and Me series? Or is it strictly something kept between the twins?

Do the Todoroki family know about the reader and the twins relationship? Do they approve?

There are just too many thoughts for my one track mind 😩😌

It'd be really interesting to know your take! --- The anon who dreamt about living with Dabi on a ranch 🐥

hello sweetpea!!!! oh you’re so lovely <33 thank you bb i hope you had a wonderful weekend as well!!! <3

BUT ANONNNN I AM SHOUTING HAHAHAHA oh my gosh okay first of all you and i have got to be on the same wavelength today bb hehehe because i haven’t mentioned their relationship with the other todoroki siblings much on my blog but i do have (and have had) their relationships with each mapped out in my notebook for months now and i was literally looking it over when you sent this in!! <33

AH SO MANY GOOD QUESTIONS LET’S GET INTO IT WEEEEEEE <3

so first i’m going to link you to this post (which kinda just delves into their relationship with each other but touches upon other relationships in the family) and this post (which discusses dabi’s reaction to yelling and touches upon his trauma related to enji; pls heed the tws!!) but to reiterate and all that:

twin!touya pretty much gets along with all of his siblings in some way. he’s the perfect model of an older brother. as i mentioned in the first post linked above, touya is just really good at playing the part. twin!dabi, on the other hand, barely gets along with anyone other than his twin. he’s extremely difficult to be around about 97% of the time.

natsuo definitely does think both of his older brothers are super super cool, and he follows them around like a puppy when they’ll let him, but he’s actually closer to twin!touya than he is to twin!dabi, simply because twin!dabi won’t let him get too close; dabi’s extreme trust issues get in the way. still, natsuo was the only one there for dabi when touya had been taken from him, and that forged quite a lasting and deep bond, even if it terrifies dabi to this day, even if dabi tries his very hardest to shove natsuo away because of it, even if it’s still extremely complex; a jumbled, tangled mess in his heart. but natsuo understands, and he’s nothing if not resilient, so he kinda just bounces back from it each and every time. but twin!touya has a special soft spot for natsuo, because natsuo was there to take care of his baby twin brother when he wasn’t, and to touya, that means the whole world to him <3 touya hopes that one day his twin will let his guard down enough to let natsuo into his heart, too.

fuyumi is incredibly suspicious of twin!touya. she’s smart as a whip, just like he is, and she can read him like a book and knows when he’s up to something; and he’s always up to something. all she wants is for her family to get along, for god’s sake, and she knows touya’s a threat to that, because he knows how ridiculously manipulative he is, and how he’s planning something against their father—fuyumi is the only of the todoroki siblings that actually has sympathy for their father. thus, even though touya has told her time and again not to worry about it, that everyone will be happy in the end, she knows ‘the end’ does not include their father in any way, shape, or form. still, with that being said, they get along quite well, and they’re constantly throwing teasing quips each other’s way <3 when it comes to twin!dabi, fuyumi’s heart positively breaks for him. he shoves her away, too, because he doesn’t know how to deal with her overwhelming love, but that does not deter her in the slightest. she was there, she witnessed what happened to him, she helped natsuo take care of him in every way she could; in fact, fuyumi took care of that entire family after her mother left. but she has such a soft spot for twin!dabi in her heart, a special type of unconditional love and sympathy for him, and she’ll always be there for him, no matter how many callous insults he spits her way. she views him akin to a terrified animal, and she understands why he lashes out, and sometimes—very rarely, but sometimes—he will let her take him into her arms and hold him, hug him, shush him. she was pretty much the mother he never had for those years when he was without his twin, even though she’s a little younger than he is. so there’s a very interesting, very complex bond there as well.

shouto loves both of his eldest brothers so much. twin!touya loves him back, thinks he’s an absolutely brilliant kid and such a kind, beautiful soul, but he can’t help but feel some resentment towards him; residual feelings that have been transferred from his twin to him. still, he tries to bury them, because he knows none of this is actually shouto’s fault, and that their father is the true villain here, the true one to blame. as i mentioned in the first post linked above, twin!dabi hates shouto with a fierce passion, because he feels betrayed for his twin, betrayed by the way their father so quickly found an (inferior, in his opinion) replacement for touya—to mold into the perfect puppet—and he himself feels a little slighted, too, angry and offended that their father didn’t even try to mold him in replacement of his twin and just went straight to the next ‘perfect’ child, because twin!dabi was too much work, he’s sure. shouto is terrified of dabi, but he looks up to touya with absolute stars in his eyes <3

rei feels incredibly guilty. she likes to pretend that she doesn’t know why she took only twin!touya when she really should’ve taken them both, and will regret for the rest of her life seperating the two of them for a few years. it was incredibly selfish of her, to snatch touya up only because she knew it would hurt her husband the most, and to leave twin!dabi and the rest of her children there with such a brute for a father. dabi hates her for it, and she doesn’t blame him. she hopes one day he can find it in his heart to forgive her for such a horrible mistake, but she knows it’s a slim possibility. she is very, very close to twin!touya though.

i have already touched upon their relationship with enji in the posts linked above, but basically twin!touya IS still enji’s favourite, and enji only latched onto shouto after rei took touya away (during the divorce). touya is still first in line for the family business, and shouto acts as more or less of a back-up, in case touya fails. he’s also easier to control, which is quite appealing to enji, too.

and then, as you can tell, the twins themselves have a very, very unhealthy codependency on each other; they can barely function without one another now <3

ANYWAY LOVELY, THOSE ARE THEIR RELATIONSHIPS WITH THE SIBLINGS + THEIR PARENTS!!! to answer your last few questions:

would the twins be open to sharing the reader with natsuo like touya-nii did in the snowman and me series? or is it strictly something kept between the twins?

no, they absolutely would not share her with natsuo, this is something very special and sacred and kept strictly between them <3

do the todoroki family know about the reader and the twins relationship? do they approve?

EHEHEHEHE this is something i’m really really looking forward to exploring in the future of the series!!! because the angst potential is totally insane hehe <3 the answer is, it’s extremely complicated. enji doesn’t approve at all. like, at ALL. he hates to think what the press would think, if this ever got out, and he knows dabi would be more than willing to leak it; anything to hurt his father, right? natsuo thinks it’s SO awesome and super hot, fuyumi thinks it’s quite cute how they share everything, but worries for the poor sweet reader since she knows how her brothers can be, and shouto can’t even think about it without blushing and getting super embarrassed; he isn’t really sure what he thinks yet, but he feels like it’s more their business than his own. rei is on the fence; she wants her boys to be happy, but is this really the best and healthiest way to do it? does she even have a say in it at all? is it really her place or her right to step up and say something? she isn’t sure.

i hope this answers all of your questions bb!!!! thank you so much for asking aaaah i LOVE talking about stuff like this and i am super super excited to explore it deeper within the series!!!! AH EHEHE I REMEMBER U AND UR DREAM <3333 aw such a cute lil chick emoji 🥺🥺 i hope you’re doing wonderful my friend and i wish you many more touya dreams in the future <3

#SUCH GOOOOOOD QUESTIONS!!!! THANK U SO MUCH #SORRY MY POST IS SOOOOOO LONG HAHAHAHA i have pages upon pages of this in my journal so i tried to condense it and not give too much away <3 #i just wanted to capture the essence of each relationship and let u know <3 #if u have anymore questions pls let me know!!!!#have an amazing week sweetpea!!! <33 #i am sending u lots n lots of love and health!! as always pls stay safe!!#inky.bb #FARMER TOUYA DREAMER #LMAO <333 #clari gets mail #inky.twins #todoroki twins dabi and touya

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sungie · 4 years

Text

stray kids reaction: comforting your zoom anxiety

a/n: sorry these have been so angsty lately but this is just something i struggle with now a lot w/my anxiety and thought maybe this could help some of you who are going through the same thing rn xx

also i’m so sorry i spent hours trying to get the read more option to work but it wouldn’t :’( if anyone has any tips feel free to let me know

chan

chan walks past your spot at the table and immediately falters when he notices you staring numbly at your laptop screen.

he crouches down to try to meet your gaze, and then, worried at how your bottom lip starts to tremble, gently tilts your chin up to face him. “(y/n)? what’s going on?”

you just shake your head, trying not to meet his gaze

chan’s not an idiot; something’s obviously wrong

because despite how much you try to hide things, chan knows. he just knows that you won’t tell him what’s going on, and a lot of it is because you want so much to be strong and not feel like such a burden (which you could never, ever be, chan loves you to the end of the world and back)

and he also knows you beat yourself up for mistakes so much worse than anyone, always obsessively focusing on self-perceived flaws for days. weeks, even.

so when he happens to notice the zoom launch page, realization floods across his face.

“oh, baby, no. come here”

chan wraps you in his arms, gently closing your laptop with one hand and guiding you from desk to couch where you nestle your head into his chest

“i’m so stupid, chan,” you whimper, bringing your hands up to cover your face. “why am i like this?”

it hurts chan to see you like this

he wants more than anything to make everything better, but he knows these things take time and you need time

“you mean, why are you so talented, and beautiful, and dedicated? i don’t know, babe. you just are. i’m not surprised, though.”

“i’m such a screw up.”

“you know, (y/n), i promised i wouldn’t let anyone talk to you like that,” chan murmurs, “not even yourself.”

you look up at chan with wide eyes

“i know it’s hard, baby. i know it’s scary, but i’m so proud of you for getting through it.”

chan just wants to pamper you for the rest of the day, and more often than not, the two of you will cuddle together and end up falling asleep for a few hours, tangled together on the couch until you’re ready enough to talk things out.

- -

minho

minho’s brow raises when he sees the door to his room crack open, and he watches as you barrel towards him, collapsing onto the bed next to his legs.

he doesn’t think anything of it, not really.

well, maybe he’s just a little disappointed that you didn’t come to cuddle and rest your head next to his chest, because minho won’t admit it, but he’s a simp for your cuddles

but then, a few seconds later, he notices you’re trembling.

and all too soon, he realizes with horror, that the way you’re huddling toward him isn’t out of comfort, oh no, not comfort.

minho sits up immediately and looks over to see you curled up in the fetal position with your eyes shut, your arms wrapped tightly around your legs

minho murmurs a worried, “babe?”, and he feels his heart break as your eyes open and fill with tears

“it doesn’t get better. i’m never going to be normal.”

minho gently pries the phone out your grasp because it’s only making you feel worse, and he’s about to close all your tabs until he notices what’s on the screen: articles about anxiety, coping mechanisms, how-to’s for speaking up, not freezing up, how to hide fear -- and his heart breaks.

minho gets up for a moment, taking your phone to place it on the nightstand. and when he leaves the room and comes back a minute later with soonie in his arms, he gently plops her down onto your hip and then sits cross-legged beside you, his eyes sad and his head propped in his hands

“you can talk to me, i’ve got you.”

and you let all the words fall out.

afterwards, minho wraps a knit blanket around your form and tells you, quietly, that you’re the most special person in the world.

“more than your cats?” you manage to joke weakly, cracking the faintest smile.

a relieved smile immediately tugs at minho’s lips and the way he looks at you makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world. “you’re feeling better,” minho whispers, half to himself, half to you, and then he lets his gentle smile curve to a teasing smirk.

and like a brat, he says, “i said person.”

you whine and softly poke his cheek, but minho leans over you to press annoying kisses all across your face with the most loving expression

“yah, (y/n), of course you’re more special than my cats, my god”

changbin

you already know the routine by now

you’d texted changbin in midst of your online class with your signature emoji that means: please help i can’t think everything’s too much

and as soon as it’s over changbin’s here with a sympathetic expression and a sheepish shrug, holding a heavy pillow out a safe (and far) distance in front of him

“wanna let it out?”

you nod, shakily, and they you step up to the pillow and start slamming your fists into the pillow, words flying from your mouth about how annoying your brain is and how much you hate this and your blows weaken and your words jumble together until changbin lets the pillow lower and he welcomes you into his arms

he runs his hand against your back and just stands and holds you for a while, rocking you back and forth

“i hate this so much, bin”

“i know, baby. i know.”

he knows that sometimes physical contact helps bring you out of your mind

and so he’ll gently take your face in his hands and caress your cheeks with his thumbs

“it’s over, now. you did it, baby.”

he finds you so beautiful and often loses himself for a few moments because you’re such a special person and he hopes you know that you mean the world to him

if you want to talk about it, he’s got you

and the two of you will cuddle on the couch for as long as you need and talk or watch videos together or eat food

or sometimes you just want to be alone, and changbin will press a kiss to your forehead and let you recharge

and as soon as you’re ready to come out, he’s always got your favorite meal or takeout from your favorite restaurant

and the smile that crosses his face when he sees you makes everything feel just a little bit better

hyunjin

hyunjin doesn’t quite understand how you get so nervous, but he wants to help so bad.

he hates seeing you shut down, and it hurts him to witness the moments when you retreat back into your mind

because you’re such a beautiful soul, and he just knows the thoughts that rage through your head are anything but kind

hyunjin sees this happen on a daily basis, and each time he does, he wishes he could make it better.

today’s been especially bad, with zoom call after zoom call, and he can see the circles under your eyes and the exhaustion and terror written all across your face

he peels off a post-it note and gently sticks it onto your hand, out of view of the camera

“is this an important class?” it says.

you turn to him, indiscreetly nodding your head

hyunjin’s face falls. because if it wasn’t, he would all too quickly turn the video off your screen and let you fall into his arms, pulling you away from the laptop to cuddle and watch something to take your mind off it.

you’re just pushing yourself so much, and hyunjin knows you need to rest

but instead, he comes back a few minutes later, holding a plate of sliced fruit and vegetables arranged by color to look pretty and cute

and he slides that next to your laptop and comes back with a mug with your favorite warm drink

there’s a post-it on this, too. “i love you, and you’re doing great, okay? you’ve got this baby <3 <3 <3

it makes you tear up, a little.

after you’re finally done, you find hyunjin and hug him so tightly

“how’d you know?”

hyunjin just gazes at you softly, nuzzling his nose against yours

“you did it, baby. you should be proud of yourself”

all you can do is hug hyunjin tighter as you start to tear up from relief, nerves, comfort, and hyunjin himself

“i love you.”

jisung

jisung understands all too well the feeling of anxiety

and whenever he notices that you’re upset, even if he’s not feeling all too great, it’s like that anxiety loophole where all his anxiety goes away as soon as he realizes that you’re in pain

really, all jisung wants to do is comfort you and make sure you’re feeling as okay as possible -- everything else goes away, only you.

he gets it, really gets it, when you tell him in tears that you can’t take another discussion over video call which ends in you sitting in silence and regret for not saying anything

“people probably think i’m mean and dumb, jisung,” you choke out, “and i’m not! but i … i don’t even deserve to be there. they see right through me. i’m like, a fraud.”

jisung’s heart physically breaks at this, because you’re not. you’re really, really not. anything but.

“no, baby. you do deserve to be there. you said it yourself, you’re not dumb. you’re not mean. but you’re dealing with anxiety, baby, and that makes everything so much scarier.”

jisung also knows that nothing he says can make it better, but he also knows that you need to get out of your head.

he drapes a blanket around your shoulders and gently pulls you up from the couch, telling you that the two of you are going to explore

jisung drives around the city for a couple hours, and he gives you control over the aux and lets you listen to all your favorite songs -- but sometimes even that’s too much, so he’ll put on shuffle the playlist that the two of you have made together for nights just like this.

there’s always something calming about getting lost in the city for the night, watching the neon lights reflect against the windows as you lose yourself in the music and the dark and the feeling of drifting away from any sort of responsibility and tie to real life.

just you and jisung; the two of you against the world.

jisung does his best to help you forget when that’s what you need. he pulls into a drive through and orders an order of fries, cheerfully feeding them to you when you reach red stoplights. and then he stops at a boba place that’s empty and still open for another hour, or so, and comes back with both your favorite drinks. and then jisung is telling you stories about anything, everything

jisung makes you smile and laugh, and each time you do, the expression that crosses jisung’s face is full of such relief and love

and when you start making your own jokes and telling your own stories, a familiar light entering your eyes, jisung can’t look away and feels his heart mend back together

later, when the two of you come back home and collapse into bed, you tumble over and rest your head against jisung’s chest, feeling safe and loved when he presses his lips to your forehead and holds your hand

“do you think it’ll get better?” you whisper, finally ready to talk about what happened

jisung presses a tender kiss to your knuckles. “i know it will.”

felix

trust me, felix knows all too well the exact regret you’re describing

when you tell him in hysterics about not being enough and not being able to be present even though you wanted to so bad -- he gets it.

you don’t even know how to describe it. you just couldn’t, and that made it so worse.

but felix just nodding and gazing at you with acceptance and understanding makes you feel so safe

because felix is always one thing with you when you’re upset and anxious, and that is gentle

but he also clearly sees the way you answer in short responses when he asks you about it, and how you look so uncomfortable

felix knows whenever he gets like this, he needs to get out of his head

so he takes your hand and guides you to the kitchen, smiling brightly at you

“let’s make something.”

if you’re ever too overwhelmed, felix will do everything for you and come to your room to drop off a plate of dessert and check in and see how you’re doing

but if you’re okay with doing something, felix is that happiest boy ever

you welcome the distraction and help felix find all the mixing bowls, and he grabs the carton of milk while you grab the sugar from the cabinets

felix takes a finger of flour and smudges a small dot on your cheek

“there, freckles”

and you smile weakly and smudge a stripe against his cheek

every so often felix will rest his head on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your waist

he doesn’t bring up what happened earlier because he knows you hate thinking about it, but when you do finally decide to talk about how you feel, it’s usually while the two of you are waiting for dessert to come out the oven

and felix just listens patiently with genuine concern and focus and doesn’t interrupt you at all until you’re done

at times like this, felix really thinks about what to say

and when he does finally speak, it makes you feel so much better

like someone actually sees you and your struggles

but then he’ll do something like accidentally knock over the bowl of leftover egg white or accidentally catch his sleeve in a spill on the table

but it’s okay because you love him

and he really does manage to make everything feel just a little bit better

seungmin

the silence was the first indication something was wrong.

because your relationship works on easy, witty jabs toward each other that always end in laughter and amusement, wildly chasing each other around the apartment and collapsing in cuddles and playful pokes on the shoulder

but this time, when seungmin teasingly mentions that the phone is your achilles heel after you ask him to order the take out, he’s met with stony silence, an unresponsive face, and then: “that’s not funny.”

seungmin’s face falls immediately. he knew something was wrong as soon as he noticed the blankness unfold on your expression, and he steps forward carefully, his eyes softening. “i’m sorry. that was mean of me.”

when you don’t reject to him coming closer, he steps toward you again, kneeling down to where you are and gazes at you with concerned eyes. “did it happen again?”

you finally look up at seungmin, the first trace of emotion peeking through the heavy mask as you nod. “it’s just so stressful.”

seungmin regards you carefully and nods, prompting you to keep going.

“i hate seeing myself on screen,” you mumble, laughing tonelessly in attempt to keep things casual. “i just smile and nod, and … i can’t read nonverbal signals, minnie. i don’t even know when i can talk --”

you stand up and start pacing back and forth, your hands scrunching up your face and pulling at your hair. “i don’t know why i feel like this, and i can’t stop thinking, seungmin, i hate it so much.”

but seungmin walks into your path and gently takes your hands in his, squeezing your palms gently. and then he tenderly opens your fists up, tracing little hearts on your palms and the pads of your fingertips.

“i wish i were like you,” you whisper.

“you already are,” seungmin says, instead. “everything i am, you’re that and more.”

“i’m not capable.”

seungmin gently squeezes your hands again, this time tracing circles against your knuckles. “i think if anyone’s capable here, it’s you. you’re fighting this thing every day, (y/n). even if you don’t see it, i see it. i see you, and you’re capable. more than.”

your mouth drops a little, and you stare at seungmin with wide eyes. and then, “what?”

seungmin just smiles, shaking his head. “what?”

“i’m sorry i got mad at you.”

seungmin shakes his head, letting your hands drop as he pulls you into a hug. “don’t be.”

“i liked that thing you did with my hands,” you murmur into his shoulder, “it helps me not think.”

and this time seungmin presses kisses to your fingers

and he’s just so gentle with you

afterwards when you stop shaking, seungmin doesn’t forget that you still need to eat, so he orders takeout, or you do if you want to try and he’ll hold your hand and just be there, and then the two of you will watch something on his laptop and then finally fall asleep together at the table

jeongin

“isn’t your class starting now?” jeongin mumbles with a sleepy voice, rubbing his eyes and placing a mug of your favorite drink next to your hand

you just shrug, mouse hovered over the link to take you into zoom call

jeongin furrows his face, then blinks. he does a sort of double take, eyes flickering from the time (he knows your schedule by now), the hesitation of your expression, the clear tension in your shoulders and the slight tremor of your fingers.

“oh,” jeongin’s voice whispers.

he takes a seat at the table beside you, eyes relenting, a concerned expression encasing his mannerisms. “it’s okay to be scared, (y/n)”

you swallow, not quite trusting yourself to speak, your throat already tight and unstable

“(y/n) … if you’re not feeling good we can call in sick and tackle it tomorrow. you don’t have to do it today if it’s too much.”

you shake your head. “no,” and then, biting your lip, “i just … don’t want to join, innie. what if he calls on me? and i won’t know the answer, and everyone will laugh. and he’ll make fun of me.”

“that’s so mean,” jeongin says affronted, his eyes wide and then he pouts. “he’d do that to you?”

you nod, arms wrapping around yourself, and jeongin is already awake, eyes wide and you can already tell he’s trying to think of a solution where everything’s okay

“if he does that,” jeongin says, quietly, “then we’ll leave the meeting.”

you crack a half smile. “i can’t do that.”

“i’ll unplug the router,” jeongin pouts.

you sigh, smushing your hands against your face, all too aware of your heart beating so loudly in your ears and the shallowness of your breath.

“(y/n)? oh no, (y/n), baby --”

he’s not one for pet names, but this time it just slips out and it makes things stop for a second

“i’m going to grab your hand, okay? and i’m going to start counting and we’re going to breathe. is that okay?”

you nod after a few seconds, and jeongin reaches for your hand, placing your palm against his chest. and then he starts counting to ten, in a reassuring voice. “just concentrate on breathing. just focus on me.”

jeongin closes the laptop and pushes it away from you. “what do you need?”

“i … i just need a few minutes.”

jeongin nods, then reaches for your hand clasping it in his and squeezing gently. “i’ll be here.”

when you regain your breath and think you’re a little okay, you turn and drag the laptop over, mouse hovering over the link

jeongin just smiles at you softly, eyes still blinky and exhausted from sleep. he rests his head against the table, and you can tell he’s trying to stay awake, but it’s just so early and he starts drifting off to sleep

but there’s something in the comfort jeongin brings by just being there, and with your heart beating loudly in your chest, you click the link and are brought to the loading screen: host will let you in momentarily

jeongin stirs and squeezes your hand again, slightly more awake, now. “you got this”

he smiles genuinely, and it makes your heart warm. “squeeze my hand if it gets bad in there, okay?”

you shake your head, but jeongin wakes up further at this, slightly alarmed. “you won’t bother me, i promise! and when you’re done we can go pick up an order at the pastry shop down the street, okay?”

you smile at jeongin. “okay.”

and you’re going to hold him to that.

348 notes · View notes

amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

Note

hiiii!!! i’m coming to our queen of smut to make a request: i was watching yippee kayak last night and i had this vision of jake going home and ~~~~~”warming” amy up after the polar plunge... i don’t think anyone has written this version of a post 3.10 fic and i just think you would be the best one so if you feel inspired by this i would love to read it!! 💕💕

ok so I really loved this idea and it took me forever but here goes! rated NSFW for all of you playing at home, and can be found here if it’s easier ♥️

everything comes back to you

Jake’s eyes squeeze shut as he follows Amy’s descent into his couch below, ignoring the scratchy crumbs of yesterday’s breakfast and sliding his fingers into her hair, deepening the kiss he’d initiated only seconds earlier. Returning his heated embrace with an equal amount of fervour, Amy's nimble fingers ripple along the buttons of his flannel with the practised ease of someone who’d buttoned it only 15 hours earlier; impatiently shoving the fabric out of the way as it parts, and Jake lets out a sigh of satisfaction when it hits the floor with a soft thud.

It has been close to two hours since he and Charles had finished their debrief (and taken down Flamethrower Gina - or FlameGrrl, if her new twitter handle was anything to go by); and after finding a quiet Amy waiting for him at their desks, the couple had made a beeline for Jake’s apartment, the unspoken need for some Thank God You’re Alive sex crackling between them on the drive home.

Amy’s two jackets hadn’t lasted more than three steps inside Jake’s apartment, his own leather discarded a mere second later; and in their newly horizontal position things were moving along pretty well - save for the minor detail that whenever he closes his eyes, Jake cannot seem to get the image of a confessed murderer pointing his gun directly at him out of his mind.

None of this evening was playing out the way he’d imagined, kissing Amy goodbye earlier this morning from the comfort of her sofa when she left for an early start. His first Christmas with a Serious Girlfriend in forever, Jake had put a lot of time and effort into selecting just the right gifts; and his plan for a sneaky early unwrapping of a couple of presents (followed, hopefully, by the unwrapping of Amy) had been waylaid by a most inconvenient - but incredibly dangerous - hostage situation in the middle of a department store.

It was the stuff that only the best kind of Christmas movies are made of (even if he didn’t get to say the Cool Catchphrase), but now that he was home - now that they were home - Jake was beginning to realise just how close he’d come to losing it all.

Initiating another kiss, Jake closes his eyes even tighter - tight enough to watch the tiny stars as they float by - and even though the plan to just keep kissing Ames until the bad thoughts go away had seemed solid; he eventually has to come up for air, tucking his head into the juncture of her neck and sighing as the scent of his girlfriend numbs the sharp teeth of unwanted memories.

Amy’s voice is soft when she speaks, but he’d hear her in a hurricane, and the sound carries over tangled limbs before landing at their un-socked feet. “I didn’t feel it.”

It’s an odd statement - and definitely not something that one expects to hear during a pre-sex makeout - and it prompts Jake to glance downwards at their still very covered bottom halves, returning to respond with an eloquent - “Huh?”

Her head tips back ever so slightly, just enough for Jake’s eyes to lock onto hers, and the seriousness of her look cuts him to the quick. “My phone. I didn’t feel it … the vibrations from your texts. You know, through the jacket.” Her fingernails scrape the edge of his hairline, and she shakes her head in frustration. “So puffy. I couldn’t feel anything, including the cold, which I guess is the point, but … I didn’t feel it.”

Jake nods, feeling his lips purse up. There was definitely a point, between texts numbers four and seven, when he’d begun to question if Amy was ever going to answer. But he’d kept texting, based purely on the way she looked at him that very morning, ruffling his hair when he’d woken up and bidding him goodbye with the kind of kiss that made his heart thump long after she’d gone. He had hoped there would be a reason why, and the sincerity in her eyes now said it all.

A coolness remains in the wake of her hands as they shift away, voice growing more determined as she continues. “But, Jake … I need you to understand something.” She digs her elbows into the couch for leverage, waiting as Jake scoots backwards to accommodate and shuffling up to a seated position; their makeout session taking a temporary pause. “As soon as I realised, I came running.”

It’s a sorry without saying it, an apology for taking so long to respond to his barrage of texts, and the automatic response of it’s fine, babe bubbles up Jake’s throat. There’s still a part of him, the same part that once came to work with multiple injuries and pretended everything was fine, that wanted to brush this whole evening away and act like everything was normal. It was the Peralta way to compartmentalise and move on, but with his girlfriend of seven months (and partner for so much longer) sitting in front of him, suddenly Jake didn’t want to simply shrug it all away.

His mouth feels dry, and he knows his voice has gone soft, but he answers before he can’t. “I was really scared, Ames. For a moment there, I - ” there are too many options for the end of the sentence, and all the fears jumble out from that corner of his mind he’d been pushing them into all evening. His stomach twists, and he tries again. “I really thought ..”

Moving closer still, Amy’s knees knock against Jake’s as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him in for the kind of comforting hug he’d unknowingly craved. She whispers I was scared too, the reality of what could have been washing over them for a moment, and Jake realises that this moment right here on the couch was what he’d be needing all evening.

It isn’t until their makeout has begun again - albeit of a slightly softer, reassuring variety - that Amy nestles closer to Jake, sliding her hands underneath his shirt; and it’s the almost freezing temperature of her palms that pull him out of his kissing Amy stupor.

“Whoa! Ames, your hands really are on a whole other level of cold.”

(Truth be told, the first time he’d noticed, they were still on the sidewalk outside Goodwin’s; kissing way more than he thought they would with their colleagues and superior officers all within viewing distance. But he’d been a little distracted at the time, too caught up in the temporary high that came with the realisation that not only had he just lived through his very own Die Hard hostage experience - he, too, had a beautiful woman outside who was so glad he was okay, and honestly, those two things packed together really did make for a stellar - if short lived - moment of bliss.)

Pulling away, Amy inspects her palms as though checking for icicles before looking back at Jake. “I’m telling you babe, I really might have hypothermia.”

“Wait … you actually did the polar bear swim?”

“Ugh.” Resting back on her heels, Amy rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Not exactly, no. I tried! But … I just couldn’t go through with it. Holt and Rosa went in while I stayed on the beach like a chicken.” Shrugging her shoulders, she continues. “It wasn’t until I read all your messages and realised what was happening that …”

The cogs slowly begin to turn in Jake’s brain. “You had to …?”

“I ran into the ocean to get them.”

He blinks. “You. Amy Santiago; perpetual blanket stealer, and the only person who could land on the sun and still find it a little chilly, ran into the freezing Atlantic?”

She nods, her eyes wide and somber, and Jake’s heart squeezes in his chest. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Her hands move to either side of his face, the contrast in temperatures suddenly feeling like nothing at all; freshly armed with the knowledge that the woman in front of him had run into the very thing she hated, just for him. “I told you, Jake. As soon as I knew.” She leans in to press her lips against his, and Jake runs his hands along her wrists, giving Amy a contented smile when she pulls away. “Bonus points to you for knowing it’s the Atlantic, by the way.”

There are a thousand different responses running through Jake’s mind, all of them showing varying degrees of being the right answer for right now, but in the end the only thing that he manages to sputter out is a simple - “You’re amazing.”

(Short, yet most definitely true.)

“You were in danger, babe. Nothing else matters when it comes to that.”

A scarily familiar lump forms in Jake’s throat; the same one that had choked his voice up right before he’d confessed his feelings to his college girlfriend Camille - aka, the girl who broke up with him only a day later - and his stomach begins to twist incessantly.

Amy had dropped everything to find him - he, Jake Peralta, a man who’s clean washing pile sits dangerously close to his dirty washing pile (i.e. both on the floor), who’s teeth hold more cavities than a third grader hopped up on pixie sticks, who’s punching well above his weight every single time he gets to hold her in his arms. This intelligent, beautiful, courageous woman considered his safety to be more important than anything else, and the words I love you I love you I love you were growing dangerously close to his spilling out of his mouth.

It wasn’t a new thing, to know that he loved her. He practically vibrated it out of every pore of his body. (Had a dream once, that he’d painted it on a billboard over the expressway.) But it was one thing to know it - to know only a few days in that the two of them together was greater than anything he’d ever been a part of - and another thing altogether to actually say it out loud. He’s been here before, and knows all too well how much it hurts when it goes unreciprocated (the danger, he knows, of wearing your heart on your sleeve: but there, it shall remain). Rejection and heartache are not a new experience for Jake by a long shot - but just the thought of it coming from Amy was too frightening to contemplate.

The urge to escape the seriousness, the voice inside his head screaming deflect! deflect! overpowers the rest of Jake (it’s strength in it’s familiarity), and he leans in to capture Amy’s lips in a kiss far more passionate than any they’d shared this evening. Sighing against her mouth as she melts into his embrace, he uses the space between them as they part to mumble, “I think it’s about time I warmed you up then, hmm?”

“Thought you’d never offer,” Amy grins, that sly upturning of her lips that always seems to have a direct line to his penis; and Jake runs his hands along her back, holding her close to his chest as he lifts them both from the couch and deposits them onto his poorly made bed.

She slips off his undershirt before another moment is wasted, getting to work on the fly of his jeans immediately while Jake leans in for another heated kiss, picking up on her sudden need for more action. His hips flex against Amy’s familiar touch as her hand slides underneath, nudging the zipper of his jeans open with her palm and nursing his growing erection, his responding groan mixing amongst their tangling tongues.

Wrapping one arm around her back, Jake feels the cool bare skin beneath Amy’s shirt, splaying his fingers out as he pulls her closer. The blades of her shoulder graze against his fingertips as her hand tightens her grip around his cock, covering his length in the steady strokes that she knows turn him on, and truly - how she manages to make him feel this good every. single. time. has to be some kind of magic.

His brow furrows slightly as his hands wander to the edge of her waist, noticing what feels like an unusual texture there - but, also aware that he may not be in the most ‘sound mind and body’ state as long as Amy keeps pumping her wrist like that, Jake persists with his path of kisses along his girlfriend’s clavicle. It isn’t until his fingers return to her front, gripping the bottom of her shirt and sliding it upwards that he feels it again, and this time he pulls away from the love bite he had been nibbling into her neck. “Wait. Ames, is that …?”

Shifting his weight onto one side Jake lifts Amy’s shirt a little higher, letting out a halted laugh as a darker lycra fabric begins to appear. “Are you wearing a bathing suit?”

“Oh God!” Amy’s hands brush past Jake’s bare chest, flying up to cover her face as she lets out a groan, his cock already mourning her departure. “I kept thinking on the drive over that I needed to get changed before we got too distracted. But then you kissed me in the hallway, and it all just …” shaking her head, she separates her fingers and peeks out at Jake through the gaps. “I’m still in Polar Plunge mode. Ugh, this is probably the least sexiest - ” her protest dies in it’s tracks, courtesy of the gentle pressing of Jake’s fingers against her lips.

“Babe, no. You’re sexy all the time, it’s actually insane. You’d look sexy in a hessian sack, trust me.” He replaces his fingers with his lips as her hands fall away, pressing just that little bit harder before pulling away to catch her line of sight. “It just caught me by surprise, is all.”

She grins. “Like your girlfriend had turned into a seal?”

“A sexy seal,” he nods. “Hottest in all of New York.”

Her chest rumbles underneath him as she laughs - a loud, carefree laugh, easily one of his most favourite sounds - and Jake joins in, pressing one knee into the mattress as he rises slightly to slide Amy’s shirt away. She looks up at him with the brightest of eyes as their giggles begin to fade and Jake digs his teeth into his lower lip, the urge to tell her just how much he loves her almost too strong to ignore.

(He considers it for a moment, telling her in this apartment that was always an okay place to sleep but now with Amy feels like a home … but he’s watched enough romantic movies in his time to know that pre or post sex first-time declarations rarely held value - and if there’s anybody that deserves better than that, it’s Amy Santiago.)

Instead, Jake takes his time peeling away her swimwear, pausing to kiss each of Amy’s breasts as the fabric rolls to her midriff, shuffling down the mattress as her hips lift to allow both her pants and the suit to slide away and join his on the floor. Her legs slide against the sheets with a subtle impatience, a quiet sigh falling from her lips as she feels Jake’s hands skim along the outside of her thighs, and he takes his time forging a trail of kisses before reaching her centre.

He begins with a special kind of kiss, sucking gently on her clit with every press of his lips, following it up with a rogue lick every second or third go as Amy’s fingers dig into his hair. They tug as he dips lower, circling her entrance with the tip of his tongue, yanking in reprimand when he presses in then pulls away, all far too quickly for her liking.

Amy’s skin feels perfect; so comfortably bare against his own as Jake makes his way back up her body, keeping one hand wrapped around her thigh as he leans in for another kiss, waiting until her lips are well and truly occupied before sliding one - then, two - fingers inside where she’s wanting him the most. She writhes beneath him as he slowly works her up, stoking the flame just enough to push her closer to combustion, feeling the moisture build as her arousal grows with every kiss.

Letting out a shuddered breath, Amy raises her hips to meet Jake’s touch, her yearning obvious - pushing his fingers away and using her free hand to wrap her fingers around his erection, enticing him closer as she twists her wrist with practised ease. Ever willing to follow her lead, Jake shifts until the head of his cock is pressing against her centre, holding onto Amy’s gaze and entering slowly with one smooth stroke.

She sighs in satisfaction as he pushes further in, blinking slowly as their pelvises push up against each other, and for a moment Jake pauses, too caught up in the moment to do anything other than stare. Amy truly was everything he could have ever dreamed of - and by some amazing twist of fate, she’d chosen him over any other.

He thinks of the heart-shaped necklace he bought for her, the same one that sits underneath the glittering tree in her living room, and how he knew it belonged on her from the moment he saw it in the store window. How he’d debated on when to give it to her, knowing the connotation that came from an item of that shape, and how right it had felt to tuck it in with the other presents this morning before he’d left for work.

Because it was true - she could have his heart, in whatever form it came, and wear it around her neck for all the world to see (even if it does sound slightly Game of Thrones-ish). Jake Peralta was totally, completely, and unequivocally in love with Amy Santiago. And even if, right now, he is totally, completely and unequivocally terrified of saying it out loud, he needed her to know just how much a life without her seemed impossible.

He pulls out halfway, dipping his hip slightly as he thrusts back in, holding himself still as her walls pulse around him. Somewhere along the way, tonight had become less about having sex because it’s been A Day and he has a sexy girlfriend, and more about making love with the woman he’s beyond afraid to lose - and it felt kind of perfect. “You should know …” Jake swallows nervously, his mouth suddenly dry. “I need you to know, Ames. When he pointed the gun at me, there was only one thought running through my mind … and it was that I might not ever see you again.”

Smiling softly, Amy reaches out to rest a palm against Jake’s cheek, stroking the edge of his cheekbone with her thumb as her body shifts beneath him. Meeting him halfway for a kiss, her hair splays out on the pillow below as she rests back down, looking up at Jake with a thousand unspoken words lingering between them. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jake. I can’t imagine ..” Shaking her head, she pulls him back down for another kiss, tightening her legs around his waist and lifting her pelvis to meet Jake’s thrusts as they begin to move together.

It’s safe to say that he and Amy have had a lot of sex since becoming Jake and Amy, and each time has been incredible - but there was something about tonight, and the way their bodies just slotted into each other like they’d finally found that perfect match, that made all of the nerves in Jake’s body push into Oh My God mode. Between the kisses, the wandering hands, and the mingling sighs and moans; it doesn’t take long before his thrusts have sped up, temporarily lost in anything other than focusing on how amazing it feels to be inside Amy while her fingernails dig into his butt.

She whispers his name, a warm breath against his shoulder as his face tucks into her neck, her legs beginning to shake as her orgasm climbs ever closer. But Jake wants to show Amy, even if he can’t quite say it yet, just how in love he is - how far he would go for her, how every part of who he is now comes back to being loved by her - and when her hands slide up to the edge of his shoulders in a definite sign that she was moving closer to climax, he slows his thrusts down, desperate to savour the moment.

He watches as Amy’s brow crinkles in protest, pushing her hips hard against his as her impending orgasm begins to slip away - but he knows that a little edging has never been unwelcome, and so he slows down a little more. Still, her fingernails sting against his skin as she lets a huff, instigating a steady rhythm for them as Jake hovers above, and he leans down to take the edge off by scraping his teeth along the edge of her neck just the way she likes.

He slips out of her a moment later, grinning at the groan of protest that falls unbidden from Amy’s mouth and leans in to plant a kiss against her lips before whispering ‘gotta keep you nice and warm, babe.’ Her neck cranes towards his as he pulls away, chasing more, and it’s a request Jake’s never going to deny so he returns to kiss her deeper, letting their tongues slide against each other for a little while as his hands wander further down.

Jake grips his own erection with a steady fist, rotating once or twice - just enough to keep him teetering on the edge - before sliding down the mattress, dotting kisses against Amy’s torso as he makes his intended path clear.

Her thighs feel smooth against Jake’s palms as he traces the curves of her legs, gently nudging one leg higher until it’s resting against his shoulder. Completely unable to resist, he sinks his teeth into her inner thigh, suckling just enough to know there’ll be a mark there tomorrow, soothing the ache with gentle kisses as Amy moans softly above him. The press of her hand against the back of his head silently encourages Jake to move closer to where she wants him, and after digging his fingers into her hips he is only too happy to oblige.

He takes a slow lick, pushing his tongue against her folds and sighing at the taste of them, the mixture of Amy and a little bit of his own pre-cum. (The switch from condoms to an implanted birth control was recent, and - dare he say - glorious.) He pushes forward for another sample, bending slightly so that the bridge of his nose presses against her clit, darting his tongue in and out of her centre as she writhes underneath his touch.

The feeling of her fingers digging into his hair, and the tightening of her upper thighs against his neck, was the stuff that any great sexual fantasy could ever be constructed of - made all the better by that sweet moment of realisation that this was his life now. He could do this to Amy now, and not be rudely interrupted by an alarm clock pulling him out of a dream. He could feel her this way, know her body better than she knew it herself, and Jake didn’t need to escape a hostage situation on Christmas Eve to know that he truly is the luckiest man alive.

Using his thumb to circle her clit, Jake increases the intensity of his movements as Amy thrashes underneath his touch, pushing her lower body off the mattress as it all become too much. She calls out a mixture of Jake and babe to his apartment ceiling, too overcome with the way her body was riding the wave of pleasure to care about volume, and Jake stays in position, taking all she has to offer as slowly her grip around his body loosens.

Panting in the comedown, it takes a moment or two before Amy can move properly, bending her elbows to raise herself up slightly and watch as Jake continues his gentle assault on her body. “Holy fuck, Jake - that was ..” her voice fades away, raising a hand and then dropping it just as quickly, flopping back down with a satisfied sigh. He grins, taking one final lick before casting a tender bite just to the right of her mound, leaving the evidence of her arousal against her skin as he nuzzles into the curve of her hip.

Grabbing an abandoned pillow, Jake rises and places it perpendicular to Amy’s pelvis; hovering over her still slightly shaking body and gently encouraging her to roll over, positioning the pillow until it lifts her hips in just the right way. He covers her back with his own body as his cock slides back into home, the change in angles eliciting a moan from both of their mouths, and Jake’s teeth sink gently into Amy’s shoulder blade as he begins to pump his hips in perfectly fluid strokes.

Amy’s left hand flails out to the mattress, perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto Jake’s sheets as the two of them begin to move in sync - both of them immediately getting lost in the moment, in this position that was so much better than doggy style - because this way they could feel each other completely, could feel the nerves quivering underneath their skin as they raced closer towards the finish line.

The feeling of Amy climaxing around his tongue only minutes before had made Jake’s cock harder than ever, and the sensation of her warm body surrounding him now was pushing him closer to losing it completely. He mouths I love you in-between kisses and licks against her sweaty skin, reaching out to link their fingers together as he pushes harder, sliding his left hand between the pillow and thrumming a delicate pattern against Amy’s sensitive clit.

“You feel so good Ames, oh god I’m going to come soon … you’re so amazing.” His forehead presses between the middle of her shoulder blades, leaving the I want this forever part of his sentence unspoken as he lets out a stuttered moan.

Her legs stretch wider apart, searching for that perfect angle as she moans a stretched out yesss, and Jake really increases his pace when she pauses, pushing her abdomen into the pillow and meeting every thrust with a series of gasping breaths.

His name falls out of Amy’s mouth in a series of broken syllables as she climaxes, her entire body writhing and coaxing Jake’s own completion out of him as he buries his head into Amy’s neck and lets go completely, spilling inside her with an intensity he hasn’t felt in the longest time.

Wrapping his arms around Amy’s middle as their heavy breaths begin to slow down, Jake pulls out, twisting to curl his body around Amy’s and nuzzle into her side. Her still slightly shaking hand reaches back, caressing the base of his neck and humming in contentment, stretching her legs out against Jake’s as she moves. “Well, Peralta .. I’d say you definitely warmed me up.”

He grins against her skin, peppering kisses along her upper arm as he speaks. “You think it was worth running into the freezing water for?”

Amy’s hand falls away as she shuffles in his arms, twisting carefully within his embrace until they’re facing each other, pushing a stray lock of hair away from his forehead as she nods. “You’re worth doing anything for, Jake.” Her palm, now entirely warm, caresses his cheek as she pulls him in for a kiss, leaving another against the tip of his nose as they part. “You’re everything. I hope you know that.”

Jake nods, a noice dying in his throat as he chooses to respond with another kiss before he can ruin the moment. One day, some day soon, he would find a way to tell Amy how he felt about her - but for now, he needed to be here with the woman he loves, and feel her soft body in his arms as the exhaustion of the day finally begins to catch up with them.

It’s completely domestic and entirely perfect how they ready themselves for bed; Amy sliding on a pair of Jake’s boxers as she returns from the bathroom, slipping underneath the covers and gravitating towards his warmth without hesitation. There are whispered goodnights and gentle kisses, arms and legs intertwining as though they were always supposed to be, and a smile that refuses to leave Jake’s face as he begins to drift off to sleep.

Let the movies have their action-packed explosions and damsels in distress - his reality kicked it’s butt, any day of the week. There’s an incredibly intelligent, stupidly beautiful woman laying beside him - one that cares for him, worries about his safety, and occupies a little more of his heart with every passing day. And truly, that’s greater than anything that any blockbuster could possibly bring to the table.

(Although, if he ever needed to, he would totally jump off the roof of a building. But only to save the day, and clearly only for Amy.)

(Okay, maybe a little for him as well … but mainly, the Amy thing.)

#some peraltiago smut to celebrate their engagement airing anniversary because thatsa thing right?#anyways I hope you like this!#my writing #peraltiago smut #living vicariously through them? its more likely than you think #smut and fluff #b99 fic #b99 fanfic

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alwaysmychoices · 4 years

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Blind Date

Synopsis: Charlie Greene is finally ready to move on from Ethan Ramsey, and the first step? A blind date with someone else. When Ethan found out, he went out drinking to forget his jealousy, and in downtown Boston, all it took was a call for them to find each other again...

Chapter 7 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 7k+ (sorry it’s so long, but it’s good!)

Tag List included at the end - if you want to be added or removed, let me know!

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Charlie’s pager reverberated in her small locker, dancing as it vibrated against the metal. Charlie jumped, staring at the small device with dread, and she scrambled to reach it. Her stomach sank as her fears were confirmed.

She was needed in the diagnostic unit ASAP.

Charlie read the rolling alert again and again, waiting for it to change.

This couldn’t be.

She’d followed the plan perfectly. It was 7:45, over half an hour after she was supposed to clock out. She’d taken every necessary precaution to avoid suspicion and quietly leave work without anyone realizing where she was going. She’d checked with every patient, every attending she’d reported to today, and even the diagnostic unit itself to make sure there was nothing left for her to do.

At 7:30, she’d gone into the locker room and waited to change until the crowd emptied out. She sent her work clothes home with Sienna, and all she had to do now was covertly walk out of the hospital, call an Uber, and make it downtown before 8:30. If everything went according to plan, no one would know that she was going on a date, especially not Ethan Ramsey.

With slow horror, Charlie turned to face her reflection in the nearest mirror.

Charlie had changed from her frumpy scrubs to the tight, black dress Kyra gifted her for the occasion. It wasn’t the type of dress that Charlie usually wore, which was precisely why Kyra bought it for her. The tight, structured fabric left little to the imagination, especially with the high slit on her right thigh. It was bold and daring, and Kyra hoped that the dress’s power would encourage Charlie to be just as confident.

But now it just made Charlie squirm.

She’d already finished her grand yet quick makeover. Her day-old curls were now teased into a purposeful, sexy ponytail. With a few dabs of concealer and a layer of red lipstick, she’d erased the anxious, sleepless nights she’d wasted worrying about tonight.

She looked good. Suspiciously good. The kind of good that meant she obviously had plans tonight.

“Fuck,” Charlie cursed, checking the pager one more time. She knew she couldn’t ignore it, especially when she was still in the building. It was her job to answer.

Her fingers tight around the pager, Charlie searched her locker one more time for a hidden pair of scrubs, but she came up empty-handed. With more time, she might have been desperate enough to dig through the nearby lockers until she found something else to wear. Had she known Jackie or Sienna’s combination, she surely would have borrowed their clothes, no matter what was in there.

But she’d already taken too long.

So, with a deep breath, Charlie twisted her face into that of firm determination, and she started walking to the diagnostic team’s office. Her heels click-clacked against the linoleum floors, and if everyone wasn’t already staring, they certainly were now. Her skin burned under the attention, but she moved onward, projecting a confident air of disinterest to separate herself from the rumors.

She just needed to walk in, do whatever she was paged for, and leave.

Maybe Ethan wouldn’t even be there… He wasn’t the one who paged.

He didn’t like to listen to gossip. He might not ever find out that she was on her way to a date.

But of course, that would have been too easy.

Before she even reached the door, she saw Ethan’s absurdly tall frame bent over his desk, engrossed in a chart. The rest of the team were settled in the office, each at different points in the room. All of them would see her.

“Fuck,” she muttered for the second time.

Charlie hesitated at the door but forced herself to open it, drawing everyone’s attention as she announced her arrival, “I was paged.”

No member of the diagnostics team could remember being more shocked by Charlie than they were today. No wild diagnosis nor earth-shattering hospital gossip could compare to the wide-eyed silence they gave her.

Of course, none were more stunned than Ethan.

Once his eyes landed on her, he couldn’t tear them away. He’d seen Charlie at varying states, some more vulnerable or confident than others. He knew her worst and best. She was never more beautiful than she was peacefully asleep on his bed, but surely, this came close.

But she wasn’t made up for him.

This was for someone else.

Ethan’s jaw tightened, and the intensity of his stare forced Charlie’s eyes away from his in shame.

Not that she had anything to be ashamed of.

He hurt her and pushed her away. He could have had her. He chose not to.

She had the right to move on. She had the right to dress up and meet new people, and what she did with them was none of Ethan’s business.

So, why did she feel like she’d betrayed him?

“Damn, Charlie,” Baz was the first to speak, seemingly oblivious to Ethan’s rigid reaction, “Where are you going dressed like that?”

“Uh,” Charlie stammered. She hadn’t expected the question, and she struggled to think of an answer to deflect with, “I’m just meeting a friend.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth. She didn’t even know who she was going to meet yet. That was the point of a blind date.

“Oh, really?” Baz didn’t take the hint and innocently pushed her further, “I’m planning on heading out tonight, too. Where are you going?”

Panic settled in Charlie’s stomach as she realized she couldn’t escape the conversation, and Ethan recognized the flush to her cheeks as she shrugged, “Some bar downtown. I don’t really remember the name.”

This time, she was lying. She knew exactly where she was going. She was just too afraid of Baz showing up to tell him.

“Those are the best nights – when you’re just running all over town with no real idea where you’re going. I’ll admit that I’m jealous, Charlie,” Baz conceded, “Why don’t you text me and we can meet up at some point? I love your friends.”

Baz meant it innocently, but Ethan watched him like a hawk, carefully dissecting every word he said just to be sure he wasn’t flirting with Charlie.

“Baz,” June sighed in exasperation, “She’s going on a date.” She couldn’t believe her colleague had been so obtuse, even though she found the whole ordeal mildly amusing. She offered Charlie a consoling smile, and Charlie weakly returned it.

Baz’s eyes went wide in shock and then understanding, and he sheepishly rubbed his neck as he apologized, “Oh… That makes sense. Sorry, Charlie.”

“It’s all good,” Charlie felt like she might throw up. This whole interaction would have been uncomfortable on its own, but with Ethan in the room, it was overwhelming.

She didn’t dare look at him after June explained the situation. She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. Did he even care? Or was he just protective about what he’d once claimed as his own?

Ethan didn’t understand what he felt. Everything was jumbled and chaotic, flashing with bursts of jealousy and disappointment and irritation. Whatever it was rooted deep in his limbs, and it spread through his veins like wildfire. He was overwhelmed and shocked, and he felt like he was drowning as his gaze turned hard.

He couldn’t let her go to another man looking like that. He had to stop her and distract her.

She wanted to be his. She was his.

Ethan felt a profound claim over Charlie’s affection. She was his protégé, his friend, and his colleague, but she was more. She was the person who made him laugh. She was the girl who had tangled in his sheets and brandished the scent of his cologne as she paraded around his apartment in his clothes. She was his Charlie.

Only a week ago, she could have been in his bed.

But he’d said no…

He reminded himself that he was the one who pushed her away. He was always the one who pushed her away, even if he occasionally lost his strength in doing so. It was for the best that they were separated.

Still… he’d never imagined having to watch her move on.

Before he acted like an asshole and ruined her night with unnecessary work, Ethan said, “I had Baz page you to run a few tests on Mr. Johnson, but I didn’t realize you had plans. Go ahead, and enjoy your night. I’ll handle it.”

Charlie met his stare for the second time, losing whatever polite smile she’d plastered on her face to conceal her embarrassment. A small, dissatisfied frown settled on her lips as she nodded in his direction, and she swallowed her disappointment as she thanked him.

Why was she disappointed? This was what she wanted. But there was a small part of her that hoped he would stop her, that he wouldn’t let her go and that she wouldn’t have to move on. She just wanted to hold on a little bit longer.

“Thank you, Dr. Ramsey,” Charlie dropped eye contact, turning to her other coworkers to bid them goodnight. They echoed her sentiments, and Charlie wasted no time in leaving the office, walking as fast as she could without seeming too desperate to leave.

Ethan felt glued to his seat, watching as her figure disappeared down the hallway and listening for the final click-clack of her shoes. Then she was gone…

All of the air seemed to escape Ethan’s lungs, and he felt like he was choking on the weight of the realization that Charlie was lost to him. She was going to another man. She was actively trying to move on from him, if she hadn’t already. She didn’t want to stay in their confusing, volatile relationship.

And even if Ethan was the one who instigated their separation, he was devastated.

Not that he would admit it. Or show it.

Ethan stood, seemingly as stern as ever, and collected his files to begin testing his patient.

“Well… That was super embarrassing,” Baz broke the silence, leaned back in his chair as his hand washed over his face, “I never knew I was that dumb.”

“I knew,” June added, not looking up from her medical journal.

Baz shook his head, letting out a sigh as he offered, “Well, I’m still going out tonight. You interested, Hirata?”

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged,” June declined.

Baz didn’t seem too concerned with rejection, and preparing for another one, he turned to Ethan, “What about you, Ramsey?”

In all of the time they’d worked together, Baz had asked Ethan to go out with him countless times, and Ethan had never said yes. Ethan rarely went out, and when he did, he had a drink or two at Donahue’s and went home. He didn’t run around Boston recklessly searching for adventure, and he certainly wouldn’t have done so with his coworker.

But when Ethan imagined returning to his empty apartment – the one he’d shared with Charlie on many nights – and jealously mourning his loss as he drank alone, anything else seemed preferable.

To his own surprise, he accepted, “Sure. We can leave after I finish the tests.”

Only a block from her destination, Charlie had no distraction to keep her from thinking about what she was doing. After being caught by her pager and revealing her plans to her colleagues, there was no catastrophe. No one else stopped her in the hospital. No surprising patient kept her at work, and no horrific traffic accident prevented her from getting a car downtown. And deep down, Charlie hated it.

She was really doing this.

She was going on a date with someone else.

The idea had been Kyra’s. When Charlie declared her intention to move on from Ethan, Kyra had a million ideas, most of which included kissing strangers until she forgot what Ethan tasted like. This had been the tamest solution, and Charlie agreed, picturing the whole thing as a hypothetical rather than her weekend plans.

Her friends were quick to suggest potential dates. Bryce produced a surgical intern as his nomination, hailing him as one of the “lesser assholes” on the team who would be a perfect rebound because he was too much of a workaholic to establish a serious relationship. Sienna, on the other hand, introduced a charming man she’d met in a coffee shop that oozed commitment and stability. Elijah similarly suggested a nice, stable friend, but Charlie declined both. Jackie thought that the idea of a blind date was ridiculous and suggested they go to a club, get shit-faced, and encourage Charlie to hook up with an attractive stranger.

It was Kyra who suggested David Abbott, a tech guy she’d met at a yoga class. He’d just sold a start-up and was trying to find a healthy work-life balance. They’d run into each other a few more times on Kyra’s mission to experience life and David’s quest to see what he’d missed when he’d dedicated his youth to his company. He was friendly, respectful, and too interested in finding himself to settle down.

He was perfect.

But all Charlie could think about was the way Ethan looked at her when he realized what she was doing…

The car ride downtown ended too quickly, and Charlie hesitated to step out of the car after paying the driver. She stood on the sidewalk, ogling at the tall building as her determination wavered.

The sun had long set, and a gentle breeze coated Charlie’s bare skin. Summer was nearly over, but Charlie hardly remembered where it had gone. As she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass windows, she felt very different from the girl who arrived in Boston last summer. She’d been so many women in this city. The scared intern, the woman bent on survival, and then a ghost of the woman who had loved Ethan Ramsey. Now, it was time to be someone else…

Charlie counted to ten and then stepped inside the luxe water-front hotel, and she made her way to the trendy rooftop bar. The Boston cityscape glittered back at her, illuminating beautiful young people as they milled about. The Boston Harbor reflected the city back into the sky, and under the hazy glow, everything seemed new and bright.

Charlie texted David that she’d arrived, and as she moved through the crowd of people toward the bar, she hoped that she had more time. Maybe he was in traffic or was running behind.

She ordered a mojito, and as she waited for her drink, she admired the view. It was so idyllic – the water, the summer night sky, the first date with a handsome stranger, and the trendy bar where not a soul recognized her. So, why did Charlie feel claustrophobic and cagey? Guilt nagged at her heart, punishing her for a perceived transgression against a man who wasn’t even hers to betray.

She felt restless, and her fingers itched to text David with a feigned emergency. It would have been easy to leave, and the elevator doors seemed to call to her.

You don’t have to do this, they implored, You don’t have to let go of Ethan.

She didn’t decide fast enough.

The bartender shoved her mojito at her, and she ambled off to the railing, staring at the scene below.

“Charlie?”

Surprised by the sound of her name, Charlie shifted her attention to the man approaching her.

“David?” she asked, though she doubted it could be anyone else.

“Guilty as charged,” David produced a hand for her to shake, sparing her from hugging a stranger, and Charlie accepted it thankfully.

As she appraised him, she noted that he looked nothing like Ethan. He was younger, though he shared lines etched into his face by stress. David was shorter, though not by too much, and his fashionably cut hair was blonde. He looked at ease in the bar as his brown eyes surveyed the scene, and he stood differently than Ethan, too. He was open and vulnerable, and Charlie doubted that he was capable of feeling emotion without openly expressing it.

He was everything that Ethan wasn’t.

And that irked Charlie.

Charlie followed David as he led her to a seat by the water. She sat opposite him, her spine straight and her grip on her drink delicate. She felt like she was sitting for an interview rather than a date, but if he was alarmed by her formality, he didn’t let on.

“So, before I embarrass myself, I must confess that I know nothing about medicine. Everything I know comes from Greys Anatomy and the time I went to the emergency room after breaking my leg skiing in college,” David laughed as he took a sip of his drink. It was tall and dark, but Charlie didn’t recognize it. “However, Kyra assures me that you are extremely impressive, and I don’t doubt it.”

Charlie’s posture softened at the compliment, and she blushed, “Kyra has also told me that three separate coffee shops have cappuccinos so delicious that you’ll cry at the first taste, so I don’t know if I would take her word on it.”

David laughed so hard that he had to put down his drink to keep from spilling it, and when he looked back at her, there was a sparkle in his eyes that piqued Charlie’s interest.

“Have you ever tasted a cappuccino that made you cry?” David challenged.

“Not yet, but I’m open to the experience.”

David was smirking.

Charlie found herself smirking back.

“So far, you’re exactly as great as Kyra said. Unless you’ve got some wild hidden skeleton in your closet,” he shrugged, “Like maybe this all a rouse to murder me in an alley.”

“Damn, you ruined my plans,” Charlie played along, “I guess I should go home.”

“I swear, all the good ones are serial killers,” David shook his head with feigned disappointment, and it made Charlie smile.

She added ‘funny´ to her list of what she knew about David.

“What about you? Living out a bucket list at 30? That’s a little suspicious,” Charlie teased, though her curiosity was apparent.

“I saw it in a romantic comedy and thought it would make women fall in love with me.”

Charlie gasped, shoving David lightly with her leg, and he beamed back.

“Alright, alright. I’m kidding,” David conceded, “I spent my entire twenties trying to make something of myself. I skipped parties, dates, holidays, everything. As ridiculous as this sounds, I loved my company. Like, true love. Like, someone should have sent me to therapy sort of love,” David quipped and seemed satisfied that Charlie was amused, “When I sold my company, I didn’t know what to love anymore. I’m on a quest for love. I think that’s what we’re all looking for, really.”

Charlie hummed appreciatively, sipping from her mojito. If he could dedicate himself so fully to moving on from the loss of something he loved, maybe she could do the same. Maybe they could do it together.

“How philosophical for someone I met fifteen minutes ago,” Charlie teased.

“Ahh, but you haven’t left yet. So, I must not have scared you off,” David celebrated.

And he hadn’t.

Three drinks later, they were still seated by the water, talking. The bar’s crowd expanded, and more than a few patrons eyed their seats enviously. The music had gotten louder, too, so they had to lean closer to share their funny stories and humorous observations. More than once, David’s hand landed on her knee when he leaned in to tell a joke, and Charlie let him.

She liked David Abbott, and the date was going well.

Still, when she smiled at David, she thought about Ethan.

He was always in the corner of her mind. She wondered what he would do if he were here, what he would say or drink. Where would he have taken her on a blind date? What sort of first impression would he have left? Would he have kissed her goodnight or said goodbye at the door?

She tried to put that out of her mind as she listened to David share a story about a crazy roommate in college, and she was so determined to be entertained that she didn’t notice the two men enter the bar.

Because if she had, she wouldn’t have cared about David’s story. She might not have even cared about David.

“This place is packed!” Baz felt like he had to yell to make sure Ethan heard him, and Ethan nodded his agreement, remaining silent.

Ethan was eager to start drinking, and he didn’t care how busy the bar was. He’d agreed to go out with Baz with the sole intention of distracting himself from Charlie. Sober, he couldn’t get her out of his mind, and he couldn’t sit under the weight of his regret and jealousy.

“I’m going to circle the bar to find a place to sit! You stay here and look for one, too!” Baz suggested, “If either of us finds something, we’ll text each other, okay?”

He agreed, and Baz set off to make his loop.

Ethan surveyed the landscape. Everyone was young and hip, and it made Ethan feel old in comparison. Several women were looking in his direction, and for a moment, he was tempted to approach them. It would serve Charlie right. She should be just as jealous as he was…

But when he imagined taking another woman home just to spite her, he felt sick. He didn’t want to hurt Charlie more than he already had. And he really didn’t want anyone else.

So, he quickly averted his eyes and searched the edge of the party, where most of the seats had been filled by couples. He craned his neck to see if anything was available, and that’s when he saw her.

Charlie.

Leaning into another man. Listening to him. With his hand on her knee. And she was smiling.

Ethan’s world seemed to stop moving. Everything else faded to the back. He couldn’t hear the music or the crowd, but he could hear her laugh. He could see her smile and feel the warmth, even at a distance. She glowed under the moonlight, and in his gut, Ethan knew she was happy.

He stumbled back, unable to look away.

It was one thing to know that she should move on and find someone else.

It was another to watch her do it.

He wanted to intervene and tell her that he’d changed his mind – that he’d seen the light and knew that he needed her in his life.

But that wasn’t fair either.

Ethan’s phone buzzed, and he fumbled for the device, only looking away from Charlie to read the text on his phone.

Baz: it’s full here. any luck?

Ethan: None. Should we leave?

Baz: meet you at the elevator

Ethan exhaled a deep sigh of relief, eager to get the hell out of there and never return. But when he started to walk away, he hesitated. He didn’t want to leave her… He didn’t want to let her go.

In the end, he didn’t let go, not really. He just left the bar and went to another, and he drank until he stopped hearing her laugh ring in his ears.

Charlie and David stayed at the bar for a little while longer, sharing weird experiences in public transit and funny stories about their college roommates. David suggested getting pizza, and when Charlie admitted that she’d only had a protein bar for dinner, he wouldn’t let her say no to a slice. David paid the tab, and as soon as they were in the elevator, he began bragging about the best pizza place in town and how he and all of his friends had frequented it back in the day.

It was close enough to walk, and they fell into a comfortable rhythm. It was there that Charlie realized that this could have been more than a first date. It could have been spending the night together or dinner next Friday. It could be a weekend out of town to see the leaves in the fall. It could be dinner at the loft to meet all of her friends. It could be real.

And suddenly, Charlie really missed Ethan.

They were only a block from the pizza place when Charlie’s phone buzzed in her purse. She fished it out as they waited at a crosswalk, and she twisted her face in surprise at the caller ID.

Baz.

“Sorry about this, a friend is calling,” Charlie apologized to David, though he assured her that she didn’t need to.

When she accepted the call, she could hardly hear over the roaring bar in the background. But Baz was there. He was laughing and seemed oblivious that Charlie had even answered.

“Hello? Baz?” Charlie called out, “Are you there?”

“Charlie!” Baz exclaimed, so excited that she wondered if he had forgotten that he even called. He was definitely drunk, “You’ve got to get down here! We’re having the best timeeeeeeee.”

“Maybe you should call it a night, Baz,” Charlie warned him softly, crossing the street by David’s side.

“Noooo, I couldn’t do that! Ethan would be crushed.”

Charlie’s heart stopped. Ethan.

“He’s soooo drunk, Charlie. He’s, like, dancing,” Baz confided, “Between you and me, I think he’s pretty far gone. Somebody should probably call him a car.”

If Baz was this drunk and was worried about Ethan, something had to be wrong. Charlie felt sick.

“Is he okay? Are you okay?” Charlie’s voice had taken an edge of panic, and David looked to her in concern.

“I’m fine,” Baz insisted, “But Ethan… I mean, he is drunk, Charlie.”

“Can you take him home?” Charlie felt like she was begging. Ethan didn’t do this. Someone needed to help.

“But we’re having a great time!” Baz huffed, sounding like a child annoyed at having to end his party.

“Baz,” Charlie was frustrated, “He needs to go home. You need to take him home. Where are you? I can send an Uber.”

“Are you coming to the bar?” Baz must not have heard all she said, or maybe he was too drunk to care, “We’re at The Hub. I can’t wait to see you!”

Click.

Charlie’s face paled as she pulled the phone away from her and confirmed that he’d hung up on her. Anxiety built in her chest, making it tight and uncomfortable. She imagined Ethan, too drunk and under the faulty care of an intoxicated Baz, and she wanted to throw up.

She hadn’t realized that they’d reached the pizza restaurant until David stopped walking.

Distracted, she stopped and looked to David, waiting for some kind of cue to enter the small restaurant. She couldn’t think about sitting down and eating, not after Baz’s call. She felt like she needed to get there as soon as she could and save them before something horrible happened, but she didn’t feel like she had the license. She was supposed to forget Ethan, not run to him on her first date with someone else.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” David phrased it like a question, shoving his hands in his pockets, but he knew it was the truth.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie confessed, “I’m just really worried about my friend.”

David nodded like he understood, “You sure you’re not just ditching?”

“I’m not ditching,” Charlie shook her head, “I had fun.”

“I did, too,” David confessed, “Raincheck on the pizza?”

“Deal,” Charlie agreed quickly, though something felt strange about her promise. Was she really sure she would make it to the second date?

“Good luck with your friend,” David wanted to be encouraging, but he really didn’t want to let her go. He liked Charlie more than he expected he would, but he sensed the flight in her. There was something in her eyes that made him unconvinced that he would ever see her again. He kissed her cheek just in case it really was goodbye.

“Thank you for a nice time, David,” Charlie didn’t want to seem final, but as she awkwardly waved goodbye, it felt final anyway.

The Hub was only a few blocks away, and after a short walk, Charlie found herself in a small, crowded pub. It was impossible to hear anything over the thundering music and conversation, so she pushed through the crowd to find a familiar face.

She found Baz first.

He was sitting at the bar, beer in hand as he talked to another man. The closer she got, she realized that they were debating politics. Though they agreed on most topics, their remaining disagreements made the conversation contentious and animated. Stacks of empty shot glasses sat in front of Baz, and there was no way he’d finished all of them. At least some of them must have been Ethan’s.

Charlie fought through the throngs of people to reach Baz, and she tapped on his shoulder to get his attention.

“Charlie!” Baz exclaimed, wrapping Charlie in a hug, and she was too surprised to reciprocate. Baz pulled her to his side, “This is my friend Charlie! Charlie, this is Damien. Damien doesn’t think that corporations are responsible for going carbon neutral in the next decade! Can you believe that?”

Baz fumed, ready to start a war with Charlie at his side, but Charlie merely shook her head, leaning to his ear to ask, “Where is Ethan?”

Baz looked around quickly, seeming surprised that Ethan wasn’t beside him. After a beat, he remembered and yelled, “He went to the back!”

“Okay,” Charlie took her phone, opening the Uber app and handing it to him, “Call a car to your apartment. We’re leaving as soon as I find Ethan, alright?”

Baz pouted but complied. Trusting that he was drunk enough to go home but not in immediate danger, Charlie left Baz to finish his debate. The space was small enough that it only took Charlie a few minutes to reach the back of the bar, though she had to shove several patrons just to get by. They mumbled insults as she passed, yet she hardly heard them. She needed to find Ethan.

And she did.

Ethan Ramsey was leaned against the wall, too dizzy to stand straight. He’d been marooned in this corner when his latest drink made the world spin too fast, and he couldn’t collect himself enough to walk back to the front. He’d tried once, only to nearly fall on his face. So, he’d camped out here, watching the partygoers. There were too many couples looking happy, and he rolled his eyes at every single one. Why had they gotten it all right?

Ethan’s vision was hazy, so he didn’t believe it when he saw Charlie approach him.

Relief surged through Charlie’s veins, bringing tears to her eyes as she approached him. Instinctively, she wanted to hold him and kiss that stupid expression off his face, but she felt held back.

“Charlie?” Ethan slurred, still convinced he imagined her.

“Come on,” Charlie held out her hand, “I’m taking you home.”

He wanted to tell her that he’d seen the two of them together, that he was jealous and miserable because of it. But instead, he whined, “I’m dizzy.”

“That’s okay,” Charlie’s voice was soft as she hooked her arm around his waist, stabilizing him. He leaned into her just enough to walk straight, and together, they moved through the crowd. By the time they reached Baz, he had successfully ordered a car, and Charlie fished Ethan’s credit card out of his wallet to cover the tab. She forced Baz to end his debate with his new friend, and she towed the two men out of the bar.

On the sidewalk, Baz and Ethan gulped the fresh air. Ethan leaned back against the façade of the building, trying to catch his breath, and while Charlie stood back, she watched him with concern.

Baz was telling her something funny about the bartender, but Charlie hardly heard a word.

When the car arrived, they squeezed into the backseat. Ethan got in first, leaning against the cool window to sober up, and when Charlie slid in beside him, his arm wrapped around her waist as if anchoring himself to her. Baz was the last to enter the car, and he kept talking. The driver entertained him, laughing at whatever Baz’s joke was.

“I have a secret,” Ethan’s whisper was soft as he leaned into Charlie, his head resting on her shoulder.

Charlie’s hands were in his hair, massaging soothing circles in his scalp as she asked, “What is it?”

“You can’t tell Charlie,” Ethan declared, his words slurring.

“I won’t,” Charlie assured him, feeling a tad guilty at the deception.

“I saw her on her date,” he confessed, “And I miss her. So much. I want her to be happy… But I miss her.”

Charlie’s chest tightened, and her heart raced, “You see her every day.”

Ethan shook his head, “She doesn’t want to be around me. I hurt her. I meant to hurt her. I want her to find better than me.” His voice wavered, thick with emotion.

“She misses you, too,” Charlie professed breathlessly, suddenly aware of every missing piece she’d been looking for with David.

She missed Ethan. She’d missed Ethan from the moment she lost him in the spring.

Ethan hummed, his eyelids heavy as he fell further into Charlie.

At some point, they had reached Baz’s apartment building. He gave Charlie a tight hug, disturbing Ethan’s peaceful rest, and he bid them both goodnight.

“This was so much fun! We have to do this another time!” Baz called out after he’d already closed the door, cupping his mouth to make sure they’d heard it. Charlie laughed, watching as he waved until they faded into the distance.

Even with the open seat, Charlie didn’t move from the middle. She held Ethan in her arms, steadying him as dizziness and nausea gripped him. Even in his drunken stupor, he promised himself to never drink this much again.

Ethan’s apartment wasn’t much farther away, and Charlie thanked the driver as she slipped out of the backseat. She offered her arm to Ethan as he stood, and he wrapped himself around her. Though he towered over Charlie, he walked in step with her, arm around her waist and head bent to hers. He managed to give her the key to let her in the building, and he gagged at the sudden movement of the elevator. Charlie’s hand ran the length of his back to keep him calm.

When they entered his apartment, Jenner roused from his slumber to greet them. He barked excitedly at Charlie, and she smiled at him, showering him in compliments as she promised to pet him soon.

“I feel sick,” Ethan announced, eyes hooded, and she swore he was turning green.

“Okay,” Charlie soothed his hair, feeling the sweat on his brow, “Let’s go to the bathroom.”

Ethan didn’t object as she steered him through his apartment, leading him to his master bathroom. He dropped to the floor, relieved by the cold tile, and Charlie wet a cold rag to cool him down.

“How are you feeling?” she asked tenderly, kicking off her high heels to kneel beside him.

“I feel fine,” Ethan lied, “I just need a cold shower and I’ll be perfect-“ Ethan didn’t get to finish that thought before another wave of nausea hit, and he scrambled to the toilet bowl, throwing up hours of vodka shots and pretzels. Charlie sat with him through it, tracing patterns on her back to soothe him.

Even in his clouded state of mind, he appreciated that she was there.

When he was done, he grimaced, “I think I’m dead.”

“You just threw up. You’ll be fine,” Charlie rolled her eyes, smiling at him as if he hadn’t just puked in front of her. She offered a washcloth to wipe his mouth with, which he accepted, and then a little cup of mouthwash, “Gargle this.”

“I might throw it up.”

“You won’t if you don’t swallow it,” Charlie shoved the small cup at him, and he begrudgingly took it.

Ethan gargled the mouth wash before spitting it back up in the toilet bowl. He flushed it down and stood, feeling shaky and exhausted.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Charlie offered, holding his hand.

Ethan nodded, failing to find words that sat well on his stomach. He wanted to thank her, but he worried that if he spoke too much, he would start vomiting words instead of pretzel.

Holding on for stability and comfort, Ethan let Charlie lead him back to his bedroom. He kicked at his shoes, struggling to get him off his feet as Charlie pulled back the duvet. He peeled off his clothes, throwing them in a pile by his bed, and he fell into the cool sheets with a relieved sigh.

“Roll on your side. You’re not going to sleep on your back, okay? Do you promise me?” Charlie’s voice was surprisingly authoritative, and though the room was still spinning, he did as she said. She didn’t want to leave him alone, not when she’d just watched him throw up a shelf worth of alcohol, but she wasn’t sure if she could stay.

“Are you-“ Ethan swallowed, looking queasy, “leaving?”

Ethan’s eyes opened fully. This time, he could see her without blurry edges or double vision. She looked so pretty, so concerned…

He looked hurt and dejected by the idea of her leaving, and her stomach dipped.

“I probably should…” Charlie didn’t sound sure of herself.

Ethan nodded like he understood, but his head felt like it had gone through a blender. He couldn’t really process anything other than she was here.

“Stay until I fall asleep,” he murmured, eyes already fluttering closed.

Charlie couldn’t say no.

As she sat on the bed beside him, she tried to convince herself that it wouldn’t be long. Soon, he would be asleep. Then, she could leave. She just had to wait.

“Just until you fall asleep,” Charlie was mostly talking to herself as Ethan flipped on his other side to face her. She couldn’t resist the urge to smooth his hair out of his face, eyes soft with worry.

Ethan’s arm draped over her waist lazily. His head fell to the pillow beside hers, his body warmth radiating to Charlie’s skin. He felt warm and vulnerable and, despite being sick, at ease. And somehow Charlie felt at home.

“My Charlie…” Ethan murmured, half-asleep but smiling, and knowing he couldn’t see her, Charlie allowed herself to smile as her heart swelled with affection.

My Ethan, she thought.

What a fitting end to a first date. All she proved was that she would always run to Ethan, but instead of being disappointed in herself, she stayed in the moment and weakly promised herself that she wouldn’t do it again.

But she had a habit of breaking promises when it came to Ethan…

The next morning, Ethan woke with a start. His head throbbed, and his throat burned with acid from the night before. The act of sitting up in bed nearly made him lose whatever food was left in his stomach, and he held onto the headboard to stabilize himself. Even with the lights off and every curtain drawn, it was too bright in his room.

“What the fuck?” Ethan groaned, taking long deep breaths to get himself together.

His eyes fell to the empty, rumpled sheets beside him.

She left, he realized.

He knew she would. She even warned him the night before. Yet waking up without her felt wrong and unexpected.

“Stop it,” he chastised himself, “You pushed her away.”

Ethan hauled himself out of bed, feeling gross and in desperate need of a shower. He pulled on a t-shirt from his closet and stumbled out of his bedroom. He was on a mission to make himself a hot cup of coffee, no matter how hungover he was. He fumbled with the kettle, cursing himself for not owning a simple coffee maker, and he went through the process, occasionally covering his eyes to shield himself from the sun coming through his windows.

Click.

Ethan jumped, turning his attention to his front door as the lock clicked into place and the knob turned. Who the hell would be coming in his apartment? Fuck, was his dad making a surprise visit? He couldn’t see him like this. He didn’t want to see anyone. He just wanted to hide in his bed.

Just as Ethan feared, the door swung open, and there was a bark on the other side.

“What the fuck?” Ethan murmured.

As if released from his leash, Jenner bounded into the apartment, running up to Ethan and rising on his hind legs to get his master’s attention. Ethan absently scratched his ears, eyes still wide as he tried to understand what was happening.

Then he saw a flash of blonde hair.

Charlie entered the apartment, empty leash in one hand and his apartment key in the other. She was still wearing her dress from the night before, though it looked rumbled and disheveled now. Ethan slowly realized that she’d slept here. And she’d stayed.

“Oh, you’re up,” Charlie looked surprised to see him, “I just… um, took Jenner for a walk.”

“Thank you,” Ethan couldn’t wipe the look of shock off his face, “I didn’t expect to see you.”

Charlie shrugged, chewing on her lower lip as she tried to seem nonchalant, but how do you appear casual after dropping everything to pick up an old fling and spending hours caring for him?

“Thank you for last night, too,” Ethan knew he was appreciative, though he didn’t know how appreciative he should be. He could hardly remember a thing other than seeing her on her date, going to a bar, and then riding home with her.

“You’re welcome,” Charlie laughed, “As soon as Baz called and told me you were dancing at a bar, I knew you two needed to call it a night.”

“I was dancing?” Ethan repeated incredulously.

“I mean, by the time I got there, you were just glaring at people from a corner, but I trust Baz,” Charlie admitted.

“God,” Ethan grimaced, leaning against his kitchen cabinets as he marveled at how foolish he’d made himself, “I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Charlie.”

“I didn’t mind,” Charlie was surprisingly truthful. She knew she should have resented him for interrupting her night, but she couldn’t will herself to be annoyed, “Besides… You saved me from my drunk self once. I was just returning the favor.”

Right.

The night she texted him drunk before the ethics hearing. He’d searched all of Boston to find her, and they’d spent the weekend in his apartment hiding from the world. That was their beginning.

Ethan found himself smiling at the memory. Everything seemed brighter and better then, even if it was the darkest point in his mental health. He’d had Charlie, and somehow, that was enough.

“Can I make it up to you with breakfast?” Ethan offered, hoping to reward her for her generosity but also desperate to keep her here a little longer.

“You feel up to cooking?” Charlie asked suspiciously.

“Oh God, no. I’m going to order. I almost threw up making this coffee,” he motioned vaguely to his French press, and Charlie bit back her laugher.

“Okay…” Charlie was smiling, and it made his knees feel weak, “Breakfast it is. But if you throw up again, I’m not holding your hair.”

Ethan smirked, shaking his head, “No promises.”

“Well…” Charlie shrugged, “I’ll stay anyway.”

Note: I tried making a collage with the dress and bar I pictured, and idk, I might keep doing it.

Tag List

@honeyandsunfl0wers @jens-diamondchoices @desmaranj @octobereighth @flyawayboo @fanficnewbie @togetherwearerapture @perriewinklenerdie @noboundariesplease @paulfwesley @x-kyne-x @caroldxnvxrs @paisleylovergirl @drakewalkerfantasy

@chasingrobbie @soft-for-drake @choicesyouplayandmore @crazy-loca-blog @playchoicesheaux @senseofduties @queencarb @save-the-sky @openheart12 @omg-its-vixen @odetomars @rookieoh @drakewalker04 @mysecretlifeofdaydreams @delaytheinevitable

@hopefulmoonobject @malvolari-take-my-soul @nomadics-stuff @the-pale-goddess @schnitzelbutterfingers @trappedinfandoms @heauxplesslydevoted @lilyvalentine @mvalentine @elwetritsche75 @jessirosebud @lion-ess24 @sturnsun @canknot @wonderwithrobin @jooous @eramsey28 @binny1985 @tsrookie @whippedforethanramsey @kaavyaethanramsey @macy-ray85 @canigetanawwjunk

#Ethan x mc #Dr. Ramsey #Dr. Ethan Ramsey #Ethan Ramsey #Ethan Ramsey x mc #Open Heart #Open Heart 2 #OH2 #OH 2 #Choices #Love story #Writing

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kingreywrites · 4 years

Text

While We Can

@runningracingdancingchasing (sorry to answer like this but it’s easier to edit!)

This prompt is very different from what I do usually, but it was fun to write!! Thank you for sending it, I hope you like the result :D <3

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 3239

Summary: And yet, when Rapunzel opens the bathroom cabinet, she finds her old toothbrush neatly put away where she always stored it. She allows herself one heavy exhale - allows her eyes one second to water, before she gets herself back together and grabs the ointment. She's not here to dwell on could-have-been. She's not here to pry into Eugene's life without her. She's here for Eugene, and him only, because he is hurt and she's his nearly-a-doctor friend that can make it a bit easier for him.

[Modern AU]

Read on ao3

Once in front of his door, Rapunzel hesitates. It had been easy to drive here, fueled by sheer anxiety and determination. It had been easy to convince herself that her presence would be welcome, because they were friends and, as a friend, it was normal to check up on each other. But now, in front of Eugene's door, her old key in hand because he had insisted she keeps it, Rapunzel hesitates.

She hasn't been here since their break-up.

It hadn't really been a conscious choice on her part. Eugene and her stayed friends, best friends even, and he told her that she could come to him at any time, that his door was always open for her. She simply… hadn't taken him up on it. She knows that door like the back of her hand, knows exactly how to turn the key for it to open with minimal struggle, knows the hallways that lead to it down to every weird stains on the walls… And yet, the sight is suddenly alien to her. Everything feel wrong, and Rapunzel hesitates because she doesn't think she fits into Eugene’s life like she used to. Maybe she should accept that.

Lance's words float back in her mind at the right time - they were the trigger to her mad dash to Eugene's appartement. The talk of an accident at a fire is jumbled even now, because her fear had drowned out pretty much all of it, but the odd seriousness of Lance's voice echoes clearly in her head.

Rapunzel breathes, and opens the door.

As she expects, Max greets her with an excited bark and comes beg her for pets, obviously overjoyed to see her again. She had missed him too - had missed this appartement. She had spent months here, the happiest months of her life in a long time, and the sight of it is enough to make her want to curl up on the couch and stay there forever. However, she has a goal in mind - and already, she can hear Eugene move in his bedroom, alerted by Max's noises.

Rapunzel hurries to his bedroom door right as he opens it, too pale and a hand on a bandage on his stomach. He's also shirtless, and she would enjoy that a lot more if she wasn't busy already pushing him back to his bed.

"Wha- But- Rapunzel?" Eugene stutters, eyes wide - but he diligently goes back to sit on his bed. She doesn't know if he's too tired to protest, or if he simply knows she wouldn't let him get away with it.

"Hey," she says.

She hasn't thought that far. She doesn't know how to even begin to explain the train of thought that led her here, because her mind feels too scrambled trying to take in Eugene, and determine if he's okay. She has always known that being a firefighter was dangerous - had literally met him in one of these dangerous situations - but a part of her always wished that Eugene was untouchable. Getting a minor burn on his stomach wasn't the worst thing that could happen, but it was a proof that one day, Eugene could not be okay. She never knew how to live with that, and she doesn't think she ever will.

"Hey," Eugene smiles gently, and her treacherous cheeks immediately darken. "Not that I'm complaining, but you are here because…?"

Oh, that one was easy. "You're hurt. And I'm your friend, who is also training to be a doctor, and I wanted to check up on you," she explains, sounding way more rational than her actions were. Eugene's eyes crinkle as if to say that he sees right through her, and, to be honest, that's probably true.

Instead of dwelling on it, Rapunzel peers closer at the bandage, trying to ignore how much… chest is visible. She immediately notices that it's in need of a change, but Eugene grimaces before she can say anything, all too aware of how she thinks.

"Yeah, I need to change that," he admits before she can point it out. "Thankfully, those burns are easily accessible, I can do it myself."

That - the dismissal - was expected too. They stayed friends after breaking up, but there was always- always a new distance between them that they couldn't cross. Despite knowing each other's vulnerabilities better than anyone else, there was a silent agreement to not bring those up, to ignore it because they weren't to each other what they used to be.

But today, Rapunzel isn't ready to let go. Today, Rapunzel got a call from Lance telling her that Eugene had been hurt, and her mind had rolled away with it, always going to the grimiest scenarios. Today, she had thought about a "what if" scenario she hadn't wanted to face - and she wasn't ready to let go. Not again.

"I know you can," she whispers, meeting his eyes. They're focused on hers too. "But can I help?"

It's a question he had asked her a lot when they first started dating. Rapunzel had been- well, still suffered from trauma, that was the best way to put it. It had been difficult to admit at first, even though she was plainly aware that everything she lived through - and everything Gothel did to her - was more than traumatic. She had been deep in her denial that anything could be wrong with her. And Eugene had tried his best. She could still hear him, constantly asking "can I help?" after her panic attacks, her nightmares, or even her rare bursts of anger. She asks can I help, but she hopes he hears the same "I love you and I want to be there for you" she had back then.

Eugene hesitates enough for her to be sure that he does. Then he sighs, lowers his shoulders, and perhaps, she thinks that something shifts inside of him. He smiles and nods once, and Rapunzel has to fight the urge to pump her fist in the air.

"Where's-"

"The antibiotic ointment is in the bathroom," Eugene immediately finishes, before grinning sheepishly. Rapunzel can't help but grin back.

She doesn't have to ask him to find her way to the bathroom, of course. Max, who had been diligently waiting outside of Eugene's bedroom, doesn't hesitate to get under her legs again, relishing in the attention the dog has missed these past months. She can't believe it was so long ago already. Can't believe everything that happened between them.

She thinks that the break-up was mutual - that, if she hadn't said it first, Eugene would have ended up pointing out the problems they were facing. They had met in explosive circumstances, to say the least. Rapunzel had just left her childhood home, and had recently learned that most of her life had been a lie - that who she called mother was actually her kidnapper and abuser. She had a lot of unaddressed trauma, that she hadn't been eager to actually address - and Eugene had been the same, but for different reasons. He always joked that the "orphan trying to prove himself" story was too cliché, but it was his anyway. Their relationship had been full of communication, they had tried really hard to be there for the other, but they never truly managed to be there for themselves first, and it made everything else crumble. Add unaddressed trauma to unaddressed trauma, and you get two people who love each other but are not helping the other grow.

She hadn't wanted to wait and see if they would ever turn destructive for each other. She thinks Eugene didn't want to either.

So they broke up. And stayed good friends. They still talked regularly, still met each other regularly too, still shared the same friends and enjoyed the same things, still had the keys to each other's appartement but- there was a distance that couldn't be crossed between them.

And yet, when Rapunzel opens the bathroom cabinet, she finds her old toothbrush neatly put away where she always stored it. She allows herself one heavy exhale - allows her eyes one second to water, before she gets herself back together and grabs the ointment. She's not here to dwell on could-have-been. She's not here to pry into Eugene's life without her. She's here for Eugene, and him only, because he is hurt and she's his nearly-a-doctor friend that can make it a bit easier for him.

She still feels lighter on the way back, the image of her toothbrush, still sitting there for her, burnt into her mind.

When she enters his room again, Eugene is sitting up, leaned against the wall at the head of his bed, his legs in front of him. It's exactly the position she needs, but it does mean that it's the sight of a shirtless Eugene, waiting on what once was their shared bed, that mets her. Memories of more… agreeable times flash through her head, but she shakes them off. Rapunzel already knows she's blushing, but she walks closer anyway, not to be discouraged in her task.

She doesn't see how his eyes follow her movement closely too - doesn't see how Eugene is basically drinking up the sight of her like a lost man in a desert. She misses him - but he misses her too. She climbs up next to him on the bed, kneels to lean over his wound, and doesn't notice the blush orning Eugene's cheeks too.

Carefully, Rapunzel takes off his bandage, revealing his red and blistered skin. She knows exactly what she's doing, because she may have payed a lot of attention to her classes on burns, but she also knows it's still painful for Eugene. She can feel him quiver under her, and wishes she could do anything else to ease his discomfort. It's him that offers a solution, in the end.

"So, uh," he starts awkwardly, "how are your classes going? Ready to be a doctor yet?"

Rapunzel chuckles, and throw herself in a long-winded explanation of everything she learned since they broke-up. At the same time, she applies the ointment, and is relieved to see that Eugene fights the pain by listening to her and asking questions. She wants to say sorry each time she makes him flinch, but instead, she simply tells another story, and hopes that it's enough.

"You know," she breathes, eyes still focused on his wound, "I wouldn't be able to do all of this, be all of this, if it wasn't for your help."

"Blondie-"

"Eugene," she interrupts, even though her heart skips a beat at the familiar nickname. "You- you helped me get over my fears of the world. You helped me discover it, and everything it has to offer. Most of all, you helped me love myself, and made me feel worthy enough to get into a medical school despite my situation."

She stops, for a second, and she sees his chest moves slowly with his breathing. Finally, she raises her head and sees for herself all the affection in his eyes - the affection that never disappeared, and probably never will. He loves her. She knew it, knows it, but it still hits her all the same.

"For all of that, thank you, Eugene."

"I can't let you say that," is his answer, and that makes her still her hands above his wound.

Eugene puts his own hands on her shoulders to make her look at him again, and she suddenly wishes it wasn't so glaring that he never got over her.

"Rapunzel, you are the strongest person I have ever met. You- despite the circumstances, you always make the best of any situation, you always sees the best in the world and in people," he insists fervently, nearly babbling about how amazing she is. "I helped you, yes, but even if I hadn't… Even if we hadn't met, you still would have found your path." Gently, his right hand goes to push her hair back behind her ear like he always does. His eyes are shining and hers are too. "You've always been brave enough," Eugene breathes, and Rapunzel understands then that she absolutely didn't get over their break-up either.

She bites her lips, and finishes dressing his wound, because she doesn't think she can even find an answer to that. Eugene hesitates, before taking his hands back, and she suddenly wishes she knew how to express herself better. She thinks that she keeps making things worse - but her therapist would tell her that it's the trauma talking, and she's getting better at believing it.

The thing is, she knows she had missed Eugene. Being friends meant that they kept talking a lot with each other, but she had missed their comfortable intimacy, and the way he always understood her before she even had to say something, and missed him, in general - with his jokes and his charms and his kindness. And now that she's close to him again, on the same bed as before, she only wants to cuddle close to him and laughs with him as if nothing happened.

Things did happen, though. They were different now than they had been some months ago. But there's a spark of hope in her heart, telling her that maybe it is a good thing - maybe they can be better this time.

She hasn't allowed herself to think about it until now. Hasn't allowed herself to think about Eugene's soft skin under hands either, but here she was - he's warm, and he smells nice, and his smile still makes her melt, and she wonders how she could have even convinced herself that she would be satisfied with simply being his friend. She loves him.

She thinks about those last few months, about how she tried to get over him - with Cassandra here to cheer her on in her drunken adventures. She remembers those lips that were too soft against hers, those hands that were too little on her waist, those jaws that weren't sharp enough. The images are still in her mind, an ensemble of jumbled thoughts and sensations that just seemed wrong despite the alcohol. Too long hair tickling her, nails too beautifully done, chins not scruffy enough. Wrong eyes. Wrong laugh. Wrong name.

Rapunzel makes a decision.

She places the last bandage, and checks that it's tight enough without being painful. Eugene stays silent, but she knows he's trying to prepare an excuse for her to leave - she doesn't blame him, the situation is awkward. She knows he still loves her - it's plainly written on his face - but he doesn't seem to realise that she's head over heels for him too, and had never ceased to be. She thinks that, maybe, they were both idiots with good intentions, and she hopes it's enough to fix the situation.

Instead of getting back up, Rapunzel takes advantage of her kneeling position to put a knee on Eugene's other side, effectively straddling him. He looks startled, but still helps her get stabilised, always the gentleman - but Rapunzel isn't so polite. She cups his face in her hands and grows ever so close, until she can feel his breathing on her lips - and she waits. Eugene could back out. He could say no, or pull her hands down, and she would accept it without a second of hesitation. She has always been impulsive, has always wanted to make the most of her life now that she was free to live it however she wants, but this? This is important. The most important moment of her life, perhaps - so she waits for him.

"I can't keep kissing strangers and pretending that they're you," she whispers, because it's true, and because she hopes he sees that she has always missed him. It's brutally honest, but he doesn't comment on it, though she can feels his cheeks heating up under her palms.

Eugene's eyes strays towards her lips. She's close enough to see the little golden specks gleaming inside of them. For a moment, time is frozen between them, but Rapunzel feels warmer than ever.

"Sunshine," Eugene breathes, and suddenly they're kissing, his hands around her back and her own in his hair, trying to get closer and closer and closer. Eugene feels right against her body and she doesn't even know how she managed to survive these last months, because her heart feels like it's bursting and she loves him so much it hurts.

"I- I couldn't kiss anyone else," Eugene laughs as they stop kissing to breathe.

"Oh-"

"No, no, I'm not blaming you! I'm not gonna hold what you did while we were not together against you," he quickly says, voice so earnest she wants to cry. She is still sitting on him, her head above his because of her position, and Eugene takes on of her hands in his, pressing it against his chest, near his heart. "I just… Before meeting you, one night stands and all that stuff, it was easy to me. We broke up, and I thought I could do it again, that it would help me but- I'm not that guy anymore. I love you, Rapunzel."

"I love you too," she says, before kissing him again. His mouth opens for her like it always did and, for a moment, they both forget how to breathe without the other near. "I kept thinking about you," Rapunzel whispers between their kisses, "I… I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," he breathes, kissing the tip of her nose as her hands link up behind his neck. "I missed your voice."

"I missed your laugh," she echoes breathlessly.

"Your eyes."

"Your snores," she chuckles.

"Your freckles," he adds, his thumb tenderly brushing them on her face. "Especially this one," he says, touching the freckle right under her lashes.

"Your bad jokes," she answers, and he gasps dramatically.

"Your terrible puns!"

Their eyes meet, and they both burst out laughing, Rapunzel resting her head on his shoulder. There was so much more that has been lacking from her life, but she doesn't think it can be put into words. She thinks Eugene understands anyway.

Then, he flinches, and she remembers why she is here in the first place. She tries to scramble back, but Eugene grabs her hand, something terrified and desperate in his gaze. He lets her go practically as quickly as he stopped her, but Rapunzel had seen it anyway, that raw fear she would leave again, and they would go back to what they were without each other - happy and whole, mostly, but also missing the other terribly. Missing their love, and their friendship, and a lot of other things that had changed despite their best efforts to stay friends.

Eugene has no need to worry, though - Rapunzel doesn't intend to go anywhere today, and she will be sticking around for a lot longer. She wishes she had done that sooner, but again, maybe the time and the distance helped them in the end. She chooses to believe it has. Instead of getting out of the bed, she goes sit on Eugene's other side, cuddling closer to him. He immediately puts his hand over her shoulders, and everything, in that exact moment, feels perfect.

They still have a lot to figure out, and a lot to talk about, but for now, they hold each other close and promise to never let go again.

#tangled #rapunzel #Eugene Fitzherbert #tangled the series #rta #tts

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writtenonreceipts · 4 years

Text

In all honesty, Runaways was supposed to be a single one-shot. And here we are. Not sure how I feel about this one. Oh well…Takes place amid the main events of this fic and in conjunction with this fic. Based on characters from the Throne of Glass series.

TW: None, mentions of addictions, death.

they are the runaways. before they set out on a trip to take aelin back to her family, rowan and aelin grow together in their past lives of addiction. slowly, ever slowly.

a sinner in the sun

They have a hesitant friendship that has been established by phone calls that stretch all night long, phone calls that consist of panic attacks, and phone calls that consist of nothing at all. Sometimes they say nothing. Sometimes they say everything.

Because oddly enough, he has turned into someone that she depends on. Too much, apparently, but she doesn’t realize that. Not yet.

Aelin hates talking on the phone. With a passion. But texting is just as horrible because sometimes her words come too fast and her fingers can’t keep up and autocorrect is the literally devil incarnate. Everything becomes a jumbled mess that is nearly untranslatable. Just like everything about her. So she calls instead.

“I need your help,” she says one day into her phone.

It’s too early in the morning for hellos. The sun is barely breaking through the clouds and the pale pink haze of morning stains her dingy old apartment. Any other day she would curl up with a book. Or she’d go out for a run. Something to distract her from her mind, but today she has to be an adult.

Rowan is immediately at attention on the other side. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Aelin pauses. She realizes then that this is the first time she has called him while not in crisis mode. Today, she is okay. She is happy. She wants to be alive.

“Nothing,” she says as she realizes the mistake of the call. One hand immediately tangles in her hair and she cringes. “It’s nothing. Really. Never mind. I shouldn’t have called.”

“It’s obviously something if you called,” he replies. “You hate the phone.”

She can hear the smirk. “Buzzard.”

“What do you need?”

“I found a new apartment and I need some help moving.” She forces it all out in a single breath and waits.

“I’ll be right there.”

He brings reinforcements.

Fenrys is too happy for life. Dark skin, gold hair, and a rakish smile. He bounces around her apartment telling her to steal what she wants from her old roommate who isn’t there. He cracks some joke about her calling Rowan buzzard. He smiles because he wants to.

Lorcan is the exact opposite. Black hair, black eyes, and a scowl to rival Rowans. He grabs what’s been boxed and labeled dutifully. He says nothing about anything. Aelin can feel the sorrow oozing off of him. The tiredness, the angst. He firmly believes he deserves his misery.

All Aelin can gather about how they know each other is from years ago when they were children and had started their own gang. A gang that involved eating sandwiches and playing squirt guns, but a gang nonetheless.

Aelin realizes that this is just the start of Rowans family. And it is strange she realizes. Strange to see the three men, like brothers, laughing and joking. It is strange to realize that Rowan has a past, a history. Because as much as he has talked about it before, it’s just now coming to life before her. In the form family. And that’s a language she never learned to speak.

“You have too many books,” Lorcan tells her as he stares at the boxes she has accumulated.

“Impossible,” she scoffs.

Lorcan makes no reply and begins hauling them out of the apartment. It’s unfortunate really, seeing as how she lives on the third floor and it is getting close to reaching a hundred degrees outside. She’s going to have to buy them all coffee and pizza after this.

When Rowan slips back into the apartment, he’s shaking out his hair that is distinctly shorter than the last time she saw him. Less scruff on his chin too. Which is nice because his face is far to lovely to be hidden like that.

Aelin realizes where her thoughts are going and distinctly turns away from him to stuff a drawer full of silverware into a box. It all clatters together unceremoniously. It’ll be a bitch to put away when she gets to her new place but she needs the distraction. For now and for later. Because now she can feel his eyes on her. Those beautiful eyes that remind her of the forest and of running and of being free and she can’t take it. Not now. Not after the other night when they’d talked for so long. And later…when she’s alone with her thoughts all she’ll want to think about is him.

“You’re going to regret that later,” Rowan says, eyes still on her.

“Probably,” she says and shrugs. “I’ve come to live with my regrets. By running away from them, burying them.”

He raises an eyebrow and amusement laces his voice. “I don’t think it’s supposed to work that way.”

“Does for me.” She gives him a wicked grin and this one doesn’t feel forced. Instead it’s almost lighthearted. It’s followed by a small burst of laughter and it is glorious.

Hours later they’ve cleared out her old apartment and the boys have helped her move everything inside. They’re just bringing up the last of the boxes and Aelin’s ordered pizza and Chinese food. Anything and everything she can think of so they know she’s grateful. Because just saying it isn’t something she can do. Not yet.

And hours later still, it��s just her and Rowan.

The studio apartment is impossibly small. It’s got at least ten different fire hazards. The hot water doesn’t work. And the lock of the front door is dodgy at best. But it’s hers.

She and Rowan are sitting on her floor staring at the unjust screen of his laptop trying to watch a show but Aelin won’t stop laughing at the paltry accents being used. Because apparently hiring real actors from the country they were filming in was too much work. So instead she laughs and Rowan is ready to smother her.

But he doesn’t. Instead he’s grinning stupidly at her as she laughs. The sunset drifts through one of her windows casting long shadows around the room. She doesn’t notice the way his eyes ling on her. Not really. She doesn’t notice the way they’ve been sitting so close together. Not really.

What she is focused on is the fact that she doesn’t want the moment to end. Because if the moment end, if the laptop goes away then she has to either let Rowan go for the night or do something about it. And doing something about it… well…that would require change.

And the last time something in Aelin’s life changed she spiraled down deep than Alice’s Wonderland hole.

She tries not to notice him despite the fact that he is all she can think about.

“What?” Rowan asks.

Blinking, Aelin realizes she was staring. Of course she was because with the way the computer screen lights up his face and the setting sun in the windows behind him—he is illuminated. Suddenly she feels like she’s seeing him for the first time. Because today she learned about him.

She learned he’s always had a thing for hawks. Loved reading about them as a kind and learning all there was to know. He calls Fenrys “Pup” and treats him like a younger brother and damn Rowan would make a good brother to anyone. Lorcan teases him about being old even though Lorcan himself is older than all of them. Rowan hadn’t spoken to his friends in over a year.

And in secret—silent and careful—Fenrys thanked her for staying with him. For being with him when they weren’t.

And that simple sentiment terrifies her. Because she is rarely there for anyone. Not sense the damn summer days of daisies and dirt bikes.

“Aelin?” Rowan repeats. His brow creases in worry and she finds herself swallowing stiffly as one hands reaches for something…something that isn’t there.

“Nothing,” she says and stands. “Water?”

She doesn’t have alcohol in the kitchen. Not since Rowan told her about Lyria not since she learned about how he fell all those years ago.

Instead of waiting for him to ask, she gets a prepackaged water bottle for him. After tossing it his direction she digs around in the back of a cupboard she made sure to unpack herself. She grabs the bag of taffy and immediately stuffs one in her mouth.

Supposedly when she has an urge she can distract her body by eating something else. But she thinks that only works with smoking. Not anything she really wants. But she can try. She can pretend.

When she settles back beside him on the floor his eyes are on her. And not like they were before.

“Aelin,” he says slowly.

He hasn’t touched his water. She eats more taffy.

It’s what she does. The distraction. She doesn’t want to think about anything. Doesn’t want to think about before with the dirt bike and Sam. Not the scars. Not where she fell. She doesn’t want to be that person. Not after seeing who Rowan is and what he’s become. Because today she learned that she doesn’t deserve him.

How could she?

He reaches a hand out and rests it on hers where she’s trying to dig out another piece of taffy. There are callouses on his fingers and she can’t help but shiver at the touch. Can help but shiver at that gentle touch of his. Because hell—how long has it been since someone touched her so carefully?

“Aelin?” he repeats. Slow. Pity. No. No, Rowan doesn’t pity her. She knows that much about him. He wouldn’t pity her for this.

“It’s nothing,” she finds herself whispering. Shaking her head, shea drags her fingers through her hair. “Sorry, I zoned out.”

She can’t tell him what she’s thinking. Can’t let him know that all she wants to do is see what he tastes like because maybe that will help her. Distract her enough.

She doesn’t deserve him.

His fingers curl tighter around her hand. When Aelin tries to pull her hand away from his, he intertwines their fingers instead.

“You’re not alone,” he says. “You know that right?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I know.”

The next day Rowan is already at her apartment. He hasn’t bothered to change out of his scrubs. There are bags under his eyes and she knows he didn’t get any sleep last night despite her insistence that he do.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

He’s standing on her one kitchen stool glaring up at the fire alarm. “Fixing this.”

“It’s fine,” she tells him. She eases around him and slings her purse on the counter. It had been a long day of answering phones. Somehow, she’d gotten hired as a receptionist as a law firm. The same law firm, it turned out, that Fenrys was interning at. She’d tried to corner him about it when she learned the truth but he merely winked and shrugged.

“With your cooking?” Rowan lets out a laugh. “No. You’ll burn this place down in a day.”

“How would you know if I can cook or not?” She stares up at him hands on her hips.

“Please, Aelin,” he says. He jams the cover into place and hops down from the stool. “I’ve seen your car. You’ve hit up every fast-food joint in a thirty mile radius.”

“I’m just trying to find the best French fry,” she says, “you can’t blame me for that.”

The smile that crosses his mouth is sinful. At least, it elicits sinful thoughts in her head. Thoughts that she has no business having.

“You at least could have waited for when you had a day off and weren’t coming off a shift,” she says.

He shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“You’re exhausted,” she presses.

“It’s fine.”

“Rowan.”

They stare at each other. She is fascinated by his eyes—like always. What he is so enraptured by in her she doesn’t know but she’s developed a long list about him. Too long.

“I ordered pizza,” he says.

She sputters a laugh. “You ordered pizza? You were just making fun of me for my lack of cooking skills.”

“I’m a hypocrite.”

“Whatever,” she says and heads to her closet for a change of clothes. She pauses and looks back at him. “How the hell’d you get in here?”

His expression holds no shame. “I convinced your landlord to give me a copy.”

“Ass,” she says under her breath. Not quiet enough because he lets out a booming laugh.

It’s the first time in a while that laughter has been in her home, in her life. And she has to admit, she loves it. It is glorious. For once, she can convince herself to be carefree. Right up until the pizza arrives they are teasing each other. Insults and bickering and eyerolls and scoffs. For the first time in a while, she could let herself simply be.

Maybe that’s why she does it.

Later, when he’s trying to convince her that she does actually need more than one chair in her apartment. He’s so adamant about having more chairs that she can’t stop laughing. He’s making jibes at all the pillows laying all over her bed so why can’t she have another chair?

Because the floor is perfectly comfortable is not a valid excuse. Nor the fact that she has no friends.

“Fenrys will be highly offended by that statement,” he says.

It’s as he’s leaning over to pull her laptop closer because it’s his turn to pick the movie they watch. He’s so close that she can feel his body heat. She can catch the faintest hint of cologne lingering on his skin.

And she moves. It doesn’t take much to to reach out and tug his chin up. Doesn’t take much to lean forward and kiss him. It’s a barely there sort of the thing. The graze so light that they could easily pretend it never happened. If only her fingers weren’t pressing into his chin and holding him in place. Of course, he could pull away. He should pull away. She should to.

But they don’t.

And Aelin is staring into those eyes that have undone her ever since she woke up in that hospital bed. Her heart is pounding ferociously in her chest and panic starts to snap through her blood. What the hell did she do?

Her best friend.

Her only friend.

She is a terrible, terrible fool.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She drops her hand from his face and tears her eyes from his. The flush rising on her skin reminds her of the sun from that summer and it’s quickly becoming too much. Too much.

Everything is too much.

There is hardly a pause though when Rowan is reaching for her, his large hand cupping her cheek and he pulls her face back towards him.

The silence of the night echoes around them. Not even a car back firing or howl of a dog. Just them, left alone in the world.

He moves first this time and presses his forehead against hers. His eyes flutter closed as he breathes her in and in that moment, Aelin swears it’s the most intimate she has ever been with anyone. Even Sam.

When he kisses her, Rowan is insistent. His mouth moves against hers it is with urgency and longing. Aelin finds herself gasping and raising a hand to grip his arm so she has something to ground her—something to keep her steady.

And after all this time she should have known he would have been that grounding force.

They don’t have the time to move beyond that moment. Not when Rowans pager goes off.

Cursing, he pulls away from her and fumbles for his phone and pager. “Damn. I need to go.”

Aelin nods. What’s she supposed to say to that? She looks at him. “It’s fine.”

She’s certain he moves to touch her again, to kiss her. But instead, Rowan rises.

He’s at the door before he looks back at her and in the dim lighting of her terribly sad, new apartment he smiles. “I’ll text you.”

And he is gone.

And Aelin doesn’t know if she believes him.

Thanks for reading my dears!

Tags: @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire @aelinchocolatelover @esco--s

#throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #rowan whitethorn #aelin #aelin galythinius #rowaelin #the fanfic no one asked for continues #the fanfic no one asked for #queen of shadows #fanfiction #kingdom of ash #modern au #runaways

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plexflexico · 4 years

Text

Obi Wan Shot - Part Two - Jedi Virgin Boogaloo

Content warnings: Mind-reading, smut, mind-reading smut.

Characters: virgin (but not for long!) Obi x Force-sensitve reader. (Who is an absolute minx.) Here it is! Delays have been brought to you by intense storms and nickel-sized hail plus torrential rains and lots of lightning.

Obi Wan doesn’t stop as much as he winds down, still grunting and twitching, his orgasm taking time to fade. Lapping at you slowly he’s moaning, his eyes unfocused but still searching for you in the haze of his pleasure.

You focus entirely on the deeper layers of the jumbled tangle of thoughts and feelings that are pouring out of him like water. He’s had an orgasm before, but never like that, and it’s left him feeling both satisfied and still unsatisfied, somehow.

Reaching back you grasp his cock and gently squeeze at the base and you can feel how his mind turns to static at the relief of being touched. When you let go he whines into you and you run your fingers through his hair. He comes back to the here and now, his eyes finally focusing in yours.

He tries to hold you down on his face as you move to get up, so you lean back and plant a stinging slap on his tender inner thigh. The Jedi jolts underneath you and gasps as you bite out harshly, “Behave! You’re not done just yet. Understood?”

“Y-yes, I understand, I’m sorry— I’ll be good. Please! I’ll be good—” He’s babbling, desperate, his signature roiling with want and a need he can’t define.

But you can.

He’s not the first uptight, stoic, bottled-up Jedi Master you’ve deflowered. Previous to your rise in the ranks you had rarely run into anyone ‘untouched’. Once you started diplomatic escorts you began to spend time with Jedi Masters and, as now, members of the High Council. Few of them had any experience at all, and those that had any had very little.

No matter what anyone tells you about the fantastic control they can exert, you know the truth. Flesh is flesh. Flesh is weak— or, perhaps, it’s far stronger than any act of will. You see deeper and with more clarity then they can hope to understand, perhaps because you are simply a receiver and whatever it was in you that was supposed to ‘broadcast’ was wired backwards, or perhaps because you’re an anomaly among anomalies.

Whatever the cause, the result is the same. Jedi minds are an open book to you when they let their guard down, and right now Obi Wan was an exposed nerve.

He wants to thrust his hips up into nothingness, chasing a feeling he’s never known but that his body still craves. Instinct starts to whisper to him from the deeper part of his mind, the instincts he’s gagged into silence with his years of training. The same instincts he barely allows a voice in the few moments of pleasure he’s stolen for himself in his life, when the ache has been too much and he can no longer hold back.

You run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp and giving him something to focus on, “Shhhh— Calm yourself, darling.”

You slide down his chest, lifting your hips slightly as you reach his taut stomach, and settle your slick lower lips along the length of him. You roll your hips slowly, and Obi Wan throws his head back, his eyes shut and his mouth falling open as a throaty moan escapes him. His hands slam to his sides, fisting in the sheet as he forces himself to keep still.

Oh, stars— Maker! She’s so hot, so hot—

Your mind is flooded with images from him, half-formed but all of them feature him rutting into you, grunting and spilling the most gorgeous filth from his mouth.

“Patience, my good boy. You’ll have that and more— but now you must be very obedient and pay attention. Consider this your training, Master.”

At the sound of the honorific and the demure way you looked at him through your lashes you felt his cock throb beneath you followed by a wave of want crashing through the force, liquid gold shimmering with blue and slippery like oil. You allow it to settle along your nerves, relishing the aching anticipation he’s feeling.

Canting your hips slightly you catch the head of him at your entrance, quickly placing a hand on his hip and holding him steady. Leaning forward, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss, the slow slide down his length draws a breathy sigh from him. His head is swimming, he’s so lost in the sensation. Everything he ever imagined vanishes like smoke as your slick walls envelop him.

Oh— I— she’s so wet— hot silk— Oh— kriff, no— I— no, not yet!

You stop. Holding perfectly still while he pants beneath you. His cock throbs inside you, straining as he trembles.

“Shhhh— Darling, you’re doing wonderfully. Just relax,” you whisper through tender, feather-light kisses. It takes him but a moment to calm himself and come down from the edge, then you begin again.

A shuddering breath leaves him as you sink down the final inches, seating him deep within you then stilling yourself and squeezing him tightly. His hands fly up to grip your hips, holding you to him in a panic. He’s so sensitive and you’re so wonderfully soft and warm and wet— so kriffing slick around him—

He’s fighting the urge to grind into you and bring on the release that’s throbbing and twisting in his belly and balls. You open yourself up to it, letting it wash through you, the sensations settle into you in a way your own body can’t know without this one-way connection. The sweet ache spurs a rush of wetness that drips down his tight sack and a grasping of your walls along him, but he’s holding on admirably.

Slipping a hand between your bodies you seek out your throbbing clit and begin to pleasure yourself, swirling tight circles on the stiff pink bud. Obi Wan watches greedily, his eyes flicking from your hand to your face, watching your skin blush and your fingers speed up as your cunt flutters around him.

So beautiful— Oh, I can feel her. I can feel you, Darling. You can hear me, I know you can hear me. Come undone little one— please— I need to feel you— I need— Oh, Darling one— little flower— you’re trembling— I feel you— tr— Oh, please— Oh, Maker— Maker—

As your orgasm crests through you you lose all control and begin to ride him, almost sobbing with the pleasure of his hot, hard and huge cock stroking you just where you need it. Head thrown back you pump your hips on him, using his cock to intensify and prolong your pleasure, fucking him deep and slow.

His force signature glows brighter, intensifies. There’s a moment when it seems to be crackling with blue and white and then he’s gripping you with his hands and with the force and flipping you over, throwing your legs over his shoulders and fucking you into the bed as he lets loose a war cry, his hips slapping into you mercilessly as he chases the release he needs so badly.

Kriff— She’s milking me— her hot cunt is milking my kriffing cock— kriff—

Maker—

Then nothing more resembling words comes from him, just colour and texture and a feeling like flying as the strongest orgasm of his life sets his brainstem on fire. Every muscle tightens and there’s one second where he’s right on the edge—

Stars— please— please— oh— there, right there— right there rightthererighthereright—

The Jedi Master is a mess, groaning and shaking as he fucks you, his nearly empty balls straining painfully. His hips stutter—

Too much— oh kriff don’t stop— don’t stop— Ah! Kriff— I can’t— Oh—

With one, final and very strong contraction he slams into you hard and deep and just grinds his cock into your cervix, growling from his chest as the waves of his orgasm wrack his body. It slams through you and you’re grinding back into him, coming hard and fast and it’s so kriffing good. Like a slap on the ass when you’re not quite expecting it and over almost as quickly.

You slip your legs from his shoulders and he collapses on you, his face into your breasts. He captures a nipple in his mouth to suckle, little moans and whimpers coming from him. He lets it go with a pop and seeks out the other, suckling and laving it with his tongue as if seeking comfort from such a primally maternal act. Your hands cradle his head, letting him come back to himself at his own pace, not wishing to pull him out of this beautiful haze that surrounds the two of you.

When the last spasm has faded and the tension is entirely drained from him, Obi Wan eases himself from you and collapses on the bed, his legs tangled in yours and his arms pulling you to his chest. Lips buried in your hair, he’s murmuring to you. You can’t catch the words with your ear but you can feel him still through the force.

Little flower. My little darling one. Devilish thing— and so sweet. Can’t wait to have you bent over and begging— fill you every way I can— my sweet little flower.

You sigh and snuggle in closer, letting his murmured thoughts lull you into a much needed nap.

#virgin!obi x force-sensitive!reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan #star wars fic #obi wan kenobi

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olliepig · 4 years

Text

Centre Stage chapter 3

As always, massive thanks to the wonderful @willow-salix for her editing help and wonderful cheerleading through this.

Also as always, the full thing is available on AO3 here.

***********************************

I need to see you. Can you free up any time this weekend?

Cat smiled as she read the message, thankful that Scott had finally found the time to meet up. It had been a few weeks since they had last seen each other but she didn’t hold it against him, knowing full well how stressed he was with the preparations to build the new T-Drive while also still balancing the running of Tracy Industries with active duty on the rescues that were coming in.

Of course! I’ve only got rehearsals til 2 on Saturday so I can be home and ready by 3 if that works for you?

She typed quickly, stashing her phone back in her bag and returning her attention to stretching and warming up for the rehearsal ahead of her for her first performance of the season. Coppelia was a new ballet for herself and her long-time friend and dance partner, Mark, meaning the rehearsal process was even more intensive than usual and they had been in the studios together almost constantly since the end of their summer break with little time to do anything after but eat and sleep.

“Is that your man again by any chance?” Mark teased, knowing the answer full well by the look on Cat’s face.

“Maybe,” she smiled haughtily, loving the flash of excitement that went through her at the thought that Scott was now ‘her man’.

“Has he finally managed to get some time on his hands to see you then?”

“Seems like it. He’s got a big project in the works just now so it’s been hard for him to get much time off,” Cat explained, careful not to give too much away. “It shouldn’t be for too much longer, then we’ll be able to get something a bit more regular sorted out.”

“With a bit of luck. Just don’t let him drag it out, OK? I know you really like him but if he’s not going to make the effort then it might not be worth the bother.”

Cat smiled, wishing she could tell Mark the real reason Scott wasn’t able to be around. Having first met her in the immediate aftermath of their break-up a decade before, he’d been protective over her ever since he learned who it was she was dating, and she knew he just had her best interests at heart.

“It’s OK, I saw him the week after I got back from the tour in Italy and hopefully it’ll only be for another couple of weeks and then we’ll be fine. Anyway, you’re one to talk, Mr ‘my girlfriend lives in the same city as me and I’ve not seen her in a month.’ My boyfriend’s on the other side of the world and I’ve seen him more recently than that!”

Mark just grinned, knowing that she had a point. “You got me there.”

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, leaving Cat time to mull things over as she worked through her stretches, the familiarity of the routine bringing some comfort despite her jumbled thoughts. She’d only seen Scott once since her stay on the island but it had been a flying visit and he had been distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere. It had been a fun night, but she’d been able to see in his eyes that he was holding something back. She hadn’t pushed it, just like she hadn’t pushed him to come and see her in the following weeks, knowing that adding to his stress wouldn’t be helpful.

Of course, she was desperate to see him, especially as the mission to rescue Jeff seemed to be getting closer and closer, but she had resigned herself to the fact that it might not happen, knowing only too well Scott’s need to micromanage everything. His focus on detail and ability to block out everything else until that one thing was perfect was a trait that they shared and she allowed herself a small smile at that thought, understanding exactly why he would be reluctant to leave the island when so much was at stake.

As if to prove her point about their similarities, her coach signalled the start of the rehearsal, and she hastily pushed all thoughts of everything outside the studio away, her concentration focused only at the task in hand.

****

Scott had felt a calm descend upon him since arriving at Cat’s that afternoon, in stark contrast to the tension he’d felt at home on the island. For the previous three weeks, he’d been desperate to see her but every time he thought he’d be able to get away, something came up that needed his attention, be it another test of the T-Drive or just more paperwork that couldn’t wait.

If he was honest with himself, he perhaps could have gotten away sooner, but his overwhelming need to find his dad took over and he was unwilling to leave anything to anyone else. Selene had resorted to dragging him aside and practically ordered him to take a break, even going so far as offering to take him to London herself.

Now he was there, he had to admit that she had been right.

A picnic dinner on the floor of the flat had led them to where they were now, cuddled up on the sofa, gloriously entwined in each other and Scott felt like a weight had been lifted off him. Cat lay in his arms, her head against his chest as he played with her hair, letting the silky soft strands cascade through his fingers like liquid, transfixed by the way the candlelight seemed to accentuate the reds and golds.

“Do you want to watch something?” Cat broke the comfortable silence with a vague wave towards the TV, sitting forwards to try and find the remote.

“Can we just leave it off? I’ve spent the last few days looking at screens trying to get the accounts up to date so it would be nice to have some time away from them.” Scott nuzzled into her neck, planting soft kisses up it as he went, tracing them along her jaw and feeling her smile as she turned to meet his lips with hers in a gentle kiss that took him away from all the stresses of the previous weeks.

Feeling his need for closeness, Cat leant into the kiss, increasing the pressure and deepening it as her mind tracked back to a couple of hours previously, where a kiss just like this had led them to the bedroom, tangled in the sheets as they took their fill of each other.

Scott’s lips were deliciously warm and soft, and impossible for her to resist which was a fact that she knew he used to his advantage. Reaching up, she slid her hand into his hair, feeling the short strands at the base of his head tickling her fingers as she felt his arm snake around her waist, pulling her into him.

Knowing full well where this would end up if left unchecked, Cat pulled away and settled herself back against his chest, smiling to herself as she heard the soft thump of his heart, now beating somewhat faster than it had been before. His strong arms held her snugly, making her feel safer and more cherished than she had in a long time, and she smiled as she felt a hand sneak up and start playing with her hair again, glad that he’d retained his love for it after all their time apart.

It had been obvious to her since his arrival that he needed an outlet to talk so, while her whole body protested the loss of his kisses, she held firm in her decision that tonight would be about ensuring that he had the time and space to feel comfortable enough to do so.

“It’s felt like forever since you were last here,” Cat murmured, not really expecting an answer. “I’ve missed you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Scott replied, kissing the top of her head. “It’s been a long few weeks trying to get everything together.”

“I bet it has,” Cat sympathised, pausing for a moment to consider the best way to proceed before remembering that a gentle approach had always worked better for her in getting Scott to open up in the past. “I know in my job, I always find it's the bit towards the end of rehearsals that’s the worst, when you just want to get out there and do it but you have to wait, even though you feel completely ready.”

“You could have just described the last couple of weeks. At times it’s felt like setback after setback even though I know we're nearly ready now. If the next test goes right we should be able to launch any day.”

Scott unconsciously tightened his grip as he spoke, something deep inside him rebelling against having to leave her behind for a mission that held so many dangers. There was nothing in the world that would stop him doing it, but the potential for an outcome in which none of them returned had been hovering in his subconscious for weeks. He had been repeatedly pushing it down, fighting it off as he chose to focus only on the issues that he knew he could control, but it never left him completely, emerging instead in the dark of the night, leaving him breathless and unable to sleep.

“That’s amazing that it’s getting so close,” Cat continued, his actions making her aware of the extra turmoil that seemed to have flooded Scott’s mind at the thought of the imminent launch. “It’ll be such a weight off your shoulders when you know for definite when it’s happening. You’ve been carrying so much for so long.”

Scott couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him at her words. “You’re telling me. Taking a bit of the pressure off would be amazing but I can’t see it happening any time soon. I can’t just set dad back to work as soon as he’s home.”

Cat craned her neck to look up at him, relief flooding through her when she saw from his expression that her words had hit home. His arms loosened slightly as he regained control from whatever had caused him to clutch her to him, but, while she was glad he wasn’t consumed by it, she was also concerned that there was yet another thing that he wasn’t sharing with her.

“I know, but that’s not what you’re planning on doing is it?” she clarified, confused as to why he would even feel the need to say such a thing.

“Absolutely not,” Scott exclaimed, horrified at the thought. “He’s going to need time to settle back in and recover so there’s no way I’d do that.”

“But at least the pressure of the rescue will be off you by then. That’s got to be something at least?” Cat sat up and turned to face him in the vain hope that it would help her to follow his line of thinking that seemed to run deeper than she had been aware of.

“Yeah, that’ll be something I guess,” Scott conceded. “It’s just… you know how I took on almost all of the business side of things after we lost Dad? Well, it’s been a lot of work but it’s OK, it’s what I’ve had to do to keep everything running.”

Scott squeezed her gently as he spoke, as if to reassure her that he really had been coping with everything over the years before loosening his grip again and continuing.

“But since we found out that Dad might still be alive, the thought’s been there that I might not have to do this forever and to be honest, it’s felt like more and more of a burden,” he continued more quietly, making Cat strain to hear him properly. “It’s almost like now that it might be about to get eased a bit, I’ve realised how heavy it is and it’s almost unbearable. But then I feel guilty because when I say it cos it sounds like I only want Dad back so I can set him to work again and that’s not how I feel at all. I just want my family back together.”

Scott looked up from where he had been focussed on his hands and met her eyes, expecting to see revulsion and judgement in them; instead, all he found was sympathy and understanding.

“Oh, sweetheart, I totally understand what you’re saying,” Cat soothed, holding his gaze as she bridged the gap between them, reaching out and stroking his cheek in a bid to comfort him. “Nobody would ever think you were only wanting your dad back for selfish reasons. It’s not who you are and anybody who’s ever met you would know that instantly.”

Since her stay on the island, Cat had a much better idea of just how hard Scott worked, and she was full of admiration for how he dealt with it all. The stress of suddenly becoming the head of both Tracy Industries and International Rescue while grieving the sudden loss of his father must have been almost too much to bear, yet he had shouldered it for years without complaint. Wanting a release from it seemed completely natural to her.

“Thank you. I just feel so horrible and selfish even thinking it.” Scott looked away, moving out of reach of Cat’s comforting touch, ashamed that he had been reduced to this. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one who could cope with anything, and here he was struggling to even cope with doing the basics after so long.

“You’re absolutely not horrible,” Cat protested fiercely, taking his hands in hers, and holding them tightly, the passion in her voice making him look back at her in surprise. “You’re a wonderful, kind, compassionate man who is in a really, really stressful situation. And you’re allowed to be a bit selfish sometimes. Nobody is going to judge you, least of all me. I’m always here, no matter what’s going through that head of yours.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” Scott lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, savouring the scent of her skin as it calmed his racing mind.

“You must have been very bad in a previous life,” Cat quipped, trying to lighten the melancholy that had descended. To her great relief, Scott laughed, relieving some of the tension in the room.

“Well, it was clearly the right decision,” he countered with a twinkle in his eye, leaning in and capturing her mouth in a soft kiss. “Seriously though, thank you so much for not pressuring me to talk or to come and see you over the past couple of weeks. I know it’s been hard but I needed the time to get everything done and if I’d been here my brain would still have been on the island.”

Cat nodded but remained silent, allowing him the time and space to talk now that he seemed willing, sensing that there was still more that he needed to get off his chest.

“I’ve been desperate to see you but I just couldn’t leave,” he continued, feeling like more and more weight was lifting with every word. “It probably sounds stupid but the thought of getting Dad back is like a dream, and it’s felt like if I do anything else but focus on it, I’d wake up and it would be over or something. I’ve been fighting it for weeks so thank you for not adding to the pressure I was putting on myself.”

“That’s OK,” Cat smiled, glad that her instincts had been correct. “You’re your own worst enemy sometimes though. You know that don’t you?”

Scott sighed and rubbed his face. “I know,” he said eventually, “I just don’t want to be a burden to anyone.”

“I totally understand that. I can’t even imagine how stressed you all must be and not wanting to offload onto your brothers is perfectly reasonable. But I’m sure you could have spoken to Selene? And I hope you know you can always talk to me.”

“I know I can,” he smiled softly. “I just didn’t know what to say.”

Silence hung over them as Cat reached forward, brushing his cheek gently with her fingertips before sliding her hand around the back of his head, pulling him towards her and kissing him softly.

“It’s OK not to know what you want to say,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. “There’s no pressure to talk about anything if you don’t want to, now or ever. I just want you to know that you can.”

Her touch had always centred him and been a calming influence in times of need. He drew strength from it now and took a deep breath, needing the release from talking but still terrified of admitting his deepest fears.

“I’m scared,” he admitted finally, pulling back and meeting her eyes with his, the vulnerability contained within them breaking her heart. “Assuming we even find him, what’s Dad going to think about what I’ve done over the last 8 years?”

Scott broke their gaze suddenly, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his face before looking up and to meet her eyes again.

“Did I do the right thing, bringing Gordon and Alan in?” he carried on. “We couldn’t have operated the way we did without them but they were so young. It’s always been my responsibility to look after them but it was my decision to include them in everything that nearly killed Gordon.”

“The important thing to remember is that Gordon is fine and you’ve done the best you could with the situation you were in,” Cat interjected, hoping to relieve at least some of the guilt that he was so obviously feeling. “Yeah, maybe your dad would have done some of it differently, but that doesn’t mean that anything you did was wrong. You’ve brought Gordon and Alan up to be amazing young men, and your dad will be so proud of you for that.”

“But how can I even look at him?” Scott continued, not giving any indication that he’d registered anything she’d said. “I was the one that called off the search. It’s my fault that he’s been out there for so long.”

“Scott, no,” Cat exclaimed, grabbing his hands for the second time that evening, jolting him back momentarily from where he had been drowning in his regrets and forcing him to look at her, shocked at the agony that she saw in his eyes as they met hers. “I’m not letting you talk like that. None of this is your fault.”

“But if we’d kept looking maybe we’d have found him sooner. He wouldn’t have been alone for so long,” desperation filled Scott’s voice as he spoke, waves of guilt continuing to roll over him despite clinging to the anchor that Cat was offering him.

“You couldn’t possibly have found him any sooner than you have,” Cat continued, relentless in her logic, keeping a firm hold of his hands in a desperate attempt to keep him grounded. “You were following the evidence and from what you’ve told me, absolutely nothing pointed to anything other than it being an explosion. You couldn’t possibly have known what you do now any earlier.”

Scott remained silent, his thoughts whirling as he processed what she’d just said. He’d told himself the same things as she was now so many times that he’d lost count, but when the panic took over, he found it wasn’t enough. Perhaps she was speaking the truth, his brain supplied. If she was saying it too, then maybe it was true and he hadn’t just abandoned his father for 8 years, alone in the darkness of space?

“Yeah, I do know that,” he admitted after a pause that made Cat nearly pass out with worry, finally allowing himself to believe what deep down he knew was correct. He sagged slightly as he breathed deeply, blinking away tears that clouded his vision as the panic that had been threatening to overwhelm him abated a little. “I should have tried to find the escape capsule before now though. If I’d done that, then maybe we could have tried to rescue him sooner.”

“I understand why you’d feel like that, but remember that when you were making all these decisions, you were grieving,” Cat reminded him, unwilling to allow him to start second guessing himself again.

“I know. It’s just a lot to get my head around, that’s all.” Now that he was thinking a little clearer, Scott was left exhausted and stripped bare, unable to hide anything else from her. “I’ve lost track of the number of ‘what if’ scenarios that play out in my head every night. I don’t even know what to expect when he’s back. I mean, Alan and Gordon were so young when it happened. How’re they going to adapt to having him home?”

He paused again, this time reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck in an unconscious bid to soothe himself.

“What the hell are we going to do if the worst happens and we don’t find him?” he continued quietly as he dropped his hand back down, allowing her to take it in hers once again. “I was there, Cat. I had to fly home alone. Leaving without him and going home, knowing that he wasn’t following behind me was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do and since we found out he might’ve survived, I relive it every single day.” There was a hint of desperation in his voice as he met her gaze, the devastation he’d felt during that flight written clearly in his eyes.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it again,” he added, his voice so small that Cat struggled to hear it.

Cat’s heart broke for him. Knowing that there was nothing she could possibly say to reassure him, she scooped him up into her arms and pulled him into her, feeling him bury his head into her neck as she held him tightly, his previously unshed tears wetting her collar.

Lying safe and secure in her arms, Scott finally allowed himself the release he had needed for so long and he clung to her as all the conflicting emotions he had been struggling with since the discovery that their dad might still be alive poured out. He’d been holding everything in for so long that it had become second nature to him not to burden anyone with it, especially his brothers.

In Cat, he had found someone with whom he knew he could be completely himself with, and would never judge any moments of weakness. He knew he could always talk to any of the other inhabitants of the island, and he frequently confided in Selene when things got too hard to handle alone but there was something different about opening up this time.

Everyone on the island was fighting their own demons about the impending rescue, and he had no intention of adding to their worries. Having someone who was entirely his and not already supporting one or more members of his family gave him the confidence to be completely vulnerable.

He could hear her murmuring calm words into the top of his head, the sound of her voice caressing and soothing him. Still needing the sanctuary she was offering, he continued to cling to her as she shifted into a more comfortable position for them both, her grip on him relaxing slightly as he felt her starting to card her fingers through his hair, the sensation making him sigh with relief.

Gradually, Cat felt him start to relax, tense muscles loosening and hitched breathing evening out to a calm, regular rhythm again as sleep overcame him. Despite being trapped underneath him, she had no intention of disturbing his much-needed slumber and she quickly made her peace with the fact that she was likely to be there for the long haul.

Still stroking his hair, she looked down at him, relieved to see how peaceful he looked, the worry lines and tension that had been so obvious in his face since he had arrived now smoothed out.

Thinking back over the last hour, her heart ached for him and everything that he was shouldering. She had known from their calls that there was more going on in his head about the rescue than he was letting on. But, whenever she’d asked if he was OK, he’d brushed her off and, even if he hadn’t, she’d never imagined that his fears could run so deep. The more she thought about it, the more she was glad that he had held back and allowed them to have the conversation in person as not being able to comfort him would have been a torture she thought would have ended with her marching up to Parker and demanding he take her to Tracy Island immediately.

As the minutes ticked by, the high emotions of the evening began to take their toll on her too, and she found her eyes closing, sleep overtaking her just as it had Scott.

****

A strange chiming and the sensation of Scott launching himself off the sofa awoke Cat with a start. She didn’t remember dozing off but she supposed she must have done as she rubbed her eyes blearily, trying to work out how much time had elapsed.

“Come in Thunderbird 5.” Scott’s voice cut across the room, simultaneously silencing the chime and answering the question of what it had been in the first place.

“Hope I’m not disturbing anything,” John commented with a raised eyebrow, his holographic form taking in Scott’s tousled hair and crumpled shirt, “but Brains brought forward the test and it’s all looking good. I know it’s your time off but if you want to be back for when he’s finished analysing the results, you’ll need to think about leaving.”

“F.A.B. John, thanks for letting me know. I’m on my way,” Scott signed off, excitement coursing through him that they might finally be in a position to launch.

As soon as the projection of his brother disappeared, Scott turned back to Cat, simultaneously excited at the news of the test and disappointed that he couldn’t stay and properly enjoy his time with her now that he was feeling better about everything.

“I’m sorry,” he started, taking a few hesitant steps toward her, suddenly fearful that after his outburst earlier she would be somehow reluctant to let him go. “I know we’ve not had long together but I need to go for this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she soothed, closing the gap between them and slipping her arms around his waist, enjoying the closeness as he pulled her into him. “You absolutely don’t need to apologise. You need to be there for this. If you even thought about staying I’d call you an idiot and kick you out the house, so don’t even suggest it.”

“You sound like Selene,” Scott grumbled, his smile giving away his true feelings about the similarity between his best friend and his girlfriend.

“Well, she’s clearly a wise woman,” Cat smiled. “There’s a reason why you’re so close to both of us.”

“Thank you,” Scott said quietly, leaning down and giving her a small kiss.

“What for?” Cat was genuinely confused, wracking her brains for anything she could have done that would have warranted thanks.

“For understanding. Not everyone would,” Scott explained, beyond grateful to her for making all of this extraordinary situation so easy on him.

“You don’t need to thank me. Even seeing you for an hour would have been worth it and we’ve had way longer than that tonight,” Cat replied earnestly, holding his gaze as the blue depths in his eyes took her breath away, leaving her feeling lightheaded and giddy.

“Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” he grinned, very much enjoying the flush that had appeared on her cheeks, his pulse quickening as their eyes remained locked together.

“A few times, but I’m always happy to hear it again,” Cat smiled, more than happy to feed him the line that she knew he was waiting for.

“You’re amazing. And wonderful. And I’m very, very lucky to have you,” Scott confirmed, punctuating each statement with soft kisses that sent shivers up Cat’s spine.

“Well, I’m very glad that you think so,” she said, pulling away from him and breaking the moment before it could turn into something that would make him very, very late back for the results briefing. Releasing him from her grip, she glanced around the living area, checking quickly for his belongings. “Now, have you got all your stuff? You didn’t bring much did you?”

“Nope, I travel pretty light,” Scott smiled, trying to make light of the situation as he grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and crossed over to the door before turning to say goodbye.

“Well, I guess this is it.” Cat desperately didn’t want him to leave. Knowing that he was going into danger every day was one thing, but this was something else and the fear of what would happen on the rescue held her paralysed where she stood, desperately wanting to cross the distance between them but finding herself somehow unable to move.

“I guess so,” Scott agreed, similarly pinned in place by the reality of the moment.

A slight twitch of a muscle was all it took and they slammed together, clinging desperately to each other, neither sure who had moved first. Unaware of anything but his need for her, Scott tangled his hand in her hair, pulling her head back and crushing her lips with his own as he tried to imprint every second into his memory.

Her lips were firm beneath his and she moaned as she returned the kiss with feeling, making him clutch her to him even tighter. She tasted vaguely of the wine she had drunk at dinner, but underneath that, she was just undeniably her and that was the most comforting taste in the world to him.

Pulling back, flushed and breathless they held each other’s gaze for a long moment. So many words flooded through Cat’s head. So many things that she longed to tell him, things that scared her but that she didn’t want to leave unsaid.

“Scott? I….” Cat tailed off, losing her nerve mid-sentence and immediately hating herself for her cowardice before taking a deep breath and continuing. “Come back? Please. No matter what happens, just come back.”

It was as far as she was prepared to go to acknowledge how dangerous the rescue could be. They both knew what was at stake, that much was clear, but the time for talking had passed now.

“I will, I promise.” Scott pulled her into another fierce hug, kissing the top of her head as determination flashed through his eyes.

“I’ll come back. No matter what happens.” He echoed before pulling back and dipping down to kiss her gently, deepening the kiss as she responded, as she pressed herself against him.

“Hold that thought,” he told her with a rakish grin as he tore himself away. “I’ll be back to finish it as soon as I possibly can.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked through the door, letting it click softly shut behind him and leaving Cat not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

#Scott Tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015

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vaire-gwir · 4 years

Text

Some Cat and Wolf fanfic I had in mind

Edit: I think I fixed it now, should make a little more sense.

I was listening to I Lost a Friend and it made me me think about Lambert and Aiden for some reason. Why, you may ask, well I don’t know. This is just my poor attempt at what happens after Aiden‘s death (spoiler?), Lambert coping with the loss and remembering. This thing was sounded better in my head so, is it terrible? probably, I mean I’m trash, not the sexy kind. Attention please: I’m a sucker for feedback, give me all the feedbacks, I want to know if you liked it, hated it or if it’s so bad you stopped reading after 5 lines.

Attention please, pt2: this is hardly canon, obviously, and it’s also surely out of characters but I mean no disrespect, sorry if it offends you. Leave me a comment or message me to tell me where did I go wrong and I’ll be a very happy cookie. It was originally longer but pt2 is still wip. Thanks to any single person that will spend their time reading it, I’ll love you forever <3

***

There’s no body and there’s no grave. Dead Witchers? It doesn’t make sense to have a grave for something that already filled people’s nightmares when it was alive. There was a space somewhere, a dirty and soon forgotten corner of earth where the medallions were buried, but that was it. Not wanted in life, not missed in death. And yet, Lambert fucking missed the Cat.

For a time he wore the cat medallion around his neck hidden and tucked away under his shirt, he made the chain longer for that sole purpose, even if it was weird wearing two. It seemed such a great idea until he woke up one night scratching and clawing at his chest, cause he felt like there was not enough air in the entire forest for him to breath in and the cold eyes of the cat were definitely moving, watching him, twitching and staring like they expected something from him but he has absolutely nothing to give. Another dream filled with green eyes slowly turning dull and empty, words dying on chapped lips, blood-splattered hair, and a cloud of red blooming under a familiar body. It’s not the first dream of this kind he had in the last month, Aiden’s death haunts every moment of his life except when he’s killing something. When he tears off the chain from his neck Lambert stares at it like it has all the fucking answers in the world, If he listens hard enough he’ll catch them, he just has to learn to listen.

The night is still and calm, the fire still crackling over the soft sound of the wind between the trees carrying nothing but silence. His life has always been filled with silence, noise usually meant bad news: his mother and he had to be quiet in the house to not further irritate his asshole of a father, cause they didn't want to give him another excuse to lash out at them, he was already beating them enough. Kaer Morhen was always silent, except during the trials so if the silence broke it was replaced by screams and agony and cries for endless hours. Life on the path was not without sounds, never the good kind though, cause nobody ever willingly talked to witchers unless they had a contract and monsters were harder to fight when they were irate because of the noise, already screeching and scratching enough as they were. Silence was the uncomfortable calm before the storm in his life.

Everything had to be silent to be fine until Aiden appeared. Then, the silence was comfortable, filled with a heartbeat as slow as his own, holding no expectations that he couldn't fulfill. Not that the cat was ever silent for too long anyway, but the words out of his mouth somehow never bothered Lambert cause Aiden never expected anything from him and never demanded more than what he could give. He didn't push him to talk when he felt like being on his own, he accepted his horrible habit of not thinking before speaking, and he called him out on his bullshit when he tended to lash out at anything and anyone just because he was upset or trying to protect himself. Aiden seemed to recognize the difference when he was silent because there was no need for words and when his mind was racing too fast and his thoughts were all dangerously closing in and choking him. Not only Aiden knew when to leave him alone and when not, but he also seemed to be able to pull him out of that rushing jumble of dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm him and he made it look so fucking easy. Soon enough Lambert discovered that everything in his life required a huge amount of effort: fighting, living on the run, the hardships of the path, the choices always taken from him. Being with Aiden was easy. Being with Aiden was simply effortless. Traveling the path together seemed to make more sense and for once in his life, Lambert chose this. His choice was to be with Aiden, it's the only one that was not stripped from him, and the one he never regretted.

Before Aiden, he longed for winter. His poor excuse of a home was still better than life on the path, and while Kaer Morhen housed some of his most painful memories, it was the closest thing to a place and a family he ever called his own. But after he met Aiden there was not the same peace in the idea of walking up The Killer to the empty ruins for the long winter months, too much time to be on his own, and facing his brothers always made him understand how he was still not enough. He loved them, he'd die for them, but they represented everything he could never be. Spring seemed an entire lifetime away, and by the end of winter Lambert was fidgeting and itching to leave as soon as possible, the promise of seeing Aiden in Kaedwen alluring as the song of a siren and he couldn't even pretend he wanted to resist it. His brothers had their fair share of snarky comments and jokes ready for him, but not even the concern for whatever opinion they shared on his behavior was enough to keep him in the castle as soon as the snow melted. Aiden had the habit of asking him how much he missed him as soon as they were in the quiet bubble of their room in some inn or the other and Lambert had the habit of telling him to fuck off, kissing him hungrily and biting on his neck too hard on purpose, as if he was trying to reclaim something that belonged to him. There was this need under his skin to touch and feel Aiden everywhere at once, committing again to memory the map of his skin, the only place where he could lose himself. He'd notice if there were any new scars, breathing in the scent of spices and mint that now meant home to him, and always kissing with something close to reverence the long scar under his ribs that Lambert patched up himself the year before. He missed the Cat, terribly. He missed him when he was gone for two days on a contract, months were nothing short of torture. The knowledge that he'll miss him for the rest of his miserable life is too much for him to take. Aiden never hesitated before answering I missed you too.

He gave up any fantasy of sleep he may have had, coming to terms with the fact that he's clearly not going to rest tonight. Again. He stares into the fire, willing the tangled mess in his mind to sit still, but it never works when he's alone. Aiden would help, but Aiden's not here. He's not anywhere. Would it be better if there was a grave to dig? Or a pyre to build, if there was wood to collect, something to set on fire and watch it burn until dawn, maybe, just maybe, Lambert could force himself to finally say goodbye. To tell him how wrong he was about that vampire nest contract, and how he always cheated at Gwent because he's an asshole that doesn’t know how to lose, that his words always come out all wrong and I really wanted you to come to Kaer Morhen for winter, I don't care what anyone says, sorry, I love you. Will you still hear it I say it enough times now? It's always words that cause trouble in his life, words he meant to say but he never did and words he shouldn't have said and he regrets them now when it's too late to take them back. Between the two of them, it has always been a constant push and pull on a rope stretched thin by too much anger, and not enough choices.

Lambert remembers the first time they met. And the first time they kissed. The cold tight squeeze in his chest just where the medallion usually rests never seems to ease. There's this cat-shaped necklace dangling in front of him and it seems to whisper at him about how he failed again, as he always did his whole life, and Aiden could have had so much better. And it's true, cause in the middle of the night every part of him knows that Aiden deserved someone better, not someone who ran or kissed him in the middle of a rotting vampire nest. Aiden deserved the world and he couldn't even give him one winter.

*****

<<I told you it was a nest.>> Aiden extracts his sword from the body of the last vampire he killed, the one that managed to claw at his thigh. The cut already stopped bleeding by the time he catches his breath and looks around at the mess of severed heads and bodies surrounding them.

<<Why are you still fucking talking?>> Lambert is laying against a tree, there are claw marks on his chest where one of the beasts scratched his armor and his back is probably already one giant black and blue bruise considering how many times he was slammed against the wall of the cave.

<<Well, it got my leg darling, not my tongue.>> The cheeky tone doesn't go unnoticed, Lambert raises his eyes to where Aiden is standing, cleaning his swords before he starts rummaging through their packs.

<<You never shut up, do you?>> Lambert adds growling, trying to hide the pain spreading from his side and back while he sits up, using the trunk as support. He closes his eyes for a heartbeat, steeling himself to get up and prepare to finish their job and the next time he hears Aiden’s voice is suddenly much closer than he anticipated. The Cat is leaning on the very same tree, looking down at him with a vial in his hands.

<<You know you don't scare me you big stupid wolf, growl all you like. Now let me take a look at that.>> Lambert wishes he had enough strength to come up with a nasty comment or punch him, but he doesn't feel like moving anymore. The scent of the Cat so close to him is relaxing him, more than it should be, his shadow is so close to him that if he stretches his fingers just a bit he'll be able to touch him. He wants to touch him. For weeks he has been craving something he can't have, and he knows he's not supposed to need that, though that knowledge doesn't stop him from wanting. He's convinced that the Cat sure as hell don't want to be touched by him, his attitude is just empty comebacks and nothing more, but at times it is harder to focus on that. Certain times like when Aiden is that close to him, and he's been thinking way too often about how bad would it be to kiss his...friend.

<<I'm fine.>>

<<Sure, I hear your bones cracking every time you breathe but you're doing great, I see that.>> Aiden passes him a vial and he gratefully gulps down half of it, the familiar taste of Swallow spreading on his tongue. Lambert must admit that it’s nice to have the Cat around. It will be painful when Aiden leaves like everyone else. It’s just a matter of time before he gets tired of the Wolf. Lambert doesn't believe in the Gods, he'd pray to them if he did, pray to be ready for that pain when it happens. He hopes they still have some time together before Aiden decides he can’t stand him anymore and their little agreement is over but he also knows that nobody ever stays for long.

<<Good to know you didn't poison me.>>

<<See? I didn't kill you yet, don't we make an excellent couple? Will you let me take a look now or are you scared I'll bite? I promise I won't. Unless you like it of course.>> There's nothing funny about their situation, but leave it to the Cat to flirt with him when they are stranded in the middle of nowhere 'cause their horses ran away scared. And it is fun to pretend there’s more underneath his words, except it wasn't flirting of course, Aiden talks like that to everyone. He has been warned countless times about how witchers from the School of the Cat can be too passionate, physical and most of the times unbalanced. Some mage decided it was fun to tweak with the formula before the trials and realized his mistake only when everyone involved died. Of course the bastard didn’t stop there, mages never did, and kept playing with the mutagens until the children involved lived. Well, 5 out of 13 lived, the asshole considered it a victory and sent the recently made Witchers on their merry way. Lambert has heard the story before, it’s different when Aiden tells him though, cause he was there. It still doesn’t stop him from pointing out the obvious from time to time.

<<You cats are really fucking weird.>> And Aiden doesn’t even get mad anymore, he knows there’s no judgment behind Lambert’s words.

<<Yes, comes with the package love, thank you for noticing. Take this off so I can properly look at you, want to make sure nothing is broken. >>

<<Don't need you to. I'm good.>> He'd never admit that he likes Aiden's attention on him cause he can almost believe that the Cat cares for him in some way. Almost. Lambert's mind quickly supplies that Aiden probably doesn't want to drag him across a swamp and the forest with a few broken bones cause it would take forever.

<<Clearly I'm the only one with some sense here, so how about you keep that pretty mouth shut and let me help you.>> Aiden kneels next to him on a patch of dry ground, and Lambert never really understood how the Cat could always be so attractive.

<<Clothes off, now pup.>> There’s no way he’s allowed to say something like that, more so because Lambert seems unable to resist him, and his hands are already making quick work of the buckles on his armor. He likes to believe that Aiden stares as if he was enjoying the view.

<<Well kitty, I know I'm hard to resist but you don't need an excuse to see me half naked.>>

<<Don't I? Oh, I'll hold you that promise later.>> Lambert wants him to, he'll deny it to himself later when they're in a rented room and he's not listening to the Cat’s breathing to fall asleep. He discards his sweaty shirts and tries to relax, fighting the suddenly kicking instinct inside him that doesn't like the idea of having someone so close when he's so exposed and he's not even clutching a dagger or two. For a few seconds, he has a hard time remembering that the Cat wanted to help him and not kill him. Aiden must sense his thoughts cause he's removing his two swords to gently lay them on the ground next to his legs, the metal shining in plain sight like some weird peace offering.

<<I'm not going to kill you, wolf.>>

Lambert turns around while the Cat silently moves behind him, he wants to say something but he's unable to put together the words to express his appreciation. It's not a small thing for a witcher to leave his weapons, he knows that very well, he's always reluctant to do the same, he's not sure he’d even think of doing it if the roles were reversed. Aiden did, and he had no reason to be this considerate with him, not a single one.

He so lost in his own though that the first touch catches him by surprise and the feeling of Aiden's fingers on his back make him jump a little, but it's his voice right next to his hear, close, so close that he feels the gentle puff of his breath on the skin of his neck that makes him shiver.

<<Just relax and be a good pup for me.>> Lambert is sure that Aiden said something else but he didn't catch it. The Cat is too close to him, his words, his scent of spices mixed with the sweat of the fight, the touch of his hand, it all overwhelms his senses in a way he had never experienced before. He desperately wants to lean against him and feel more of everything that Aiden seems to be so easily offering and it takes a willpower Lambert didn't even know he has to stop himself from moaning when both of his hands press over his back. He tries very hard to remind himself that this is not supposed to feel good, this is simply an act of kindness, a friend checking if you're hurt, it's not meant to make him feel like he's standing too close to a great source of magic and his senses are alerted, but then Aiden's hand is at the back of his neck, warm and inviting and there's no way in hell the Cat missed the sound that escaped his lips. He's cursing every God he can think of for the way his body betrays him, but then the feeling is gone, Aiden is gone, he's standing and collecting his swords again as if nothing ever happened. He knows there's a smirk on his face by the sound of his next words but Lambert is afraid he'll do something stupid if he looks up at him, so right now staring at his hands in his lap is perfectly good for him.

<<Good news, whatever was broken is already fixed but your back will be blue for a while. Bad news, we still have a pile of dead vampires to burn.>>

It takes a moment longer than necessary for Lambert to register the meaning of his words, his body still tingling from where Aiden touched him, the scent of spices and something fresh, is it mint? lingers around him. Oh he's so screwed.

<<Lambert?>> He pretends to busy himself with his shirt, just to keep his hands occupied and preventing him from reaching out to the Cat. He finally composes himself enough to look at Aiden: long and deceptively lean legs stretching in front of him, clothed in blue and covered in a layer of dust, narrow waist with too many belts tightly buckled, strong muscular chest and arms crossed over the layers of leather and armour, a scar on the side of his neck, barely visible under the dark caramel curls, green and intelligent cat-eyes looking straight at him. Lambert wonders for a minute if his eyes were that green even before he was turned into a Witcher, cause usually the colours were always altered. Wolf at best had amber eyes, at best meaning Geralt, lucky bastard as always.

<<Are you sure nothing is still broken? Cause I really don't feel like moving around vampire's heads.>>

<<That, my dear wolf, is called being a lazy ass, and has nothing to do with your not-broken back.>>

<<Fine, fine, if I strain myself I'll blame your poor nursing abilities.>> says Lambert before standing up. Aiden’s lips were curled in a smirk, he looked all too pleased with himself. Nobody should be so beautiful.

<<Oh trust me wolf, I’d knew perfectly well how to take care of you.>> Damnit. That was not supposed to sound enticing.

They start working together, dragging the bodies around and collecting the dry wood they could find. Aiden was moving quickly, keeping his hands and mind busy to get rid of the adrenaline rush. Lambert finds himself staring without even realizing he's doing it. He is torn between feeling unnerved by how Aiden managed to keep a sense of grace even covered in sweat and dust, collecting firewood to burn some fucking vampires after the shitty night they had, and the burning temptation of running his fingers through his sweaty hair down the side of his face, just to feel the warm skin under his palm. Sometimes he sees him panting with strain and when his lips twitch in the most inviting way, lips that seem to demand to be kissed, and it's a sin to leave him waiting....

<<See something you like pup?>> Aiden's voice distracts him from his dangerous thoughts, and thank for that cause there's no way he was thinking about how good it would feel to kiss the only friend he ever had. Lambert is determined to not ruin the frail bond between them just because he's probably horny. He never had a friend, especially not one like Aiden. He constantly fears losing him, he knows it will happen, but he doesn't want to speed up the process and send the Cat running away cause he dreams of his mouth. He has reasons enough to dump him anyway.

<<Don't call me that. And there's not much to like about this rotting nest.>>

<<Oh you know how to brighten the mood, don't you, pup?>>

<<For what? Burning vampires? If this is your ideal date then I'm sorry for your lovers, but I've got bad news.>> He can't seem to remember when was the last time Aiden mentioned a lover but he's pretty sure he talked about someone from the caravan. Lambert tried to make fun of the weird Cats habit to easily sleep with others from the same school as if he never spent a winter in Eskel’s bed. Lambert also knows that there's an asshole out there that left him and hurt him, when Aiden shares that story he has to stop himself from hunting the whoreson down wherever he may be and rip him to shreds.

<<And you are a real expert when it comes to dates and lovers, aren't you?>>

<<Wouldn't you like to find out, kitty?>> He wasn’t an expert, considering that he rarely even asked for the same whore in a brothel and every attempt at relations ended in his lovers running away, vanishing or dying. It was always bickering and poking fun at each other between the two of them, trying to get under the skin, riling the other up just to see who would quit first. It was nothing more than a game. He's still chastising the part of him that decided to be jealous of anyone that ever had Aiden in ways he'll never be allowed to have. There must be some lucky bastards around the Continent that kissed him, touched him, fucked him, woke up with sheets full of his scent.

<<Well, I'd love to find out. Is that a promise? >>

Lambert quits first this time, because there's something in Aiden's tone that tells him the cat is not kidding, and what if he isn't? Maybe the teasing is not just empty banter and there's a very small chance that Aiden wants him too. Lambert shakes his head, internally laughing at the absurd thoughts that cross his mind, and goes back to the pile of wood, brushing the stupid idea aside. The Cat didn't want him. It was good enough that he treated Lambert as an equal and most of the times he didn't judge him for his idiotic decisions, there's nothing more he could ask. That's more than anyone has ever been willing to give him. Aiden could have anyone in the world and he's too smart to be interested in a mess like Lambert. Nothing is interesting about him. He doesn't have bright and clever green eyes, he doesn't know what patience is and he can barely string enough words together on a good day to make sure people understood him, he doesn't smell like mixed spices and yes, the fresh tang he detects its definitely mint, it reminds him of the field behind his house when he was a child. Oh yes, it will burn like hell when Aiden leaves. If only the Cat would stop being so....easy to like.

<<Let's just burn this motherfuckers so we can get a drink.>>

<<I like how there's a we now. Any plans for us?>>

<<Gods you're exhausting, how does anyone put up with you?>> It’s one second after the words leave his mouth that Lambert realized what he said. It's one second after the shadow of anger and hurt flicker on Aiden's face that he understands he fucked up and he can see the cloud of emotions passing inside him.

<<Oh fuck, I...don't....>>

<<It's fine, exhausting is hardly the worst thing I've been called. Won't be the worst. I probably am anyway.>>

<<Didn’t mean it, fuck, I....>>

<<Save it. Not the first time I hear it.>> The pieces of the puzzle suddenly clicked inside Lambert's head and stories traded in front of the fire echo in his head. 'Oh you're wrong, I'm not the one doing the up and leaving part. I'm the one that is too much to deal with and they leave. There's a reason why they say Cats are not very stable, everyone gets tired of that.’ Aiden doesn't look at him, his eyes are focused on the pile of dead bodies before him and this gives Lambert an accurate idea of how much he fucked up: it speaks volume if your companion (friend?) would rather stare at dead vampires than at you. He didn't even mean to take it so far, it was just supposed to be another joke. He would never hurt Aiden on purpose.

<<Listen, what I meant was....>>

<<Don't. I don't need pity. Not from anyone, and especially not from you. Let's finish this up and let's go.>>

<<Oh you stupid bastard, it's not that! I say the wrong things all the time, there's a reason why everyone always says I have no brain left to save my own life, Eskel is the smart one, I'm just the angry idiot, point is...>> He looks up at the Cat and Aiden is upset. His hands are clenched at his sides and Lambert doesn't really know how to fix it. He wants to walk over and grab him, hold him close until the anger is gone, and if he was a better man he'd try to explain that nobody ever taught him how to fix anything, let alone how to not break things. He can't stand the idea of Aiden being angry at him and he doesn't need to add this to the list of reasons why he hates himself.

<<....I'd put up with you. >>

<<Oh thank you, how very generous of you. You'd put up with me like you put up with your duty and your contracts? You know what, shut up. You made it clear enough you don't like me and you don't want to have me around, I got it.>> Aiden is still not looking at him, and he sounds so different than any other time they fought before. Disappointment, that's what he sounds like. That's how every person that ever mattered spoke to Lambert at some point, usually before beating him, leaving him or disappearing from his life. He could take a whipping any day now, but he still can't take the disappointed voices telling him how much he messed up.

<<I....I don't. I mean I do like you. Not this...close to me. The longer you stay around the harder it will be for me when you go.>>

<<Do you want me to go? >>

<<I don't know, I never thought you would not not go.>> Since they decided to travel together after Temeria, Lambert has been waiting for Aiden to go, trying to prepare himself for the inevitable moment of truth. He's been expecting it like you expect a storm when you see dark clouds brewing at the horizon. Something inevitable you can't escape.

<<Why? I made it clear enough that I liked sticking around you.>> Aiden's voice is softer now, still laced with pain but less angry, less hurt.

<<Yes, for the contracts, slaying monsters is easier if there's two of us, less dangerous. >> Aiden moves too quickly for him to follow his steps and he is standing right in front of him, looking straight at him.

<<You honestly believe I kept traveling with you just because I want someone to watch my back? >> There's something in his tone he can't picture what it is, but Aiden is looking at him, and he has a little smirk on his face, so maybe this means things are not as bad as they were two minutes ago, maybe Lambert can hate himself a little less now. If Aiden leaves now, he won't leave angry at least. It's a small victory.

<<Seemed like a good idea as any. You kept sticking around. I've been trying to get rid of you but you don't get the hint.>>

<<You're not doing any better when it comes to hints dropped around. Do you want to get rid of me? >> Lambert doesn’t have the presence of mind to collect his thoughts, he’s feeling too raw, like the pink edges of the almost-healed gash on Aiden’s leg where his eyes fall.

<<What the fuck does that mean? I don't fucking know! Sometimes I want you to get as far away from me as possible. Sometimes I want to kiss you.>> It's more words than he ever had the guts to tell anyone, probably in his entire life, and this conversation was never meant to happen. Aiden never had to know, he has already plenty of reasons to leave. There must be something he can say to take back that last part, maybe Aiden will agree to pretend it never happened.

<<Then fucking kiss me you stupid pup!>>

<<Stop saying things you don't mean, it's....>>

Aiden crashes their lips together before any other question could be asked out loud. It takes Lambert the fraction of a second to close his eyes, frozen in his spot and trying to make sense of the whole thing, but it feels as good as it always does in his dreams just before he wakes up. Maybe this is not something that he needs to make sense of, so he dares kissing him back. His heart is racing too fast, and his mind blanks out the very instant Aiden's hand is on his neck. He can't get enough of his lips, Aiden tastes like the best thing he ever had, and he wants to stretch time in a slow line before them so he can savor him for a little longer. Or forever.

When Aiden moves back to put a little space between them he doesn't want to let him go, the gap there is suddenly too big and Lambert is not completely sure he can survive without kissing him again.

<<I meant it. Did you?>>

Lambert really wants to say yes, but words, treacherous things as they are, refuse to crawl out of his throat, so he just leans his forehead against Aiden's and breathes in his scent, mint, and honey, and a mix of spices that will always mean happiness from now on. He has never felt so vulnerable, but for the first time in his life, this doesn't make him want to run and hide or put on his armor. He just wants to kiss Aiden until the noise in his head stops. He sneaks a hand into the soft brown curls, fingers itching to touch what he never thought he could have, and brings their lips together again, hunger and desire pooling inside him as he roughly kisses Aiden once more. He's quickly growing addicted to that taste, Aiden's mouth is sweet and warm and he feels all of his anger and frustration melting away against him. Lambert deepens the kiss, and can't help but moan when a hand presses at the small of his back, the strength and power of the body wrapped around his own is strangely reassuring, in a way no one has ever been before. Lambert raises a hand to trace the side of Aiden's face, his beard tickling his palm and the first touch of their tongues makes him burn. Lust sparks deep inside him, making him crave more, he wants to know what Aiden tastes like everywhere, and if he feels like is skin is on fire too. Aiden pressed their bodies together as close as possible, moaning in the most sensual sound Lambert has ever heard in his life.

Aiden has the nerve of licks his lips after they part, making a scene of savoring their combined tastes, as if he doesn't know what it does to Lambert.

<<Took you damn long.>>

<<You could have said something!>>

<<Wolf, I've been saying something for the past three months. You spend so much time in your head you didn't notice.>> Lambert mutters something under his breath that suspiciously sounds like 'how could I have known' and Aiden just laughs.

<<Let's finish this up and get a move on, if we're lucky our employer will pay without making a scene and we can find a room. I’d like to do this some more without the added bonus of dead vampires.>> Lambert blinks twice, looking around as realization dawns on him.

<<Fuck! I forgot about the damn nest!>>

<<Did I kiss you stupid, pup?>>

<<Shut up.>>

He's growling at the Cat, pretending to be mad while he piles up wood and Aiden is laughing again. That is the best sound in the world.

#the witcher #lambert x aiden #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #lambden #aiden x lambert #lambert #aiden #spoilers #i think #the witcher fanfiction #this is trash #I don't know how I came up with it #things I write when I can't sleep

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dreamcatcherfication · 4 years

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Stargazing

So anon asked for Anne getting hurt and needing the help of the other queens (you can read the full request here), and here it is! I wanted to do a balance of everything because I love getting into Anne’s trauma. Don’t have much to say about this fic, but I hope you all enjoy! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, I’m multitasking with an adult coloring book and it’s pissing me off.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Nightmares, blood, descriptions of pain

There were so many voices, all of them too loud to fully register. Only stray words could be heard from the masses around her. “Witch!” One man yelled. “Unholy!” Another. “Temptress!” They continued to shout. Anne wanted nothing more than to claw her ears off so she wouldn’t have to hear their voices. She knew she had made mistakes, she knew there would be consequences, but how could they do this to her?

The guards holding her arms shoved her to her knees, forcing her head down towards the chopping block. Weren’t they supposed to blindfold her first? But Anne could still clearly see everything around her. The jeering of the commoners, the dried blood on the block, the blade on the executioner’s shoulder. Oh God, have mercy, Anne prayed, reliving her worst trauma. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

She wasn’t supposed to see the blade being raised. Terror bubbled in her stomach as it seemed to descend on her in slow motion, the sword glinting as it sliced through the air. The cheers only got louder as the blade grew closer and closer to her bare neck. “Please no!” Anne screamed right as the sword touched her neck, a fiery pain enveloping her body.

Jerking out of her bed, Anne fell to the floor in a tangle of sheets. Her head made a soft banging sound against the hardwood floor, loud enough to jar Anne, but soft enough that no one else would hear it. As she adjusted to her surroundings, Anne put a hand to her forehead and softly groaned. Her head was a jumbled mess, her eyes blurring the walls together until her room looked like one giant circle. Every little thing around her was so stifling, choking the breath out of Anne.

Untangling herself from her sheets, Anne struggled to her feet and stumbled out of her room. The house was dark, but Anne didn’t care. It wasn’t like her head was clear enough to make sense of anything she would see. Making her way down the stairs and to the front door, Anne grabbed the nearest coat. Putting it on, she realized it was small on her - most likely Kat’s jacket - but she didn’t shrug it off for another.

Leaving the house, Anne didn’t bother to lock the door behind her. She would be back soon, and no one was going to try and break in. The streets were silent, not even the occasional midnight car driving by. It must have been two in the morning, she guessed, with how akin everything was to a ghost town. Still, Anne let her feet guide her wherever they decided to take her.

The bright lights of the town began to fade away as the wilderness started to creep in around Anne. As trees started popping up instead of stop signs, Anne realized where she was. “The old tree house,” she murmured, staring up at the rotted tree house above her. She didn’t know who built it or how long it had been there, but one day she and Kat had found it whilst playing hide and seek in the woods. It became a safe haven for all the queens when they needed silence and a place to hide from the world. It was always the old tree house.

If there wasn’t such a sense of sentimentality attached to the structure, Anne would’ve never considered climbing up it. The wood was rotted and there were leaves growing around the boards, but it still held the old feeling of safety that Anne longed for. The ladder up to the tree house was just a bunch of wood planks that had been nailed to the tree, so Anne was able to hoist herself onto the floor of the house pretty easily. Once she was stable on the boards, Anne leaned back and stared up at the stars.

She had never considered stargazing before. It took too much time and it was so simplistic that Anne couldn’t focus long enough to grasp the beauty of it. But being able to watch the blank sky, so simple and constant, Anne started to understand the appeal. The way her mind quieted to take in the black and white blanket was such an inexplicable relief. As if some hidden switch had been flipped, Anne started to notice the twinkling of the stars and their formations. It no longer looked like a bunch of far away dots, but a masterpiece created by God himself for her and her only.

Anne wasn’t used to thinking so deeply. She enjoyed reading and knowledge, but she wasn’t usually a philosopher who dived into the moral questions of humanity. Slowly, her body fell into a state of numbness as everything faded away except for the sky above her.

Maybe if Anne wasn’t so enraptured by the sky, she would’ve noticed the way the wood started to bend beneath her. Perhaps she would have heard the snapping sounds before it was too late. But Anne was blissfully unaware of anything wrong, her mind fixed on the faraway points in the sky. And then she was falling.

It took a moment for Anne’s mind to register that she was no longer on the floorboards of the tree house, but rather falling quickly to the ground. Reaching her hands out, Anne tried to grab anything that would stop her fall. Instead, her leg went flailing into the side of the tree, one of the wooden boards catching on her skin. The giant nail tore at her skin, leaving a giant gash as Anne passed it.

Landing on the side of her body, Anne let out a shrill screech of agony as her leg twisted at an awkward angle. The pain that shot throughout her body was like a rake being dragged over her skin, leaving behind scratches that itched like hellfire. Opening her eyes slowly, Anne glanced quickly at her leg, praying it wasn’t broken. By some miracle it wasn’t, the bone still perfectly in place. She couldn’t say the same for her skin though. Her leg was covered in blood, the muscles twitching and spasming as Anne whimpered in pain.

“Help,” Anne croaked out, hoping that someone would come. “Help?” She should’ve known coming to the middle of the woods at night was a bad idea.

A thought struck Anne and she froze. She was wearing Kat’s jacket, wasn’t she? Shoving her hands into the pockets, Anne silently begged there to be a phone somewhere in the pockets. Kat had a tendency to put things in her pockets and forget they were there. More than once she had come to the queens apologizing for losing something important only for the thing to be in her coat pockets the whole time.

Gasping in relief when she found the phone, Anne turned it on, knowing Kat’s password (6-2-5-6, in honor of her and the queens), and pressed the first contact she could find. The phone rang, almost going to voicemail before the other person picked up. “Kat, why in the world are you calling me at 2:30 AM?”

“Anna!” Anne shouted, her heartbeat picking up. “Thank God, okay, I need you to come get me.”

Anne could feel Anna’s confusion through the phone. “Anne? Why do you have Kat’s phone?”

“It was in her pocket,” Anne replied, “And I’m wearing her jacket. Look, I’m,” she hissed in pain, her leg twitching again, “I’m at the old tree house and I hurt myself - ah - really badly. You gotta come help me,” Anne pleaded.

“Okay, okay,” Anna agreed. The beheaded queen could hear shuffling on her side of the line as Anna presumably got ready to come find Anne. “I’m going to bring Cathy and we’ll help you.”

Wincing, Anne asked, “Don’t tell anyone other than Cathy.”

“Hang in there, Anne,” the German queen made no promises, and then she hung up the phone. Breathing heavily, Anne attempted to right herself. Every movement was another shot of pain through her leg, but she ignored it.

Dragging herself over to the tree, Anne sighed in relief when she leaned against it. Her muscles kept clenching in pain, begging her to do something to fix her leg, but Anne had nothing. Her hands were dirty, so she couldn’t cover the wound with them unless she wanted to risk infection. She had no cloth to cover her leg with and stay the bleeding. All she could do was wait for Anna and Cathy.

It felt like an eternity before two shadows appeared in the treeline. “Anne!” Cathy called, rushing forward to help Anne. Cathy was still in her clothes from earlier that day, having been awake all night. Anna was in a flannel top and pajama pants, her hair unkempt and sticking up in different places.

Both queens kneeled down beside Anne, cringing at her cut. “How did this happen?” Anna asked as Cathy pulled out a cloth she had brought, wrapping it around Anne’s leg.

Pointing upwards, Anne hissed and shifted when Cathy put too much pressure on a soft spot. “The tree house,” Anne breathed in heavily, “it broke when I was up there. One of the nails scratched me when I came down.”

Scoffing, Cathy squeezed Anne’s leg with her makeshift tourniquet. “Scratched is an understatement.”

“We need to get you home,” Anna stood up from her kneeling position. She put a hand under Anne’s arm and started to lift her. Cathy followed, taking Anne’s other arm so that she and Anna could equally support the beheaded queen. Practically dragging Anne between them, the three queens slowly made their way out of the trees. It was a long walk back to the house, but none of the girls had any other way of returning.

Each step was painful for Anne, but she said nothing. Biting her tongue so she wouldn’t let out any noise of distress, Anne internally cursed herself for getting into such a bad situation. It was her fault they were struggling to get back to the queens’ house.

As they were limping down the street, a car drove up beside them, its light blinding. For a moment, Anne feared that her executioner would step out with his blade and Anna and Cathy would hold her down unsympathetically. But when the door to the car opened, it was Aragon in the driver’s seat, her expression neutral. “Get in, I’ll drive us home.”

Without protest, the three queens piled into the back of the car, Anne sitting between Cathy and Anna. Aragon didn’t ask for an explanation, she just drove steadily and calmly, occasionally checking on Anne through her mirror. The only sounds in the car were the grunts of pain Anne tried to stifle in order to keep the others from worrying about her.

When Aragon pulled up to the street beside their house, she parked the car and turned around in her seat. “Jane and Kat are awake, but they don’t know what’s happened. You know how they’ll react when they see you, Anne, so be prepared.”

Nodding, Anne wrapped her arm around Anna’s neck, leaning on her in order to get out of the car. Cathy came around the car and took her place at Anne’s other side. With a nod, Anne let them lead her to the door and into the house where Kat and Jane were waiting.

As soon as the door was open, Kat was standing in front of Anne. “Annie!” she gasped, her face going white, “What happened?”

Anna and Cathy pushed past Kat and laid Anne on the couch, elevating her leg with some of the throw pillows Jane had bought. “She fell from the old tree house,” Cathy answered, checking her makeshift tourniquet.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Jane asked, wrapping her arms around Kat. Everyone knew the teen was sensitive to blood, and seeing her cousin’s leg covered in it wasn’t a welcome sight.

Aragon shook her head, entering the room. “No, the bleeding isn't that bad. Once we clean her up, I’ll drive her to the emergency room.”

Biting her lip, Jane agreed and went to the kitchen to pull out the first aid kit. As Anna and Cathy made sure Anne was comfortable, Kat approached her cousin. “Anne, you’re going to be alright,” she whispered, holding Anne’s hand. She brought it to her chest and held it there so that Anne could feel her warmth.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily Kat,” Anne chuckled, then scrunched her face in pain. “It hurts more than it should,” Anne grumbled, closing her eyes and rolling her neck. She opened her eyes and stared directly into Kat’s worried ones. Glancing around at the other distressed queens, Anne sighed. “I’m sorry for going out and not telling you,” she addressed them all. “I was stupid, like usual, and I paid the price.”

Standing up, Cathy towered over Anne. “That’s not true. Sure, you got hurt, but you don’t have to apologize for it. You’re going to be fine, and that’s what matters.”

Jane reentered the room, carrying the first aid kit under her arm. She set it down and pulled out rubbing alcohol for Anne’s leg. Before Jane could start applying it, Anne spoke again. “But I am sorry. It’s two in the morning and I’ve pushed you all to the edge of your wits.” The soft gazes of her friends made Anne’s heart start to calm down. “I… just - thank you. I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“Anne,” Jane put her hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Family always comes.”

“No matter what dangerous situations you find yourself in,” Anna added.

“Or how many stupid things you do,” Aragon tacked on.

“Family is here for you,” Cathy whispered, her voice soothing Anne’s nerves.

“We love you Annie,” Kat finished, her eyes twinkling like the stars Anne admired so much.

Feeling tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes, Anne hastily wiped her face. No one was laughing at her or cheering for her pain. None of them grinned with malice at her bloody leg. They weren’t cruel like all the people Anne once knew. No, they were like stars, all shining down upon her, reminding her of true love and beauty.

For the first time, Anne finally understood the meaning of stargazing.

-----------------------------------------

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

Song for Autumn: Home || Morgan & Deirdre (pt.1)

TIMING: A few days ago

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan’s ritual needs a very specific conduit. Deirdre knows exactly what she’s looking for.

CONTAINS: Brief discussions of past physical and emotional abuse

One a single minute had passed between the last time Deirdre glanced over at Morgan and tried to stir her attention with a pout, and the horrific realization that Morgan was too entrenched in her reading to even notice Deirdre’s piteous gaze. She’d finished sharpening the knives she sat down with minutes ago, now bored with reveling in the warm silence that filled these afternoons shared with Morgan. It was one singular, burning, terrible, minute from the last time she tried to stir Morgan’s attention, and another two minutes from the time she tried before then. And she knew it would be more agonizing minutes before Morgan remembered she was there at all, and that the sound of scraping against whetstone no longer claimed the air. Sometimes, action needed to be taken into her own hands. With the grace of a cat, she pounced on Morgan’s legs--careful of her files and folders--and crawled up until she could put her face in front of whatever decidedly less attractive text she was reading. Her eyes sparked with curiosity, but her mouth twitched with the tell-tale mark of a fae that wanted attention. “I know you physically can’t get wrinkles, but---” Deirdre offered a wide smile, raising her thumb to wipe away the concentration that fraught between Morgan’s brows. “You’ve been very interested in your papers lately.” The and not so much in me, your adoring and very attractive girlfriend hung unsaid in the air, having been said enough times before to be an echo in the way she pouted. “What are you up to? Anything I can steal you from?” She eyed the cup of once boiling tea---brewed as strong as tea could be---now lukewarm and staining the inside of one of several mugs Deirdre had bought for Morgan. It was a trait that persisted even through death, but Morgan always touched her tea more when it was grading or lesson plans on her mind. “This is Constance stuff, isn’t it?”

The books Morgan and Cece had stolen from the professor’s house were more of a gold mine than she had wanted to believe. She was so used to the world falling around her or promising doors slamming in her face. But this--? Whatever retribution game the original owner of this book had been playing at was, it had been thorough. The one Morgan was settling on was particularly insidious, calling for extra sources of energy, for objects to stabilize and direct the energy safely, for even wielding the pain brought on with precision, ramping it up more as the ritual progressed. Finding someone with the stamina for an hours-long ordeal, and the nerve to go through with this kind of harm, wouldn’t be easy. But Morgan had money, and she could front her own materials. It was only right that she invest herself in her ritual, even if she could do nothing in its execution. The ingredients ran the gamut from easy to forage herbs to...the obscure. Some of the terms were things Morgan hadn’t even heard of…

Deirdre’s voice shocked her out of her stupor. She hadn’t even heard her climb onto the couch. Morgan squealed, then deflated with relief and leaned over to kiss away her pout. “If you want to cuddle, you just have to ask, my love,” she said sweetly. “But yes, it’s Constance. This book has everything I need and then some, but as I’m trying to get my lists together, what I need, where and how am I going to get it, who is going to help and/or bodyguard me from more ghost attacks...I’m not actually sure what all of this stuff is?” She shifted the papers she wasn’t using to the coffee table and guided Deirdre to lay against her so they could look together. “Now, thanks to Evelyn’s help, I’m getting through this weird blend of Latin and French way better that I would have on my own. But this--” she pointed. “Translates to a comb of iron? Iron comb? Is that like...a hair comb?” She laughed, self deprecating at her own confusion and stroked Deirdre’s hair, bringing her in for another kiss.

Deirdre continued to crawl her way between the couch and Morgan, resting her head on the woman’s chest as she’d so often done to her. It, admittedly, was not as comfortable as they would be on more forgiving furniture, but it was better than being sat in her separate chair, sharing longing looks with the side of her girlfriend’s head. “I have been asking, you just hadn’t looked up a single time to see it,” she tried to sound hurt, but her grumble couldn’t last under the delight of finally being able to hold Morgan. She draped her arms around Morgan’s stomach and pressed tight, tilting her head down to see what Morgan was talking about. She stared at the words under her girlfriend’s finger. Blinked. Closed her eyes and kissed Morgan eagerly, imagining the words would shift when she opened them again. But there they were. Peigne de fer. La carde. A jumble of French she didn’t understand, but the English Morgan translated, she did. Her body tensed by reflex, then shivered. “It’s for sheep.” She explained plainly. “Or for the wool, more specifically.” Her hand tightened around Morgan, gripping the fabric of her clothing tightly. “You card the wool to straighten the fibers and pull out any clumps so you can begin spinning it.” She slumped against Morgan and closed her eyes. Memories she would have done well to forget drifted back to her. Her mother held one such Warden designed iron carder in her hands, and spoke something or another about the old fashioned ones and the torture they enjoyed. Somewhere, beyond their bodies, a pig squealed. “The more modern hand carders look just like combs, that’s all they really are, anyway. But the older ones are…” She swallowed and opened her eyes. “That’s what I think your passages are talking about, at least. They aren’t used for much else.”

Laying sprawled together like this delighted Morgan to no end. Toes curling, legs tangling, she folded herself around her girlfriend and showered her head in yet more kisses. “Mmm, I’m sorry, babe,” she murmured, gathering Deirdre’s hair so it would be easier to play with. “I suppose I’ll have to make it up to you, or else be severely punished.” She giggled and tilted Deirdre’s chin up to steal another kiss, a proper lingering one that left cotton tingles on her cheek and lips and reminded her of what touch had once been. The memory grew harder to find each month, but warmth of feeling beneath it never faltered.

Morgan’s pleasure didn’t last for long. Deirdre tensed in her arms, trembling, and looked away from the text. Morgan couldn’t connect her girlfriend’s explanation about the comb to her distress, but she knew something was wrong. “Hey…” she cooed, leaning down to give more kisses. “What is it, my love?” Was it the iron? The sheep? Morgan looked at the text again, putting the image of a plain farm tool in place of the words. “It is a weird choice for a conduit, I guess,” she mumbled, “Are the kind of combs this is probably referring to kind of big or bulky?” The ritual had been written during the French Revolution, after all, when a band of exorcists and casters determined the guillotine had been too good for some aristocrats, and destroying their ghosts was their second chance. Whatever they determined would suit their purpose probably wasn’t subtle, which suited Morgan just fine, in theory. “The uh...the sheep aren’t still attached to the wool, right?” She asked, still trying to make sense of Deirdre’s reaction. “I don’t have to bring it into the house, you know. It can stay in the garage, or a lock box in the shed if we ever get it back. Somewhere you won’t touch it by accident?” Morgan set aside her book altogether and wrapped Deirdre up in her arms. “Talk to me,” she said in a whisper. “Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

“And I’m not known to be merciful, my love.” Deirdre hummed, and then her voice spilled into laughter. Of course, if anyone would pick up on what she was feeling, even before she processed it herself, it would be Morgan. By some miracle, her love knew her exceptionally well, and Deirdre was thankful for it. If it wasn’t for her gentle assurances and nudges, Deirdre never would summon the strength to bear honesty with such ease. She laughed again, and shifted to bury her head into Morgan’s neck. There, enveloped in Morgan--surrounded by her scent and the gentle tugging of her undeadness--she imagined that there was a world without iron combs. Without their truth. Without pain. A world that they deserved, and could have. A happy, gentle world, where Deirdre might just have been the bright and brilliant person Morgan seemed to think she was. A good world. A kind world. Their world. Deirdre was stirred to reality by the rustling of paper, pulled back and opened her eyes to their house--filled with their things. It wasn’t too far off from some magical land where terror couldn’t find them; most days, it felt like that. Her eyes moved to the papers, books, notes and folders scattered around them. The scene looked eerily like the one in the Haven Hotel, months ago, when there was a heartbeat pressed against Deirdre’s cheek. Back then, there had been a lump in her stomach, a gnawing fear that Morgan would be lost to fate. She’d been right, and left to wonder if her fear was premonition or simple anxiety. When the same lump settled inside of her again, she didn’t know what to think. “I don’t know how someone touches a pointy comb by accident,” Deirdre laughed, pressing a firm kiss to Morgan’s cheek. “And the sheep aren’t attracted, no. Wool processing is long; you have to shear it and then prepare and wash it. Then it dries and---” Deirdre reddened, coughing as she remembered that yarn production was not Morgan’s concern now. Anything, perhaps, to save a few seconds before the truth. “Torture,” she said after a moment. “It’s probably an effective conduit because it was used for torture. You rake it across someone’s flesh. The iron must be effective for ghosts.” Just as it was for fae, and just as Deirdre knew how such devices worked against her kind. Not that it mattered. “Hm, the hand carders aren’t so big. There are, obviously, bigger ones out there. What do the books say you need?”

Morgan knew from Deirdre’s hesitation that what followed would be anything but good. She even knew from the deliberate plainness her girlfriend spoke with that she hadn’t gotten the knowledge out of a book. There had been enough references to the extracurricular torture Sibohan had put Deirdre through, but the image of a comb bristling with iron points had never crossed Morgan’s mind. She brushed her knuckles down her soft, freckled skin, trying to imagine someone tearing and burning it at once. Was that something Wardens did for fun that Sibohan thought she needed to impart? Or was it just another barbaric lesson. “Oh, Deirdre…” she whispered. “I had...no idea…” She tucked them closer together, curled up and all but locked in place, as if that could do anything for how she’d been thoughtfully tortured and broken from the outside in years ago. “You know we…” she grimaced and buried her face in her hair. “I know what we said before, but you don’t have to do this with me. I can…” her stomach turned at the thought of trying to find something like this, holding it in her hand, knowing what it was really for and how it had been used to hurt Deirdre. “I can figure this one out on my own. I can...I don’t know. But I don’t want you to have to relive anything like that because of me.” She didn’t know how to say it, but she feared Deirdre conflating her with that torture just as much. But Constance was different, and so was Morgan. She wouldn’t do something so monstrous for no reason, and never to anyone she wasn’t certain deserved it. But hurt did funny things to people, and trauma haunted in ways that didn’t always make sense.

“What?” If Deirdre had the strength to sit up and ruin the tight, tangled hold the two of them had perfected, she might have from the shock. “No, no,” she calmed her voice. “I’m not reliving anything, I’m not--I wouldn’t be. It doesn’t---” She sighed, and lifted her head up, trying to catch Morgan’s to pepper with reassurance and affection where she could. “The things that I’ve seen, and been through...they exist everywhere. In iron combs, spoons, mugs--” Deirdre gestured around their house. “At one point, one of these things has been bad for me in some way. By what was done with them, by them having been witnesses. With what I’ve seen, what I’ve been made to see. I don’t look at a mug and always think about each that my mother threw at a wall anymore than you must look at a lock and imagine the one of your bedroom. I’d much rather see a cup as being something you hold, something I get to pour your boiling tea into. I’d rather see it as good. And that’s exactly what I think about when I look at it.” She pressed into Morgan, holding her tighter. “And if I can help you, if a tool like that can be used to deliver justice, then it gets to be good. And I get to see it that way. The rest doesn’t matter to me. You are good, and you will use whatever tool you see fit, however you want to, and I will love you all the same.” Deirdre smiled softly, twisting her body up so she could kiss her girlfriend with as much love as she could muster. And again. And again, and again until she was sure her point was clear. She raked her teeth along Morgan’s lip as she drew back, thinking nothing of the iron and the way it could tear at her own flesh. “Thank you, my love. But it’s okay. The torture done to my kind is never a pleasant thing to think about, but it’s not new to me, and it’s not so terrible a thought that I won’t help you. I want to. I know it will serve you better than it would anyone else. I trust you, Morgan, and I love you. More than anything else. Now, what does your research say about the comb? Is there a specific kind you need?”

Morgan threw herself into Deirdre’s kisses, returning them with her own, firm and earnest and bursting with an affection she couldn’t put into words. She couldn’t say, ‘you dodged your mother’s mugs, too?’ and ‘I love your resilience and your courage and how much you love me,’ and ‘you are the wisest and most wonderful woman I know’ at the same time, much less in the seconds it took to take her lip between her teeth. And even these thoughts, swimming around her head as they slipped deeper into the couch cushions, didn’t quite get to the heart of the recognition that cut through her, or how it mixed with horror, sympathy, pride, affection, gratitude. She hoped that the alchemy between them would translate and Deridre would understand what even she couldn’t. Morgan didn’t bother with words at all until she felt Deirdre’s breathing grow strained against her.

“You’re incredible,” Morgan whispered. “I am so very proud to know you, Deirdre.” Another kiss, chased and sweet. “And, about that, I’m sticking hard to the original to minimize surprises, and I don’t want some stodgy exorcist to turn me down for not being through enough, so…”

#wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #abuse tw #physical abuse tw #//it's actually really short!#song for autumn #wickedswriting

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