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bimswritings · 4 years ago

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Armorer x Reder Pt. 2/2

Pt.1

Kofi

Ao3

Warnings: Typical Canon Type Violence

A/N: Part two for my love! Now that I've finished this, you can expect part three of the Savage fic, with the outline already nearly finished! Hope you enjoy, and until next time!~Bim

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“What is the meaning of this?”

She had been expecting Paz to have come to her earlier, seeking answers for what had just transpired . It could be considered nothing short of a blessing from her ancestors that she had been allowed the time she was, for if he had arrived not five minutes earlier she surely would have not been able to answer him. Even now she found it hard to find her voice, swallowing thickly as she tried to dispel the invisible grip that held her. It was as if the dust from the rubble had infiltrated the filter of her helmet, invading her senses and clogging every sense with a layer of dust.

“The empire sent TIE bombers.” The vecoder of her helmet masked the cracking of her voice from the large warrior in front of her, lest she appear anything but unyielding even in such a moment. It did nothing to dampen the way it reverberated within however, and the echo fact was like a hit to the chest plate all over again.

“Were there any other survivors.”

A light shake of her head gave him his answer. Even if they were strangers to her, the carnage she had witnessed would have been a shock to anyone.

None had been spared from the Empire’s wrath. Not a single structure nor person was left standing, and at places there were little more than scorch marks burned into the ground, the only testament of what was once there. The burns matched those marring the flesh of the scattered bodies, which there was no shortage of. Most were too burned and damaged to tell age or gender and she had no doubts that there were more victims, either buried or bodies completely destroyed in the initial blast and still burning flames.

“How did they make it?” He questioned further, and unsurprisingly.

“Their house was located further outside the village. It received the least of the blast, though there is still no home to return to.”

Yet again she was thankful for your reclusive behavior. It was only thanks to your distance, and the armor she found you buried in, did you survive, though you weren't without injury.

As soon as she received your transmission she had turned back mid flight, making it there in record time. Having never used the transmitter before, the fact that you did so now expelled any worry she might have had over your previous encounter.

When she arrived to find what had happened, she had immediately started digging. Using every tool and ounce of strength at her disposal to move the rubble, looking for at least a body to confirm her fears.

At long last she had found you, body bloodied and arm twisted at an unnatural angle. It was a shock to her system, heart nearly stopping as she took in your still form, thinking you were surely dead. Gloved hands ghosted over your exposed skin and still attached armor, which itself was badly damaged. As well made as it was by your own hand and her careful guidance it still had trouble holding up to the immense weight and damage it took. The metal surface was marred with countless scratches and dents, even completely caved in at places. There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that you were already gone. There was no telling how long you had been under the rubble before she had arrived, and even if she had gotten there minutes after, your wounds were so numerous it would have been close.

Raw pain ripped through her as emotion broke through her carefully crafted dam, spilling out all at once over it’s months of accumulating, effectively taking grip over her entire being. She did not cry however. The ability to do such had been lost to her years before and would never come back. Instead, she simply held your body close as she knelt in the dirt, mourning what she had never had the chance of claiming. She had been so close. Her helmet showed that your heat signature had not even grown cold.

Taking her glove off, she reached for your own hand. Even if it was just once, she wanted to feel your skin against hers, without the barrier of metal or leather you both consistently wore. Fingers lacing your own, it once again brought a wave of sorrow crashing over her.

Your hands, strong and calloused from years of work, felt better pure Naboo silk to her own. They remained loose and unmoving, even as her own knuckles turned pale at the strength with which she grasped them. A silent plea to her ancestors, the maker; anyone who would answer the questions she herself didn’t know. Never having been one to believe that those unseen could have much of an influence on the living, she didn’t expect an answer. Only someone to shift the unbearable grief to.

Yet, as she lay mottionless over your corps, she received one. If her own hand hadn’t been so tightly clenched she may have missed it, and in her stay she thought she was imagining it. But then it happened. Again. Then again.

Your pulse, weak and uneven, but there.

Throwing herself back, she quickly changed the viewing mode on her helmet as she tried in vain to keep her hopes from rising. She knew very well it could just be her own that she was feeling and until there was concrete proof then-

There.

In the corner of her visor read your heart rate weak and uneven, just as she had felt before, but there.

She wasted no time pulling you from the rubble and nothing short of sprinting back to her ship, keeping in mind there were undoubtedly unseen and internal injuries as she did her best not to jostle around. She could only thank whatever force there was out there that she had taken the one ship of the coven that had a med chamber in it. Though it was well worn and outdated at best in comparison to the newer ones, it would serve her purpose until she could do something better.

The machine’s light humming reached through the air as it began working on your more severe wounds, the steady drone of the machinery a stark contrast to her own shaky hands as she piloted the ship off the cursed planet, making sure to keep an eye out for any lingering ships of the empire. It would only make your situation worse if you were to be caught in the middle of a firefight as your wounds were tended, though she did not even know if she would be able to gain enough control of herself to fly away from such an endeavor unharmed.

Once certain that there was no one following and they were out of range of the planet, she set the craft to autopilot and was back by your side immediately. The droid had just finished removing the armor from your body and tending to the majority of life-threatening wounds, moving on to what it could finish with the limited supplies it had. She had to resist grabbing your hand, instead putting the energy into pulling the medical log. Reading over it, her heart sized at the vast number and varying severity of each listing as she read further and further on.

Oblique-displaced fracture-R/Humorous, Transverse Fracture-R/Tibia, Hairline fractures of Ribs-R/arm/leg, Bruising of Kidney/Lungs/Liver, Puncture of R/Lung-Bone Frag. Removed-Origin-twelfth intercostal rib, Sever Grade four concussion, Multiple lacerations

She had no idea what had been fixed and what had not, but the number of bacta patches missing from the supply put a small ease on her, and the sight and sound of your slowly steady vitals was enough to keep her from jumping to extremes. She had no particular love for droids, though certainly not hating them as much as the young Din, the money spent to install the machinery was well used, even if the original purpose had been to heal warriors after missions with wounds that needed immediate attention.

That did not mean she found any time to rest on the way home, constantly watching for the slightest sign of life other than the low beeping of the monitor, and the ever so faint rise and fall of your chest as she counted each breath you took. The flight seemed to take double the amount of time it normally did, each second dragging on for eternity, until finally the landing gear of the Starjumper touched the surface of Nevarro. Thankfully it was night, and she had no issues once again lifting you into her arms and carrying you through the deserted streets to the coven. Its familiar coolness encompassed her as soon as she emerged from the stairs into the lower levels. The deathly silent halls were a stark contrast to her own panic.

Ignoring the guards, who’s attention faltered as they caught sight of her haul, she brushed past and headed straight to the only person who could help.

Olia, their healer, answered the door in her sleeping clothes, helmet clearly having been shoved on in her haste to answer the Armorer’s loud and incessant pounding on the door.

“What in the stars do you want this late..at..” Her sentence tapered off as she saw it wasn’t just a random idiotic warrior who had injured themselves, but her Alor, holding someone who clearly wasn’t Mandalorian.

“Fix them.”

The next few hours were a flurry of activity as Olia fixed what the med unit had not, resetting your afflicted arm which had been simply bandaged before and trying not to flinch at the nasty noises it made while doing so. Each thread of the needle to close skin together felt as if it were digging into her own flesh. Still, she watched, unable to tear herself away even as she knew in the back of her mind that rumor had already spread about her return. They would be looking for answers, and she would give them in due time. For now, they would have to practice patience just as she was.

Finally, two hours later, Olia was done. Wiping the sweat from the back of her neck as she admired her work, she explained the situation to the Armorer as she approached your bedside on stiff legs. She simply stared, not daring to touch when you looked so fragile. She hated it, the way your skin had lost its beautiful tone. The once powerful and proud posture she had seen stepping around the forge like a wild loth was nowhere to be seen. Your body seemed to have sunken in on itself, defensive even now.

“Her body is keeping itself under for now. Not surprising given the amount of trauma and injuries sustained, but if she does start to come around, I’ll give her something that should keep her under, or at least enough that she won’t register what’s going on. I would recommend it for as long as we can so that her wounds have time to heal without issue.”

She looked back over your still body, letting out a sympathetic sigh as she moved to do so.

“Even then, she’s not going to be moving around on her own too much any time soon. Wherever she came from, I hope they aren’t expecting her back anytime soon.”

The Armorer could feel the underlying question in her words, and for what she had done the women had earned her answer.

“That won’t be an issue. There is nowhere to go back to.” She looked away from your form for the first time, something that did not go unnoticed by the observant healer.

“She’s ours now. Treat her as you would any warrior, for she has fought just as bravely.”

She nodded solemnly. The Alor was know to always be serious and straight laced, but the way she was acting now gave way to more than words could ever tell. Tentatively, she rested a hand on her pauldron.

“Go. Get some rest. I can watch over her for now.”

The Armorer hesitated, feeling the lack of rest catching up as the adrenaline finally began to wear from her system. But to leave now would only leave her mind to wonder instead of knowing what was happening at every moment.

Olia sensed her hesitation, pushing her more firmly in the direction of the door.

“Once she’s more stable I will move her to a more comfortable bed. If there’s any changes then I’ll alert you but until then there’s nothing for you to do, and the others are bound to be wanting answers.”

Rod straight shoulders dropper slightly at her words, and a smile tore its way across the old woman’s face as she realized she had won.

Guiding her further out, she made sure the smith was out and well on her way to her own space before closing the door. What she didn’t see was that, instead of turning down the hall that led to individual dwellings, she instead turned right, down the path that would lead her to the only place she could think, to feel less powerless than she was right now. Her forge, where she fell heavily onto her work bench, unmoving as she stared blankly into the once comforting blue flames of the fire. Now they only acted as a painful reminder, thinking back to the times back in your own dwelling. She had yet to move, and Paz found her in the same position when he entered, leading to their current situation.

“I would never doubt your commitment to the tribe, but I must doubt the wisdom of bringing an outsider here! Into the heart of our tribe!”

Had she been in any other situation, she would have no hesitation in putting him back in his place. Heavy infantry expert and lead warrior or not, he had no right to speak in such a way to her. The only thing that saved him from her hammer and tongue was the fact her mind was still filled with thoughts of you. In this moment she even found herself thankful for his questioning. It meant that there was at least one person still thinking straight enough to be an effective leader in her stead.

“It’s her.”

“It's her?” he parroted the words, twisted with their own sense of confusion. “What do you mean it’s h-“ The words stuck mid-sentence as the wheels turned in his head, slowly putting the pieces together. From where he knew she was going, the small glimpse and rumors he had gotten from the others describing you, and the way his Alor was acting now, he was able to come up with his own relatively accurate assumption.

“The Smith.”

Her silence was his only answer, but it was all he needed.

Moving slowly, he settled his own large frame next to hers on the bench, which creaked under the weight. It felt odd, seeing her look so deflated and almost small. Even after years of putting on muscle from the forge and training, she still had nothing on him size wise. Though he was still positive she could beat him in a fight if it came to it, and she had countless times before.

His voice took on a softer, more rumbling tone.

“How did it happen?”

“The Empire. I only got there after they were gone, though there was really nothing left to go back to.”

He wanted to ask more, what they were doing there, why they chose such an outlandish, insignificant town, but he already knew. They both knew. It was because of them. While tolerated by the empire, both sides knew the other would wipe them out if given the chance. With so many going to one town multiple times, it was bound to draw attention. They had just been willing to believe that the Empire would turn a blind eye to it, just like they had with Nevarro.

How foolish of them.

Now they had dragged an innocent bystander, who had done nothing but help them and expecting nothing in return, into their fight, costing them not only their home but almost their life.

Though Paz was more akin to fighting than feelings himself, he could see the turbulence going on within her. Years of being what one might consider confidents let him know everything he needed to.

“She’ll pull through. From what you’ve told me, she’s strong. Not to mention she has Olia looking after her. And besides,” he stood up, walking out to give her space to do what she did best. To think, and come up with the next best plan of action for them to take.

“I still have yet to meet this mysterious smith.”

_______________________________________________

You had never been much of a morning person. Waking up bright and early just to face the scorching heat of your planet's twin suns combined with that of your forge didn’t make for a promising work day. Alas, that was when a majority of customers would come looking for wears and weapons, as well as to hire your services. Even though you preferred working during the marginally cooler nights, you still braved the day, gritting your teeth and dragging your feet as you forced your body into motion. As hard as it had always been then, it was nothing compared to how you were feeling now.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been run over by a Loshev, then further trampled on. Not even in the early times of your apprenticeship, when you had gone to bed with the inability of even being able to lift your arms to fold back the blankets after lifting your hammer an immeasurable amount of times, had you ever felt this sore. Everything from head to toe hurt, and the thought of moving at all was enough to fill your body with a sense of dread.

Instead of doing so, you settled on just getting your eyes open, which itself proved to be a difficult task. They felt as if the skin itself was welded together; made of Kiern metal as they dragged open painfully.

Darkness was the first thing you saw. Shapes and colors only came along after a few moments as your eyes adjusted. Blurred objects slowly came into focus as you took in your surroundings.

You were in a dimly lit room, the only source of light coming from a small lantern hanging from the wall. It’s glow cast drastic shadows on each object, giving the unfamiliar space a touch of comfort with its warm light. The furnishings themselves were rather bare, consisting of only a few boxes stacked on top of one another with small trinkets of one kind or another littered around, and the bed which you currently resided on.

Pulling the blankets aside, you hissed at the way your body groaned in protest, feeling as if every nerve were on fire. It appeared that the lantern also provided the only source of heat because as soon as the surprisingly quality blanket left you were subjugated to the cool air of the small space. You noted areas of bandages scattered all over your body, covering most of your arm and spilling across your torso. The scratchy material could also be felt under your pants, catching on the material and rubbing uncomfortably at your temples.

Pushing yourself into a sitting position, your head swam as the pounding from within increased, leaving you gasping for breath. As much as it hurt, you had to keep moving. You didn’t know where you were, or who was around. The last thing you remember was the walls of your home coming down around you as fighters screamed overhead. For all you knew, you were being held by some backworld smuggler who intended to use you for profit, working to make weapons or using your body for other means. Bandaged wounds or not, you had to get out before the choice was taken away.

Getting to your feet was, unexageratly, one of the most difficult things you had ever done. Your legs gave out as soon as they touched the ground, forcing you to use a majority of upper body strength to drag your way across the room to the door on the opposite wall. It was far from graceful, and there was even a point where you bumped into one of the various stacks of crates. It was nothing more than a little bump, but enough to knock a precariously placed holoboard from its perch on the edge.

Clattering to the floor loudly, it only prompted you to move faster, the fear of someone having heard the ruckus and coming to investigate. You prayed to the maker that wasn’t the case, but with the luck you had been having lately it should have been no surprise when the door opened with a loud creak. A shadow fell over your crawling form, and you looked up expecting the worst. Someone like a pirate or scavenger, maybe even an enforcer. What you weren’t expecting was a child, or what you assumed was one at least.

The person standing in the doorway was small. They were just shy of reaching halfway up the frame, lithe frame hunched in on itself from what you could see peeking around the opening. It was hard to tell their exact age, due to the achingly familiar helmet they wore. While far from being a replica, it was still close enough to that of your beloved Armorer to send a pang through your already aching body. The polished metal reflected the new light of the hall in an almost blinding manor. An owlish visor stared down at your form, just as frozen as you were.

Then, before you could react, they were gone. Light footsteps echoed down the corridors, growing more and more faint until they disappeared completely, leaving you in silence once again. There was only a moment of hesitation before you were on the move once again, now with a reinvigorated urgency.

Finally making it to the door, you used the frame to pull yourself up, gasping all the while as sharp jolts of pain stemmed from every part of your body. Emerging from the room you were met with the sight of similar metal walls as the room. They extended in both directions, the one to your left extending into darkness while there were two branching paths on the right. While having no idea where exactly you were and no reference on how to get out, you still pushed forward.

Heading right, your path was lit by only the occasional light on the wall. Some were the normal low lights that could be found on virtually any planet, while others were a more archaic version using oil and gas were scattered in between. You could tell you were most likely somewhere underground judging from the cool, damp feel the air carried. Either that or you were on an already cold planet, as judging from the state of the room you woke in, it was doubtable that you were in such a place that would waste resources on high quality cooling.

Reaching the split path, you paused, giving yourself a moment to breathe and recuperate as you listened carefully down each. The left was dead silent, almost unnervingly so, and for a moment you thought the second was the same. However, the light flicker of the nearest flame caught your attention. It moved consistently back in the direction you came, not like how it would normally; and with how much of your life had been spent staring and carefully watching such flames it was almost childs play to tell it was being manipulated by something else. Listening closer once again, you could hear it. The slight whisper of the wind. It’s draft was light, almost undetectable, but if you enough it was there. Gently caressing your skin and whispering promises of a way out.

It was a slow go, and painful the entire time. Your body gave not a moment of relief, in just as much pain as when you woke up if not more. It was hard to even take a full breath. Your lungs felt as if they would burst with each inhale. It was as if the air itself was made of fire. The pain didn’t leave much room for thought, but those that you did have were for the armored warrior you had been so abruptly reminded of earlier.

You had no idea where she was now, or if she even knew what had happened. The message may have never even gotten through, and while the Mandalorians were always well informed of the events going on around the galaxy you had no idea how long you had been here. It could be just a night or day; maybe even a week. She only visited every thirty rotations, so she could only find out when she came by for her next visit, only to find nothing but ash.

Would she mourn your supposed death, or would it be more so due to the loss of a weapons provider and face they could use to get supplies and information without knowing who it was really going to? Maybe it would be a relief not to have to worry about any information about them being uncovered. A loose end tied up without them having to do any of the work.

The thought of her throwing whatever connection you thought you had away, especially after having fallen so hard for the strong woman, hurt your heart almost as much as your body. It was a mortifying thought, and one that distracted you from not only the pain for a moment, but also caused a lapse in judgment that allowed your pursuers to get so close. It was only too late that you heard their footsteps echoing behind you in the dimly lit hall. A new wave of fear coursed through your body, pushing you further as they got closer to you, and yourself finally emerging into a larger section of the hall. This one had alcoves lining the top of the wall, allowing the moonlight and cool night air from outside to filter in and drain the hope from your body. The entire time you thought you were getting closer to a way out, you had just been losing yourself deeper in the maze of the unfamiliar compound. It was cruel for fate to do so, but there was nothing to be done now. Not when your pursuers were getting so close.

Your eyes darted around the small area, locking for a place to hide or at least a weapon to defend yourself with, before settling on one of the many alcoves. It was under the small windows that allowed the traitorous light and breeze in, leaving it bathed in darkness.

Thinking quickly, you limped over and forced yourself into the narrow space. It was plenty tall, but so thin it forced your shoulders straight and grated on your exposed skin as you slipped in. Here, your breaths sounded even louder and more labored, forcing you to muffle them with your hand and making it even harder to breathe. It wasn’t the best spot, and quite obvious now that you thought about it, but there was no time to find a new one as a group burst in through the arch you had emerged from seconds prior.

It was hard to see with your eyes still adjusting to the dimness of your little space combined with the light blur they still held, and you simply squeezed them shut, unable to watch as you listened to them get closer to your hiding spot, and focused on remaining as silent as possible. One hand clamped over your mouth, the other wrapped around your body as it squeezed as tightly as possible, as if it were the only thing keeping you together.

You could hear them talking. Their voices sounded muffled even as they bounced off the cold stone walls, and they spoke in low tones that made it nearly impossible to hear. A few still made their way through however.

‘Escaped’ ‘gone far’ ‘Find them-’ ‘kill’

The last word sent a shiver down your spine. It was only made worse as one of the group got closer than any had yet stopped mere feet away. The rough, damp stone dug into your skin as you pushed yourself further back, duly noting the itching pull of your wounds as they grew heated.

They were going to find you, and once they did they were going to kill you, or worse.

A moment passed. Then two. Then several more, all waited out with tension so thick it would put any ship hull to shame, before the shadowy figure retreated. Their own footsteps faded in with the others as they moved on in search of their present target of you, continuing to head down the maze of halls.

Even once they were gone you didn’t allow yourself to relax for a full minute, too fearful of them coming back. But as the momentarily spike in adrenaline wore off and your current position became increasingly uncomfortable, you allowed yourself to relax. Greedily gulping in as much air as your recovering lungs would allow, you were doubled over as you tried to recover. That position, combined with the increasingly loud pounding in your ears, left you unaware of your surroundings and defenseless against the shadow that unknowingly approached.

Their arm reached in, easily pulling you from your hiding place and out into the open.

“N-no! Stop!” You fought back weakly, pushing away at the figure that held you in an iron grip, not yet painful but refusing to budge as you clawed at it uselessly.

“Please.” It was a whimpering, pathetic sounding plea. One born of desperation and fear. Never in your life would you think yourself to sink to such levels, yet here you were, bracing for the pain you knew would come. They would drag you back, either to that little room or somewhere even more secluded, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You braced as the person shifted, recoiling as they brought their free hand up. You expected a hit, a slap. Something that would daze if not knock you completely out. What you weren’t expecting was the gentle caress of fingers along the skin, tracing along your cheek and following its slope up, where it gently rested, silently urging you to open your eyes and raise your gaze.

There was hardly a chance to be confused by the action before a sense of familiarity hit. Worn leather, softer than porg fur and just as warm despite the chilly environment, was stained with the smell of oil and sharp tang of metal. It was a scent that you had thought of many times, haunting your thoughts at night as you wished to be nothing more than wrapped in its comfort.

With a shuddering breath, you forced yourself to look up into the visor of your captor.

The gold of her helmet seems even brighter now as the light of the moon causes it to practically radiate under its glow, starkly contrasting the inky darkness of the owlish visor as it tilts in a way that gives away her concern.

There’s a moment of silence as you simply stare at one another, an exchange of silent emotion as you take each other in.

“Tracinya’ika…” The voice that flows from her helmet is akin to a whisper, seeming almost impossibly soft for such a warrior. However quiet, it’s enough to break the last of your resolve. The Armorer catches you as your legs give out, exhaustion finally catching up. She doesn’t say a thing, simply letting you bury your face in the warm fur covering clasped over her shoulders as you silently hiccup and stutter.

“H-how did I get here? The last thing I remember is-” your unable to finish, screams of the villagers mingling with tie fighters coming to the surface along with a crushing, constricting feeling gripping your chest, as if you were trapped under the rubble once again.

Seeming to sense your thoughts, the Armorer places a comforting hand on your lower back to lead you away. When it becomes apparent that there’s no way you’ll be walking on your own, she pauses a moment, before bending down and sweeping you off your feet to carry you bridal style down the hall, past the other Mandalorians that had appeared without a sound. They were silent as she passed, though their curiosity was almost tangible. She paid them no mind however, easily carrying you through the dim halls and allowing you to once again bury your face into the fur of her cowl. If she minds she says nothing of it.

“There is much to explain.” Her voice rumbles, vibrating through her chest and against your cheek. “But you have been through much. For now, rest. When you awake, you can ask as many questions as you like.”

You wanted to argue, to protest, but there was no energy left to do so. Your escape attempt had left you drained. Instead, you simply let your head rest against the chilled metal of her armor, allowing the gentle sway of her walk to lull you back to sleep without the fear of what was to come, knowing you were safe as long as she was around.

____________________________________

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

You froze, the crate of rations you were about to hand to the man next to you blocking your vision from the worst of the glare you could already feel. That barrier was shortly removed, leaving you exposed to the cross Mandalorian.

It had been foolish to think you would be able to sneak off without her knowing. Nothing went on in these tunnels that she didn’t know about. If you didn’t know any better you may think that she had monitors hidden around the place, or maybe even a tracking device to keep tabs on you. It was more likely someone had mentioned your whereabouts in passing, or she had come for one of her usual check-ins throughout the day.

“You should not be up and about, none the less moving supplies.” Her gaze snaps to the others, who were all similarly frozen as they watched. You felt slightly guilty, knowing they didn’t deserve her wrath.

“Why would you let her in here? If the cold doesn’t make her sick then the labor will only make her recovery that much longer.”

The man visibly flinched at her tone, her attention now focused on him as the others slowly back away, letting him take the blame.

“Well, I just thought-”

“You clearly did not, else she would not be working herself to the bone.”

She takes a step closer to the man, sending him into a panic as he quickly backpedals, stammering.

“Hey.” You grab her arm, instantly shifting her attention back to you. Unlike the others, you don’t shrink back or even flinch. Instead you stare back into the darkness of her helmet. “It’s not his fault. I told him it was alright, that I was fine to work.”

The Armorer stares a moment longer, glancing back once more at the others before grabbing you by the hand, shoving the crutch you had been using since your leg healed enough to put weight on into your hand and dragging you away. She continues to scold you as she walks, never pausing in her climb from the lower levels as she continues to make you feel more and more like a child.

“There is no reason for you to have to work in your condition. Olia said rest would do you best.”

“That was weeks ago.” You huff, using the wall to stabilize yourself a bit better as you attempt to keep up with her quick pace. “And it’s only right that I do something to pull my own weight, especially after all that you and the others have done for me.”

“You have already done enough for us, and once you are fully healed I know you will continue to help. Until then I implore you to rest.”

The concern she held made you blush, her complimenting words nearly winning you over. Too stubborn for your own good however, your tongue speaks your thoughts before you can stop it.

“I know, but I can’t help but feel that I’m taking advantage of you. I just want to be, you know, useful.”

Your words cause her to pause, nearly causing you to collide with her back, sending a glance over her shoulder to your deflated figure. Logically she knows that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to help out, even sending a streak of pride through her at your eagerness to help her people, but the small voice constantly hounding her and leading to her protectiveness was too loud to ignore.

To your surprise, instead of heading down the left hall to what you knew would lead to the room you had been set up in since arriving, she turned to the right. Following cautiously, you looked about with wide eyes, having never been down this way before despite being her for weeks now. There were still many parts of the tunnels you didn’t know, mainly memorizing the paths to important places such as the communal area, storage rooms(which were the easiest to sneak off to help in), and of course the forge.

Soon enough you enter another section. The smell of metal and oil hits as soon as you step over the threshold, taking you by surprise. It was even stronger here than the forge, which was saying something. Though with the number of weapons and armor lining the walls it was to be expected. Every inch of the room, from the ceiling to the floor and even laying in piles were weapons. The order with which they were all organized in was impressive, not a single piece out of place in the organized chaos. And there, in the middle of it all, was one of the biggest men you had ever seen.

Your own father had been large, standing at six five, and while this man seemed to be slightly shorter he more than made up for it with width. Shoulders like a rancore, with hands so large they made you jealous of the potential grip strength, he looked as if he could snap you without a second thought. It’s not as if you were some petite thing in your own right, yet you felt dwarfed for one of the first times in your life.

As soon as he noticed you enter, he stood, his head bowing in acknowledgement.

“Alor.” He helmet shifted towards you, unconsciously forcing you further behind your bronze protector. “How can I help you?”

She shifts to the side, exposing you further as her hand gently rests against the small of your back, pushing you further towards the giant.

“It seems our newest friend can’t sit still. Unfortunately I can not watch them at all times to ensure they do not sneak off, but I know I can trust you to watch and keep them entertained.”

His head tilts, studying you closer as your heart jumps to your throat. In the process of trying to pull your own weight, you were now nothing this man with having to babysit you.

“I’m sure he has better things to do. If we just go back I could-”

“No. You will stay with Paz until I come for you. He will keep you from sneaking to the lower levels and lifting boxes.” A warning lay under her tone, both for you and Paz. His helmet dips in a nod once again, silently accepting his new instructions as she lightly ruffles your hair, pulling back only when your hand swats at hers.

“Do not worry. I am sure you two will get along just fine. I’ve had enough trouble keeping him away as it is.” Before you could try and argue once again she was gone, turning on heel and heading back down the passage. Great. Now you were alone with a giant and potentially grumpy Mandalorian while surrounded by weapons, which was both potentially good and bad.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage and turned back to Paz, as he had been called. He was still standing, watching as you cautiously approached.

“H-hello there.” You mentally cursed yourself for stuttering, only imagining what he might think of you now. Still, you powered on. “You’re name is Paz, right? I’m-”

“I know who you are.” He cuts you off, flopping back down into his seat as he picks up the weapon he had previously been inspecting.

“Oh….You do?”

He snorts. “Everyone knows who you are. You made quite the entrance.”

You flush, still embarrassed you had made such a spectacle arriving. Definitely not how you had hoped to meet such esteemed warriors, bloody and defeated. He seemed to sense your embarrassment.

“No matter. I’ve known about you before then.” He twirled the blaster in his hand, one that you now recognized as your own craft. “Been a fan of your work for a while.”

Gesturing to the bench across from him, you soon found yourself becoming comfortable with the blue man. Within the hour you had relaxed completely, joking around with him as he answered any questions you had about the location of rooms or the odd Mandalorian you had yet to talk with. The conversation quickly shifts to, of course, weapons, as you talk about the ups and downs of each design.

“It’s good to have someone to talk with like this. Nobody back on Quilon were interested in the craft of weapons. They just cared if they shot or not.” He took the weapon you had just finished checking, looking for nicks or spots needing maintenance, and handed you another. It was a small mercy he had granted you. While not a physically demanding task it was enough to keep you busy and feeling useful. There was a lot to get through after all, and he surmised there was no one better to check weapons then one who knows their ins and outs.

“While many like to use the weapons, they don’t get too familiar with their inner workings.”

“That’s why we’re here though.” You point out, only causing him to sigh.

“Yes, but if I have to fix one more blaster that simply has a residue build up that could be solved with a good cleaning I’m going to strangle them.”

“I’m glad she brought me here. What she’s done, what you’ve all done, is amazing. If I could spend my life working alongside her it would be more than enough.

He pauses, in the middle of sharpening a skinning knife, his helmet tilting up before going back to his work. “I’m sure she would be delighted to hear so. You should tell her yourself.”

You pause, confused. “What do you mean? She already knows that I want to continue making weapons for you all.”

Now you had his full attention, staring back at one another across the small gap as you both tried to discern the others thoughts. His words made no sense. She knew your intentions to stay, so why would you need to explain any further? You wanted to stay, more specifically just for her, but there was no way you could just tell her that. To risk ruining everything you had built between the two of you? Just for some silly little crush? No thank you. You were content being as useful to her as you could now, relishing in the little crumbs of affection you received now.

“You have to be kidding me.” He finally says, breaking the silence. “She literally calls you ‘ni tracinya’!”

You blink owlishly, still not understanding. Your Mandoa was still coming along. As of now you only knew a few words, mostly greetings and curse words, much to the amusement of the clan and the disdain of the Armorer.

He throws his hands in exasperation, head practically slamming back into the wall behind him. “It means ‘my flame’ for makers sake! Listen,” He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees as his voice takes on a more serious tone. “Think real hard, back to when you first came here. You’re telling me you haven’t noticed anything?”

Now that he mentions it, you do remember some odd things that you had never really put into question before now.

When you had first been cleared to move out of bed by Olia, the Armorer had insisted on moving you to a room closer to the forge, claiming its warmth would do you better then the cooler parts of the tunnels where the injured normally stayed. You had been cautious, unsure of being so close to the center of the tribe space and felt as if you were being invasive. She had assured you it was only temporary, to sooth your concerns you suspected, though that was quickly thrown out the window as the small space quickly collected a number of trinkets thanks to the little ones. After overcoming their initial hesitancy and fear of being an outsider, they were constantly bringing small objects and bits of easily bent and cut pieces of metal for you to make things out of, trading your creations for their own crude versions. The majority were from the Armorer however, and you treasured those the most. They were nothing extravagant, certainly not to the level of detail you would go into, but you wouldn’t have expected her to. Her focus was always more on practicality, though that’s not to say her works weren’t beautiful in their own right. Your own just placed more emphasis on the small details, and you were allowed the time and pleasure of putting them there.

She had brought you all your meals during that time, eventually evolving to the point where you would enjoy them together in her forge when you were well enough, your backs pressed to one another with a covering tightly wrapped around your eyes. Hardly was there a time when you weren’t greeted with the warm shine of her armor, the fur she wore brushing your skin and sending shivers down your spine with how close she stood at times. Her hand would constantly be touching your back or shoulder, holding your wrist as she led you through the halls even when you knew the way. There were many nights you would fall asleep in the forge, lulled by it’s warmth and the familiar sound to metal striking metal. It both soothed and made the itch to work once more that much worse.

The memory brought on a shy smile, accompanied by a light flush across your skin. It was times like that when you could allow yourself to wish, to hope, that you might mean something more than just a friend or fellow smith.

Just as soon as the thought arrived you were quick to banish it. Dreaming of the impossible would only bring more disappointment. And so, with a small laugh and roll of your eyes, you implored Paz to put it to rest; and to his credit, he did. The thought still lingered on your mind however, and you wanted to curse him for putting it there.

You continue to check and clean the weapons in peace, avoiding any and all conversation surrounding the previous topic until dinner. Or what you thought was around the right time. It seemed that even with all the time spent in the dark tunnels you had yet to gain the innate ability to just tell what time it was without looking at a clock. Paz sure knew though, racking his weapon with you following his lead.

“Your company wasn’t as annoying as others, and your weapons knowledge and appreciation is respectable, though I would expect nothing else from someone in your situation.” He reached his hand out, watching as you realized he wanted you to shake it. His hands were just as strong as you had thought, firmly grasping your own as you got into a small battle trying to squeeze the other. “Feel free to find me any time you’re bored. Keep Alor from getting frustrated and who knows, once you heal enough I might be able to teach you how to fight for the next time you run into any imperial troops.”

“That sounds...great.” He dropped his arm, handing you your walking stick and leading you back through the tunnels to the communal area as you added the new path to your mental map. His large strides were hard to keep up with, and though you suspected he had adjusted his pace you were still out of breath by the time you reached your destination. Inside the circular space there were a number of mandalorians lounging around. Children ran amuck, some helmed some not, weaving between the adults and ignoring their complaints. As soon as you entered a crowded space they descended like a swarm. Small hands pulled at your clothes, climbing up your non injured leg. After the scolding they had received last time they made sure to give your injuries a wide berth.

They were clamoring, all trying to be first to show you the small projects that had been working on or made that day. The others looked on with mild amusement, or so you assumed that's what was shown behind their visors. There were many jokes passed around that you were turning their young warriors into inventors and thinkers, though you hardly saw it as a problem. Exploring bright minds and exercising critical thinking skills would only make them that much better in any tight situations. It’s not like they couldn’t do both after all.

Your eyes scanned the crowd, bouncing over the family colors painted in intricate patterns on armor as you looked for one in particular.

“She’s still in the forge.” You jumped, causing your current passengers to squeal as they were nearly thrown from your elevation to the ground. Olia stepped closer, shooing the children away, causing a ruckus of groans and complaints, but nevertheless did as they were told. They knew better than to disrespect an elder, and their medic at that. Placing two ration portions into your hands, she’s already pushing you down the main hall.

“Never a moment of rest for that one.” She jokes, turning on her heel and heading back into the common area before you even have a chance to speak.With nothing more than a shrug, you continue on, walking the by now familiar path to deliver the food.

Warmth is the first thing that greets you, a heavenly contrast to the otherwise cold and damp dwelling. Not that you hated it, but growing up on a planet with two suns and working in a forge for the majority of your life made anything below blazing feel like Hoth. The clang of metal striking metal rings clear and crisp, but as owled eyes catch your movement, the hammer pauses mid strike, afloat for just a moment before quickly being deposited back into her belt.

Holding up the ration packs for her to see, she’s already moving, fluidly packing up her project and clearing a space as you pull the bench from the wall, settling on the wood with a light creak. Not long after, gloved hands found your skin, briefly brushing over your cheeks and causing butterflies to erupt throughout your body, setting every nerve on fire as the soft fabric of the blindfold replaced her hands. It wasn’t something you ever questioned or protested, simply content being allowed the level of trust such an action required, though you would often question what you had done to earn such an honor from an esteemed figure such as herself. The tools along her belt clicked softly, the only thing telling her location as she closed the shutters to the forge.

Not a word was said the entire time, and you didn’t need any. The practice had been born after she had gotten on your back about finishing meals, only to have you express your awkwardness of eating alone while she watched, combined with your own concern with her eating enough. She was always working, crafting new armor and weapons, or meeting with elders and warriors to discuss and organize the smaller aspects of clan life. The disregard she had for her own health when she always put so much work into that of others was both adermable and frustrating. It became one of the few things you could do during the day, making sure she had eaten and stayed hydrated in the heat of the forge. Dinner was the only time she sat down however, enjoying whatever rations or food had been chosen for the night.

After the blindfold was on and your own ration pack was in hand, it wasn’t long before you felt her warmth at your back as she too settled down on the bench. The fur of her cowl tickled your skin, telling you of how close she sat. Then you just talk. Telling her about your day and the new things you had learned.

“Introducing me to Paz almost makes up for the scene earlier.” You joke “His knowledge of weapons and their care is amazing. I can see myself getting closer with him.”

You could have imagined it, but you could swear you felt her tense behind you.

“Not too close I would imagine. Olia has informed me that you should be cleared to go back to work within a week or two.”

Perking at her words, you grew excited. It had been so long that you had begun to think you would never craft again.

“I’m glad to hear that. I already worry about the muscle mass I’ve lost since being laid up.” Laughing, you bump your shoulders against hers. “I feel like my shoulders are only half their size now, everything all atrophied and squishy.”

She’s silent, and you think the joke just fell flat, or she’s simply tired from the day.

“So you enjoyed staying with Paz today. I can assume that means I won’t have to worry about you sneaking off if I leave you with him again?”

“No.” Chuckling, you set down the now empty ration container. There’s no rush for her to finish, as you enjoy these small moments. It’s easy to pretend to be something more, something closer.

It may have been the comforting warmth of her body combined with that of the forges own heat and scents, or simply the exhaustion that came with having been able to do actual work for the first time in weeks. Either way, your tongue was loose and words flowed without thought.

“It’s hard to believe I’m here. I never thought I would ever go anywhere besides Quilon. It’s where my family has lived since forever. My mother and father, my grandparents, their parents and so on. We’ve all come from the same planet. After they died I was scared to even think about traveling. I thought that if I left I would be alone. The forge was the only thing I had left even close to family.”

Losing it had been hard. When you had first heard the news after waking it had felt like you were crushed by its foundation all over again. Olia and the Armorer had to practically force you to eat, not having the energy to do even want to get out of bed. Recovery had been slow, especially when there was nothing to go back to. It was around the time she let the children into your room, tasking them with keeping an eye on you while she tended to the clan duties she had been neglecting. It was the young ones, so bright and full of energy, that pulled you from the slump. As soon as your crafting skills were discovered after absentmindedly making a flower out of paper scraps they had all but demanded you show them more. Leading you through the tunnels and teaching you games had come after. Soon enough you were almost back to normal, able to smile and laugh once again.

It had nearly broken her to see you in such a state. The fire your eyes had once held had been reduced to little more than smoldering ash, while the glow that radiated seemed to radiate from your skin itself had dimmed. You had lost everything to the empire, but Maker be damned if she wasn’t going to do her best to give it back and then some.

“Would it be wrong of me to say it was a good thing?” She jerked at your words, taken by surprise.

“And why would that be?”

“Well, I got to meet all of you. Olia, Paz, even the young ones. You’ve all been so kind to me.” A slight hesitation, unsure if the next words would be stepping over boundaries.

No. You had come this far, and knowing her she would only pry in that aloof way of hers until you divulged a proper answer.

“Even if none of you feel the same way, I like to think that you’ve become something of a family to me. It’s been so long since I've known what it's been like to be a part of a family, so that’s what I think this feeling is at least.” A deep breath, pushing the words that seemed to catch. You can’t live feeling like this anymore, Paz’s words coming back to you once again and giving you a small amount of confidence.

“I would like to be a part of your family. With you, that is.”

With bated breath, you wait. She’s silent, but not in the way she normally is. It’s more calculated, the air itself charged. Heart pounding in your ears, you're not sure if you would have even heard her answer. Instead of any words however, you find yourself blinded by the light of the flames as your blindfold is practically ripped off, revealing the cause of your emotional rollercoaster herself, helmet back on yet with a gaze more intense than you’ve experienced yet.

“I have always been content with my deal in life. I provide for my clan, do my best to lead and keep them safe. True leaders are those that are selfless, however,” her hand grasps yours, pulling you closer. The cool feel of her helmet sends shivers down your spine; a stark contrast to your own burning skin. “But since I have met you, I have been nothing but selfish. I want everything that you are; from your body to your soul.”

Getting up, she leads you to the far corner of her forge. A small strike of disappointment hits as she lets go of your hand to dig through one of the storage compartments. It quickly dissipates as she emerges with an all too familiar item.

You gasp. It was a helmet, just like the one you had been working on and lost on Quilon. The real one was lost, but the one before you took many of the elements you had worked into your own and combined them with a more traditional Mandoan style. The eyes had the same wider vision you had been incorporating. A combination of the classic t-visor with the more elegant swooped eyes that females seemed to favor. The jawline was also slightly more convex then normal, allowing for greater range of the head and felt less claustraphobic. Other than that, it seemed she had taken her own creative liberties and upon closer inspection you saw it was eerily similar to her own. Instead of bronze it was a silvery blue, the same three lines running down the forehead with only two horns, looking as if they were coated in the bronze color as her own. Etched into each of the cheek recesses was a hammer and tongs respectively, done in the same elegant etching found on many of your own weapons.

“I will not push you to make a decision, but I do wish you to know; if you pledge yourself to the creed, to the tribe, to me, you will never find yourself alone again. I will personally make sure of it.” Her voice barely makes its way past the vecoder. Never before had she spoken in such a gentle tone, even to yourself.

“You will be mine as I will be yours.”

Taking the helmet in your own hands, the surprising lightness of such a large metal object nearly causes you to throw it. Turning it over and inspecting every inch, you know you’re only delaying the inevitable. For so long you wanted to be part of a family, to help and be more than just a weapons crafter. Furthermore, the very person you wished, no, yearned, to spend the rest of your life with was the one to ask.

“To spend the rest of my life by your side, providing for the tribe, would be all too short.” Smiling, you pull the helmet, your helmet, closer.

For a second you think she’s short circuited, frozen in place. Then, quick as a blaster shot, she grabs your arm and drags you from the forge, all but throwing the shutter open and practically running down the hall as you struggle to keep up with your still sore leg. Briefly you catch a flash of familiar blue armor, but it's gone before you can get a good look. Instead you focus on keeping pace with the bronze warrior.

“Wh-where are we going.”

Others are watching as you pass, moving out of your path as their Alor continues her war path.

“The elders.” She says without stopping and, not winded in the slightest as, in one fell swoop, you find yourself swept into her arms and being carried bridal style as her pace continues to pick up speed. An impressive move if you hadn’t been so shocked.

“We have much to prepare.”

#star wars x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars #x reader #fanfiction #mandalorian armorer #the armorer x reader #mando x reader #mandalor #fanfic #paz vizsla #the mandalorian

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monsoonblooms12 · 4 years ago

Text

Eumoiriety (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Four Years of Pooja Sharma's Birthday, from her first year as an Intern to her first year as an Attending.

Eumoiriety: Happiness due to state of innocence and purity💕

A/N: It's my baby's birthday and I went overboard. This is purely self indulgent and since I have zero to negative self control, this turned out way longer than I expected it to. Anyway, I hope you still like it💙

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Word Count: around 3.7K (I am sorry!)

Rating: General

Category: A bit angst, A bit fluff

Warnings: None that I saw.

Prompts: @choicesaugustchallenge Day 29 - Birthday

READ ON AO3

Intern Year:

She walks barefoot on the green floor as the dews clinging to grass tips, soothe her like the cold breeze on a summer day.

A few golden rays filter through the canopy that acts as a barrier to the shining sun overhead. When they fall on the grass, the view looks like gold intermixed with emerald.

She wears a white gown, which flutters behind her, as her heart dances with the bees going flower to flower to get their prize of nectar in return for their favour of pollinating them.

There is a calm spreading through her soul, an ease, a slow infusion of tranquillity with her heart beats.

A swish makes her turn. Her eyes capture a silhouette, drifting farther and farther, as if taking her calm along with it.

It's replaced by restlessness.

There is a cajole, a whispered cajole, that urges her feet to run, her mind to think, her heart to wonder.

She follows. One step, and another.

The scene changes.

There are no more trees, no more green with the sun's shine.

At a distance, the waves crash on the sandy shore, their meet with their shore echoing in the silent surroundings.

She looks around and sees it.

The silhouette, now apparent that it was a man, standing with his back to her. He looks unbothered. As if he stole her peace and gave her his unrest in return.

She tries to walk slowly towards, footsteps imprinting on the sand, but the distance never seems to lessen or end.

She tries running, but to no avail.

The waves continue crashing, the footprints continue to get imprinted and the man continues to remain still and silent.

The only change has been in the sky, which is now leaden, dark with humongous clouds.

The thunder begins to cackle.

Once, Twice, Thrice.

She closes her ears with her hands, eyes shut to reduce the impact of the thunderous noise reverberating through every single one of her bones. But the roar keeps getting louder and louder until...

Her eyes snap open, but the echo from her sweven doesn't leave her. She turns around to find her phone ringing, straining her eyes with incredulous bright light (that she forgot to dim). The caller ID is barely registered, but the voice gives away the identity.

It's her sister.

With a flash, all the haze from the peculiar dream gets lost and bubbly happiness takes up the emptied space.

It's their birthday.

The first one since she came here. She had been so busy unknotting the twisted knots of circumstances in which she found herself tangled, that she had forgotten about the once unforgettable occasion of her life.

Maybe she has really lost that childhood she held on so tightly to, she thinks.

But not without a hope. Of a chance to get it back.

Maybe differently.

But the want to relive those carefree days, where the colour of pens you get as gifts, and the decision of who gets the piece of cake with the chocolate masterpiece on it were the only things that held importance. All other worldly, societal woes were secondary, trivial, uncared for.

She wishes her sister and she wishes her back.

3..2..1.. Happy Birthday! To Us!

They scream-whisper together, carrying on the years' long tradition.

The only thing different? They were on their cellulars, ecospheres apart, instead of snuggling and shouting together, and annoying their brother for an entire day.

Subconsciously, a tee-hee escapes her. Thinking about her brother, she takes a look at the clock. Correct 12:03 am on 12th August. If she knows him, he is probably counting the seconds.

At 12:05 am to the dot, another shrill echoes through the silent apartment. Her guess is correct.

On the other side of the screen, sits Idhayan arranging the cake so that Pooja can see the eloquent buttercream designs he has hand made on it.

In the background, there is a blurry motion. It turns out to be Alekhya.

She jumps onto the couch beside their brother, putting an end to his steady concentration.

He makes an irritated face, while she laughs.

And Pooja just watches, giggling alone.

The pang in her chest reminds her, once & once more, about just how much she misses them.

How empty, monochromatic her life is, with all these miles between them.

For the past year, every time any event took a turn for the worse, broke her, or hurt her, she wanted to go back to her safe haven.

The place where the chronicles of her life begun.

Many times, she had found herself convinced (by others as well as her self doubting mind) that she didn't belong here. That she didn't have the calibre, the skills to strive in this fight of dogs, in this race of horses where she felt like a donkey.

Or maybe a snail.

She dreamed of sleeping in her mother's lap when she first found herself in the crossroads of feelings and reason. Making her muddled head clear with words that never crossed the barrier between dream and reality.

When Mrs Martinez died, she imagined herself sitting on the swing, her brother's comfort brownies reduced to messy crumbs, as she let the mountain winds take away the burden of dread that pressed upon her heart.

And the day when Landry's backstab became eminent? She visualized her sister ripping him down, shredding him with knives of words because that's what he deserved.

She knew her father would have made them both coffee like he always did when he came home during breaks from piloting. He would have said a mere few words, which would have been enough for her to see the path ahead.

The mini virtual celebration ends, and the silence settles again. Tendrils of sleep come and go, but never stay.

She is left alone with her thoughts and worries, and a fear of the unknown which is hidden by the curtains of the future.

--------

The day passes like a swift blowing wind in a desert.

It's quiet, too quiet.

And probably for the first time in her life, she adores it. To be away from the hustle of a celebration, which would have been a noise in the cacophony, given the situation.

To get a period of silence for her thoughts to drift away, to think about the unknown, to predict a make or break.

The pages are turned swiftly by her fingers, one of which is clad with a minimal gold ring, another old ritual of hers.

The library harbours the overworked interns, who are now pushing the boundaries of time to find a way to help their friend out.

Their tired eyes pain with the lack of sleep, coffee fuelling through their veins, and mind engrossed in picking up any clue, any line, any tip that could be supportive for them.

Hours pass, no-one utters a word. Pens run on empty notebooks, hands managing to create only messy scribbles. Black and Blue fill the white as if it never existed.

The clock strikes the end hour.

They all get up.

They go home together, for discussions and relaxation.

At the doorstep, everyone enters before her, while she stands still, too engulfed in worries to notice the happenings.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Confetti pops, her reverie is broken.

The smile shines like a jewel in a priceless necklace.

The arrangements are minimal, just champagne, cake and friends, but that's more than enough for her. To make her forget the dark fog of pessimism.

Maybe there is hope left.

-------

Second Year:

12th August.

The day that is drifting closer by the minute.

It has always been Alekhya's birthday for her.

On her phone, In her diary, In her mind.

People might regard it as a beautiful flaw of her nature, the flaw of always placing others before herself.

But to her, the instinct seemed natural, obvious. She had never delved into the whys, and she doesn't want to begin now.

For Alekhya, the circumstances became vice-versa.

And this was the beauty of their bond.

Strong, Pure and Selfless.

They never seem to realize that, though.

They hold onto the strings of simplicity, of sweet uncomplexity. And that is what helps them to bridge the gap between siblings and best friends.

After the tumultuous year, that very much resembled the completion of a voyage through the rough Indian Ocean, where storms ravage through days and endless nights, thunders crack, and waves that scale the heights between the ocean and sky to become mountains of water, crash on the feeble pieces of wood barely held together in the form of a boat, coming back to her origin, her hometown is a necessity.

Especially for her to find that normalcy again.

She survived.

Even though she fell, almost drowned, gasped for a breath more times she could count and nearly accepted her fate.

Until that is, the pale faces of the ones she holds close, the endless stream of tears that scale their cheeks, their breaking hearts, came to haunt her in her reverie and prevented her from closing her eyes & from letting that almost undetectable beat of heart stop.

The wishes from last year come back to her. This time, it wasn't virtual anymore. This time, it wasn't just painted in pixels, but written in buttercream letters, one which she could taste.

This time, the hugs weren't just virtual. They were very real, and very needed.

As she sits amidst the bushes of phenomenal florals, she lets her mind project in vivid colours, the extremities of the last year.

Her heart, breaking into tiny glass pieces, not perceived by the eye but sharp enough to draw blood.

The fear of losing and letting so many others lose along.

The coming close and going away, almost kisses and slide of unassuming hands, those which could easily be perceived as a mistake, but were anything but.

Competing in a nameless competition and almost dying in the process.

Getting the lost love back. Slowly, Gradually. (even if it felt too early to call it that)

And then... Her mind stops as the playful tunes start emanating out along with florescent light from the cellular, and the face of the one who has been a regular image of the thoughts that lull her to sleep.

On the other side, his voice is soft.

She can visualize him in the Diagnostics Office, leaning back on his chair.

Most probably on a break.

The new day hasn't even started for him, yet he remembers that it has, for her.

Their talks are interspersed with comfortable silence. For them, just the knowledge that the person on the other side is still there with them is enough.

All through the conversation, she waits.

In a hope that the irrelevant and unimportant date is written in faded letters somewhere in that brilliant mind of his.

As the line approaches its end, talks slowly halt, she feels a faint pang of sadness.

Maybe he doesn't remember it after all.

She bids her farewell, and as his finger hovers close to the end call button, she hears it.

Crystal Clear but still seeming unreal.

Happy Birthday, Pooja.

Her thanks are intermixed with a light giggle, unable to hold back the pleasure that erupts within her, along with the flutter called butterflies in her stomach.

Maybe there is always hope left, after all.

-------

Last year of Residence:

There have been countless moments when she has asked the time to wait, to slow its rushing footsteps that leave no mark behind.

Sometimes it's a beg, while in other vespertine hours, it's a mindless murmur.

This moment is one of them.

When a handful of sand is slowly released on a windy day, the swooshes and swishes carry them away, farther and farther, leave them with no choice but to fly along.

The minutes were being carried away by the same current, where they had no choice but to pass.

No one had the power to hold it, not even the mighties, the richest, the most supreme.

The conditions now extensively mimic the conditions during her first year.

Just this time, it was textbooks on internal medicine and medical procedure instead of ethics.

The wishes that day are hushed, the minimal party comprising of cupcakes and mug cakes and the gang, christened "The Invincibles" after they successfully tackle one hurdle and another but remain strong and together, in their PJs.

It must be one of the first nights since who knows how long when they spent their time doing an activity that doesn't involve colour coded tabs and complicated biological drawings.

And even though some of them make faux complaints about the wasted time, they all needed this break more than they could express.

The morning sun rays filter through the white curtains guarding the windows way too fast, making them unable to pinpoint the exact moment when the black of the night ceased to exist, when the sky became melanocrysus and when the golden took over the entire stretch.

A single text message pushes her to drop the blanket of laziness, the cocoon she inhabited. Getting up and placing a smile has never been as easy as it was now.

Come Over

------

The condo is inhabited by a stark silence when she reaches there.

She knocks. The click of the doorknob on the other side is almost instantaneous.

His hand wraps around her waist like a reflex deeply etched in his encephalon. For the first time in forever, their kisses are not chaste. Or momentary.

When he whispers a happy birthday wish against her forehead, that's what she would call intimacy.

The purity of the action touches her heart and makes it swell, with an emotion that she predicts will not remain unnamed any longer.

-------

First-year as an attending:

The celebratory vibes are in the air today.

Her stride is confident, heels playing a mellow harmony on the shining floors.

No one doesn't recognize her.

The intern who nearly lost her license to the Head of Diagnostics team, it was a journey that had thrown her off-road a million times.

Sometimes the barriers were pinpricks leaving no marks, and sometimes they were boulders crushing her.

And sometimes, one of these on-lookers would tear down her faith by stabbing her from the back, the cowardice of their soul, being mirrored in the blades of those knives of betrayal.

And yet she stands strong, her resolve unperturbed, as she faces the demons, those of others and those of her own.

It's a fight she has been learning to fight since she was eleven.

To curtain her tears with a glow in eyes, to hide the broken heart behind pretty lies. And just like practice makes one perfect, she has almost perfected the art of having to hide the real her inside.

As she passes the numerous congregations, amalgamations of patients and staff, she is greeted by wishes from old acquaintances whose kindness is apparent in their smile and by wishes of employed enemies, whose disinterest or sometimes blatant hate is too, completely apparent in their voice.

But they are not the ones she is worried about.

Interspersed between these two extremities are people who speak kind and in flattery lines with a sword behind their back.

Those who know how to hide their true intentions in the modulations of voice.

Every time she hears a wish where nothing is apparent, her heart stops for a while.

Strings of thought muddle her head and she tries to figure out the reality behind their words.

Sometimes she succeeds, sometimes she fails.

And sometimes she faces vehement opposition of her tired nerves who ask her to stop caring about those who are passing by.

But she never stops.

Her legs carry her to the Diagnostics office.

Her Office.

The swell of pride, of a fulfilment she last felt when she got into Edenbrook, make her head light.

She tries to stop but gives up the efforts soon.

If she has realized something through the twists of lawsuits and turns of almost dying, it is that if you keep waiting for the turns of the clock to approach a "right moment" for a chance to celebrate, you will probably keep waiting your entire life until your breath is being taken away and all that is left are regrets and missed opportunities of happiness.

So she twirls like a princess in her imaginary ball gown, beaming with satisfaction, and taking pride in giving herself the give of success.

Of making her loved ones and herself proud.

She gets so carried away in the train of thoughts, in which one bougie is connected by another, and one more, that she doesn't notice the person who preoccupies the room.

The halt is so sudden, that she almost tumbles upon the man. Almost.

She manages to get hold of herself, her hand on his back.

He turns, eyes meet.

If someone would have asked her what is cosmic, she would have said "The melt of glowing ambers into ice blue." Sure, she has looked into them more times than she can count or recollect. But every time their orbs meet, the reactions the action produces, she can only give the word seraphic to it.

When Ethan left for Amazon, she would often wonder why is she still keeping the lamp of hope alive. His absquatulation broke her, acted like a spark to her over-thinking mind. She would lie on her bed, eyes tracing the same lines on the ceiling above her over and over again, thinking just what she did wrong. She never reached the end of the path though, never really achieved the answer, even after meandering through a hundred courses of thoughts.

But now, she thanks her old self for living through it all. For not letting that lamp extinguish. For keeping it safe in a little corner of the labyrinths of her heart. Wordlessly, she hugs him, the plethora of emotions becoming quite too much to be expressed in minute syllables.

His whisper next to her ears, the innocently simplistic words induce a shiver in her spine.

But the last word.

4 letters, 1 word.

It hangs in the air like a diamond necklace around a maiden's neck. Like a tiny pendant that shines brighter than all elaborate jewels, all lengthy anecdotes.

It's enough, more than enough for her.

And as their smiles slowly spread like the slow rise of the golden sun, gently letting the rays spread through the humble earth. And those smiles, they shine together, brighter than the Sirius.

Happy Birthday, Love.

-------

Her casual gown, bearing floral patterns, flutters along with the soft grass, she feels a sense of wonder. Whether at the shimmering moon, the stardust spread through the stretch in the woods, or at the simplicity of her surroundings, she does not know.

Her unassuming footsteps walk slow, observant of her surroundings. After walking down the trail, she stops at the clearance.

At a distance, something shines under the silver moonbeams. Her mind beckons her to return back, but her intuition asks her to move on. She listens to the latter's plea.

A small cuboidal box and a bunch of white tulips lay peacefully out of place. She usually would have left it, just in case it was a trap.

But this time curiosity overtook reason and she picks the bouquet up. A small note amidst her favourite flowers.

I love you

No name. No initials. But she knew exactly who had written it. Not because he was the one who asked her to come here, in the heaven hidden amidst the chaos, but because those flourishes of his fanciful lettering would never escape her notice. Even if the only source of luminance was distant fairy lights on trees and the faint moonbeams.

Her eyes travel away from the articles. At a distance, the silhouette stands. The same silhouette from her sweven. But this time, there is no restlessness, no rush, no tension in the air. No thunder cackles and no waves crash. This time the silhouette waits for her, unlike the last time when it was her waiting for him.

He turns, only the shine of his orbs visible. And the shadow of the gorgeous smile that dances on his lips. The last time, his stone mask was too heavy, too powerful for any of them to break or move.

But this time? This time, the mask has fallen off, it has met the end of its existence.

He comes closer, the shadow now a clear image. He goes and picks up the cuboid and hands it to her.

"Open it" He whispers in a soft voice, that disappears as soon as it appears.

She takes it and opens it, as per his words. Everything is perfect and normal.

Except for the space in the middle.

Something sparkles, in silver lustre. Her first instinct is, Diamond? She decided to pick it up

It's a key.

She looks up to him, bewildered. Is it what she thinks it is?

Move-in with me?

She places the box of chocolates down, the key held tight in her fist.

And then she kisses him.

She doesn't have to speak a word, but he understands. After all, why would two intertwined hearts need verbal responses to know what the other one feels?

Only his home, can fill the brick walls of his house with love, and make it a home.

------

They both lay side by side on the lush grass, hands intertwined, hearts beating in unison, silence filling their souls like air fills their lungs.

They look at the stars and the moon. Or more appropriately, the gaze at the starry screen, but the mind plays significant moments from their time together.

Pooja's mind however thinks about the four of her birthdays since she set foot in Boston. The mundane softness of them, contrasting all the birthdays she has had in the rest of her years.

The photo frame of the interns from the first year. The group video call, her life from the second year. The PJ party from the third year. And the key from the fourth.

They are puzzle pieces of the saga of her life, the absence of friends from early years, the gap, the void now filled.

And after years of searching, she thinks she has finally found it. Hidden in the normality, the simplicity, the mundanity of life.

Happiness.

PS: If you are reading this, I am very grateful for you. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day🤎

Tags🤎 (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed or if I forgot you):

Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @izzyourresidentlawyer @phoenixrising308 @adiehardfan @quixoticdreamer16 @a-crepusculo

Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010 @headoverheelsforramsey @estellaelysian @shanzay44

Ethan x Pooja: @aleynareads @choicesaddict5 @stygianflood @mysticaurathings @jamespotterthefirst @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey @takemyopenheart @mm2305

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

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cognitivefunk · 5 years ago

Text

A Steamy Encounter

Based loosely on the steamy encounter event. Alright it’s been a rough 4 years since I’ve written any sort of fanfiction and it’s my first time writing in second person POV so be gentle~ I wanted to give Dazai a little love because I really like his character and can’t wait for his route!!

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Character: Osamu Dazai Rating: M to E, I didn’t get crazy explicit but it’s 18+ Warnings: Mild Choking, mild dark themes, sexual content, mention of blood Word Count: 6,067

A deep sigh filled the cavernous room, echoing softly against the walls of the lavish thermae as you sank into the water. Your shoulders and lower back ached from doing laundry for a better half of the afternoon, and internally you reprimanded yourself for ever thinking doing laundry in modern day was a chore since throwing it into the washer and dryer was much easier than scrubbing out the sheets and linen by hand. But you couldn’t find it in you to complain since it did help pass the time and the fresh air outside in the spring sun was a much healthier alternative to the way that you usually spent your days indoors on your computer or on your phone when you weren’t working. While the sun had felt warm on your face at the time, the chill of the evening sank into your bones as you finished up your task for the day, bringing in the laundry before the frost set in for the night. Faintly, you could hear the sound of freezing rain pelting the roof as you close your eyes, focusing on the hot water melting the pain away from your tired muscles, oblivious to your surroundings.

This time of year could be beautiful as buds began to sprout and tiny signs of life from a long winter emerged. It was strange how the seasons matched up when you had walked through that door weeks ago. You may have travelled through time, but some things remained the same. However, maybe it was the lack of big city lights, but the end of winter here seemed harsher than back home. Lost in your reverie, a part of you felt bad for the buds which emerged to the deceitful warmth of spring only to die once night fell, encapsulating new life in a frosty glaze. But such is life, fleetingly beautiful and temporary. You shake your head to clear your thoughts, tilting your head back until the fine hairs at the nape of your neck barely grazed the water, mindful not to let your messy bun touch the water. The fatigue must be getting to you. Living in a mansion full of vampires had you thinking of your own mortality lately, and it was starting to get to you.

Unbeknownst to you, watchful golden eyes examined you from across the bath. He had been sitting still as a statue since he saw you enter the bath, wondering if you had noticed him in the slightest, but realizing that you were off in your own little world. A soft exhale left him as you climbed into the water, relishing in its warmth, your expression was tired and he wondered if Sebastian had worked you too hard today. ‘So tired, poor little bird…’ He was content watching you from afar until that lonely expression crossed your face as you began your mild existential crisis and his body began to move on its own accord.

…Slosh…

The sound of water startled you from your inner monologue and you clutched your chest out of reflex, eyes scanning the bath, searching for the source of the noise. You could have sworn that this was your bathing block; did you read the schedule wrong? It hadn’t even occurred to you that somebody else could be using the bath across the steam on the other side; you hadn’t thought to check before sliding in. Internally, you scolded yourself for your carelessness. “Hello?” the greeting lingered in the air, heat creeping up your neck and flushing across your face. ‘Hello? Really, that’s what you think to say in this situation??’ you cringed slightly, wishing you had thought of something a bit more coherent then an informal greeting to the man who was coming closer now.

You hear a faint chuckle before a lilted voice spoke. “Ah, Toshiko-san~ You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to interrupt you!” the lively voice carried well in the thermae. How long had he been sitting there without making any noise? “D-Dazai?” your voice cracked in embarrassment, but part of you was thankful that it was him, as you found him less threatening than some of the others, such as a certain foul-mouthed Dutchman who would likely make you want to change your identity and flee the country if he found you in here. The sound of water rippling and splashing filled the bath again as he crept closer to you, his form becoming clear as he emerged from the steam. A breath hitched in your throat at the prospect of him coming closer, but you didn’t want to make things any more awkward than they already felt by moving.

“I was wondering who had come to join me~ But isn’t your bathing block earlier in the evening? Did you not realize the time Yumiko-san? It’s already so dark…” he questioned playfully, golden eyes shining with a hint of amusement. You sank down again, both arms holding your breasts from his wandering gaze. “Sachiko-san,” he was disarming you, calling you every name under the sun except for yours, “no need to feel self-conscious! I can hardly see anything through all this steam!” He was lying through his teeth, maybe that was true when he was across the water but now that he’s so close it couldn’t possibly be true. But his words sounded so soft and assured with that breezy smile of his, so you chose to believe him anyway. At least that’s what you told yourself. Golden eyes trailed away pointedly as he stretched languidly and situated himself against the wall again, so close that you could reach out and touch him if the fancy struck. But you buried that thought and awkwardly uncrossed your arms, the misty water cupping around your chest, hiding your secrets.

When you lifted your gaze to look in his direction, you could see he had closed his eyes, a serene expression painted on his handsome face. He had been lost in his own reverie when you wandered into the bath, completely unguarded and candid as you were. He found you interesting, someone who wore their heart on their sleeve, with an emotional purity that both enraptured him and made him want to dissect to see what emotion he could provoke. It was for this reason that he felt incredible guilt when he thought about you. He wished that he could have watched you for longer from across the bath, at a distance, but he could not bring himself to sit idly by when you looked like the world was troubling you. What kind of man would he be to leave a girl alone with lonely thoughts to keep her company?

“I’m sorry, the time must’ve slipped from me, I was so focused on laundry that I didn’t think to check the time before I came over..” you reasoned, getting ready to exit the bath until you realized you hadn’t brought the towel over to the edge since you weren’t planning on company. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks and you stalled, speaking your thoughts aloud “I should really get going.” You hoped he would offer to leave instead, so you would have time to grab your towel before anyone else came in.

Ever observant as he was, Dazai watched you through a cracked eye from a sidelong glance, enjoying the moment you tried to slink off to the edge only to freeze as panic spread across your features. His laughter filled the air, turning your attention back to him. “No need to feel self-conscious. Back in Japan we bath in mixed baths all the time, right?” He paused, turning to look at you once again, eyes focused on yours with an emotion you could not read. “You know, speaking with you like this reminds me of home…” there was a hint of sadness in his words, a glint of sorrow slowly drowning, replaced by another playful face so quickly you thought you had imagined it. “Besides, if someone else walks in I can hide you behind my back~” he mused, eyes deliberately trailing to the door of the thermae before locking back on your face. The dusty pink color deepened on your cheeks at the thought of anyone else walking in on you like this. You already felt very vulnerable, but at the same time somewhat thankful for Dazai’s offer. Your gaze fell upon his broad shoulders at his suggestion and your throat felt dry suddenly, at the prospect of hiding behind him. You’d never noticed how muscular he was before under that Taisho-style kimono he always wore. The way the water beaded down his chest, dripping off of his hair as his smile deepened and the corner of his eyes crinkled in amusement. You tried to clear your parched throat and reasoned that it was due to the heat of the bath. You must be getting dehydrated.

“It’s cold tonight, isn’t it…” his voice reverberated in a lower register this time, his eyelashes lowering into an alluring glance, which, despite the heat made you shiver. Or maybe it was wishful thinking; you could never quite understand what was going through that man’s head. You cast your eyes down as a reflex, suddenly feeling very small. As an unintended consequence, you came face to face with his abdomen, momentarily becoming entranced by the way the water clung to his toned abs before realizing he had shifted closer soundlessly. How was he able to move through water without you noticing, or was it that your heart rushing through your ears was blocking out the sound of the water around you. The water was misty enough to mask his more private area and your eyes frantically scanned the water looking for somewhere else to focus your gaze on. Your flustered stare did not go unnoticed, stirring a darker emotion within the man. His fingers twitched at his side, you were so close, and your scent was starting to intoxicate him. For a fleeting moment, his eyes glazed over as he pictured capturing your lips beneath his as he slowly drug the both of you under the water, gasping painfully as the water filled both of your lungs—No. He chased away the haunting thoughts that threatened to consume him, a hollow feeling spreading across his chest. He wanted to drown in you yes, maybe fall a little, drenched in desire… but not drag you down into the abyss. Not you. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, lost momentarily in the darkness that consumed his soul.

“Yeah, it is,” you responded, completely oblivious to the war raging on inside the man beside you, and you began rubbing at your left shoulder as another nervous habit, working at a knot that was relaxing from the heat. Your voice ripped him from his mental prison, and his gaze locked onto the hand on your shoulder, and suddenly you were being turned away from the man beside you, your eyebrows knitting together in a confused expression. “Dazai?”

That’s right he wanted to play with you, to paint your face a pretty red and make you tremble in his grasp, but he didn’t want to scare you away. He wasn’t sure if he could handle you running from him. If you were to look at him with fear in your eyes it would not only crush him but would affirm the spiteful, seething voice in his head that reminded him of his own worthlessness. But you, you were such a pretty thing; he couldn’t pluck your wings and taint you with his darker impulses. Not now.

“Shh, relax Sochiko-san! You worked so hard today, you’re such an honest girl aren’t you?” his words had a playful innuendo that you couldn’t miss and you made a squeaking noise when you felt his firm touch on your shoulders, slowly kneading away your fatigue. You were about to push him away but his touch felt fantastic after the long day you had endured. “There, there. Now, isn’t that better? Just like that, relax into me. Let me help,” As he spoke, he pressed into a particularly sore spot and a soft moan escaped your lips. You felt him pause behind you and could have sworn you heard him take in a sharp, soft breath before continuing. “Such an honest girl…” His words felt like electricity in your lower abdomen, lighting you up from inside. Your face was burning as stifled the sounds coming from your traitorous mouth as he worked his magic on your shoulders.

A shudder went through his spine as he listened to your gentle voice, echoing off the walls, the only other sound being the soft ripple of the water and your breathing. He let out a sigh, his jaw tightening as you let your guard down around him. He trailed his fingers up your neck, kneading at the base of your skull, relishing at your closeness. It made his heart ache. He didn’t deserve such sweetness, but he craved it, pined for it. Why were you letting him touch you like this? Did you not realize that he was a man with selfish desires? “You know…rainy nights are my favorite,” he changed the topic, hearing the freezing rain outside blow against the windows of the thermae. For a moment you thought you heard the soft rumble of distant thunder and sighed, contentedly.

“Yeah? I like it when it storms. The sound of thunder makes me happy,” you admitted, too embarrassed to explain that strong storms gave you a sense of arousal akin to fulgarophilia, especially lightning storms. It gave you a sense of adrenaline that you couldn’t quite explain, but you were also fond of dark rainy nights. They made you feel safe. And right now, you felt safe with Dazai, even if a part of your brain told you that this was a risky situation. You fought the urge to lean into him, when you felt him maneuvering you to face him again.

“Y/n…” again, his voice took on a low, almost sultry tone as he leaned toward you, easily towering over you. It almost felt like whiplash when you realized he said your actual name and not the nicknames he throws around on a whim. Suddenly, you became a lot more aware of the intimacy of your situation. He lifted your chin with such gentleness it was as though he thought he would break you if he didn’t handle you with utmost care. The heat in his gaze made you feel dizzy, and you closed your eyes instinctively, anticipating his touch when you felt him shift toward you. But instead of feeling lips graze against your parted mouth, you felt his teeth ghost over your ear, his hot breath feeding the flame in your belly. “Dazai?” you whispered, afraid your voice wouldn’t work.

When had your hands betrayed you by resting on his taut, muscular chest? Your fingers curled against his skin and it hadn’t registered that the only thing keeping your bare breasts from being flush against his chest was your hands resting there. His breath was hot on your ear as he murmured, “Do you not see me as a man, y/n-chan?” His question felt heavy in the air, the tension was almost suffocating. “Or can I take it that you want me?” You shivered, taking a gulp at what saliva remained in your mouth and you gasped as you felt his tongue dart out, tracing your earlobe with a wet trail that almost sent you over the edge right then and there. You closed your eyes, daring your voice to speak, “What if s—“

And just like that you were interrupted, and your thoughts were scattered again when you felt his hands wrap around your shoulders, slowly shifting you behind him, all the while murmuring against your ear, “Someone’s coming, Kimiko-san~” You wanted to scream for two reasons. One, being that you were almost caught with Dazai in the bath, which carried several implications but also that you were interrupted from one of those implications becoming reality. You couldn’t deny that you had a crush on the eccentric man, who up until moments ago was massaging you in such an intimate way; you almost thought you would wake up any moment now. But the spell was broken, and the change of name hit you right in the gut with a sinking sensation. A quiet chuckle filled the air, as he studied your reaction, hiding you behind his large frame.

The sounds of footsteps were approaching from down the hallway when Dazai leaned closer, silently cursing the situation and for letting his guard down. He wished he could have heard you sing a little more before letting his little bird go for the night. His lustful desires almost put you in a compromising situation and he chastised himself for nearly losing control. His fangs ached from teasing the shell of your ear before informing you of the incoming guests. Standing from the water, he took his towel and wrapped it around your waist, giving you some cover and warmth as he backed out of the water carefully, making sure you were flush behind him, pressed firmly against his back. “Ayaka-san,” he chimed, seemingly back to the silly nicknames as though nothing had happened, “Do exactly as I say, unless you want Vincent and Theo-kun to see you~”

It was hard to breathe, feeling your soul temporarily exiting your body as you moved, pressed against Dazai’s completely naked form. He had given you his towel for a shred of decency as he maneuvered the two of you toward a back wall of the thermae. You could hear the voices of the two brothers approaching as they laughed among one another, clearly enjoying each other’s company. He snagged his kimono which was draped over a pillar nearby an unlatched window and wrapped it over your shoulders before opening the window to the outside. “It’s cold outside Yumiko-san,” he chided, hoisting you up onto his back as he crouched to carefully crawl out the window with you in tow. “What are you doing!?” you exclaimed, clasping a hand over your mouth when the approaching laughter paused. You had to keep your voice down or they would find you in an even more ridiculous position than just being found naked in the bath.

Dazai made a shushing noise with his finger pressed against his lips and continued to crawl out the window, letting it latch as it shut behind the two of you, locking you both outside. At night. In the freezing rain, half naked. You nuzzled closer into Dazai’s back, relishing in his warmth as he guided you expertly to his room, in all his naked glory, without running into a single person. Part of you was astonished at the audacity of the situation, while the other part was thoroughly impressed. It would seem this wasn’t his first stint, and another blush formed at the thought that this was probably the first time he’d roamed the mansion naked. Wait, he was still naked! Your eyes worriedly looked up at him as he set you down gingerly on his futon, and you were once again reminded of the intimate nature of your position. He stared down at your face, ‘so completely unguarded’ and a soft smile broke out on his face as he brought his hand down to pet your hair affectionately. “Safe and sound Sochiko-san!” he beamed at you and it was all too much.

Laughter bubbled up in your throat, startling him for a moment before he broke out into a soft laughter of his own. He loved the sound of your laughter, but the sound almost too bright for him to handle in this state. Never in a million years would you have pictured anything close to this happening in your life. You wiped a tear from your eye before touching Dazai’s arm to see if he was as freezing as you thought he must be, running around with you on his back in the freezing rain. “You better not catch a cold!” you scolded him, a few bouts of laughter still escaping your exasperated form. You worried about his health, unsure if a vampire could even catch a cold, but just the thought made you feel guilty since you would have played a part in it.

“Then why don’t you keep me warm?” there was a huskiness to his voice again as he crawled over you, forcing you to lean back to look up at him. You licked your lips, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly thirsty and you weren’t sure it was for water. His gaze was so intense you thought it would set you ablaze right then and there, struggling to think of a response you floundered for a moment before his mask slipped back into place and he poked your nose with his finger, teasing you. “Just kidding~” he lilted, leaving you feeling flustered and embarrassed. You opened and closed your mouth several times, completely at a loss of how to respond to the whirlwind of emotions Dazai was putting you through tonight. You frowned, this wasn’t good for your heart, but you didn’t want to come out and say that you’d like to spend the night in his bed if he didn’t feel the same. Was he just messing with you?

That look of frustration tempted him. He wanted to devour you head to toe, watch you squirm beneath him and cry out his name. Just the thought of you showing him your wild side was working him up and he was a mess of contradictions, with an incredible feeling of shame for capitalizing on the situation. He kept trying to convince himself that he didn’t deserve this moment, that you were too untainted for him to drag down to his depths. If you let him hold you like this, he would never let you go. Another sound of frustration escaped your lips as you try to find the words that seem to be at the tip of your tongue, wanting to hide your face until you could compose yourself enough to speak like a normal person. Although normal in this situation wasn’t exactly warranted.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, studying your face, “Oh? Toshiko-san, your face is becoming redder than an apple, careful or I might have to eat you up,” his playful voice was strained with lust as he leaned in toward you, his cool skin brushing the nape of your neck as his lips ghosted over the sensitive skin. Another soft moan escaped your throat and you wriggled beneath him, freezing when you felt something hard pressed against your inner thigh. “My, my…” he breathed against your neck, inhaling your scent as he murmured against you, “What a naughty girl, working me up like this. Bad, bad girl.”

His gentle reprimand made the heat pool in your nethers, and you shivered in response. You gathered your courage to speak, trying to sound sultry through the nervous rasp of your voice, “Why don’t you stop joking around and let me keep you warm then?” There it was, that dark shadow of lust that clouded over his eyes again, mixing with an unimaginable sadness that tugged at your heartstrings, nearly drowning you in his bewitching gaze. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything; you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries with him after all. You opened your mouth to apologize when his lips came crashing down on yours. “Mmph!”

A pallid thumb brushed against your lower lip and pulled down, giving entrance for his greedy tongue, twisting and dancing alongside yours as you moan into his mouth. Your heart felt like it was going to leap right from your chest, the way it was beating, the blood rushing from your head to places further south. “Dazai!!” you gasped, arching subconsciously into his groin as he peppered your jaw with gentle nips and kisses, earning a low groan from the eccentric man above you. “Y/n…” he slipped down your body, pulling at the towel he had carefully wrapped around you, admiring you sprawled out on his futon with his kimono forgotten underneath you, your body exposed as he tossed the damp towel to the floor. He gently took one of your legs in his hands, delicately running his hands down to your ankle before lifting it to his mouth, his golden eyes almost glowing in the dimly lit room, daring you to look away as he sensually licked your ankle starting with the top of your foot to the soft fleshy divot where the joints bend.

You stared, wide eyed, and started to close your legs, feeling exposed under his raw, hungry gaze, but he used his free hand to push your knee open again, nestling himself on his own knees between yours as he worked his way up to your thigh, running his tongue along your inner leg, causing you to shiver and reach out, grabbing a handful of his hair and tugging slightly. His eyes nearly rolled at the sensation, a shudder rolling over his body as he looked up from his spot between your legs. He nuzzled his face against the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh, sighing almost erotically.

“Y/n…silly girl. Don’t you know you should run? I told you before, all men are wolves my dear…and I am no different,” the words spilled from his lips but he made no move to stop. His eyes bore into yours, looking for any sign of doubt before sinking his fangs into you. “Aaahn!!” your voice rang out, loudly, into the night. The freezing rain picking up outside the window, thunder in the distance drowning out your sweet cries from the other residents. Dazai nearly trembled from excitement, moaning into your thigh as your sweet nectar of life spilled onto his tongue, lapping every drop up greedily. The pain was a ghost of a memory, replaced with a pervasive heat that consumed every fiber of your being with an electric pleasure. If you thought you couldn’t form words before, they were lost to you now. The only sounds escaping you were wanton moans, stirring on the man between your legs.

“If you keep on like that I won’t be able to hold back…” his eyes looked pained and you felt a pang of guilt for not noticing it earlier. “Don’t you know how badly I want you?” He puffed air against your wet heat, his gaze following to your glistening folds, already wet for him. He groaned and the lust returned to his stare, but he was holding himself back.

“Dazai—“ you gasped, reaching down to touch one of his hands as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “What if…what if I don’t want you to hold back?” your face was on fire, you could feel your pulse in your temples as you panted softly. “I want this too…I trust you,” your tender expression nearly broke his heart. ‘You don’t know what I would do to you, how could you trust a man who would break you?’ he lamented to himself, beginning to get lost in his own sorrow when you shifted forward, shifting your weight to gently push him back onto the futon, where you could straddle him. “Do you trust me?” you breathed, wanting to reach through and pull that sorrow from him, if only for a little while.

His eyes softened, reaching up to cup your cheek with his large hands. They felt warmer than before. “You’re honest to a fault, Y/n. It makes me want to swallow you whole…” as though your light could shine from inside him. Leaning down, you placed a tentative kiss on his chest, nipping at his collarbone, hearing him gasp beneath you. There was a dangerous glint in his expression as you turned your attention to him. You wanted him to feel you, to feel your heart. “I’m willing to let you,” you trailed down his abdomen, placing lovingly tender kisses until you were kneeling off the futon in front of him. He lifted his head to look down at you, confused by your motive until he felt your warm mouth around him and watched his painfully hard member disappear behind your lips. “Y/N!” his startled exclamation ended in a throaty moan as his head fell back and he became overwhelmed by the sensations you were delivering to him. Had he died a second time? If so, maybe death wasn’t so boring after all.

You hollowed your cheeks, applying the right amount of pressure as you sucked his length, your own juices beginning to drip as you got excited from getting him off. You were thankful for the blanket of rain outside, pelting the window to hide some of the lewd noises that came from your actions. Hands wound their way through your hair, pulling you down onto him, his previous reservations snapped away the moment your wet heat enveloped him. He couldn’t resist you anymore. He didn’t care if you both fell at that moment. He couldn’t get close enough, the pleasure overtaking his senses. You felt the tug at your hair as he pulled you back with a pop as he left your mouth empty and wanting. You shivered from the sudden roughness and he smirked, guiding you down onto the futon again.

“Naughty girl~ Do you want me to lose control?” he breathed, climbing between your legs again, hoisting you up by hooking his arms beneath your knees. “I warned you I would devour you…” he moaned as he flattened his tongue against your dripping heat, making you fall against the bed, arms suddenly too weak to hold your weight anymore. You could tell you had broken the dam on his self-control, the way his tongue skillfully entered you, working his way up to your clit, grazing his fangs against your lowers lips. Your head was swimming, the erotic noises he was making made your sex tighten, begging for more. “Please—“ you begged, but you weren’t entirely sure for what. All you knew was that you wanted more.

“Please?” he echoed, working his middle and index finger into you, pumping and curling them until you saw white, bucking against his hand, not caring what you looked like anymore. “Dazai please!! I need you, please!” Tears were beginning to prick at your eyes and he sat back, sighing with smile spreading across his handsome features. “Beautiful..” he whispered, climbing over your heated body. His lips found your ear again as he nibbled playfully, brushing the tip of his manhood against your clit, slowly. The tears threatened to fall as they blurred your vision, your hips twitched toward him, and you felt empty without him in you. “Dazai—“ you gasped again, feeling frustrated and earning a lighthearted chuckle from the man above you.

“What do you want me to do? I want you to tell me,” his breath was hot against your cheek, his fangs pricking your earlobe and shooting another wave of pleasure as he soothed the love bite with his tongue. You screwed your eyes shut, panting loudly and attempted to reach down to guide him into you when your hands were restrained in his and held above your head with surprising strength. “Ah, ah~” he tsked, applying pressure to your wrist under his grasp. “Look at me,” he commanded. The weight of his words caused your eyes to open again, your eyes wet and face flushed. He teased himself against your sensitive spot again, meaningfully, “Tell me what you want me to do.”

You bit your lower lip, chewing on it while you tried to think of the right way to phrase it so that you could both get what you wanted. “I..I—“ you started, his mouth was trailing along your jaw again, letting his fangs drag across your soft skin without piercing the flesh, encouraging you to say the words he was waiting to hear. “Yes?” he egged you on, slowly rotating his hips to give you a preview of what you were in for.

“Please—I want to feel you inside of me, Dazai..” your submissive admission was all it took and in seconds he buried himself into you, hissing at your tight heat as your head fell back and you arched into him, hard. It stung, but he stayed still, allowing you to adjust before he began to rock with shallow thrusts, panting words of encouragement. “Y/n, you’re so tight,” he murmured against your neck, his tongue and teeth marking a hickey into your skin. You’d have to wear a scarf over the next couple days or a shirt with a high collar to hide his mark from the others. But a part of him wanted them to see it. He was moving slowly, rolling into you with sweet and deliberate motions. You couldn’t help but buck against him, craving a faster pace.

He let go of your wrists, letting you wrap your arms around his neck, digging your nails into his shoulders. For good measure, you wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him in closer. He moaned low, shifting to take a perky nipple into his mouth while his fingers played with the other, making a mess of you. “Y/n, you’re such a naughty girl… pulling me close like that, is this not enough?” he chuckled against your breast, delighting in the frustrated groan that came as a response. “Please, h-harder,” you pleaded. His mind went blank, hearing you plead to him in such a vulnerable way, it snapped his hips forward and his pace quickened, angling you so he could pound you into the futon, hand leaving your nipple to dance circles around your clit.

You all but screamed at the sudden change of pace, as a thin trail of drool escaped your lips and trailed down the side of your mouth. Fingers brushed against the sticky liquid and pushed into your mouth, which you gladly took inside, swirling your tongue and sucking, sending shudders down the man’s spine as his thrusts started to become more erratic. His eyes were positively glowing in the dark room and his hand left your mouth to rest on your throat, applying a light pressure, but enough to send a pleasurable shock through your body. He guided your hands to his own throat, showing you the kind of pressure he wanted you to apply. “Just a little, yeah?” he whispered, groaning when you pressed into his throat tentatively, reaching back down to give you a reward, applying increasing pressure to your clit, watching you struggle to keep your arms up as he pleasured you. His eyes rolled in his skull and you could feel his adam’s apple bob when he swallowed before he grabbed your wrists and thrust them above your head again, burying his fangs into your neck.

Your cry mixed with a hoarse moan as he drank from you, the pleasure sending you over the edge and you quivered as your orgasm ripped through your body, tightly convulsing around him as he reached his own climax, spilling his hot seed into you. It was overwhelming feeling him drink from you as he emptied his cum into your willing body. When he was finished he kissed the wound that was already starting to close, and moved to kiss your nose, still nestled inside of you. Your body was overstimulated and you moaned softly at the movement, earning another chuckle. “Hey..was I too rough with you?” he questioned sheepishly, still basking in the afterglow of your shared orgasm.

You didn’t think he could look anymore handsome than he already did, but the way the sweat clung to his hair and the loving gaze he was giving you right now made your heart melt. “It’s ok, I liked it,” you admitted, knowing that you would be sore tomorrow, but it was well worth it. A mischievous glint shown in his eyes this time, “You know I won’t be able to let you go, right?” he cooed, tracing his fingers along your neck again, paying special attention to the hickies he left behind. “I won’t be able to hold back now that I’ve had a taste of you…you better prepare yourself.”

#usagiwrites #ikemen vampire #fanfiction #fanwork #dazai #smut #shameless smut #osamu dazai #otome #second person pov #fanservice

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ericsonclan · 5 years ago

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A Spark Like No Other

Summary: Mitch and Brody go on a quest together when things go wrong.

Read on A03:

“It says here that there’s a small group of Grimlocks in the Stetlams Cavity. The reward seems plenty generous,” Brody’s eyes scanned the weathered quest scroll that she held in front of her.

Mitch let out a snort. “Sounds like easy money. I heard even the most basic of adventurers can take them out. So the two of us should have no problem, especially since Aasim was nice enough to lend me this bad boy,” Mitch patted the elven bow strapped over his shoulder.

Brody eyed it skeptically. “You stole it, didn’t you?”

“I’d prefer to say ‘borrowed’, but whatever,” Mitch shrugged half-heartedly. “Soon enough Aasim will be thanking us and won’t even bother with chewing me out for borrowing his bow.”

“What happened to your one? I thought you still had it in the last town,” Brody glanced over at the mercenary who suddenly became more embarrassed.

“Doesn’t fucking matter. I’ll just buy a new one after we kick some Grimlock ass!” Mitch’s usually cocky smirk took over his face.

“Well, let’s go over the basics for Grimlocks. According to Prisha-” Brody was cut off when Mitch sprinted forward towards a cave-like area. The air around this one seemed particularly sinister. Brody had just barely caught up with Mitch and was about to speak up when she noticed the excitement that was dancing in his eyes. He was far too enthusiastic about this to care about what she had to say.

“You ready, Brody?” Mitch looked over at the adventurer with a smile.

Brody felt hesitant; something about this cave seemed off. “I don’t know, maybe we should get some of the others and scope this place out.”

“Oh come on, we don’t need the others. With my broadsword, your longsword and Aasim’s bow, we gonna annihilate them.” Mitch gave a confident smile that slightly faltered when he noticed the worry in his friend’s face. “I know we're just humans, but that doesn’t mean we can’t handle this quest.”

Brody’s eyes shot up and locked with Mitch’s. So this wasn’t just any old quest; Mitch was using it to prove that humans were just as capable fighters as any other race. Brody understood where the mercenary was coming from; it always felt like they were the least impressive of the band of travelers.

“Alright,” Brody gave a confident smile back to her fellow human, her hands placed on her hips. “Let’s show them what humans can do!”

“Fuck yeah!” Mitch pumped his fist in the air. Nothing was going to stop them.

----

“We really should’ve brought one of the others,” Brody groaned, her hair falling over her eyes as she dangled upside down, tied to a rope that was attached to the ceiling. Her back was pressed against Mitch who also seemed less than happy about the predicament they had gotten themselves into.

“How was I supposed to know that they would be waiting for us right by the entrance?” Mitch huffed, squirming in his binds, trying to break free. It only caused the pair to spin slowly in a circle.

“I don’t know, but maybe Prisha or Aasim would’ve suspected something,” Brody sighed. They were elves after all - their knowledge far surpassed either hers or Mitch’s. “Maybe the two humans of the band should’ve stayed behind,” Brody’s tone took on a sadder note at that.

“Hey, don’t go spouting that bullshit. We’ve got this!” Mitch tilted his head to try and look at the other adventurer.

“How, Mitch? How the hell are we going to get out of this?” Brody turned her head and tried to find Mitch’s face. It was hard to see anything in the pitch blackness of this cave. “We’re hanging upside down.” Their bonds swayed slightly back and forth from the weight of Brody’s struggling to prove the kind of pickle they were in.

“Well, I-” Mitch shut up immediately when some footsteps echoed throughout the cave. His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness but he could’ve sworn that he saw a Grimlock nearby. Turning the volume down on his voice to a whisper, he continued. “I think they forgot to fucking take my dagger, the one attached to my back. If you could reach it, we could cut the rope then get over to our weapons,” Mitch motioned over to a large lump of equipment thrown haphazardly against the wall next to them.

“Okay, here goes nothing.” Brody took a deep breath then blindly grasped behind her. Her hands wandered over to accidentally brush Mitch’s butt.

“Hey, that’s my ass!” Mitch whisper-hissed.

“I’m aware! And I wasn’t trying to grab it,” Brody whispered back, her voice holding an annoyed tone to it. “Just be quiet and let me concentrate.” She honed all of her attention back on the task at hand. Her fingers reached up and felt the cold metal hilt of the dagger. “Got it,” Brody wiggled herself into a better spot to start trying to cut. Turning the danger towards herself, she slowly began to cut the binds. It felt painstakingly slow.

“Are you almost done?”

“I don’t know, just...” Brody paused when she felt her hands become free. Leaning upwards, she began to break apart the binds on her feet. Within seconds she was free, with a less than graceful landing. She then moved over to work on Mitch’s binds. “Okay, I’ll have you loose in just a minute.” Brody’s tongue slightly stuck out as she concentrated on cutting through the rope.

“Okay good, cause I’m getting lightheaded,” Mitch stopped when he heard some more footsteps nearby. “You gotta hurry, Brody!”

“I’m working as fast as I can,” Brody cut through the last of the binds, causing the mercenary to fall with a loud thud on his back, the sound of which reverberated throughout the cave.

“Oh, fuck!” Mitch scambered over to the pile of weapons, Brody not far behind him. He handed her her longsword before attaching the strap around himself for his sheathed broadsword. He grabbed the bow and quickly notched an arrow on the string. Brody held out her steel longsword in front of her, watching the darkness ever carefully for any sudden movement. The pair of humans remained quiet when a soft set of footsteps came from the northwest of the cave. Taking the risk, Mitch pulled back the string and let his arrow fly. The Grimlock let out a cry of pain, showing that Mitch had been true to his mark. But it only seemed to anger the creature as it sprinted forward, completely ignoring the arrow protruding from its shoulder as it swung its spiked, bony club at the mercenary.

Mitch tucked and rolled out of the way, giving Brody the opening to strike. Dashing forward she sliced her sword upwards, cutting through the Grimlock’s flesh as if it were but a scroll. Blood and guts spewed out for the place of contact. It covered Brody but she didn’t seem to care at the moment. There were far more Grimlocks hiding in the shadows of the cave.

“Brody, you said Prisha knew about the Grimlocks. Did she say anything about their weaknesses?” Mitch asked, his tone tense and on edge.

“Umm, umm...” Brody could feel her anxiety rising, a soft scurry of footsteps only increasing the pressure. “I umm, fuck. I just- fuck, fuck, come on, Brody.”

“Hey,” Mitch put a hand on her shoulder, causing her to tense up before relaxing. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll work through this together.”

Brody still felt her anxiety within her gut, but Mitch’s reassuring words did seem to help a little. She took a few deep breaths, trying to block out all the other sound within the cave. After a few seconds she had calmed down and her mind became clear. “Fire!”

“What?” Mitch looked over with confusion.

“Prisha told me that they’re vulnerable to light. Do you still carry your torch?” Brody looked over at the mercenary. Even though she couldn’t see his face too well, she could tell that he had a smug expression on it.

“Always, never leave camp without it,” Mitch turned the torch proudly in his hand.

“Great, then…” Brody was trying to formulate a plan but her time had run out. An unnatural cry rang out as a Grimlock swiped its club at Brody.

Mitch appeared immediately in front of her and with a determined grunt blocked the attack with his broadsword. “I don’t think so, asshole,” Mitch pushed back the club and began to fight the monster. “Brody light this,” He tossed back the torch which Brody fumbled around with before gripping it.

She dug around in her pocket before producing a flint. It really was a good thing she always carried around a piece, just in case. Placing down the torch into the soft earth of the cave, she took out her longsword and began to scrape and hit it against the flint. Small sparks began to fly through the air while Mitch struggled against the Grimlock. He relentlessly attacked it, slicing large, heavy hits at it until one knocked back the bone club. With a sharp slice he cut the Grimlock diagonally in two. Its guts and blood splattered to the floor just as Brody had successfully lit the torch. The warm glow of the torch wrapped the two humans into its bright embrace, giving them a thin bubble of light which to see.

“Ok, so now what?” Brody held up the torch while Mitch worked to get the rest of his equipment on.

“This is where the fun really begins,” Mitch gave a smile that made Brody internally groan. This was going to be some crazy plan. He always came up with the wildest plans. She just hoped that this time it would pay off. “You just gotta trust me,” Without giving Brody a chance to respond, he picked up his hunting horn. The white tusk shone brightly in the torchlight, illuminating the noble crest of a household that no longer saw Mitch as their own. Taking a huge breath, he put the horn to his lips and released all the air in his lungs. A loud, low sound burst from the horn, echoing and hitting off the cave walls. The rocks that dangled from the ceiling shook from the force of the horn’s call.

“Mitch!” Brody snapped. “That’s going to draw all of them towards us!”

Mitch smiled back at his companion. “That’s the point.”

Brody was dumbfounded by the mercenary’s statement. But before she could ask if he had any further steps to his plan, the crashing of footsteps appeared all throughout the cave. The first Grimlock appeared. Its pale grey skin shone in the light, revealing that it was wearing nothing but a fur covered loincloth. With an unnerving cry its ears pricked and it recoiled from the light, covering the part of its face where the eyes would be yet all that covered it was the same greyish skin. It waved its bone club viciously at nothing, blinded by the torch’s sharp glow. Soon it was joined by the rest of its pack who reacted just as strongly. Some were blinded just the same as the first while the rest danced around at the outskirts of the lights. Their menacing glare burrowed deeply into the eyes of the humans.

“Suck on these, assholes!” Mitch laughed widely while he threw two of his bombs.

Brody’s eyes widened in horror. “That’s your great idea!?!?” Brody grabbed Mitch’s wrist and began to pull him towards the exit. If they didn’t get out in time, they would end up crispy husks of themselves. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she rushed outside. Giving a worried glance back, her heart stopped. They were out of time. Throwing Mitch forward and wrapping her arms tightly around him, she hoped for the best as the explosion lit up the cave. The tail ends of it hit both humans, throwing them higher in the air before they tumbled to the ground. Brody’s back hit hard against the ground, causing the pair to roll haphazardly until they stopped with Mitch’s back on the ground.

Mitch tried to regain his surroundings when he noticed Brody hovering above him.

“Are you okay?” Her voice was heavy with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mitch felt his heartbeat quicken when he noticed that Brody’s face was mere inches from his. His eyes wandered from her eyes down to her lips, quickly noticing that her eyes were doing the same. His mind rushed with a thousand thoughts as his heart continued to pound in his ears. Both became incredibly flustered after a few seconds of temptation, pulling apart quickly. Brody jumped up on to her feet, brushing off her back before offering him up a hand. “Thanks,” Mitch mumbled and accepted Brody’s hand as he tried to get his heart to calm down. That moment seemed to have sparked something within his heart. The feeling was like nothing he had ever felt before. He looked over at Brody who seemed to be just as overwhelmed by the whole thing. Loudly clearing his throat, Mitch motioned to the cave where a large pillar of smoke was emitting. “Guess we should check to see if the ears survived.”

“Right, right, yeah, for the reward money,” Brody whispered then turned sharply on her heel. The two humans remained quiet as they dug around in the cave, taking ear after ear from the corpses of the Grimlocks and placing it in the small sack around Mitch’s waist. After a few minutes the pair wandered back outside, checking to see if most of their weapons and such had survived. Luckily they had. The two walked in silence back to the campsite in the woods.

Mitch looked over at Brody and noticed just how much the explosion had reached them. She was covered in soot, blood and the occasional gut or two; he was sure he didn’t look much better. “So, not bad for two humans,” Mitch tried to give his classic confident smirk.

Brody seemed shocked by his voice before a kind smile appeared on her lips that made Mitch’s heart stop for a second. What the hell are these feelings? “Yeah, guess we didn’t need the others after all.”

“Yeah,” Mitch offered his fist which Brody immediately bumped, causing Mitch to make loud explosion sounds with a happy smile.

“How about no last minute explosion next time though?” Brody smiled over at the mercenary good-naturedly.

He returned it with a smug look. “You know that I can’t promise that.”

Brody gave a light-hearted chuckle and shook her head. “No, I guess not.”

Mitch stared at her for a second too long, making her glance over. He immediately turned his face away and began some unimportant light conversation to distract her. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was feeling, but for now he just needed to focus on more adventures.

“Oh, by the way, that explosion doesn’t count as any of your kills,” Brody’s voice snapped Mitch back into reality.

“Aw, come on, Brody, that’s bullshit! I was the one who threw the bomb!”

“And I’m the one who saved us from being crushed or burned like Clem’s cooking!” Brody countered with a smile. The two continued to banter all the way back to camp, both laughing and smiling along the way.

#twdg #twdg brody #twdg mitch #twdg moody #fanfic #fantasy hijinks au

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kayann9 · 6 years ago

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A Knight’s Tale M!Kayden X F!MC The Royal Masquerade

A little re-write of the diamond scene from the POV of my MC.

Pairing - M! Kayden (Trystan) X F!MC

Words- 1,899

Rating - T for just a little bit of angst and fluff

All rights to pixelberry.

I am not at all sure what to think of what I have just seen. My heart is still thundering in my ears so loudly that is almost difficult to hear anything but the rush of my blood.

Through the gates, the both of them limp; Trystan with his shoulder slumped and his left arm resting gingerly across his mid-section and Alexander with a somewhat tight smile and subtle drag of the leg. Still, he waves to his adoring crowd and takes in their applause. Not Trystan though. His head still covered with the heavy battle armour and with a swat of the hand to any stable hands who try to take his horse, he retreats without so much as an upward glance.

Foolish. The both of them.

The whole charade could have ended in a much worse way; perhaps with puncture wounds, broken bones or something far graver.

Ignoring the rapturous praise for the spectacle, I kick up the dry dirt as I walk through the arena, my dress suddenly feeling much weightier than it had, my shoulders feeling even heavier.

Renza is already by the gates checking on her brother; that same unaffected look on her face though I can only imagine the true extent of her worry. Flocks of people surround Alexander: carrying his armour, taking his weaponry, lending him a shoulder to ease his walk. It would be easy to follow them; flow through the gateway and into the throng of people with their excited chatter and obvious glee at witnessing the acting King of Cordonia take on a battle hardened and mysterious ‘noble.’ I would be nought but a liar if I did not say, some part of me is a little bit excited by it all too. Alexander’s attentions have been obvious, flattering even, and some juvenile part of me wants to revel in that just to show those whoever doubted me and my place here.

But, then there is something more.

Across the way, the large, black mass weighted down with injury and armour slides by unnoticed, despite his victory and the larger part of me cannot help but move in that direction.

I know I probably should not. Especially not now I have agreed to a suitor from Theodosia but, my heart aches and swells at the thought of Trystan sitting alone in a stable, wounded and hurt; too proud to ask for help or support.

My feet decide before my mind.

It is most stupid. I know this. I know how silly and selfish I am being: it could damage Trystan’s standing with the crown; damage Alexander’s standing with the alliances; it could damage the future of Cordonia. Trystan would tell me all of that but, I am not honour bound the way he is. I do not have the same will power. Nor do I want to.

He grunts so loudly it echoes through the whole, empty building.

From behind an empty stable, I watch him shrug away armour carelessly, wincing and grimacing with each violent frustration.

“I do wish you would sometimes just ask for help.”

The pause in his movements is so sharp and precise, one may mistake him for a statue.

“When help is needed I shall.”

The buckles underneath his shoulder blade are just a shred out of his reach. I do not know why I bother even suggesting it; he would sooner cut his arm off to get out of that armour. So, I do the very thing that will annoy him the most; help regardless.

As I shoo his hands and unfasten them, he slumps just as a sullen teenager would. The frown on his face almost leaving a mark in his features once he relaxes. “There is no shame in seeking a little support Trystan. Especially after that rather lovely display out there.”

“It was rather thrilling.”

Oh, yes. Thrilling. It is most thrilling watching those you care for throw large pieces of pointed metal at each other. “Perhaps not thrilling enough; perhaps next time we can soak you both in lamb’s blood and set some wild tigers loose in there. You know, put on a real show.” I pat his shoulder once the last of the metal is free.

“I take it the lady is displeased.”

I do not often despair at the rare smiles Trystan passes my way; they are sometimes so at odds with his control that they make me just the slightest bit giddy. Not today though. “And why would you think such a thing; it was a delightful experience watching someone dislocate your shoulder, break your ribs and then hold a broad sword to your throat. Like I said, man-eating tigers will be the only way to top it.”

The smile slides from his face. “I normally enjoy your sarcasm but, this time, perhaps not.”

We sit in silence, the horse stamping its foot for a few moments until there is no sound but the wind through the trees outside. Had it not been for the last thirty minutes, I would have had a pleasant day.

“It would not have escalated much further. It is simply sporting to give a good show.”

I sigh. I know this. Of course, I do. However, it does not make it easier to witness. Still, he is at least here, and they were both able to stand afterwards. Whilst I am not much in the mood for cracking jokes, the atmosphere is calling for it.

“You were maybe giving too much of a good show.” Trystan’s smile is so subtle it is almost not there. “You were enjoying hitting the nobility a little too much?”

A twinkle glimmers in his eye; the same one that I had seen after the commotion at the camp. The mischievous one that sometimes tells me that I am not imagining his fondness for me; the one that I have not seen him use in the presence of others.

“I shan’t lie Eva; I did quite enjoy it. His Regency is a good fighter – not as good as me – but still capable. I found it a challenge.” He pauses. “Kind of.”

He didn’t.

As we stand, he groans and pulls himself up from the hay by the stable doors.

And now I am back to being annoyed at his silliness.

Slowly, the ambles towards the feed before my annoyance gets the better of me and I stop him with a grab of the forearm. He will not accept my help if I ask; there is no point wasting my breath with this obtuse but lovely man and so, I do not. “You’re hurt.”

“I shall be-”

“Take off your shirt.” As the words leave my mouth, I stumble, and heat floods my face. Even whilst his eyes narrow at me, probably at the order, it takes much self-control not to back down and just flee the barn. It is obvious that his jaw has clenched just as my nails are digging into my palms.

I almost gasp when with a glower he does exactly as I say, his eyes not once leaving mine.

Unnerving, wonderful and also making me far more aware of the effect he seems to have on me than usual; the sudden overwhelming urge to both runaway and touch him makes my head swim as though I am an excitable teenager. More than that, the fact I was met with no reproach or sensible, wizened words, makes my resolve crumble in a way it should not.

Remember your agreement, Eva. Do not be selfish. He could get hurt; the Kingdom could get hurt; your sister, your sister needs you.

Responsibility floods through my senses and I curse it so vehemently I would never be able to speak the words aloud unless I were to repent. Responsibility; you are here to serve now.

My torn mind races as it takes in the broad muscles, almost as beautifully carved as a statue, save for the scars - the war wounds – it yields. I had seen men without shirts before, a chest seen once is a chest seen a thousand times but the very thought of now having to put my hands on his flesh without an ounce of enjoyment fills me with dread. I am a silly girl.

Trystan smirks and it is then I know I have been caught. His change in demeanour unsettling me even more. “You so often tease me and yet you have still to blink.” He chuckles and I think it may be the first time I have ever heard it. “You told me to take my shirt off, my lady. I simply obliged.”

A foolish and silly girl indeed.

In spite of his teasing, the large bruise and punctured skin on his ribs brings me back to my senses.

The bandages he’d brought with him seem barely enough, but I resolve to make do.

His skin is rougher than I had thought when I finally get around to actually placing the cotton on his flesh; marred with invisible lines and hidden scars that tell a story of a warrior injured one too many times. A far cry from the soft and gentle hands of the others in our uneasy alliance. Muttering the odd apology as I touch a sore spot, I wrap the bandages around his torso whilst he tries his best to keep still.

“You have a lot of scars.”

“There have been a lot of battles.” His voice reverberates in his back, a deep growl. “Can you see the one on my left?”

The white line is hard to miss, and I wince as my fingers trace it. I should not be doing this; if anyone were to walk through that door right now, we would both have much explaining to do. I am even more surprised by his lack of restraint. His distance so far has kept me from being foolish and now we were both bearing witness just to how weak I truly am. Still, my fingers do not stop tracing the line as if I could magically make it disappear. A sword maybe? Or even an axe wound through the armour?

As if he knows my internal monologue, he laughs. “I slipped on my way to buy some bread and landed on some broken glass. Not quite the war story you were hoping for.”

He leans against me.

I freeze.

I freeze until I do not freeze any longer. My mind, completely devoid of rationality and only filling with the feel of him, blanks out as he turns his face over his shoulder, merely inches from mine. As close as it had been at the masquerade; with just as much promise.

“Thank you for your kindness.”

“You are most welcome.”

“Thank you for you favour.”

“You are most welcome.”

“Thank you for your patience.”

The last gratitude makes me take pause and a pause is all it takes for the spell to break; for him to regain whatever sense of morality he has. The guard flies back onto his face, his spine straightens like an iron rod and with a gentle smile, he leaves me to re-dress.

All I now know is the cold air where warmth once was.

“You are most welcome.” I say as we maintain our safe distance and go about our normal business as if nothing really happened at all.

Tags: @parkerattano @gettingonmykneesfordamiennazario @mightyfangirlofthefandoms @chaotichuman0090 @krishu213 @adrianadmirer

@referencees @just-another-lonely--soul @rexgwapolagi

#choices stories you play #playchoices #choices #pixelberry #the royal masquerade #kayden vescovi #kayden x mc #trm kayden #trm

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fragilenights · 6 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: IT - Stephen King Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Henry Bowers Additional Tags: Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Coming Out, The Hammock (IT), TW: Slurs, TW: Homophobia, Pining, Bisexual Disaster Richie Tozier, Internalized Homophobia Summary:

After being harassed in the arcade and being scared to death at the park, Richie Tozier headed to the Losers' clubhouse where he would meet up with his best friend, Eddie Kaspbrak, and admit a secret that he himself had only just come to terms with.

...

Aka the arcade scene/Paul Bunyan scene being followed by another hammock scene where Richie comes out.

Richie did not have a good day at the arcade.

A place that typically brought so much comfort and enjoyment.

Today he met a boy with golden curls that he couldn't help but keep glancing at as the game's screen shined neon colors across his face.

But then, he let down his guard. He let himself listen to his thoughts. He thought he was so good at tuning out his thoughts about other boys, but in a moment of lapsed judgment, he let himself act on his thoughts.

So he ran.

He ran from bullies and he ran from himself.

The venomous "Get the fuck out of here, faggot!" still ringing in his ears.

Tears streaming down his face as he rushed to a park bench.

Richie did not have a good day at the park.

Richie didn't like acknowledging his own sinful attraction, so having others notice it was like a dagger through the heart.

So he cried and he cried.

He cried until a deep, manly voice echoed throughout the grassy expanse around him, "Wanna kiss, Richie?"

His head shot up and he was met by the giant wooden figure of a strong man hovering over him.

Then a large cattle prod came barreling down at him.

He barely dodged it as he hurled himself to the ground, running away from the monstrous Paul Bunyan bust.

But he tripped and there was no way he could outrun the giant headed towards him.

So he curled up in a fetal position and repeated to himself that what he was seeing wasn't real.

And then it was gone.

On his walk, Richie was left to actually think about all of these accusations thrown at him. He always knew he wasn't exactly like the other boys.

He thought some girls were pretty and he would get butterflies in his stomach from time to time, but sometimes there were boys that evoked this reaction in Richie as well.

He didn't really understand it, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fight it.

He didn't really allow himself to understand it. All he knew was that sometimes girls, like Janet Cleary from math class, would make his heart race and sometimes boys, like the one from the arcade, would make his palms slick with sweat.

And sometimes he had these feelings for other boys too.

Sometimes when he would brush hands with Eddie, his skin felt like it was lit on fire. Ignited by the simple touch.

Sometimes he couldn't help imagining how Eddie's lips felt. How they would feel against his own.

Sometimes he caught himself being swept away by the scent of Eddie. A mantra of EddieEddieEddie reverberating around his mind.

But he didn't like thinking about it.

He didn't want to ruin anything.

So he typically swallowed the feeling and went about joking. Joking about women and sex in order to portray the manly behavior that he knew he was supposed to have innately.

But it didn't matter because the thoughts were always there, burning a hole in the back of his mind.

Finding the hidden entrance, Richie opened the hatch and made his way down the creaking ladder. Before his eyes could adjust to the dimly lit clubhouse, he heard a squeak followed by a loud sigh.

"Oh thank fuck. It's only you," a familiar voice said from the worn hammock in the corner.

Wiping the remnants of tears from his cheeks, Richie mustered the best smile he could and jokingly said, "Wow. Don't act so excited to see me, Spaghetti," as he walked his way over to meet the smaller boy where he sat.

"Shut the fuck up," Eddie quipped even as he moved to allow Richie room to join him in the hammock.

The two boys fell into a gentle silence as Eddie returned to reading the comic book in his hand until the sniffles of the other boy caught his attention.

Richie wasn't one to show emotions typically, but when he did he would typically turn to Eddie for comfort. Through all of the talking that typically came from the boy, whenever something was bothering him, he was left with a lack of words. So in these rare times, Eddie would just hold him as he sobbed. They would never talk about it afterwards, but there was a general comfort and understanding that no judgment lied within those gentle moments.

Eddie could tell this was one of those times when he looked up and met a pair of watery blue eyes.

Things suddenly shifted from the usual as Eddie noticed the beat red coming from the bloody scrapes on Richie's knees.

His brow furrowed as he softly and slowly questioned, "Richie, what happened?"

"Bowers, of course."

"But...this time was different...wasn't it?"

"You assholes didn't tell me your town was full of little fairies!"

Richie breath caught in his throat and he worked to look anywhere but in Eddie's direction as fear washed over his features.

"Richie fucking Tozier. Are you trying to bone my little cousin?"

Desperate to ease the other boy's anxieties, Eddie sat up and shifted forward to be closer to Richie and simply said, "Hey. It's okay. You know you can tell me anything."

"Get the fuck out of here, faggot!"

With the sudden comment, Richie's eyes once again rose to meet Eddie's and as they softened a switch flipped and Richie broke out into sobs.

Eddie acted quickly to flip his body so that he was side by side with Richie, holding him tight to ease his shaking form. He just let the boy cry for a while without any further questioning as he carded his fingers through Richie's curls.

Once his breathing started to even out, Eddie opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by an uncharacteristically soft voice.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"I...need to tell you something."

"What's up, Rich?"

"Promise me you won't hate me?"

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "Richie, you know I could never hate you-" but he was interrupted as Richie squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his own head.

"Just-please promise me," Richie asked as he lowered his head and stuck his pinky finger out.

"Okay, I promise," Eddie sighed and met Richie's hand, intertwining their pinkies together.

"I-I think I like boys."

The words echoed in Eddie's brain as he recalled all of the horrible things his own mother had told him about boys who liked other boys.

"They're sick, Eddie-bear. Rotten to the core. If you ever meet one of them... those fairies...just promise me you'll run. Get away as fast as you can."

But looking at his best friend in his arms, Eddie knew his ma was wrong. Nothing about Richie Tozier could ever be sick or rotten. Even with all of the cuts and bruises scattered over his skin, Richie was made of pure gold. Nothing about this smiling goofball could ever even resemble the monsters that his mother made homosexuals out to be.

So Eddie decided right then and there, as he laid in a musty hammock under a good foot of dirt, that his ma was wrong. He wasn't sure what all she was wrong about, but he knew for certain that she was wrong about Richie Tozier.

In the silence that developed as Eddie processed the information spoken to him in soft whispers, Richie head had ducked down as his own heart pounded in his chest.

Tears once again leaked from his eyes as croaked out a plea, "Please don't hate me."

Eddie quickly shook himself out of his thoughts, knowing that any of his current revolations could be put on hold because his best friend needed to be comforted.

He tightened his grip around Richie's frame, "No, Richie. I could never hate you."

This sudden acceptance lifted a weight off of Richie's chest that he didn't even notice being there in the first place.

So he cried.

Richie Tozier cried harder than he ever had before.

The tears pouring down his face were fueled by the absolute relief that the world didn't split in two as he uttered the sinful phrase. He cried because even though Eddie was raised to be terrified and disgusted by any abnormality that could possibly result in an unnaturally early death, Eddie didn't care. Eddie didn't care that Richie could be ridden with disease. Eddie didn't care that Richie could be damned to hell. Eddie only cared that Richie was himself, all despite how brainwashed he was from his own mother.

"I could never hate you," Eddie muttered into Richie's hair as he placed a gentle kiss onto his forehead.

The comfortable silence that surrounded them as they held each other tightly was all the acceptance and love the two boys could need at the time.

They had each other and that was enough.

#reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #TW: slurs #TW: homophobia #coming out #the losers club #it movie #writing

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kinsbin · 6 years ago

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As I Walked Through the Woods

Title: As I Walked Through the Woods Ship: Orais/Alexys/Cyril [Self Insert/OCs] Word Count: 2094

Summary: Alexys, C, and Orais travel back home to Eden’s Gate. When Alexys gets hurt along the way, the two men choose to put aside their differences and make sure to help her.

A/N: Another comm for @space-sweetheart with my two OCs!!! They’re so in love with her its ridiculous and I hope all three of them stay HAPPY AND GOOD ;3;!!!

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The forest was quiet. The echo of the group’s footsteps was dramatic against the nothingness and the soft breeze that accompanied their walk. Alexys felt the dry air sting at her lungs as she inhaled, looking up to admire the scenery of the towering pines around her. It smelled like mulch and baking stone, clay under the heat of the morning hardening against the banks of rivers and an endless curl of bark against its treetops. The forest always felt so magical like this, she decided with a quirk of her lips as she admired a little while longer, powerful and old and filled to the brim with secrets she knew it would take to its grave. To be one with this forest would be something unique, she decided. Maybe if she ever died she would be able to be buried here. To let her body mold with the mulch. She imagined roots curling in her bones and sighed shakily, as if she could feel them on her lungs as her shoe dug a little deeper into the earth below her with a smile.

“We’re going the wrong way.”

“No we’re not. We always go this way!”

“No, we always follow the SUN, which is THAT WAY. I’m telling you, it’s WRONG.”

“YOU’RE WRONG!”

The sound of her boyfriend’s arguing behind her boomed across the landscape, subsequently shattering the quiet around them as they yelled their opinions at one another. Alexys took in a deep breath, allowing it to escape from her lips in the form of a sigh as she adjusted the coat on her body and turned around to face the other two with a raised eyebrow painted on her face.

Cyril’s mask was on, his muffled voice displaying only slight frustration behind its normally monotone presence outside of his preaching. Still, Alexys could practically feel the glare radiating from behind it. She had gotten good at reading the assassin. His body language spoke wonders where his words failed and she could tell he was TENSE. The way his shoulders hunched against him, the clutch of his gun between his white knuckles fingertips as he shook in an effort to control himself in front of her was something impressive. Against the side of his scarred cheek that showed itself away from the mask, the muscles of his clenched teeth could be shown. Outlines of bone on pale flesh as he stared forward at the figure in front of him.

Orais had actually decided to wear a shirt today, the tank top riding low and exposing the pale flesh of his torso just a little despite it. A near hour of her begging and gazing up at him with worry had made him finally relent to the outfit of a shirt and pants and combat boots, holstered along his belt with a knife and gun though he didn’t need them. Eden’s Gate made it a point to keep their members armed and manageable at all times. Whether or not Orais was an actual member of the cult or not, however, remained to be seen. Still, though he complained that he didn’t get cold or need to wear anything in defense against the Earth’s natural elements, he did look hot. The tank top defined the lines of his arms as they curved into obvious musculature. She only half missed the impressive set of abs he was hiding underneath his broad form, but the other half knew that he would get tired of the shirt and take it off eventually.

If he didn’t kill C, first.

“Babe, tell him we’re going the right way. I’m right, right?” Orai’s turned his head to face Alexys with an incredulous look plastered across his face. The way he gazed made his scars stretch out, the shift of the disfigured skin a cute wrinkle on his chin as he waved his hand at C, who stared placidly back at him with his hidden expression.

Alexys bit her lip as she looked around the forest. She hated getting involved in their debates too much. Choosing sides was never what she was about in the middle of their relationship. She was an anchor to them (or so they said). A tie to a world that kept them manageable and together despite the fact that they would rather die than travel like this. Choosing a side in any scenario would never make the other rhappy and, thus, she was content to keep her mouth quiet most of the time. This time, however, she felt the words fall from her lips despite herself.

“I think,” She spoke carefully, “We should probably make a camp or something if we’re gonna be out here for the rest of the night. You remember Jacob’s stories about this place, don’t you? We could get eaten… Or eat each other.”

“If we eat each other,” C spoke lightly, “I vote we eat Orais first.”

“Jokes on you,” Orais sneered, “I’d be able to eat you first. That’s the one fucking speciality I might have over you.”

“Oh, so you admit you don’t have any others?”

Orais’ growled, a sound that reverberated against his chest and pulled itself from his throat in the most inhuman way possible. Its noise sent birds fleeing the cover of bushes as they screamed their shocked caws. Animals rustled under the cover of underbrush to run away. It was a momentary cacophony of sounds that sent Alexys whirling in surprise before she stepped back, blinking into the sky around them before her foot caught on something. She gasped as she felt it slip back behind her, her body twisting an unusual angle and sending a pain through her ankle before pushing her down with gravity.

“Shit-!” She cursed out loud as her back hit the mulch of the earth, the grunt leaving her voice flittering into a pained whimper.

C and Orais were by her side in an instant. Hands touched her body, keeping her steady as they helped her off of her back and onto her butt, where she readjusted herself. She sound of C’s mask being discarded echoed, a clatter to the forest floor as his cold eyes gazed across her body.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” His tone was a desperate, genuine worry that filled her stomach with warmth and pain to hear as Orais’ hands gripped her cheeks and made her face him as his cold red eyes gazed into hers, checking for any signs of internal damage or a concussion.

“Woah, Babydoll,” Orais laughed, all teeth as he smirked, “I know I said that I loved it when you fell for me but I didn’t mean it like that.”

Alexys laughed despite the pain as she winced and tried to move her ankle, feeling a swollen punch hit her and make her stop breathing for a moment.

“Don’t make jokes at a time like this,” C’s voice was muffled under his face mask and his glare was sharp at the other, scarred face and brows now visible to show just how angry he was, “She’s hurt because of you!”

“Me?” Orais snarled back, “If you had just listened to me and we had gone the direction I said we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with! You’re such a fucking bitch sometimes I swear to-.”

“Guyssss, don’t argue.” Alexys groaned as she reached up and pat Orias’ shoulder gently, shifting arms to pat C in the same way, “I just fell wrong and sprained my ankle a bit, I’ll be okay once I get some rest.”

“That depends on us getting back first.” Orais laughed bitingly, eyes angled towards C in a glare as he frowned, “What do you think then, Jesus Boy?”

Alexys, though she did not approve of the nickname, was grateful for Orais’ question. A question from him meant that he was going to listen to your opinion. It meant that he was willing to hear C out for once in their relationship and, to her, that was something far better than she could have expected. Even C seemed surprise, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing his brows again as he thought of an answer.

Slowly his arms extended from Alexys’ shoulders and down her body, finding her hurt ankle between his hands and slowly leaning down to push the end of her jeans up. She winced as the material rode up on the sensitive flesh. C paid careful attention to her movements, wincing whenever she whimpered or tensed and uttering a soft ‘sorry’ to her until he could finally expose enough of the ankle to examine it. It was already starting to bruise, the hot red muscle bulging in comparison to the other. It looked twice as bad as it felt and, Alexys worried, it hopefully wasn’t more than the sprain she had thought.

“She’s not going anywhere on this,” C stated with a sigh, “If you put any pressure on it, it’ll only make it worse.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” Orais’ saw was upturned in a smirk as he leaned forward. Before Alexys could say anything his lips found hers, a hot and rough kiss consuming her soul as his growls and chuffs of pleasure coursed through her mouth. Orais’ kisses were always like this. Hot and sweet and filled with all of him. It was all or nothing in his entire being and he mimicked it perfectly in the way he kissed her. For, to him, she was his everything. The thought sent a blush spreading on her cheeks like a wildfire as Orais pulled away, that curved smirk against his scarred face glimmering in the daylight.

A hand reached out, C’s fingertips finding Orais’ face and shoving him backwards as hard as he could. Orais grunted and laughed through it, grinning wider, “What’s up, Jesus Boy? You jealous?”

“I’m annoyed,” C’s voice was short with anger, “That you’re wasting our time like this when we could be walking back to base by now.”

“Oh so kissing her’s a waste of time now?” Orais snorted, “‘Sides you said so yourself, right? She can’t walk at all! What are we gonna do?”

There was a stony silence and Alexys swore she could FEEL Cyril’s smirk under his mask. Reaching for the discarded full face mask, he tucked it on his belt before re-adjusting himself. She barely had any chance to ask what he was doing before she was scooped up, bridal style, and held close to his chest.

His body was warm. Under the coat he wore as his outer layer, she could feel his heat radiating across his chest as his heart beat thrummed underneath him. The fur on his collar’s trim tickled her face, little licks of fuzz biting at her eyelashes and making her smile as they tickled her. There was a shake of his chest to indicate that he, too, had laughed at her own smile. When she looked up, his eyes were staring down at her. Icy blue orbs with brows knitted together with such affection that she felt isolated under them. That she felt like she was the only one in that gaze of his that meant anything. She blushed despite herself and looked down at the ground below her, remembering how tall Cyril truly was.

He was strong, too. It wasn’t the first time he had carried her like this but each time was a surprise as she dangled her legs from his arms. Her fingers found the front of his jacket, where they curled up into the fabric to create an easier hold on something, in case she did fall off for any particular reason. She knew, deep in her heart though, that C wouldn’t drop her. He would never let her go.

Behind them, Orai’s snorted.

“You’re a fucking show off, ain’t you?” He sneered at the other man, “If you get tired, I’m always happy to take my turn carrying our little princess~.”

“Shut up.” Cyril snarked back as he began walking, the movement careful as he adjusted her in his arms and whispered softly into her ear, “You can rest now. When you wake up, I’ll have you home.”

And then a form appeared at her side, his lips finding the top of her head with a laugh as Orais hummed, “WE’LL have you home.”

Alexys shut her eyes and smiled, snuggling further into the arms of the men she knew she was safest with.

Around her, the forest sang its song of silent appreciation as they walked on.

#self ship #self shipping #writing commission #oc self ship #kinley writes

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highestfantasy-blog · 7 years ago

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Lirelda

Hello, everyone! For my first post here, I just wanted to go on ahead and start with a writing prompt I have put a little time into for my character Lirelda. It’s a bit of an introduction for her, the story ahead, and the universe she exists in. This is a universe of my own design and does not intentionally borrow elements from other universes. If anyone spots something too similar that they’d find to be plagiarism of any sort, I would be thrilled for you to point it out to me so I may correct it immediately! A few quotes ahead to (hopefully) entice you to click on the story after the jump.

“You crave to brawl like a man then, Lirelda?” he growled.

“Not even his bones remain.” ... a smile crept over her face.

Days since they’d moved in together, Lirelda was careful not to provoke Saulden and seemed to be diverting all his romantic advances very masterfully. “Perhaps he won’t be so difficult to live with.” she thought to herself, feeling like maybe her mother was right after all. “Despite his reputation, he seems surprisingly calm.” she continued internally, starting to think that she might be able to enjoy a true relationship with him. She thought she’d try her luck to get to know him, he was now her husband, after all. She approached him with lithe footsteps and quietly spoke, “Could we speak, Saulden?” she choked on his name.

A name that had a reputation of savagery beyond normal comprehension, further evidenced by the luxury of his homestead. He turned to face her where he sat, a slightly confused expression on his face. He took a moment to gauge whether her request was a reality since she’d been so evasive since then. A slight grin sprawled on his face, one she’d never seen before and actually managed to put her at ease. “So, she talks.” he said with a chuckle before rising to his feet, “Finally, you are ready to validate our marriage?” his words filled her ears like daggers.

Her face went cold, her ease all swallowed up by the pit in her stomach as she shook her head slowly, unable to speak. His head turned to the side as his brows contorted to give her an expression of agitation. “Then why have you decided to bother me?” he barked. She stood there stunned before walking away with a tremble in her steps. “It is not like a lady to walk away when she has been spoken to!” his anger reverberated through his hall, the anger of a barbarian.

“I’m sorry, I just feel so drowsy now!” she called back to him without stopping her distraught pace to the bedroom. With her mind reeling from the implications she’d just imposed upon herself, she didn’t even notice his presence behind her. “You will yield to me!” he yelled at the back of her head, causing her to spin with eyes wide to face him. “Please, I did not intend to upset you, Saulden!” His face was an illustration of disgust at her elusive actions, he gripped her wrist to stop her and she slapped him across the face out of instinct. “You crave to brawl like a man then, Lirelda?” he growled.

Saulden shoved her into the closed bedroom door, sending a shockwave through Lirelda's body that gave her bones a dull ache. The door swung into the stone wall, denting the solid wood with the incredible force that drove it. He gripped at the bust of her robe, tearing the ornately woven fabric to ribbons before her eyes. He leaned in to claim her lips and she slammed her head into his nose in retaliation. His face hardened as he wiped his nose before backhanding her, bounding her backward from the recoil to the bed frame, her head slamming into it.

He began to ogle her exposure, an expression upon his face that sickened her as she turned her head to look away from him. He dispatched his trousers to his ankles and met her at the floor before seizing her jaw to make her look into his eyes as he moaned out onto her lips. Her lip curled as she clenched her jaw, she shook her head before spitting in his face. As he closed his fist to strike her in full for her spite, she observed his drawing back.

She dug her nails into his cheek, her thumb’s prodding at his very eyeball before she took a chance with his balance weakened. She shoved him as well as she could, which still wasn't enough for his mass to set him on his back, so she kicked him in the chest. With that kick, she suddenly felt an adrenaline that gave her the notion she was boulders heavier. He felt this weight as he attempted to shove her as she straddled him. “What the hell?!” he was growing far more agitated at her.

“This is what you want, then?” she spat. Her thighs on either side of his legs, she sank into her rage and clawed at his face mercilessly as he was still attempting to react. As he backhanded one of her hands away from his face, her nails ignited into streams of fire and seared his cheek, leaving him groaning out in agony. “What the hell are you?!” he screamed out at her, his turmoil evident. Looking at him so weak provoked a wry chuckle from her lips while he lay there defenseless.

His face burning and her grip on reality fading, she withdrew her nails from him as if she was simply making a point. He decided to take this opportunity to disable her with one of his staggering punches to the face. As his gauntlet made contact, she filled the room with a wail and lost her flesh, becoming a living fireball glaring above him. His fist passed through what moments ago was her nose, scorching it appropriately. His eyes were filled with terror, she was a sight to behold to cause nightmares for a lifetime.

She sprang toward him, her fiery silhouettes of palms stopping her from falling forward as they wrapped around his neck. She screamed in his face, combusting her form into an obscene depiction of hell that he had to turn away from. “Please, don’t kill me!” he managed to get the stifled words out of his throat. Everything around her was warped from the sheer radiation and she throttled his neck to make him face her. She uttered her next words in a flat tone, “I will not be owned." as she filled him like a vessel with her broiling flames.

It raced through his veins, coursing through his body like lava behaving like water. He shrieked out from the most intense pain he’d ever felt, his body going into shock and forcing his eyes to glaze over. His body erupted into a bout of fire, the size of which could rival even her own magnitude. She rested there, catching her breath on all fours with her eyes closed. She awakened from her delirious state and gazed upon the pile of ashes below.

"Not even his bones remain," she whispered to herself before a smile crept over her face. A smirk terrifying as it was understandable, she just incinerated a man with a power that had no explanation. Now she was owned by no one and felt for once in her life like she wasn’t defenseless. Before she could continue her train of thought, she heard a distant echo from behind her. She couldn't be sure what the disembodied voice said, but she perceived it as "Aid us."

At the will of a most distorted tone that certainly wasn’t human, she was entranced and followed it.

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anoutlandishfanfic · 8 years ago

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Metamorphosis Chapter 14: Jet Black, Part TWO

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night?

You can find Ch 14 Pt ONE here or you can find all previous chapters here.

October 20th, 1743

Numb.

I felt so incredibly numb as we rode hard, putting as much distance between us and Cranesmuir as we possibly could. The motion of the horse and Jamie’s arm around me did nothing to penetrate the transient weightlessness that had me adrift on an open sea. Nothing could reach me, could bring me back from the black abyss that ensnared me. My back and hip were silent, the pain unregistered as I moved in sync with Jamie atop Donas. I almost wished I could feel it and have some sort of anchor that would bring me back down to reality.

But, did I really want to come back to reality? Back to a world without fair trial, one that burned people at the stake for a crime that could neither be proved nor disproved? A lifetime without the two innocent lives that had once flourished within me?

No.

I didn’t want to come back.

I closed my eyes, letting the tide take me where it would and finally succumbing to the pull of shock and grief.

…

Claire.

Something solid and unmoving was beneath me as my awareness slowly returned to me. It’s damp chill seeped through my skirts as my name echoed in my ears.

Claire.

Each reverberation gained intensity as it traveled down my spine, settling into my hips. It pulsated through my bones and took a firm hold of my lower back. An angry heat accompanied the sensation as it spread across my shoulder blades, melting the wall of ice that had, until now, kept me separated from my blinding pain.

Claire.

I shook my head, fighting consciousness, but the voice - Jamie’s voice - only grew louder, his magnetic pull guiding me to the surface. His hands were on my face, his breath warm on my cheeks. I could feel him, taste him, but I remained in the dark, alone.

Jamie.

My lips refused to move and I tried again.

Jamie.

“Aye, Sassenach,” he sighed in relief, his face still hidden from view, “I’ve got ye.”

My hands trembled as they felt along to find his face. His cheeks were chilled from the wind, but the creases of his eyes betrayed the underlying heat of turmoil as his tears fell onto my fingertips before they trailed down familiar line of his cheekbones.

“Jamie…”

He took my hands in his, kissing them both before pulling me closer, onto his lap. I rested my head on his shoulder and grabbed a fistful of his shirtfront, assuring myself that he was real, that this wasn’t another horrid dream.

“Mo chridhe?”

I blinked once, twice, and suddenly the world came into focus. The muted browns and greens of the forest separated themselves from Jamie’s jacket, the brilliance of a noonday sun above me from his pale skin.

Jamie’s hand lowered to my lap, cradling the swell of my abdomen and the floodgates opened. My tears fell in torrents and my words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I told him of my fall, of my dream, and of the surety of my impending miscarriage.

The muscles of his jaw tensed as he swallowed hard, his fingers restlessly moving against the fabric of my skirt. An intense look passed over his face, his brows furrowing in thought as he uttered a single word.

“No.”

I stared up at him. Of all the ways I thought he’d take the news, I never once imagined that he wouldn’t believe me.

“What?”

Jamie half smiled, his face regaining color at a remarkable rate while something in his eyes spoke of a confidence, an intuition that I had no explanation for.

“Have… have ye had any bleeding?”

I slowly shook my head, “but that doesn’t mean —“

“Then the bairns are safe and well,” Jamie interrupted, turning me on his lap so that he could rest both hands just over my womb, “I ken it.”

“Jamie —“

“I willna stop fighting for them - for you - until the battle is over,” his chest heaved with the emotional effort it took to make his heart known, “but ‘tisna over, mo nighean donn… no’ yet.”

Then, with the care and attention of the finest nurse, he saw to my wounds, cleansing those that were visible as well as those that lay far beneath the surface. He draped his plaid over my shoulders, careful as to not upset my raw skin, and tucked the ends snugly around me. This done, he knelt at my feet, a tentative look in his eyes.

“I said before that I wouldna ask ye things ye’d no wish to tell me… and I wouldna ask it now, but I must know, for your safety as well as mine,” he clasped my hands tightly and I could feel him tremble. “Claire, if ye’ve never been honest wi’ me before, I beg ye, be so now, for I must ken the truth.”

Jamie looked down, bringing my hands to his lips. His thumbs ran back and forth over the ridges of my fingers as he wrestled with something, an internal struggle of a sort that made me wish he’d just spit it out and have it over with. I opened my mouth to tell him so when he lifted his head.

“Are ye a witch?”

...

Back on the horses, we continued to ride hard. I paid little heed to my surroundings, but, instead, turned my focus inwards. The little flicker of hope Jamie had ignited within me had grown into a steady flame and I mentally re-examined my symptoms in a new light.

My cramping hadn’t produced any spotting or discharge of any sort. Could they’ve merely been muscle spasms and not contractions? And my hip-- the pain was now very localized to the area around my left greater trochanter, with angry offshoots if I moved wrong. Could I simply have a deep bruise, my hip’s bone structure taking the brunt of the impact?

All of these things would mend in time, if I was careful and took it easy.

This left the babies’ lack of activity, but the combination of my stress, jostling movements, and infrequent meals of the last thirty six hours was more reason enough for them to be still.

Could I ignore my doubts, push aside what medicine said could merely be a possibility?

Could I choose to trust in what I couldn’t see, have faith in what I couldn’t yet feel?

I won’t stop fighting for them until I know the battle is over.

Jamie’s words came back to me and I realized I had done just that. I’d stopped fighting for them when I let my fear for what might happen cripple me. I’d stopped fighting when I ceased to believe that they could be strong enough, that I could be strong enough.

I squeezed Jamie’s arm, which was securely wrapped around my waist, and slid my eyes shut as I leaned my head back against him, resting my other hand over them. I felt him turn his head towards me, anxious of my discomfort, I was sure, and lifted one corner of my mouth in reassurance.

Maybe all could, indeed, be well.

...

A warm, fuzzy glow surrounded me as I lay in Jamie’s arms. The sunlight streaming through the window behind him set every wispy curl on fire. He bent his head, his lips kissing mine in such a manner that I felt breathless, dizzy with passion. I melted into the downy mattress beneath me as his heat permeated my very core.

I gasped as he lifted the hem of my shift, a cool breeze raising gooseflesh on my thighs. His hands slid up my legs as his tongue flicked in and out of my navel, his thumbs massaging me, opening me. I tipped my head back against the pillows as I writhed with pleasure, encouragements tumbling from my lips.

I heard the rumble of his voice, felt his breath against my skin and reached out my hand to touch his face. My fingertips found rough, damp wool instead of smooth, bare skin and the sensation pulled me out of my dream. My head spun as I regained consciousness, desperately trying to sort figmentation from what was actually going on around me.

Or, more accurately, within me.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirtfront, I shifted myself into a better position. His lips found mine again and I nearly swallowed him whole. He laughed as I rose up to meet him, ready and willing.

“Please,” I urged.

Jamie shook his head, pleasure written all over his face. His lips hovered above mine in a smile that was just out of reach. I strained, lifting my face, begging him to kiss me. He did so in such a way that only made me burn hotter, that left me needing even more from him than his little game would allow. I groaned in frustration and arousal and moved against his hand. He eagerly responded, coaxing me closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

“Now,” I insisted as I pulled his head down, “I need you inside me now.”

A low rumble of delight started somewhere near his toes, gaining intensity as it worked its way to his face and burst forth into a grin I could only describe as cheeky, ”No’ just yet. I want to watch ye.”

...

A new day dawned as Murtagh and Jamie readied the horses. The icy stream made my morning ablutions a bit brisk, but it was wonderful to wash the last reminders of the thieve’s hole from my skin. I heard my husband approach and turned, giving him my best attempt at smile. His proffered hand lifted me to my feet, then tucked a damp curl behind my ear.

“Ready to go home, mo nighean donn?”

Nodding, I leaned into him, needing his warmth. His arms came around me and I tipped my face up, my lips seeking his. He kissed me with a desire, a ferocity that beckoned back to our encounter just a few hours before.

“It’s what you wanted, aye? What you’ve always wanted?” His voice was lower than usual, thick with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “To go home?”

“Yes,” I answered slowly as I studied his face, unsure where this was coming from.

Jamie’s eyes slid shut, his hands framing my face. He pressed his forehead against mine for a moment, then murmured, “Then lets go.”

…

“Is this the place?” he asked, hesitating just outside the circle of standing stones as he examined their positions carefully before entering.

“This is it.”

The buzz coming from the center stone was beginning to make me feel dizzy as it drew me into the windblown space between the stones. Jamie came to stand beside me as he finished his loop around the giant, cleft stone. “This one?”

“Yes,” I answered, shifting uneasily.

My heart beat erratically in my chest. It plummeted as I caught Jamie’s pale countenance out of the corner of my eye, then soared at the thought of seeing Frank again, of reuniting with the man I’d longed to be with for the last six months.

“What did ye do last time?”

“I didn’t really do anything,” I took a step forward and outstretched my hands. “There was this buzzing sound… and I just… touched the stone.”

The roar of the stones sucked me in, the walls of the world around me came crashing down in a sensation both familiar and completely foreign. It was the same sound, the same siren’s song that echoed in my ears, tugging me back to my own time… to Frank.

Suddenly, something - or someone - grabbed hold of me. A force latched onto me, jerking me into a blinding white light. I screwed my eyes shut as a pounding in my head took up residence and nausea threatened to pull my digestive organs up and out of my mouth all at once.

“Claire?”

Jamie’s voice was strangled, more frightened than I’d ever heard it. I tried to smile, to show him I was still breathing, but all I managed was a slight twitch of my lips.

“I’m alright,” I muttered.

“Are ye, then?” He pulled me up from my prostrate state, clasping me tight against his chest, “Oh, God, Claire, I thought ye were dead. Ye left… began to go somewhere… and ye had the most awful look on your face, like ye were frightened to death.”

“Claire, I’m sorry,” Jamie breathlessly apologized. My eyes were open now and I could see the shock and fear written all over his face, “I stopped ye, I shouldna have done so. I just… I wasna ready.”

Clarity slowly returned to me with each beat of my heart, my tunnel vision and focus expanding with every breath I took. The thundering in my ears lessened and the nausea faded away, leaving a lump in my throat as I realized I wasn’t ready either.

This is what I wanted, right? To go back home?

Suddenly, now that the opportunity was here, I wasn’t entirely sure.

“At least we know it still works,” I mumbled, finding words woefully inadequate.

Jamie nodded, his jaw twitching with tension as he wrestled with .

“Aye, it does,” he swallowed past a lump of his own and cast a glance of fearful loathing towards the center stone. “‘And now I must part wi’ ye… ‘tis what we’re here for, aye?” His face was pale as he brought the both of us to our feet, speaking aloud to himself as much as he was to me, “‘Tis your own time, the things ye ken, on the other side of tha’ stone. Ye’ve a home there, a place… and Frank.”

“Frank,” I echoed as his face swam before me as the blood rushed to my head, his eyes dark and smiling.

“There’s nothing for ye here, save violence and danger,” his fingers beat rapidly against his leg. “Nothing, Sassenach. Now go,” he insisted, taking a step backwards, “I’ll stay until nightfall, to see ye safe.”

I couldn’t look away as he walked to the edge of the stone circle, where he hesitated, swaying slightly before he turned and bid me, “Goodbye, Sassenach.”

I stood frozen, torn between following my heart or my head.

“Jamie.”

The word stopped him in his tracks as he moved to leave. He didn’t turn back to face me, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His rigid stance held no sign of weakness, no lingering doubts over his actions… over his parting words to me.

Was there truly nothing here for me?

Here with the father of my children, a man I loved?

I bit back a sob and swallowed his rejection with the lump in my throat.

My voice shook as I whispered, “Goodbye.”

#outlander #Metamorphosis AU #chapter 14 #jet black #outlander fanfic

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me-notokay · 8 years ago

Text

“Please Take Care of Him”

Yay for my first Charmie fic! This one was sort of requested by @littlelovebomb @foryou-insilence @rainbowdazzle when they wanted a fic in which Timmy finally confronted Armie over his odd behavior, distant behavior during award season. So, it turned into this…. Enjoy!

Title: “Please Take Care of Him” Pairing: Armie x Timmy Rating: PG-13? Maybe. Idk. There’s no sex (I’m disappointed too). Genre: Angst

___________________________________________________

*buzz buzz buzz*

Armie awoke with a startle, the sensation permeating into his already aching bones. Fatigue. The past couple of days or weeks (time was starting to become obsolete in Armie’s mind) Armie found himself inexplicably fed up. See, the ache in his bones he was currently experiencing wasn’t isolated there. The anguish had spread, like the wildfires that had struck Los Angeles not weeks before. His life, which he once thought was rich and fruitful, seemed somehow barren. After Italy, after the experiences he shared with—

“Tim,” Armie croakily answered once he’d tip-toed out of his bedroom and into the living room.

“I-I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Timmy stammered. The urgency in Timmy’s voice eliminated any residual grogginess Armie might have felt.

“Hey, no. Are you okay? What’s going on?” Armie’s voice was firm now, almost pleading. Tell me you’re okay… please.

“Yes. I’m fine. Hey, can you uh. I know it’s late and it’s fine if you can’t, but can you… come over?” Armie sunk onto the living room couch, his knees giving out. Timmy’s breathing was erratic. Armie knew that sound all too well. He had never been able to erase it from his mind since the night that he told Timmy the truth… that night in Italy where Timothée and him confronted their feelings.

“I can’t deny what I feel for you. You haven’t made all of this up in your head. But… you know that I will always choose my family,” he told Timmy, with tears meeting his cerulean gaze. Armie, feeling exposed, turned his back to the green-eyed beauty as the tears, unwelcome evidence of the cruel reality dawning on him, found their way to his cheeks. He closed his eyes and all he could hear was Tim. Trying to catch his breath. If Armie dared to listen closer, he would have heard the tears catching at his throat as he said “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make all of this awkward. I just thought–“

“I know.” Armie interjected. He couldn’t bear the thought of knowing the inner workings of Timmy’s brain. That insight would just slowly corrode the carefully guarded bit of sanity he was desperately trying to protect so he was able to go back to his family, to that life. That existence that just seemed like a complete farce as he stood in front of this man that lit every cell of his being on fire. Armie had only been a set of a stars that Timothee made into a constellation.

Armie rubs his face as if doing so will somehow snuff out the memories of it all.

“I’m coming.”

*click*

Before Armie can think through what this bizarre beckoning in the middle of the night could be about, he finds himself reaching for his keys and the first jacket in sight.

—

Armie couldn’t find the courage to knock on Timmy’s hotel door. Instead, he placed his palm on it for support as he closed his eyes and focused on the deafening sound of the pounding of his heart against his chest.

Unexpectedly, the door opened and Armie stumbled forward, immediately being struck by the pungent smell of alcohol in the hotel room and on Timmy’s breath.

“You’ve been drinking,” It was not a question, but an accusation. Why would Timmy call him to talk while he was in this state?

Timmy moved away from the door and made his way towards the balcony in his room while he yelled back “Sure have!”

Armie looked over his shoulder before he entered and gently closed the door behind him.

“Why did you ask me to come here?” Armie inquired as he carefully made his way to the sliding glass doors that separated the balcony from the rest of the suite.

Timmy didn’t answer at first. Instead, he kept his back to Armie while using the rails of the balcony to hold himself up.

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that this is the first moment we’ve been alone together since award season started?” Timmy sniffled, looking over his shoulder at Armie.

When Timmy finally turned around to meet Armie’s incredulous face, Armie abandoned all of his defenses.

“You’ve been crying…”

“And that’s all he has to say, folks! Yes, classic Armie dancing around a question that makes him uncomfortable.” Timmy throws up his arms in exasperation before pushing past Armie.

“You don’t get it, do you? No, of course you don’t. Because you didn’t have to come home to an empty bed. You have a life outside of Crema. Outside of me. You have a life that is full and I’m just here. I am here waiting. For what, you ask? I… don’t know. A miracle, maybe. Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m saying right now. I just took what I could get, you know? I figured that if the only way I could have you was to be part of your family, then somehow all of this would just go away. But it hasn’t, okay? I can’t…” Timmy tearfully trailed off, clutching at his chest while desperately gasping for air.

Armie remained frozen in his place by the sliding glass doors, but was leaning on the frame now.

“What do you want me to do?” Armie asked, voice cracking mid-sentence.

“You never told me if you loved me…” Timmy murmured.

In that instant, Armie realized that the aching that was housed in the pit of his heart was interconnected to the internal turmoil that Timmy was experiencing. Timmy had always been stronger than Armie in the sense that he would always face his struggles head on while Armie would just allow it to accumulate within him until he had become a nuclear bomb that was set to detonate at any given moment.

“Timmy… hey. Look at me.” Armie found himself cradling Timmy in his arms while Timmy clutched onto the fabric of Armie’s white T-shirt.

“I love you and I’ve loved you since Crema. I just need time to figure all of this out.” Armie finally confessed.

“Time? All I’ve given you is time. It took you two years to even admit to yourself that you loved me. What, am I supposed to wait another two years for us to finally be together? And then another two years for us to be seen out in public as a couple? The funny thing about time is that we aren’t entitled to it. One day we’re here and the next…” Timmy had pushed Armie away and was facing him, the fierceness in his eyes unprecedented.

“…we might not be. I don’t have you now. I can’t continue to give you something that I’m not sure I have the power to give. I… I’m not even sure if we have that much time.” Timmy looked down as he continued to speak.

“What I do know is that I’ve loved you since I met you and that I’ll love you for the rest of my life, but I can’t give you time when it doesn’t belong to me.” When he looked back at Armie, he was milliseconds away from collapsing into a crumpled mess, so he walked over to his bed and allowed the mattress’s ivory linen to catch his fall as he sat on the edge of the bed folded over.

Silence inundated the room while both men tried to make sense of the situation in its entirety, even though they both knew that it would take a while before the realization would smash into them at full-speed.

“And so, what? You think this is easy for me?” Armie finally broke that silence.

“That this isn’t on my mind 24-fucking-7? That I don’t get to just live with this pain of not having you, but I get the fucking bonus of letting the guilt destroy me? You don’t think about how much it hurts when you say I’m like your ‘father’. Really? Your fucking Dad? I have to play along with all your PR answers and you thanking my fucking wife in your speeches as if I need an extra reminder of my marriage, that’s failing by the way, because I. Fell. In love. With you.”

The nuclear bomb had officially exploded and Armie found his chest tightening now. The weight of it all was finally doing him in, crushing every ounce of his being. At that moment, the world seemed to be orbiting the sun in the opposite direction. He allowed himself to feel the excruciating burn of everything being turned on its head.

“So, then. What do we do?” Timmy cleaned his face with the sleeve of his black pullover sweater, which he had been anxiously pulling at for the entire conversation and perhaps the entire night.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Timmy echoed slowly, before letting out a sarcastic chuckle.

“…I should go. It’s late.” As his fingertips reached the metal door knob, Armie hesitated to leave. He knew that once he did, he would abandon the only thing that ever made sense in all this absurdity.

“It’s okay. Go.” He heard Timmy softly say, his voice oddly comforting and warm, which came as a final, selfless gift to Armie. I will be okay.

The love of his life. Timmy was the love of Armie’s life, but this wicked, unrelenting injustice was the hand they were dealt.

Every step Armie took was a reverberation of the embers of his spirit gradually extinguishing. Once he made it outside, he looked up to the glistening celestial landscape and with tears in his eyes, he whispered a solitary prayer into the universe,

“Please take care of him.”

#armie x timmy #armie hammer #timothée chalamet

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zooweemiya · 5 years ago

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Take Flight! (Haikyuu Band AU) Ch 1: Do you believe in fate?

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755042/chapters/65270758

The room was filled with a dim, yellow light. Its atmosphere was warm with idle chatter and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. As Hinata walked through the group of small, circular tables, he looked around the quaint coffee shop. The café was busy, especially considering it was 8:00 on a Friday night in a small corner of Tokyo. Hinata smiled to himself, weaving his way to the other side of the room where a small stage was set up. He plopped his bag down at the foot of the steps as he walked up onto the stage. His eyes landed on the electric piano situated behind a small mic stand. Hinata perched on the small stool behind the piano, facing out to the crowd in the shop. He ran the tips of his fingers lightly over the black and white keys. His chest filled with warmth as he thought about the music he was about to play.

One day, when Hinata was in middle school, he sat in his small living room in front of the TV. His mother had been watching some award show or whatnot, and young Hinata felt that watching the show would be a lot more interesting than doing the homework that sat in his schoolbag. After about 15 minutes of the same boring acceptance speeches, the lights of the stage dimmed. Hinata’s breath caught in his chest as a spotlight appeared, illuminating a sleek, black instrument. A few pregnant moments passed, when all of a sudden, the man seated behind the piano clanged onto the keys. It startled Hinata, and the following chords that poured out from the performance were no less frightening. The song was erratic with a haunting melody. So much emotion spilled out of the mans fingertips, reaching Hinata even in the comfort of his own home, behind a TV screen. The notes reverberated in his bones and wrapped around his chest like vines. That was the day he fell in love with music.

Clearing his throat into the mic, Hinata grabbed the attention of everyone in the room. A hush fell over the audience as Hinata began with a bright smile, “Good evening everyone! I’m Hinata Shouyou, a university student here in Tokyo. If you’ve been here before, welcome back! And if it’s your first time, thank you for choosing to spend your Friday night here with us!” He gave a little spiel about the shop and how The Little Crow had small concerts every Friday. He voiced his appreciation for the owner of the shop, Ukai Keishin, who raised a coffee mug from behind the counter in response. “Well, without further ado,” Hinata cheered into the mic, “let the show begin!”

**Victor’s Piano Solo - Danny Elfman**

Hinata placed his hands on the keys. He took a slow, deep breath, and pressed into the first note as he exhaled. He slowly played the first few chords. His hands flitted over the instrument with ease, his eyes closing shut as he felt the music. This first song was a short instrumental, and Hinata allowed himself to be carried away by the melancholic song. He swayed his upper body with the music as the song grew in intensity and volume. He pressed into the keys a little rougher as he neared the end of the song, ending with an abrupt hit of his last chord. A small murmur erupted from the audience as rounds of applause and snaps echoed through the room. Hinata smiled to himself and began his next song.

After that day Hinata had discovered his passion for music, he had asked his mom for weeks to buy him a piano. She eventually caved due to Hinata’s unwavering persistence, and Hinata taught himself how to play on a second-hand electric piano. He remembers studying how to read sheet music more than his actual homework. In high school, Hinata had saved up enough money to buy himself a better electric piano, one that he wasn’t afraid to break with the slightest of increased pressure from his hands. He began writing and composing his own songs, and in the blink of an eye, music had taken over his life. Around that time is when he had discovered The Little Crow. He had noticed a flyer for the Friday night concerts at the little coffee shop and practically begged the owner to let him play. With great annoyance, Ukai had allowed him to one Friday night and was utterly blown away with the natural talent the orange-haired boy had for playing the piano. Sure, his hands were small, much like the rest of his body, but Hinata could move his hands over the keys with a speed Ukai had never seen before.

Playing at The Little Crow had become a regular for Hinata. He’d play there as often as he could, which was almost every other week. People seemed to enjoy his music, and he’d grown a little following over the past couple of years.

After graduating high school, Hinata had applied to one of the elite music schools in Tokyo. However, during his audition, he had barely gotten halfway through his piece when he was interrupted. One of the judges on his panel, a short old man, had stopped him from continuing his song. The man had told Hinata that he had no discipline in the way that he played. He explained to Hinata how his posture was always slouched and even the way he positioned his hands and wrists were all wrong. Hinata tried to explain to them that he was completely self-taught, but this had displeased the man further. The orange-haired boy was kicked out of his audition with his self-esteem at an all time low and dreams crushed.

Hinata had cried for what had felt like weeks, but as he looks back on it now, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of days. He would have given up on music completely if it hadn’t been for his sister. He could still hear Natsu’s condescending voice telling him how pathetic he had been for crying over the audition. It had surprised him to hear her talk to him like that. But then she continued, saying how she’s never seen him back down from a fight before. It was just one school, one audition. There’d be other opportunities. And she was right, he wasn’t one to give up. So, he took that horrid and bruised memory, and used it to fuel the fire within him, making his passion for music just grow even more.

Now in his second year of university, 20-year-old Hinata couldn’t be happier. He was double majoring in Music and Business, and he was able to play music every week at the shop. He was content with how things had gone, as he was slowly making his way into the music industry.

After about a half hour of playing, Hinata began his final song for the night. The joints in his hands were beginning to ache, but he welcomed the feeling. He loved absolutely everything about playing piano. He huffed out a breath through his grin as he began to play.

**Someone You Loved - Conor Maynard** ( Italics - Hinata)

I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me

His voice flitted through the speakers over the crowd. All his songs had been instrumentals so far, and a new hush fell over the café. Everyone had ceased whatever they were doing to watch the young boy sing with a constant grin plastered to his face.

This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy

I need somebody to heal

Somebody to know

Somebody to have

Somebody to hold

Hinata had written the lyrics to this song when he was still in high school. It was a song of his past, and he had never really liked it, until about a week ago when he had finally figured out was what missing from the composition.

Now the day bleeds

Into nightfall

And you're not here

To get me through it all

I let my guard down

And then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

Although it was a solemn song, Hinata was still smiling. Just the act of playing music could put him into a trance of everlasting happiness. Even as memories flitted behind his closed eyelids as he sang and emotion poured into his voice, Hinata was content in this moment with his life. He hopes that he will make it big someday, become a musician that people will recognize. But right now, just playing his music, he was happy. Hinata finished his song off with a single elongated note. He opened his eyes to an elated crowd. Everyone was clapping, a few tables whooped and cheered for him. He chuckled as a smile crinkled his eyes.

“Thank you everyone! Please, welcome to the stage The Little Crow’s next performer, Michiko!” As Hinata took his leave and the next person climbed onto the stage, he grabbed his bag and made his way over to the counter.

“Oi, Hinata! Great job up there, kid,” Ukai called out to him in greeting as he dried off a mug. Hinata leaned his forearms onto the counter top across from Ukai. The man was tall, at least taller than Hinata, with blonde-dyed hair and piercings. Ukai’s appearance had intimidated Hinata when he had first met the man three years ago, but now he knew better. While he did have his scary moments (Hinata internally shivered as he remembered the time he had accidentally bumped into a table and caused four mugs to fall and break– yeah he thought he would lose his life right then and there to the hands of the bottle-blonde), Ukai was very supportive and an overall great person to be around.

“Thanks Ukai-san! It was great to play again. And we’ve got a pretty good crowd tonight!” Hinata chirped cheerily to the older man.

Ukai chuckled lightly as he began making a drink. “Yeah, kid. You’ve been getting popular. Great to see you getting some recognition.”

Hinata’s chest filled with pride and his eyes twinkled. “Thank you, sir!” he practically yelled. A vein popped up on Ukai’s forehead and he slid Hinata a glare. Hinata just chuckled nervously in response, feigning innocence.

Abruptly, someone cleared their throat behind him. Hinata jumped and twirled around, nearly knocking himself off his feet. He straightened as he noticed they were two customers, and gave a quick apology for blocking the counter.

Before he could fully turn away, one of the customers spoke. “Oh! Wait, Hinata-kun. We came over to talk to you, actually,” the man with silver hair said as he rubbed a hand on his neck and chuckled. Hinata decided right then that the man must have been an angel. Hinata couldn’t help but gawk at the beautiful man. He even had a cute beauty mark under his eye! And his voice sounded so smooth. Mr. Angel chuckled again at Hinata’s staring, “Um, Hinata-kun?”

“Yes!” he replied maybe a little too forcefully. “Yes,” he repeated, “Hi, I’m Hinata Shouyou. Nice to meet you!” He gave a small bow.

“Nice to meet you as well,” Mr. Angel said sweetly. He smiled and Hinata felt he could faint. There's no way he’s real, Hinata thought as Mr. Angel continued. “My name is Sugawara Koushi, but you can just call me Suga. And this,” he said, jutting thumb to the man with brown hair and broad shoulders standing behind him, “is Sawamura Daichi. This was our first time coming here for the little concert, and we were quite impressed with your performance.”

Hinata felt like he was floating. “Thank you, Suga-san, Sawamura-san,” he exclaimed with another bow.

The two men chuckled. Hinata straightened as Sawamura spoke, “Just Daichi is fine.” His voice was deep and velvety, and Hinata couldn’t believe how perfect these two people in front of him were. “We actually wanted to talk to you about that last song you just played. Did you write that yourself?” Daichi asked.

Hinata nodded his head excitedly. “Oh, yeah! I wrote the lyrics a couple of years ago, but just finished the composition, so that was my first time playing it!”

“Wow, for that being your first time performing the song, it was very good,” Suga complimented him. Hinata thanked him with another bow, and Suga snorted. “You’re cute Hinata-kun,” he said with a wink, and Hinata could feel the blush creeping up his neck. Suga outright laughed at the sight. “Daichi, he’s so cute! Can we please keep him?” Suga asked the other man.

Daichi elbowed Suga in the side, lightly. “Quit patronizing him,” he muttered to the laughing man, then turned to Hinata. “I apologize for his antics, he likes to use his beauty for evil.” This comment made Suga laugh even louder, causing a few people from the near tables to peer at them. Daichi gave an exasperated sigh, “Anyway, we wanted to talk to you because the two of us are in a band together.”

“Wah, that’s so cool!” Hinata exclaimed before he could stop himself.

Suga recovered from his hysterics to reply to the boy, “Isn’t it? Well we’re still a relatively new band, only been together for a little over a year. And we’ve been scouting around trying to find a new band member! We were looking for a songwriter who could also be our second vocalist, and we think you’d be a perfect candidate.”

Hinata stared at the men before him, wide-eyed. His brain chose that moment to malfunction. “Wait what,” Hinata asked incredulously. “You’re offering me a spot in your band?”

“Well, we want you to come and try out,” Daichi replied. “We have a gig tomorrow night if you’re interested in seeing the kind of music we play, and then we can hold a little audition for you in front of our other bandmates right after.”

“Oh, but we do hope you’ll come! I’m sure you’ll enjoy our music, and our bandmates–,” Suga began excitedly until he stopped himself, and gave a nervous glance toward Daichi. Hinata looked between them, confused as they had a seemingly telepathic conversation. “Well,” Suga continued with a small sigh, “I guess they can be enjoyable.” He gave a small laugh at Hinata’s sudden look of concern. “Don’t worry they’ll love you, you’ll love them, it’ll be great,” he said with a small wave of his hand.

“We hope that you’ll just come and give it a shot. We really do think you’re quite talented,” Daichi finished with a genuine smile.

Hinata couldn’t process anything that was happening. This had to be a dream, right? Hinata just swallowed thickly, and gave a small nod.

Suga cheered a small squeal. “Yay! I’ll get your number, and then text you the details for tomorrow!” They exchanged numbers, and then the two said their goodbyes and walked out of the coffee shop. Hinata stayed in that spot off to the side of the counter, staring at the door Daichi and Suga had walked out of.

The weight of his phone in his hand seemed to have doubled with the newly added contact under the name “Suga-san ;)”.

This had to be a dream, right?

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loampriest · 8 years ago

Text

Disturbing the Dead

The change came upon her painfully, as it always had, with an unnatural creaking of her bones, a stretching of tendons and flesh that left her gasping for breath. Her hands fluttered about herself, trying to gather ‘round her ribs. She bit down on a scream as a sharp agony wrenched her hips, spasming down legs which had grown unnaturally long. Her skin felt as though she’d rolled in nettles, prickling and itching as fur pushed through it in thousands of places. She crouched against the ground, groaning through tightly closed lips, waiting for the change to end. Her shifting gripped her in bits, in pieces - jagged and uneven as a broken mug, dashed against the kitchen floor.

Lisbet couldn’t help but to remember a passage she’d once read; a caterpillar dissolves as it becomes a butterfly, its body liquid within the casing of its cocoon.

She wondered what she looked like, inside the casing of her dislocated bones, when she shifted. Her body felt liquid, like hot glass in the hands of an unskilled glass blower.

It only took thirty seconds, maybe a minute, at the most. And when at last she rose from the ground, her body tingled and itched, but the pain had passed. She knew that others found the shifting effortless, as natural as drawing breath, but it wasn’t that way for her. There was always a price to be paid, where power was involved; Lisbet paid control with agony, and found it a worthy deal.

She breathed in deeply, scenting the air with a long muzzle, and couldn’t help but be delighted by the sensory bouquet which came to her now. More than the cold and the smell of dirt, she could discern the warm muskiness a rabbit in its lair, could determine each distinct variety of tree and plant nearby. She stretched her limbs, rolling her shoulders against the binding feel of her robes, but felt a sharp internal reprimand at the thought of shedding them. No. She had to continue wearing them, even if she didn’t actually need what scant protection they offered, even if they were uncomfortable and confining.

The worgen huffed softly and set herself down on all four limbs, letting the tips of her claws flex into the dirt a moment. A perverse bit of mischief stole over her, and she drew in a lungful of loamy air, throwing up her nose to the sky and letting loose a long, bone-rattling howl -- meant for nothing more than the sheer pleasure of it.

Some part of her hated this, hated the way her whole body reverberated with the sound, resented the way it echoed in the stillness of the forest. It was boastful and wild and unrestrained, and did she not take quiet satisfaction in her restraint, in her gentleness and humility-?

But in that same self indulgence, there lay the unbridled joy of pure freedom. Lisbet Wheeler, Acolyte of the Church, outreach worker for the poor and the sick and the addled and addicted, exploded through the brush like a shot from a pistol, her claws barely touching the earth as she ran.

…

She cut across mountain passes and rough terrain like a hot knife through butter. The worgen moved with an economy of motion, purposeful and alive with the sharpness of her senses.

Lisbet moved more like a wolf than a woman, giving herself over to the wilderness which had called her, unanswered, for a little over fourteen months. She bounded through the forest with unchecked delight, rubbing herself up against trees, scrabbling at rocks with clawed hands and feet - she stalked rabbits just to see them bound away, filled with a preternatural energy.

It didn’t take much guidance from the more restrained aspect of her mind; she knew the deal, was aware of what her goals were, even if she could no longer discern what it was that had made them so vitally important. And if she took more time than was strictly necessary in finding prey for the day’s meal - in selecting a young doe with liquid eyes and soft, tawny fur - … if she spent an hour stalking it, reveling in the silence of her feet against the ground, in the tension of the hunt …

Well. It was a price paid for that she’d ignored it as long as she had, when it was so gloriously clear that this was how things ought to be, needed to be all the time, not just some of the time --

The thought was curbed, and she lunged, an inky shadow between the trees, striking the young doe at the neck and felling her with a crunch and a snap. The unfortunate creature’s legs kicked and spasmed as the light left her eyes.

There was a moment’s hesitation, an objection which was overruled as soon as it arose, and she sank her jaws into the deer, tearing it open and beginning to feed.

…

It was mid day the next day when she arrived at the border between Alterac and the Plaguelands, and she was glad she didn’t need to go any further; the fetid stench of death and decay were enough to make her hackles rise, the fur prickling at the base of her spine. She should shift back; the Woman would be better for this part than the Wolf. Still, there was a reticence, a resentment that made her unwilling to give way.

She wasted several hours, instead, to prove her point. She chased squirrels and spent some time playing in a nearby pond, washing the blood from her fur, cupping her clawed hands in the coolness of the water, delighting in it.

And when she finished, she settled to a crouch and allowed her bones to shrink, her fur to recede, her hands growing smaller, more delicate -- her legs thinner, more fragile.

Lisbet lay on the river’s edge, robes sodden, hair slicked to her skull from the wet, and let out a shaky breath as she stretched experimentally, shivering with the cold. Her lips pursed in irritation, and yet, she couldn’t be that annoyed. She supposed she’d earned that pique, having disregarded her own wild heart for so very long.

She’d forgotten, after a little over a year’s suppressing the urge to shift, what it was to feel so free - a fact which that aspect of herself had taken pains to demonstrate.

But it wasn’t always like that, she frowned silently, padding through the still graveyard with her shovel in hand. How am I supposed to feel free, when that very freedom was the tool of my oppression? I didn’t ask for it. I never wanted this in the first place.

The graveyard was an old one, many of the headstones lacking names for weather wear; she worried that she might not be able to locate the one she looked for. At least, until she came upon it.

She knew as soon as she saw the bouquet of flowers; she couldn’t say for certain how it was she knew, but she knew it was him.

The bouquet was quite large, and it struck her as unusual - the combination of flowers didn’t seem to fit. Two kinds of small white flowers, what looked to be purple honeysuckle, and dwarf sunflowers, all bound together in black ribbon. There were a great many flowers in the bundle - there had to be, given all but the sunflowers were quite small in size. It was an ugly bouquet, and it didn’t make sense.

She frowned as she looked at the headstone, reading the name. The grave looked about the right age, grown over with grass, but not obscured by any brush. It appeared as if it had been kept quite clean, and paused her as much as the flowers had. If someone was going to the trouble of cleaning it, then surely they hadn’t raised him…?

But she hadn’t come all this way to not dig up a grave, now had she?

It was dusk, so she waited, kneeling her sodden robes beside the headstone. She prayed, her hands pressed together, her face downturned, and her prayers were genuine; peace, forgiveness, gentleness. Let the dead rest undisturbed. May the Light forgive the transgression I make here, for I do it not in vain.

She prayed, too, for the many wards she’d left behind, a prickle of worry disturbing the thoughts. She prayed for her parents, for the family she’d left in Northrend, in spite of what had happened between them. She prayed for Taladreth, in prison, that he might learn and grow.

She prayed for Ludovick, too; for the woman and child he’d been forced to put down, for the faces in the pictures they’d shared, indelibly scarred into her memory, now. It was unlikely she’d ever forget them.

She prayed for herself, too - that she might have the patience, the force of will, the gentleness of spirit, to help the many, many people she cared about.

And when she’d felt she’d addressed all the people and worries she had in her life, her prayers drifted to a contemplation, considering the lessons she’d learned her recent failures and successes in befriending the strange Confessor. All the while she listened, waiting for the unknown gravekeeper to, perhaps, make a visit.

The priest didn’t have any particular plan for what she might do, should such a thing occur; talk, perhaps. Whoever it was had no way of knowing who she was, or what she was capable of. Unless they’ve been watching her, a nagging voice in the back of her head whispered. Unless I’m right, and she’s intended as bait.

In which case, she was sitting in the trap at present, praying.

The Light guide me and protect me, she prayed, listening all the more intently.

But nobody came. She was quite alone, by the time the moon rose. Drawing to her feet stiffly, Lisbet pulled the shovel from her pack, and began the onerous process of digging.

It took hours. The night was cold, her hair was still wet, and the robes, though dry, were stiff and uncomfortable. Her back ached from the effort, for though Lisbet was not one to avoid a hard day’s work, the sort of labor that she did as a member of the clergy was very different from shoveling six feet of dirt.

It didn’t help that she was aware of the possibility that someone might catch her in the act, and then what-? Rather unexpectedly, she began to wish that it had been possible to invite Ludovick along; dour as he was, it was his business, too… and though his body seemed made up more of scar than skin, there was strength in those shoulders, in the lines of his back.

Not that she’d noticed such a thing, of course. But if she had, it was only because he’d given her ample opportunity. Really, for a man so filled with shame in himself, he has shockingly little when it comes to eating breakfast in a towel.

By the time dawn was rising, she’d reached the coffin, though she was nowhere near close to being able to withdraw it. Her stomach turned as she realized what she’d have to do, but there was no point in hesitation, in delaying the inevitable; she would have little enough time to hastily replace the dirt.

She took a deep breath, uttering a prayer for the dead, and drove the blade of her shovel through the coffin with a shudder.

Several more blows, and she was able to stick her hands inside, feeling around blindly before --

Yes, that is definitely a skull.

It rolled loosely beneath her grasp, and she realized with a jolt that she might have beheaded it with her shovel. Swallowing hard, she took a measured breath and closed her eyes, still crouched in the hole, slowly turning the skull around in her hands.

There. A bullet wound, a hole through which a pistol had shot, fracture lines radiating outward - just as the reports had indicated Jannis Hubaan had met his end. This was him. It had to be. Unless they’d taken someone, shot him in the head, and buried in him in Hubaan’s grave long enough ago that he’d decomposed the approximately correct amount….

She sagged in relief, covered in sweat and gravedirt, her arms leaden, her back aching.

… then she groaned aloud as she realized she’d need to replace all the dirt she’d painstakingly removed, as quickly as possible, before she was caught.

Something within her seemed to snicker at the predicament, and she pursed her lips, eyes rolling as she set to work.

…

By the time she’d finished, it was noon and she was dead on her feet. The little plot of land had been tamped down as best she could manage, though it would be obvious to the grave’s visitor that it had been tampered with. Lisbet heaved an exhausted sigh, plucking up the bouquet of flowers as an afterthought.

It would be at last another day or two before she arrived in Dun Morogh, but she rather doubted that Ludovick would be pleased to see her, when she told him what she’d done. A problem for future Lisbet, the wolfish aspect of her was quick to assure, and for once she was too tired to disagree.

#writing #in which Lisbet robs a grave #Ludovick von Diehl #Dyna Dawnhammer #Jannis Hubaan

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imagineclaireandjamie · 8 years ago

Note

can we pleeeeeeaaaaase get more of the Claire and Minnie as spies au? (i think it's called either side of the line)

Previous part can be found HERE.

...Previously:

Just as she was about to answer a loud knock echoed through the noiseless halls, reverberating off the walls and causing the paintings on the closest walls to shake.

“Minnie!” Claire exclaimed, rushing towards the door, her heart picking up pace as she struggled with the doorknob.

Gripping the cool metal, she twisted, the knocking becoming more impassioned with every passing moment.

“Minnie wha-” Claire gasped, the door flying open, its hinges creaking as she took a step back. Watching, Claire viewed the figure with some trepidation as a shadow emerged from the doorway.

Light flickered across the floor, sending rare bolts of gold and illuminating the corridor as the caller revealed themselves, an angry and disappointed look crossing his otherwise soft face.

“Why, Claire?” He asked, a hint of malice in his tone and a glint of betrayal in his eyes, “why did ye do it?”

Taking one meaningful step backwards, Claire inhaled a jagged breath, her heart pumping wildly behind her ribs as she wrapped her arms around her belly as if in protection of her --no, *their*-- unborn. Her mind was running ragged, the reasons as to how they’d ended up in such a distasteful situation battering her mind over and over. And yet, the words wouldn’t come.

Jamie stood, his hands clasped tight in anger as his fierce eyes locked onto Claire.

He was furious, betrayed and beyond mad.

Cursing wildly in Gaelic, he entered the property, slamming the door as he whirled inside. The marble entrance shuddered with the force and a nearby maid almost dropped the tray of dinner plates she’d been carrying through to the kitchens in shock.

Claire stood stock still, her head dipped in sublimation as she envisaged what he’d been through to find her here.

“Christ, Claire,” he spat, his feet pounding unevenly against the heavy floorboards as he paced up and down the long hallway. “Ye kent afore ye left that night, didn’t ye…?”

“Yes.” She whispered, unable to hold the truth from him.

Claire squeezed her eyes shut as he resumed his onslaught of Gaelic profanity.

“You knew it couldn’t work, even back then.” She continued, the words coming more freely now. “Whether or not you knew my treachery, you did know it was impossible. I *had* to leave--”

“No,” Jamie cut in, his tone severe and certain. “Yer right, I didna ken the depth of your deceit.”

Claire’s heart shattered, his harsh words ripping through her as she gripped her tummy tighter. The baby chose that moment to kick, one tiny foot making contact at the brow of her bump and sliding downwards, the feeling of contact between the pair dissipating slowly.

Sighing, Jamie let the full fledged rage slide from his bones as he turned to see Claire looking sadly down at her distended stomach. Her gasp had pulled him from his ire fairly quickly and he turned to watch as she rubbed her tummy up and down.

Not knowing what he’d really made this journey for, Jamie strode forwards. He contemplated touching her, but then pulled his hand back and turned on his heel. Whatever was to happen to the pair of them, he couldn’t stay here. Nor would he leave his bairn here either.

Making his way to the top floor, Jamie went in search of Claire’s temporary bedchamber, leaving her frozen in the hall. He’d deal with her once he’d finished collecting her things.

Below Claire stood and listened following his heavy footsteps with her eyes as she waited for him to return. Unaware of his wee mission she pursed her lips, swallowing back the bile that threatened to rise further along her throat in the aftermath of Jamie’s tough words. Discomfort filled her as the quiet surrounding her began to seep deep into her very core.

Should she be angry, too? Sad? She couldn’t quite decide but there was certainly something distasteful burning beneath her skin. Minnie had abandoned her without a trace, obviously leaving some breadcrumbs for Jamie -- how else could he have tracked her down?

Claire had never met Hal Grey, the English dignitary Minnie had been set on pursuing. But something told her that her sister in arms had not left her here to further their mission. It was clear to her now that Mr Grey had been involved in some way in Minnie’s sudden disappearance.

Stomping passed her, Jamie held a small package containing the few belongings he could carry of Claire’s, opened the door and walked out onto the gravel drive.

She heard the opening of the carriage, the wooden door creaking slightly and she took a small step forwards as if compelled to do so unconsciously. Before she had the chance to think anymore, Jamie reappeared in the doorway, his deep auburn curls twisting in the breeze.

“Get in, Claire,” he commanded, pointing out of the house into the bright beyond, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“N-no…” she stuttered, her voice holding no weight as she tried to assert her authority.

Shifting within her, the baby twirled, an elbow coming into contact with her side as she squinted, a twinge of discomfort flowing through her as her right shoulder dipped and her arms tightened around her belly.

Jamie’s eyes softened as he came forward, his body desperate to have some contact with hers, his hands aching to mimic the motions of hers as they ran circles over her womb.

“Dinna fight me, Claire,” Jamie warned, unwilling to come any closer for the moment, “I willna leave ye and the bairn here. If yer worrit--”

“I don’t think you’ll hurt me,” she returned quickly, not leaving him to say the words she knew he was about to say, “I’m not that naive, Jamie. But--”

Now it was his turn to cut her off, “...but nothing, Claire. Get in the carriage. Come wi’ me now. Mistress Wattiswade isna coming back. I ken it, and ye ken it. You canna stay here and I willna leave ye. So...we have but one option. Come, now.”

Just as she was about to continue her rebuttal, the main butler stepped forward, Claire’s cape clasped between his fingers and a sly glint in his eye. Claire clenched her jaw as the man bid her let her arms drop as he held the thick wool forwards.

“Ma’am, if I might be so bold. It’s what the madam wished. It’s why she left without you. Remember, mistress…” he cooed, his tone soft and subordinate as if he were worried about the wrath of her sharp tongue, “remember the sorrow.”

Lowering her head once more, Claire accepted her cloak and whispered a short ‘goodbye’ to the staff, her eyes kept dutifully away from Jamie’s as she stalked out to the carriage and hauled herself inside.

Burrowing up one corner, she studiously ignored Jamie as he closed the door and mounted the front, taking the reins and bidding the horses move onwards.

Claire remained alone for the entire jolting journey towards Jamie’s temporary home, her mind ablaze as she pictured a life for herself with the entire British army on their tales. Jamie was an outlaw, a talented one at that, but how could he continue to shield himself from justice with a woman and child strapped to his side?

Huffing out a shallow breath, she tried to clear the myriad of dour thoughts from her head as she watched the lush green scenery fly by.

In no time at all, Claire felt them come to a halt, her head bobbing against the side of the carriage as they turned a particularly sharp corner before stopping dead. Rubbing her eyes she stretched her legs in front of her and pushed her shoulders back. She hadn’t even realised she was tired, but the internal fight had stolen all of her previous energy and the smooth turn of the wheels as they passed through the French countryside had obviously lulled her to sleep.

Opening the door, Jamie held out his hand to Claire, his eyes still holding a twinge of irritability as he waited for Claire to gather her wits.

Stepping out in silence, the pair made their way inside Jamie’s Parisien home. Recalling the first --and only-- time he’d brought her here, Claire slunk slowly behind Jamie as he strode through the ornate home.

“Suzette,” he barked, his voice echoing through the vast eaves of the property, “I need ye, Suzette.”

“Milord,” a small French lass squeaked, her voice slightly shocked as she righted her cap over the tight bun she’d messily twirled upon her head only moments before -- it seemed.

“Take the mistress to the chambers behind the master suite, aye? Dinna leave it open. She doesna have permission to leave just yet. Do ye understand me?”

Claire’s breath caught in her throat at the realisation. She knew he was angry, sore even but she hadn’t thought she’d been brought here a prisoner.

Finding little energy to argue, though, she huffed as she found the presence to breathe once more and gave Jamie a scathing look. Following behind Suzette without saying a word, she turned her back on Jamie as she walked away. If he was going to keep her here, locked away, then so be it -- she snarked in her head -- but her heart deflated, the feeling of disappointment battling with the rage within.

“Mistress,” Suzette probed, her voice a little more put together now as she ushered Claire into a private suite with two exits. “For you.” Seeing that she was with child, Suzette pointed towards the tiny tray of refreshment that sat beside the flickering fire. “You will need some sustenance, for the child, no?”

“Thank you,” Claire muttered in return, her frustration at Jamie melting away as she realised the pain which she’d obviously caused him at her previous disappearance. His actions were not the result of any desire to actively hold her against her will, more that his trust had been smashed, their fragile bond torn and ragged now as he struggled with his intense need to keep her safe and the urge to spurn her. Jamie wasn’t to blame, and Claire knew it well. He was asserting his dominance, that was certain, but not to instill fear in her. More because he was afraid himself.

As the door closed and locked behind her, she let her shoulders droop, the fight leaving her completely as she dragged herself over to the tiny bed by the window. Surely, in due course, he’d see sense and discuss with her the reasons for her departure.

Below, Jamie sat in the small kitchen a large dram in front of him as he attempted to calm himself. Being irate would be useless now. She’d run because she’d thought she had to. Minnie had expressed as much in her letter to him. Having been tied to her mission, and seeing no possible way out, she’d left in favour of causing him any more undue harm. She could have stayed, she could have continued with her task and torn the rug from under him completely. But she hadn’t. And for that, he knew he had to calm his distemper.

“Ye found her then,” Murtagh broke in, fastening the buckle on his belt as he strode into the room, his messy brown hair falling from its loose bindings as he pulled a seat beside Jamie.

“Aye,” Jamie sighed, taking a large sip of his whisky before slamming the tumbler down onto the heavily marked table. “...and now what, Murtagh? Hmm…”

“Now, lad,” his godfather returned, “ye find out whether the bairn is yers.”

His eyes flashed to Murtagh, the horror of that statement pummeling him directly in the chest as he scrunched his brow in consternation. “O’ course it’s mine, dammit!” he cursed, standing and throwing the stool backwards with some force as he shut Murtagh down.

“Sure are ye, lad?” Murtagh prodded, quirking a brow at Jamie.

“As sure as I am that yer taking Suzette to yer bed, godfather,” he replied, a dangerous note to his voice as he stalked off.

“Glad to hear it,” Murtagh muttered, humour lacing his tone now as he poured his own drink.

Claire tossed and turned, the babe continuing to move dramatically within her as she tried to rest, obviously aware of her panic. Worry course through her, concerned that Jamie might never forgive her for her actions. How had it gone so horribly ary, she wondered to herself as she curled her arms around the pillow and buried her head into the duckdown.

A click brought her from her maudlin thoughts as she sat up quickly.

She watched as Jamie entered, his face devoid of any emotion as he glanced at her only briefly. He was thinking, Claire could tell. Throwing around a few different scenarios. She only had to hope that the right one took precedence.

“Can I see you, Claire?” He broached, no irritation in his voice now.

“Are you planning on holding me hostage?” Claire returned, her words soft.

“Nay,” Jamie whispered back, kneeling at her feet as he held his hand out, his fingers hovering in mid air as he silently asked for permission. “I willna. If ye stay, it will be because ye wish to.”

Nodding, Claire pulled the shawl from her shoulders and began to undo the laces on her bodice.

Immediately she knew what he wanted, why he wanted to *see* her.

Disrobing as quickly as she was able, she plucked her shift and allowed it to pool at her waist as she sat back on her palms, leaving her stomach completely exposed for him to see.

“He’s moving a lot at the moment, kicking and turning. Y-you can touch, if you want…” she sighed, relaxing a little more now the atmosphere seemed calmer.

“Kicking?” Jamie returned with awe, “does that no’ hurt ye?”

“Hurt?” Claire chuckled, “not really. It’s a little uncomfortable and sometimes it catches me off guard, but it isn’t painful as such.”

Reaching out a tentative finger, Jamie brushed the smooth skin of Claire’s tummy, feeling the slight ridges the growth of the bairn had caused against her taut pale flesh.

Claire closed her eyes as the pressure of his hands upon her increased. Enjoying the warmth, she let her head fall forwards, her hair forming a deep brown curtain around her eyes. It felt good to have Jamie close again. His touch was the only thing to soothe her and throughout the early stages of pregnancy she’d really craved his comfort. With their reunion still on tentative ground, Claire kept quiet about her sudden rush of relief, unwilling to remind Jamie of his exasperation. Instead she opted for silence, allowing him to take the measure of her new figure.

“Will ye stay,” Jamie whispered, no clue as to where this conversation could lead in his words.

“Yes,” she replied, “I didn’t want to go in the first place--”

“But ye did.”

“Yes,” she reiterated, her voice sad, “I did.”

“Because of Minerva Wattiswade?” Jamie asked, already knowing the answer.

Claire nodded, shocked that he knew Minnie by name. She’d been so careful not to mention her companion by name in an effort to keep her identity secret. Her throat closed at the memory of Minnie, just an echo now in her mind's eye now.

“Do ye want me, Claire?” Jamie asked, not in relation to intimacy but to him as a whole.

Precariously, Claire reached downwards and placed her palm flat over the back of Jamie’s splayed hand. “Yes, Jamie. I want you. I have wanted you all these days...I promise.” She returned, ignoring the voice that told her she shouldn’t speak to him of her longing. Not after she’d left him so callously. No matter if it had been for his own good.

Leaning forwards, Jamie placed a gentle kiss just over her bellybutton, the gentle ripple of the bairn beneath vibrating against his damp lips as he nudged Claire softly with his nose.

“Then marry me, Claire,” Jamie asked, with utmost sincerity as he fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a small thistle accented ring and held it out to her. “Forget allegiance and duty. Marry me, and we’ll ha’ this baby in safety.”

Holding back tears, Claire forced herself to swallow before replying. Her palms began to sweat, her chest constricting as she imagined what kind of life she could have with Jamie as her husband.

“W-where--”

“Anywhere, Claire. Anywhere at all. Scotland, Lallybroch if I can. I want to take ye home, care for ye and the bairn.”

A vision of green fields sprung up behind her eyelids the moment he said the word ‘Scotland’ and the sincerity in his voice coaxed her to answer. He was full of hope, his honest reply appealing to her more than she’d first envisioned it would.

“I’ll bid the King for a plea,” Murtagh’s deep Scots boomed from the doorway, “trust in us, Claire. We’ll get ye home. Both of us.”

Jamie let out the breath he’d been holding, Murtaghs intervention sealing the deal for him. Now he was certain they’d be alright, sure that he could give her what he’d promised only moments before.

Smiling through the tears that now ran down her flushed cheeks, Claire nodded madly, her hands gripping Jamie’s as she tugged him towards her. Suddenly she became aware of her state of undress and she nestled herself lower, letting Jamie cover her with his large chest as she grabbed his hair and pulled his ear towards her mouth.

Whispering quietly, she pressed her belly against Jamie’s chest and stammered out the words he’d been longing to hear.

“Yes, Jamie,” she sighed, content to have fully broken the anguish between them, “yes, I’ll marry you.”

#;Mod MBD #internallydeceased #either side of the line #jamie x claire #Spies AU

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