#the sliver of time in which they were together. and the inevitability of turning your gaze back towards the shadows | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bluerose5 · 2 years

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A Dagger’s Edge

Pairing: Male Tabris/Zevran Arainai

Word Count: 3,695 (way more than I anticipated)

Other tags: Pre-established relationship, romance, sparring, kissing

[AO3 Link]

There was something so raw about the way Darrian fought.

Zevran couldn't quite understand his fascination with the warden's fighting style, aside from it being a professional curiosity. Even then, it wasn't as if Darrian had the dramatic flare guiding each slash like a Crow, nor did he have the deceptive glide that bards often utilized. Perhaps he was more direct like a duelist, but even that seemed to suggest more finesse behind each movement.

Instead, Darrian charged into battle like a force to be reckoned with. Of course, he used stealth and backstabbing to his advantage as much as any other rogue, but there was an undeniable edge to his personal style that was unlike any other.

Where others were taught that emotion was a weakness that could blind one in the midst of battle, Darrian wore his heart on his sleeve. Not only did he let his emotions influence his actions, but he also let them fuel them.

Rage, sorrow, grief...

All those and so many more were what drove Darrian to victory in each battle.

It was a mystery that lured Zevran in, time and time again.

Safe to say, it came as no surprise to Darrian when he eventually caught Zevran watching him.

It had been a night like any other. Their ragtag band of misfits ate their dinner around the fire together, bantering and bickering all the while. They traded stories, and Leliana might have even sung a song or two after Oghren convinced a few of them to partake in his drink of the night.

All the while, Darrian watched with a fond smile, sharpening one of his daggers with the utmost care.

Then, one by one, their companions started to turn in. They retired for the evening until the only ones who remained were Zevran and the Warden.

As Zevran kept the conversation flowing, Darrian continued with the maintenance of his weapons. It was a necessary distraction, one that kept his mind off of the past several nights, filled with nightmares and the incessant whisperings of the Archdemon.

Once Darrian was satisfied with his work, he lifted the dagger up on display, running a fingertip along the length of the blade.

Its edge sliced through his skin with ease, like a warm knife sliding seamlessly through a stick of butter.

Blood beaded to the surface where the tiny sliver remained, and Zevran grew noticeably silent.

Glancing over at him, Darrian furrowed his brow in question.

“What?” he asked, but Zevran’s eyes weren’t trained on the cut like Darrian had suspected. Rather, his gaze was fixated upon the dagger itself.

Zevran pried his eyes away to focus solely on Darrian. The intensity alone was enough to bring a warm flush to Darrian's cheeks.

Giving a lighthearted shrug, Zevran answered, "I was just wondering if you plan on using those daggers any time soon or if this was all for show."

Darrian blinked owlishly at that, eyebrow raised in question.

"Are you asking for a demonstration?" Darrian asked, to which Zevran smirked. "Or need I remind you how things played out the last time you challenged me?"

That smirk was instantly replaced with a pout.

Zevran huffed at him.

"Truly," he sighed, "the attempt on your life was doomed from the start. Having a competitor as talented and..." He trailed off, eyeing him openly, which only caused Darrian to sit up a little straighter under his scrutiny. "Distracting as you, my dear Warden, could only foretell my inevitable failure." He paused, his smirk slowly but surely returning. "Then again, I wasn't exactly at my greatest at the time."

"And you are now?" Darrian asked, skeptical.

"What can I say?" Zevran said, his responding chuckle warm and alluring. "You must surely bring out the best in me."

Okay, Darrian definitely knew he was messing with him then.

"Uh-huh..."

"Oh, but you do!"

"Prove it."

"As if I would back down from a challenge," Zevran laughed. "Funny, though, considering you are the one challenging me now."

"I have to make sure that you can live up to all your boasting," Darrian stated. "Otherwise, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Are you implying that you dislike the sound of my voice?"

"On the contrary," Darrian said, carefully getting to his feet. Zevran followed his lead. "I might appreciate your voice a little too much."

"Good to know," Zevran hummed in delight. "How easily you tell the assassin your weaknesses."

"I'll survive." Not that he would mind it if Zevran chose to exploit that "weakness" in particular. "Come now. Shall I get our training weapons, or...?"

They kept dull, wooden weapons on hand for when they needed to practice combat or discuss strategy outside of battle. It was the safest way to ensure that no one was injured before they set out on the road again.

Zevran, however, curled his lip in disdain at the suggestion.

"Must we?" he sighed. "Where is the fun in that? We are both trained fighters, capable of knowing our limits. Surely, it would be a waste not to test each other with our own blades."

Darrian knew that if he said no, then that would be the end of it. Zevran wasn't one to push beyond what was welcomed, so Darrian had no doubt that he would use the training weapons if Darrian insisted.

On the other hand, the thought of their blades engaged in battle was enticing, to say the least. The danger of having Zevran's dagger so close, yet knowing he would never strike the killing blow. That Darrian could trust him with his life.

It was that thought which urged him to say, "Fine."

But he continued when Zevran beamed in response.

"Simple rules, only shallow cuts. No injuring anything vital. The fight ends when one person yields. Got it?"

"But of course," Zevran agreed. “Now, let me go grab my daggers, and I shall meet you on the edges of the campground. Can’t go disturbing the others and having them ruin all of our fun after all.”

Darrian snorted.

“You mean that the Zevran, o famed and skilled assassin extraordinaire, doesn’t keep a dagger hidden on his person at all times?”

“Well, that would be telling,” Zevran explained, “and a man has to have some secrets.”

With a wink, he strolled off in the direction of his tent.

Darrian shook his head at him, but even he couldn’t deny the fond quirk of his lips. As he ventured towards the edge of camp, he walked along the border, eyeing the forest surrounding their position.

Eventually, he arrived at the clearing that their group frequented. The dark silhouette of trees swayed together in tandem, their limbs reaching gracefully towards the night sky. Grass brushed playfully at Darrian’s ankles, all while nocturnal creatures scurried about.

There, only the moons provided any reliable source of light. The fire from the camp was far too small to illuminate anything at that range, but there was something almost comforting about the natural light, to have everything bathed in a bluish-gray glow.

It was then, basking in the solitude with his daggers held loosely at his sides, that Darrian heard it.

The tip of his ear gave the slightest twitch at the sound of grass rustling behind him.

Darrian cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. He barely heard the gritty shift of dirt, displaced by a rather heavy footstep, but he heard it nonetheless.

As soon as he made out the whistle of a blade singing through the air, he had only a split second to react.

Turning on his heel in the nick of time, he brought his dagger up to block the blow.

Metal clashed, and when he caught Zevran’s eyes, the latter flashed him a mischievous grin.

“Had to make sure you had your guard up,” Zevran explained. “It would have been a shame for such a legendary warden to lose over a simple mistake.”

Huffing, Darrian widened his stance and rooted himself into place.

When he gave a rough shove, Zevran didn’t even resist, allowing Darrian to place some distance between the two.

“Leave it to you to cheat,” Darrian teased, both of them beginning to circle the clearing, always remaining opposite of one another.

They kept a close eye on each other’s footwork, looking for an opening that left the other vulnerable.

Zevran scoffed at the accusation.

“If that’s how you wish to view it, then so be it.” He shrugged. “Me, on the other hand… Well, I prefer to look at it as ‘keeping you on your toes.’”

“Right,” Darrian drawled. “As if being around you doesn’t keep me on edge enough.”

Zevran’s low hum of approval was nothing short of mesmerizing.

“Because I’m deadly, or because I’m charming?” he asked, twirling his blades in an impressive display.

Unfortunately, that divided Darrian’s attention between his daggers and his feet, trying to anticipate whether or not he would go for a throw or move in on Darrian’s position first.

It made Darrian feel small in a way, cornered. Like Zevran knew exactly the game he was playing and was toying with Darrian on purpose to provoke him into attacking.

If so, then it worked wonderfully, but Darrian wasn’t stupid enough to charge in without purpose.

Rather than go on the defensive, he grew impatient with their constant circling.

Instead, he made an offensive strike.

“Perhaps it’s a bit of both,” Darrian admitted, right before rushing at Zevran with all of the speed of a demon combined with all of the might of a druffalo.

Try as he may to dodge the attack, Darrian was able to match Zevran step-for-step, soon sending them both sprawled out onto the ground.

They recovered quickly, scrambled to get their weapons, and Darrian had just enough time to parry Zevran’s attack when he lashed out.

His blade whipped through the air. It sliced through the exposed skin of Zevran’s arm, leaving its mark upon him.

Swearing under his breath, Zevran countered in a flurry of hacks and slashes. Darrian had enough sense to block most of them, relying on a deadly combo of adrenaline and instinct to guide him. Those hits that got through his defenses left a sharp sting in their wake.

Blood seeped from open wounds, and metal clanged loudly when dagger met dagger.

Their hearts raced with each attack. Sweat beaded upon their brow.

It was impossible to ignore the hunger that drove them for more.

For once, when Zevran looked upon Darrian in the midst of battle, he didn’t see anger or fury or hatred driving his steps.

No, not at all.

This time, he detected nothing beyond pure, unadulterated passion.

There was a beauty in that, or so Zevran thought.

To be able to give oneself completely to the natural flow of a fight. To let all of life’s struggles melt away until there was only that one moment, that one instant of time, that remained.

What started as mere “demonstration” soon transformed into a dance of sorts.

Every step towards their opponent was matched in kind. Every hit was countered, and every parry only worked to encourage more attacks.

Their styles, while total opposites, somehow complimented each other surprisingly well.

It all had to come to an end eventually, though.

Someone had to gain the upper hand.

One moment, Darrian had gotten the advantage and started pressing forward, pursuing his opponent with a relentless intensity. The next moment…

Zevran was pushing back.

He let the momentum of one of Darrian’s attacks force him to the ground. He feigned defeat, allowing Darrian to close in on his position, only to grab a handful of dirt and throw it in his face at the last second.

Without thinking, Darrian inhaled sharply, sinking into a coughing spell as the dusty particles invaded his lungs. His eyes burned, and the dirt clung uncomfortably to the sheen of sweat on his skin.

Blindly, he continued to swing his blades, more so in a last-ditch attempt to keep Zevran away.

“Ugh!” He grunted, squinting uselessly through the grit. “Leave it to you to pull an unfair advantage like that when you’re about to lose.”

“I’ve learned it from the best,” Zevran said, snickering at his expense.

Hmph, he had Darrian there.

“Besides,” Zevran murmured, capturing his attention yet again, “isn’t there that one saying?”

In Darrian’s current state, Zevran disarmed him all too easily. Within seconds, his weapons were on the ground, the tip of Zevran’s dagger poised dangerously close to his throat.

“Ah, yes, it goes something along the lines of, ‘all’s fair in love and war,’ I believe,” Zevran stated.

Their eyes met, honey gold on dark brown, and Darrian’s heart damn near leapt free from the confines of his chest.

He couldn’t help but to respond accordingly. Lifting his chin at an angle, he held his head high, prideful yet defiant. Such a move arched his throat against the blade. Pressure built along the curve of his neck, but he didn’t dare move away.

His gaze remained fixed on Zevran, unable to look away, lips parted in awe.

“Alas,” Darrian said, releasing a dramatic sigh of defeat, “I guess that I must yield. Do your worst, my dear Crow.”

With that, he raised his hands in surrender.

How easily Zevran could finish what he originally set out to do. One swipe of his wrist, and the Warden’s life would have met its end.

But Darrian left himself open and vulnerable to him, even in spite of their rocky beginnings. Even in spite of everyone else around them, Zevran included, warning him that any involvement with the assassin could only end in pain and suffering.

Something unintelligible shifted in Zevran’s expression. The heat of his appraisal softened in the wake of his victory.

“Now, why would I do such a thing?” Zevran asked, his voice barely any louder than a whisper, so quiet that a simple breeze could easily overpower it. “If I did my worst, then you wouldn’t be alive to tell the tale of how I bested you.”

Dragging his dagger along, Zevran watched as the flat of his blade caressed the outline of Darrian’s throat. Darrian’s knees buckled. Goosebumps blossomed where cold metal kissed along warm skin.

“That—” Darrian’s voice cracked, which he hurriedly tried to cover up by clearing his throat. Then, he tried again. “That’s the only reason for holding back?”

When he felt the tip of Zevran’s dagger stop underneath the edge of his chin, he swallowed thickly.

“Hmm…” Zevran hummed thoughtfully to himself. “Perhaps not the only reason.” He tilted Darrian’s chin back with the dagger’s sharpened tip. Darrian obeyed the silent order without hesitation. A shiver raced down his spine while his eyes fluttered shut, eyelashes fanned out over his cheekbones. Zevran couldn’t help but to admire how peaceful Darrian appeared, even while he was at Zevran’s mercy. “I must admit, I value your company enough that I prefer to keep you alive. It is better than the alternative, at least.”

His grip loosened on the weapon. No longer did it have as much bite against Darrian’s skin.

“It would be an awfully empty world without you,” Zevran breathed, stepping closer, as if revealing a most precious secret.

Darrian took his wrist in hand, brushing his fingertips along his fluttering pulse.

He had a strength unlike any other rogue that Zevran had met, rivaling even some of the warriors in their group, yet he handled Zevran with the utmost care.

It made him feel treasured, special even.

Zevran’s grip relaxed. His daggers fell to the ground with a dull thud.

“You know,” Zevran chuckled, trying to make light of the situation, “we never did discuss my prize.”

Darrian beamed, smiling brightly as he pulled Zevran in with a purposeful tug.

His free arm wrapped itself around his waist.

“I don’t recall ever mentioning a prize, Zev.”

And he had the gall to call Zevran’s tactics unfair when he stood there, all handsome and tender, wielding that nickname like a weapon all on its own. The warm familiarity he spoke with so easily struck down all of Zevran’s defenses.

“Interesting,” Zevran mused, “because I recall it with perfect clarity.”

Neither of them mentioned how Zevran’s hand trembled when he reached out, wiping away the dirt upon Darrian’s cheek, just as neither of them mentioned how Darrian slipped his hand further up. Those curious fingertips from before ventured beyond Zevran’s wrist until their palms were pressed flush against one another.

They savored the warmth of each other’s touch, slowly but surely intertwining their fingers.

Darrian leaned his forehead against Zevran’s. He glanced down towards his lips, wetting his own.

“Well, in that case,” Darrian murmured, “I wouldn’t dare challenge your unfaulty memory. Tell me what you want, and it shall be yours.”

“Need you even ask?”

“I dare not assume anything.”

“Then, let me be blunt for a moment. I want you, my dear Warden. More specifically, I want you to kiss m—”

He didn’t even get to finish the sentence before Darrian’s lips closed the distance between them.

At first, it started off as a mere peck, there and gone in an instant. Yet, somehow, it still left Zevran stunned speechless. He gasped against his lips, chasing after them when they parted.

When he felt Darrian cup his face between his hands, he melted against him, their bodies molding themselves into the embrace.

Their lips met again, crashing against one another in a frenzy, bruising and passionate.

While Zevran’s eyes slid closed, he reached up, all but ripping the hair tie out of Darrian’s wavy strands. He buried his fingers into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

Their noses brushed, and their breaths mixed.

Neither of them could stand to be apart for long, but all good things must come to an end.

Once they finally had to stop to catch their breath, they reluctantly ended the kiss, both of them sneaking in a few chaste pecks in between their gasps and panting.

Smiling against Darrian’s lips, Zevran opened his eyes to stare into his.

They held each other close, arms wrapped around one another.

“If this is how I get rewarded with every fight I win,” Zevran praised, “then perhaps we should fight more often.”

Darrian rolled his eyes at him, unable to hide his self-satisfied grin or his flushed cheeks.

Even the tips of his ears seemed to take on a warmer shade.

Zevran reached out, brushing a few stray strands of hair back behind his ear.

He delighted when Darrian shivered and leaned into his touch, eager for more. He brought his hand up to guide Zevran’s to his cheek, pressing a kiss upon his palm.

“Leave it to you to form that sort of logic,” Darrian said.

“Hey, it’s a win-win all around!” Zevran responded, somewhat defensive. “I get to watch you fight, and in turn, we both get a kiss out of it regardless. I fail to see the downside to such an arrangement.”

Darrian raised an eyebrow at him, focused on one detail in particular.

“You like to watch me fight?” he questioned, narrowing his eyes at him teasingly. “Is that why you agreed to this?”

Zevran gave a half-shrug, not even bothering to deny it.

After all, he wasn’t ashamed of what he liked.

“Of course,” he answered. “It’s one thing to watch you take down darkspawn and bandits out in the field, but it’s a whole other experience entirely to be on the receiving end of such… intensity.” How breathless he sounded, even to his own ears. “Usually, you use some sort of force to drive you, but there was something different about you tonight.”

“Other than the fact that I let you get the better of me?” he deadpanned.

“Other than that, yes.” Zevran scrutinized him closely. “You were still a force to be reckoned with, don’t get me wrong, but the passion that was there was unlike any other I have seen from you before. You seemed excited by the challenge, carefree even.”

Darrian grunted, embarrassed.

“It’s been a while since I’ve fought with anyone just for the hell of it, just for some old-fashioned fun and a good laugh. Nowadays, if I fight, it’s either in battle or training. For a while, it almost felt as if the darkspawn had tainted the joy out of that as well.” He peered at Zevran, deep in thought. “I guess I should thank you for that. For reminding me about the joy I used to get out of such bouts.”

Zevran stammered, averting his eyes for a moment.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“If you say so,” Darrian said, knowing best when not to push for more. “Really, though, your company definitely made the night more enjoyable.” Leaning in, he pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of Zevran’s mouth, content to notice Zevran smile softly albeit briefly to himself. “Maybe I only performed so well because you bring out the best in me.”

Shaking his head, Zevran tsked at him, feigning disappointment.

“Using my own words against me? How unoriginal.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Reluctantly, Darrian pulled away from him, making a show of wrinkling his nose.

“Would you rather I ruin the mood by waxing poetic about your current stench?” he asked. Not that he had much room to talk, both of them having that underlying musk of sweat and exertion. “Because you could use a bath.”

Zevran gaped at him.

“My dear Warden, unless you plan on inviting me to bathe with you, let me assure you that I am not impressed in the slightest if this is your attempt at wooing me.”

“What?” Darrian widened his eyes, playing dumb. “You mean telling the object of my affection that he reeks is not an accepted form of flirting?”

“Ugh, you know, sometimes I forget that you are Ferelden.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means that your normal state of being is smelling like wet dog. Now, come on!”

Taking Darrian’s hand in his, he dragged him along, both of them laughing on the way to the nearby lake.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #male tabris #male warden #darrian tabris #zevran arainai #male warden x zevran #male tabris x zevran #zevwarden #city elf origin #bluerose writes

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atinyidea · 3 years

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Heartworm | Choi San

n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smouldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⟶ college!au, best friend!san, brother!seonghwa, friends to lovers!au, kinda very spicy but there’s no actual smut, there’s mentions of underage drinking and sexual encounters, everything is consentual!

⟶ appellation series masterlist

⟶ 5.7k words

600 special prompt for my lovely soul partner @san–shine, its like 50 years late and I know she no longer is active on this blog but I wanted to keep this.

42: “Exactly how drunk was I?”

49: “Good morning, sunshine.”

☞ When you were younger, you knew you were one-hundred per cent in love with your best friend, Choi San. However, because he was also, in fact, your brother’s best friend and you were a sixteen-year-old rebel adamant to never admit your feelings, you had to watch as he got his first girlfriend during a party Seonghwa had thrown for you. Now, years later and in the middle of college, you find yourself in a familiar setting: a party thrown for you by your brother and Choi San looking as breathtaking as he always does.

☞ moodboard

Just to be clear, when you woke up, you hadn’t expected your brother to announce that there was going to be a party held at your house for your twenty-second birthday. Your brother, being the kind and loving brother he was, had yet again used your birthday as an excuse to throw a house party, even though it wasn’t even your birthday until tomorrow. Seonghwa liked to use your birthday, the date falling in the last week of the summer holidays, as a way to gather all your combined friends as some sort of final summer get-together before the school year began again. You weren’t particularly against them, the end of summer parties becoming a little tradition after the fourth year running, and the fact that they were held at your house meant you could just go to bed any time you wanted. [ thank you sound-proofed home as per your mothers request due to your fathers’ noise-making habits from his job as a musician. ] Though it wasn’t like you knew anyone who would be throwing a house party you couldn’t just walk home from.

You did not know how many drinks you had consumed, alcoholic or otherwise, but the setting you found yourself in was giving you very explicit pangs of nostalgia to the first time you and your brother had thrown one of these parties. Your current situation was not unlike the situations you had been in before. You weren’t ashamed to say that you liked to have fun with your relationships: romantic, platonic or the just-once ones. It wasn’t unusual for you to be found in someone’s lap around midnight; the last party happened to be a beautiful girl named Soojin, the party before that was a guy whose name you hadn’t bothered to remember. However, the person’s lap who you sat in usually was not your best friend, Choi San’s. Not the San you spent the better half of your life burying romantic feelings for because he was Seongwha’s friend first. Not the San, your eyes couldn’t help watch whenever he was near. You made a promise to yourself since that one time when you had just turned sixteen, the one time you found yourself on his lap. [ A promise you made to deny your feelings because the very next day, he had gotten a girlfriend who was definitely not you. ]

At seventeen years old, San knew he was still a stupid and hormonal teenage boy. He practically got nose bleeds anytime he remotely saw a girl's lower back or tummy, their exposed thighs or neck: he knew he could be a perverted little shit. Still, having a girl for a best friend meant that he also knew what was respectful and what was just disgusting – thinking back on it, he was grateful for his friendship with you for teaching him from a young age how to treat girls with proper respect. [ Mainly because you would whack his head or punch him in the balls whenever he said something inappropriate or did something stupid. ] But, also at sixteen, San knew that he was also sorta-kinda-probably in love with his best friend’s sister. [ Who was also his best friend… was it possible to have more than one best friend? ]

During the summer of your sixteenth, Seonghwa’s eighteenth and his seventeenth birthdays, San and his family had gone overseas for an extended holiday. His father had received a promotion, and his mother struck lucky in her weekly lottery draw, so he hadn’t been there to witness the gradual changes to your body. It wasn’t like San wasn’t attracted to you before [ not that either of you knew what the fuck attraction was before ] but when you came to the airport to pick him up with your father, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to look at another girl ever again. [ Of course, that was an overdramatic thought since he proceeded to have girlfriends that weren’t you but the thought of you truly never left his mind. ]

The day of your sixteenth birthday party was something he would always remember clearly. He remembered the way you hugged him for a solid five minutes when he got to your house in the early morning, complaining about how your parents would still be away for another few days, and your brother refused to even hug you on your birthday. [ Seonghwa’s excuse was that it was your birthday tomorrow, and that was when you could claim the birthday hug. ] Secretly, he wished you would tell him you hugged him simply because you wanted to have him close. He remembered how Seonghwa had launched into a story from his last house party (one for the seniors that only he was invited to, but the stories were fun nevertheless) as he attempted to make pancakes at your request. You had bounced your way to your favourite countertop space and jumped up to sit there, right in front of the fridge, because it was the only place that was both cool and warm [ “exactly the right temperature” ] in the entire kitchen. He remembered the way his body slotted between your legs, his back to your chest as the two of you shared a vodka-and-coke at ten-in-the-morning. His mind was restlessly deciding if it was okay to lay his hands on your knees or calves, inevitably switching between the two places every five minutes. It hadn’t felt weird but natural as all three of you shared hearty laughs and then partially burnt pancakes.

[ He remembered when he had given you the small-and-terribly-wrapped box that held your present, egging you on to open it a day early. The way your face lit up as you lifted a thin silver chained sunflower charm bracelet into the air would forever be imprinted on his eyes – your eyes sparkling and lips twitching up into a wide grin as you thanked him seven times. The gentle tone of your voice as you asked him to help you put it on because for some reason, you couldn’t put clasped bracelets on for the life of you, was saved like a voice note in his brain. “You remembered,” you had whispered once he was settled back between your legs, “that sunflowers were my favourite, I mean.” The brush of your lips on his cheek lined the walls of his heart as it threatened to shatter through his ribs. ]

As a sixteen-year-old San knew that you probably shouldn’t’ve had as much alcohol as you had that night. However, as a seventeen-year-old San also didn’t care as long as you were having fun. It was not the first time you consumed alcohol, but it was the first time you’d had enough to get drunk from it. It was your sixteenth birthday party after all, and neither your brother nor your best friend had any objections when you grabbed the first vodka-and-coke at ten in the morning while you got ready. So now, at almost eleven at night, you had had more than ten of those drinks, and you could honestly say you weren’t sure if you’d remember anything from this night at all. The hours went by in a blur, and soon three drinks had turned into eight as you dragged San to your room to decide on an outfit for the night. He remembered the way his throat constricted as you strolled out from your bathroom in a neon green crop top and the pair of flare jeans you always wore. Ultimately San thought he would’ve preferred that outfit to the one you settled on – a black denim mini-skirt with a matching jacket on top of a simple t-shirt with a neon rainbow painted across the chest. The sliver of skin showing from the crop top was way less tempting than the muscle of your thighs, mainly since that was your exact plan for the outfit.

“You look good,” he had said, swallowing gulps of air and saliva when you asked, “you’d still look good in a potato sack,” he complimented you as you twirled on the spot and gifted him with a brilliant grin that simply took his breath away.

“We match!” You all but squealed when you took note of the black denim jacket San wore over his t-shirt with a neon rainbow across the chest.

He hadn’t even noticed.

His memory started to get hazy around drink number thirteen. He couldn’t remember how or what events had led to the current situation, [ or which room the two of you were actually in that was both not your bedroom and also not inhabited by literally anyone else ], but he certainly was not complaining. You were so close to him he could smell the faintest scent of your vanilla and cinnamon shampoo and conditioner you had used the day before, the slightest whiff of your jasmine scented perfume [ the one you always wore, the one he bought you your first bottle of ] and the sweetly bitter smell of cherry coke and vodka on your breath. His hands seemed glued to your lower back and hips, palms almost moulded to your skin like he were a sculptor, and you were his latest masterpiece. Your legs either side of his own, wrapping around him possessively, like he was yours and only yours, and he let you, using his hands to pull you closer to him like you were his and only his. Your faces were so close he could feel each hot exhale of breath hitting his lips, and when they stopped as you shivered and whined, he couldn’t help the way his lips tilted upwards into a smirk. The way you attempted to wire your mouth shut not to make a sound wasn’t effective, seeing as he heard all three of your whines, each one getting more prolonged and higher in pitch as the two of you continued your ministrations. His hips wanted to jut up into you. Still, he forced his movements to be as slow and smooth as possible, wanting to feel every way you would come undone above him, but when his gaze flickered across your face. He spotted the small trickle of blood falling from your lips; it was like everything that had just happened had disappeared.

From your recollection, you only remembered specific parts of that night. Your legs had been situated on either side of his thighs, your arms wrapped around his neck as his palms slowly pushed up the small of your back to pull your body closer to his. Your faces were so close you could physically see the connection between the two of you, yet neither of you pushed forward enough to make that connection real and tangible. [ You wanted to, God, you wanted to kiss him right then more than anything. Why didn’t you kiss him then? ] San’s hands felt hot against your skin, his fingertips slowly moving to draw a masterpiece on your back. You shivered slightly as a slight breeze floated around the sliver of exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your eyes were drawn to San’s lips as they twitched up into a slight smirk; his own eyes flickered to watch you watch him. Neither of you had said a word to each other for almost half an hour, drunkenly pushing at the limits between your friendship with nothing but burning touches and delicate twists of hips.

You subconsciously sucked your bottom lip into the confines of your teeth, but you willingly bit down harshly to stop a sly whine from escaping your lips as San had the cocky idea to roll his pelvis into yours as he held you in place with his hands on your hips. Apparently, you had bitten down way too hard because the next thing you knew was that San’s playful smirk had evaporated into a concerned frown. He lifted a hand from your hip – the sudden rush of cold where his hand previously was leaving you feeling a sense of loss – to your lip, his thumb tugging your lip back out.

“You’re bleeding,” he mumbled, thumb coming away with a smear of blood moulding into his fingerprint. The taste of blood in your mouth was unexpected and had sent you reeling. You almost flew off of his lap and practically ran to your bedroom’s bathroom to inspect the damage. There was a tear in the side of your bottom lip. [ The side of your lip you always bit out of habit, so the skin was thinner there than the rest of your lip. ] Against your better judgment – the rational part of your brain was too drunk at that moment – you settled your tongue against the fresh cut. Finching away from yourself at the unexpected [ which really should’ve been expected ] pain, you decided that there was nothing you could do to help soothe it. After twenty minutes, that felt like two, of staring at yourself in the mirror, you finally shrugged and made your way back into the heart of the party.

As an almost sixteen-year-old, you knew you were just coming into figuring out your body and the emotions of more physical relationships as you grew into it. You knew you had grown up a little (a lot) over the summer, your chest filling out from a b-cup to a c-cup, your lanky figure could no longer be considered lanky as your limbs gained muscle, fat and tone, creating a new full and curvy figure. Your mother had been ecstatic when you came to her asking how to style clothes to fit your ‘new’ figure as it meant the two of you could go shopping [ one of her favourite activities ], and you could find your style that both suited your body and personality. You did have to admit that your style didn’t change much; you still loved a sturdy flannel shirt [ always oversized though, now you tended to wear it open with a form-fitting crop top or spaghetti-strap top underneath to show off your chest and waist ] and you still loved your favourite pair of flare jeans enough to wear them almost every other day, [ the one with the painted sunflower over the back pocket. ] You also loved pleated mini skirts and knee-high socks or a simple loose-form-fitting dress with lycra cycle shorts underneath. You didn’t like the emotional side of your summer changes, though and, while you were new to the whole attraction thing, the one person you definitely didn’t feel anything remotely romantic for was your best friend. [ Well, maybe you did, but he was Seonghwa’s friend first, and that was a no-go… and perhaps you wanted to reject the way your heart turned into butterflies when you saw him at the airport… and maybe you just weren’t ready to put those feelings into words, so you denied them instead. ]

Your best friend whose lap you were just sat on, grinding your hips into his with your noses touching. Your best friend who was now kissing another girl [a beautiful girl who was named Hyemi, she was in Seonghwa’s class and also happened to live across the road… she was always nice to you and you couldn’t find it in you to dislike her even as your stomach knotted and twisted into something green with envy ] in the middle of the kitchen. You wouldn’t remember how long you stood there, watching the two of them kiss like a complete and utter creep, and you wouldn’t remember the look San gave you as he noticed the sway of your hair as you retreated out of the kitchen with a frown on your brow.

You did not fancy your best friend, and you definitely did not care that he was kissing Hyemi in front of the fridge. [ The fridge he stood between your legs in front of literal hours ago. ] Lastly, you definitely did not feel like crying as your mind reminded you about two different memories of earlier that day – one of you sat on the counter opposite that exact fridge with San leaning back into you as he gave you the sunflower charm bracelet that wrapped around your wrist, watching Seonghwa attempt to make you birthday pancakes. The second the memory of his hands burning up your skin, the way his lips tilted into a smirk when you shivered under his hold and the way you inflicted pain to yourself in an attempt not to whine with pleasure at the way he moved his hips.

It was too raw, and now you just wanted to forget.

San’s brain refused to calculate time because one minute his hand was reaching for your bloodied lip and the next you were gone, and San was back in the kitchen getting you a glass of water [ and then he was kissing another girl in front of the fridge he rested between your legs literal hours ago. ] San wouldn’t remember what their conversation had been, only that this girl, Hyemi, was older than him and had just asked him out. He wouldn’t remember the exact way her grin turned a little too malicious to be sincere. He would, however, remember the way your hair flew over your shoulder as you spun away from the scene involving him; he would remember the way his eyes followed your figure all the way into the embrace of your brother as you shallowly smiled and stole his drink [ and he would remember the way his chest seemed to ache at that simple action. ]

Hyemi became his girlfriend at that same party; you didn’t even know they knew each other. He didn’t even know why he said yes.

And here you were, on the penultimate night before your twenty-second birthday, in the lap of your best friend. His relationship with Hyemi had lasted six months, and he had gotten six more significant others in the seven-year gap from then til now but, right then, he was single, and you were in his lap. You had flopped down over the side of a two-seater couch; eyes screwed shut with laughter, so you didn’t realise who was sat on said couch – or that anyone was – until your head made contact with their thigh. [ Their thigh was very comfy to lay on, which was the first thing your brain commented on. ] When you looked up and met eyes with San, a small [ tiny really, in no way visible to the person who knew you best and where to look for a blush – finding it immediately ] blush was growing warmly over your cheeks.

“Hey there,” He grinned, setting down his plastic cup, [ more like throwing it over his shoulder, not caring that it hit someone since it was mostly empty anyway ] and poking your nose gently just to watch the way it would scrunch up. His fingers were moving from your nose to his ear to make sure the roll-up cigarette that was balanced there hadn’t fallen.

“Hi,” you giggled, your legs curling up to your chest, making you look like a contorted cat as your feet still dangled slightly over the arm of the chair. After a few seconds, your fingers started twitching and settled on playing with the fabric of his shirt. It was the same rainbow one he wore to your sixteenth party, matching the one you were wearing too. The both of you had grown out of them, San settling on cutting it into a crop top and you doing the same, [ since you were the one who had actually cut San’s shirt and decided to continue and do yours, so you matched again. ] His shirt gave little to cover, showing off his abdominals and tummy [ and the slight happy trail peeking out from the waistband of his jeans ] proudly and only just covering his pectorals. Your own shirt was cut higher, stopping just above the curve of your breasts. Still, your own torso was covered in a neon green fishnet bodysuit [ not that it left anything to the imagination, your torso was still on show ] that was tucked into your signature flare pants which now rode a little low on your hips and the sunflower on the back was more than a little faded.

“What are you doing?” He asked with an amused grin, [ complemented with the subtle raise of a singular eyebrow… Gods, why was he so attractive? ] one hands fingers starting to twist in the loose strands of your short hairstyle. It was nice. [ The touch of his hands against your hair was excellent, the slight tug of the strands against your skull felt really nice. ]

“Taking a break. Siyeon, Minji and Yunho broke out the karaoke machine, and they're playing the song shots game.” You replied as if it explained everything. [ It actually kind of did, San recalled you once telling him that the chaotic energy of that particular trio and the song shots game gave you awful headaches. And you hated having headaches when you were drinking because it made you nauseous. And when you were nauseous and drunk, you tended to go have a smoke, which you were trying extremely hard to stop doing for the sake of your father, who also used to smoke and now had lung problems. So, San understood your meaning. ] “What about you?”

San had to take a minute to think. Just what was he doing? Why was he so out of it today? In his heart, San knew the answer, but he hadn’t unlocked that treasure chest just yet. [ He was tired of watching you be semi-intimate with people that weren’t him… Which he refused to admit. Because both of you were pinning assholes in denial. ] Finally, even though it had only been a minute, he replied with a simple “I’m just… sitting.”

“Oh?” You asked, now it was your turn to raise the amused eyebrow, “just sitting?”

“Sitting... and thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.” The word was out faster than San’s brain had time to process what he’d said. However, now he had said it, he wasn’t going to deny it. Was it the small amount of alcohol in his system? [ It was the way your eyes widened a little as you looked up at him from your place in his lap, fingers twisting in his shirt and lips falling open ever so slightly. ]

“Me?” Your pitch ascended as the volume of your voice diminished.

“Yeah, you!” He grinned, tone equally as quiet but still showing enthusiasm, moving his free hand to boop your nose.

“What about me?”

San’s fingers in your hair froze at your question, his mind whirring with any kind of answer that wouldn’t cross the line into confession territory wherein he would lose your friendship indefinitely, but after one look at the serious longing look in your eye, he decided he would ‘man up’ [ the phrase making him cringe as soon as he thought it… the connotation of the word being so outdated and, for someone who grew up with a very stubborn girl in his life, San wondered why society hadn’t come up with a suitable alternative to the phrase ] and just tell you.

So he did.

“Do you remember what happened between us at your sixteenth party?” He asked, seemingly changing the conversation topic. Confused but going with it, a slight blush warming your cheeks, you nodded, and he took that as permission to continue, “I can’t stop thinking about it.” His voice was nothing louder than a whisper, you should’ve had to strain your ears to hear him, but at that moment, it was like all other sounds and distractions faded from the scene. Your breath hitched as you simply stared up into his eyes, his pupils dilated, almost taking over the beautiful swirling colour of his irises [ making his eyes look darker than usual, more intense than expected, and for a second, you swore your heart stopped ].

“What about it?” Your question was innocent enough, but the way you said it gave way to other ideas. Your voice was soft and breathy, like you weren’t getting enough oxygen, and like San, the words weren’t said above a whisper. Afterwards, you bit down softly on your bottom lip [ unintentional on your part, it was just a habit of yours, to be honest ], minutely sucking it in, and San’s focus shifted to watch your lips specifically.

“I’m thinking about how much I’d like to do it again.”

“You want to kiss me?”

“If you’d let me.”

“Please kiss me.” You whispered, more a statement rather than a question or demand. And so he did, leaning forward to reach you, head still in his lap, [ it felt like a slow-motion scene in a movie, but it couldn’t have been longer than two seconds before his lips were flush against yours ]. It was not the first time the two of you had kissed, but it was the first time you had kissed since becoming official adults — it felt different.

It felt good.

His lips were soft, and his kiss was gentle, at least it was at first. As the seconds ticked on, the kiss grew more intense, the soft brush of his lips pressed harder into you, his hands running over your body to pull you up to him. Your arms threaded around his neck, stretching out your torso [ if you were honest, it hurt a little… not that you were lucid enough to be aware of it ] and arching your back. He bit down on your bottom lip, tugging at it a little when your fingers twisted through the hair at his neck, pulling him to you with a new sense of desperation.

And then the two of you fell off the couch. You slid off his lap and landed on your back [ though it was more like you were on your side than your back ] while San rolled over on top of you. Both of you froze in your positions, eyes wide, [ pupils dilated but that was most likely due to the desire flowing through you ] lips parted as you just stared at one another for a second. San was the first to crack the silence, lips pulling into a grin and eyes crinkling with joy as his laugh sounded out around you. He flipped off from on top of you, landing next to you on the floor but his smile never dimmed and his laugh hadn’t faded. You rolled slightly so you were actually on your side as you continued to look at him. When he looked back at you your heart skipped a beat, his smile was so pretty and it made his dimple so deep but it wasn’t long before his laughter simmered and his expression faded as he looked back at you.

Biting your lip once again you made an executive decision [ the only decision you could think off, since all thoughts were now preoccupied with San at the moment ] to lift yourself to hover over him this time. You swallowed and let out a breath as your eyes met, searching for any sign that you should stop. Your shaking breath cut out into a soft gasp as San’s hands caressed over the small of your back to pull you down so that your chests touched. Your right hand lifted up to take hold of the cigarette tucked behind his ear, [ a small giggle leaving your lips at the thought that it was still there even after all that ] and twisted it between your fingers a little. Was it a nervous habit or just a neat trick, you couldn’t distinguish at the moment. San’s own hand came to hold yours, two sets of fingers now playing with the home-made roll-up gently. Soon enough San took it from your shallow grip and flicked it across the room, using the same hand to cup your jaw to cirect your gaze back to him.

Meeting his eyes made you want to shy away from his gaze but you let him keep you there. He looked at you with such a strong emotion you though you’d possibly be able to taste it from his lips. “I have to tell you something…” You whispered, close enough to not have to raise your voice.

“What is it?” He whispered back, the fingers on your back drawing small circles as the hand at you jaw left to curl a strand of hair around his fingers in the opposite direction. [ how he did that subconsciously and not mess it up would’ve made your head spin in wonder ].

“I love you.” You began, still whispering. “I have for a long time, though in the beginning I tried rather hard to deny it. Mainly because you had a significant other and I didn’t want to ruin that for you. And then, in a rather dick move, I got a significant other in the hopes of stopping it but that didn’t work so I stopped getting into romantic relationships altogether and now-”

He cut you off, pulling you into him to kiss the words from your lips [ which you appreciated because your inner thoughts were beginning to panic because your mouth wouldn’t stop talking ]. When you separated his smile was back, albeit not as wide as before. His eyes were as soft as his smile as he kissed you once more, resting your foreheads together. “I love you too,” he said against your lips. At his words you surged forward, pressing into him with fierce emotion as your kissed him.

You had wanted to hear those words from his lips for so long. You had wanted him for so long. And here he was, right in your reach, his hands on your body and yours tugging gently at his hair. Before all the breath in your lungs had finished and you lost your conscious nerve to a blur of desire those word had repeated at least thrice as you made your way to the comfort of your bed and the warmth of his body.

The next day when you woke up, you woke up earlier than usual and feeling unusually chipper as you took a hot shower. The subtly sweet scent of pancakes met you as you made your way through the house and into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Sunshine, you’re up early,” your brother grinned over his shoulder, both hands currently busy holding a pan and spatula. “I made pancakes.”

“Yes, I can see that.” You returned his grin with one of your own, a teasing smile lifting to your lips as you took a seat. Your head was clear of any headaches or lingering pain from a hangover since you were better with your alcohol intake as a twenty-two-year-old, and your reckless youth had lined your stomach with a fair amount of tolerance.

“Exactly how drunk was I last night? I don’t remember anyone leaving.”

“Oh boy,” Seonghwa sniggered, a sly grin taking over his features, “the party was two days ago, you slept all day yesterday. Really freaked San out.”

“What?!” You exclaimed, a piece of pancake falling from your fingers back onto your plate, bouncing off and onto the side sadly. [ It went ignored as you stared down your brother. ]

“Yeah. And he’s been ramble-muttering about you for a solid ten hours now. He’s really not subtle at all.” Seonghwa grinned. “So now that you two have slept together, are you two actually together?”

If you had liquid in your mouth, you would have spat it out. “He told you?!” You exclaimed, heart racing at the thought of your best friend and your brother discussing your sex-life.

“No.” Seonghwa denied immediately, face scrunching up in disgust at the mere thought, “I definitely don’t need to know details about that. It’s just San isn’t subtle at all when he’s mutter-rambling. He was oblivious to the fact he was thinking out loud about how to move forward after your… time together… while I literally sat next to him.” Seonghwa then grinned at you, again, the stretch of his lips becoming a little too mischievous for your liking. “Pretty sure he passed out on the couch half an hour ago.” He hinted, motioning over to the living room with his head as his eyebrows wiggled up and down suggestively.

A puff of air exhaled through your nose as a small smile climbed over your lips. You opened your mouth to talk, but he cut you off with a gentle pat on the head, “I’m happy for you two,” was all he said but it was enough. [ Your heart soared at the approval of your brother. It was not that you nor San needed Seonghwa’s approval, but it was nice to know he wouldn’t oppose it. ] Then you made your way to the couch San was asleep on.

You sat next to him, in the space unoccupied by his body. His brow was furrowed, which you frowned at. You lifted a hand and gently pressed on the juncture between his eyebrows, smoothing them out. His face instantly relaxed under your touch [ a part of your mind daydreamed that it was because he knew it was you ] and a small smith lifted upon your lips. Your hand moved down to cup his cheek and then his jaw before you raised it to gently wipe away the hair that had fallen in his face. You bit down on your lip, confused on whether to wake him up or not but life had chosen for you as one by one San’s eyes opened and slowly focused on you.

His eyes widened, and in a flurry of limbs suddenly he was laying on his back on the floor while you had balanced yourself with your knees over his waist. After a second of shocked silence [ as the two of you came to terms with what the fuck just happened ] a grin spread across his lips, eyes crinkling in delight, as his hands came to grip your hips gently.

A silent confirmation washed over the two of you as your lips spread to mirror his grin. The two of you would be alright as the next part of your relationship bloomed, the embers of your crushes were now burning bright.

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leviathanswingman · 3 years

Text

cavity and sweet tooth; DiaLuci oneshot

“Lucifer, can you come here for a moment?”

Lucifer, sitting by the fireside with his head bowed ever so slightly, bangs softly brushing against his cheeks, lifted his head from the paperwork he had been working on for hours and hours with no end in sight.

He turned his head towards the source of commotion, barely able to suppress a sigh as he took note of Diavolo sitting on the ground of the house of lamentation’s music room, cross legged and soft-spined, evidently lost in conversation with none other than Lucifer’s antisocial little brother Leviathan.

Seeing them chatting as if they were life-long friends, Lucifer couldn’t help but suppress a sigh he could feel rising from the depths of his soul. With Diavolo’s devil-may-care personality, fraternizations of this sort rarely ever worked out in his favor.

After all, the demon prince had originally paid the house of lamentation a surprise visit to discuss several work-related issues that had come up on short notice . To no-one’s surprise however, that had quickly turned into Lucifer doing the actual work while Diavolo was fooling around, attempting to lure Levi into another semi-deep conversation.

“Yes?” Lucifer asked, admittedly curious to find out what exactly those two had been going on about. Leviathan was extremely reclusive by nature, so for someone to catch his attention, the topic of conversation must have been quite captivating.

He pushed up the glasses that had been sliding down his nose inch by inch, readjusting them appropriately.

Diavolo mustered him and let out a sigh. “Come here, just for a second!” When there was barely any reaction coming, he shook his head impatiently and beckoned Lucifer over. “Do I have to implore you? I promise it won't take long. I want to try something out Leviathan here mentioned-”

“Right, right.” Through years and years spent as Diavolo’s friend and right hand man, Lucifer had learned that when confronted with another one of Diavolo’s outlandish requests, indulging him before inevitably shutting him down was the easiest way to go.

He sighed once, but put aside his paperwork regardless and got up from his chair. Of course he knew this foretold nothing good. Still, it was Diavolo who was asking. And although the man often failed to remain professional, determined to break down all of Lucifer’s carefully built up walls, Lucifer knew he could trust him. Even in moments like these when Diavolo was really hellbent on testing his patience.

He walked over to Diavolo and Leviathan, stopping inches away from them and crossed his arms. “So, what's all of this about?”

Diavolo looked up to him and threw him a displeased look. “Lucifer,” he started and before Lucifer could so much as answer, Diavolo had already closed his fingers around Lucifer's wrist, giving it one big tug.

Taken off guard by Diavolo's sudden boldness, Lucifer let himself be pulled down to the ground with nothing but a badly hidden stumble.

Levi, who had been lounging on a couch behind Diavolo let out a stifled laugh before Lucifer caught his eye and gave him a proper glare, shutting him up for good.

“Diavolo!”

The demon prince let out a low chuckle as he watched Lucifer readjust his position. As soon as he was sitting semi-comfortably in front of him, Diavolo grabbed Lucifer’s forearms and lifted them

“I hope I didn't startle you now, did I?” he said with a low rumble to his voice, his eyes focusing in on Lucifer's hands which were hidden by his lavish black gloves. “Would you take these off for a second?”

Lucifer's eyebrows knit together in confusion. He lifted his eyes to look at Diavolo, whose attention seemed to be strictly focused on Lucifer's hands.

“I suppose,” he answered, yet before he could do as much as lift a finger, Diavolo was already busying himself pushing up Lucifer’s sleeve, hooking his index finger in-between smooth fabric and even smoother skin, successfully freeing Lucifer's left hand.

“There we go!”

“Remind me as to why we're doing this again?”

Diavolo scooted a little bit closer, now facing Lucifer as he took hold of his right gloved hand. “No need to look that grim. As I said, I was just wondering about something Leviathan has brought up ever so passionately. You'll be free to finish your work in no time.”

A small scowl crept up on Lucifer's face as he turned his head towards his little brother. “Levi, if this is anything but appropriate I will make sure to turn you into-”

Before he could finish his sentence Leviathan had already taken hold of his belongings and bolted out of the room. To be quite honest, Lucifer couldn't remember the last time he had seen him run quite as fast.

Lucifer decided to put his focus back on Diavolo just as he felt one of his fingers glide along his skin before disappearing in the gap between glove and hand, successfully pulling off the second glove as well.

For a moment Diavolo ogled Lucifer’s hands, hands that were seen covered way more often than bare, before raising his hands as if to give a high five.

“Mirror my movements,” he said with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his admittedly pretty eyes.

Lucifer stared at his raised palms for a moment or two until Diavolo started to get tired of waiting and motioned towards Lucifer with a quick circular motion of hand.

“Hold them up like this,” he said, putting both his hands back up at chest height.

“Diavolo, I really don't see the point in any of this,” Lucifer protested, but followed suit anyway. He mirrored Diavolo's motions, throwing him a quizzical look from behind their hands while doing so.

Diavolo threw him a blinding smile as he connected their hands palm to palm, gently but confidently, making sure that they were lined up perfectly at the bottom.

The tips of Lucifer's fingers, softly pressed against Diavolo's digits, were tingling curiously under the gentle feeling of skin against skin.

It wasn't that Lucifer was touch-starved, no, he was simply not used to these slow, soft, almost tentative touches; especially coming from Diavolo.

“Well, won't you look at that!”

“What specifically am I supposed to look at now? This is ridiculous. I still have work to do so-” he started, but before he could stand up again and return to his stack of papers Diavolo pushed his hands against Lucifer's perceptibly harder.

“Don't be like that, just look!!”

Lucifer pushed back out of reflex.

His eyes dropped down to their hands and, surprised by the unexpected sight, Lucifer felt something click in the back of his brain.

Graceful, slender hands stood in contrast to slightly bigger, stronger looking ones. For once, he did not push back in retaliation, but mustered their joined hands instead.

The sight made him feel almost nostalgic. Hands, once curled to uncertain fists, were now joined in mutual obedience and respect. It was a strange and perhaps vulnerable thing to take note of. He shook his head, face to face with his own mushy thoughts.

Still, instead of pulling away as his instincts were telling him to, Lucifer pushed back as Diavolo also considered their hands for a moment, letting out a rumbling laugh before dropping his fingers a bit to fully slide them between Lucifer’s.

“Even your hands are positively stunning, Lucifer. Pray tell, how do you manage any of it? Stunning from head to toe,” he practically mumbled, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, revealing the slightest hint of dimples on his cheeks.

Lucifer, unsure of what to do with his hands as he pretended to not have heard any of Diavolo’s flattering mumblings, furrowed his brows as he quickly blew a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

“There you go buttering me up again like that. What even is the use of all of this?” Experimentally, he spread his fingers a little bit further apart and threw Diavolo a quick glance from under his lashes. Finally, he grew tired of keeping his fingers upright and dropped them unceremoniously, decidedly ignoring the fact that theoretically, if you were being really strict, he was holding hands with Diavolo right now. He forced himself not to think about it beyond measure.

“Permission to compliment?” Diavolo asked belatedly, a mixture of joy and mischief painting his features delightfully carefree.

“Absolutely not.”

They were adults, and additionally to that, two of the most respected demons all across the devildom. Them holding hands like frivolous adolescents would be ridiculous, preposterous even. If any of his brothers were to see him like this, they’d certainly laugh like the hyenas they were.

Certainly, Lucifer wasn't about to get embarrassed by him and Diavolo holding hands. Except for the fact that without any doubt, he was indeed feeling undeniably embarrassed.

He cleared his throat. “So, has inspiration finally struck hard enough for you to tell me what this is all about? If I recall correctly you mentioned this having been caused by another one of Levi's nonsensical ramblings?”

Diavolo’s eyes were still trained on their joined hands. He ran his thumb across the back of Lucifer’s hand and let his middle finger rub along Lucifer’s protruding knuckles. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, unaware of the redness that was unmistakably dusting his friend’s neck and ears.

Lucifer, ever so aware of his body’s own reactions, suppressed them with sheer dedication and efficiency before his tired mind could come up with any more funny ideas.

He cleared his throat and forced his attention back to their previous topic of conversation, away from Diavolo’s beautiful -of course solely objectively speaking- fingers rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hands.

“So what sort of nonsense was Levi trying to convince you of?” he tried again. And in spite of himself, Lucifer caught himself suppressing a sigh accompanied by a shudder as Diavolo ran his thumb over smooth skin, turning it into a huff before the traitorous sound had even so much as a sliver of a chance of slipping past closed lips

Although he was known all across the lands for his professionalism, that didn’t mean he was unresponsive to outward stimuli. And no matter how easily exasperated he was by Diavolo’s lack of work morale, Lucifer had grown somewhat fond of the future demon king. Not that he would ever be caught dead admitting to such a foolish thing out loud.

“Oh, nothing much. He just mentioned it being a ‘sacred trope’, i think that’s how he put it, therefore I couldn’t help but feel tempted to try it out myself! So what do you think, Lucifer?”

Lucifer averted his eyes and successfully crushed the overwhelming feeling of sheer mortification daring to overtake his body.

Of course, Diavolo had been swayed by Leviathan’s absurd ramblings, overtaken by a morbid sort of curiosity he often liked to display as a born-to-be isolated from most of society. There was nothing more to it than that.

Lucifer untangled his fingers from Diavolo’s, standing up abruptly.

“This is not only a waste of my time, but also yours. We should get back to work now. There’s no reason to bother with this any longer.” Without any hesitation, he turned back around to the abandoned stack of paperwork sitting lonely by the fireside. He took a third of the work off the pile, placed a pen on top of it and pushed it into Diavolo’s lap, who blinked at him sheepishly for a moment. Diavolo then threw him one last look, which was glaringly obvious a pout, and let out one big, dramatic sigh. “You are incorrigible Lucifer, has anyone ever told you that?”

Lucifer allowed himself one last look at Diavolo’s almost cartoonish sulking expression before he averted his gaze from the playful twinkle in Diavolo’s eyes down to the way the fabric of his pants was stretching under the promise of girthy thighs and delicate skin, willing himself to come back to his senses before it was too late and he had officially lost all common sense. “Get back to work, Diavolo. You know I’m a busy man and neither of us have all day.”

He threw the demon prince one last stimulated look, calmed his heart, picked up his pen and started writing.

#my writing #obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me lucifer #dialuci #diavolo x lucifer #lucifer x diavolo #fanfic #oneshot #hand holding #fluff #i finally felt satisfied with this #been sitting on it for months!!#i actually posted this yesterday already but felt really insecure and deleted it again #won't do that now tho bc i checked it again and changed some minor details and now i feel good about what i came up with :)

178 notes · View notes

yonkimint · 3 years

Text

So Show Me, I’ll Show You

Part 28.2

This part has written parts with pictures in between.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

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When you come to, the lights are too bright overhead like someone is shining a laser beam directly into your pupil. You splutter and groan, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. Someone is leaning over you, smoothing hair back from your face and speaking words you don’t understand.

“Don’t,” you moan, “I can’t take it anymore.”

“y/n? My name is Doctor Yang. You’re safe now,” a gentle voice says but it sounds like it’s coming through a tunnel. They keep talking and whoever is stroking your hair moves to pat your cheek. An image of Mark holding a knife flashes against the back of your eyelids.

Somewhere far away, someone starts screaming. The bright light and the pressure of the hand on your hair disappear and you fall back into the safety of the dream they’ve awoken you from. This memory you have shared with no one and it’s, perhaps, the safest one of them all.

The delicate strum of the guitar combined with your already drained emotions has your eyes drifting shut. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember that Yoongi wants your opinion on this song and you make a mental note to tell him it’s the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard.

You barely register when Yoongi stops playing but you rouse a little when you realize he’s come to sit next to you on the couch. The two of you have never been this close before and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin.

You have a feeling if you ‘wake up,’ he’ll back off so you keep your eyes closed and wait to see what he’ll do.

He clicks his tongue and sighs almost like he’s scolding himself and you force yourself to keep your face free of emotion. You’d like to know what’s going through his brain but you don’t dare give away that you’re awake.

Soft fingertips brush your cheekbone, tracing the tear swollen skin beneath your eyes, and move to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t help the gentle sigh that comes from your lips and you hope he attributes it to a dream you’re having.

This feels like a dream.

“Why can’t I get you out of my head?” Yoongi whispers. Your heart leaps into your throat. He’s been thinking about you too?

You almost jump when he wraps his arm around you and pulls you out of the ball you’ve been curled in. This would be the perfect time to pretend you’ve woken up but you still want to know what he’ll do. It’s taking all your best acting skills but you let out an indignant moan and fall against his shoulder.

He laughs, the sound of it making your whole body tingle. “You silly, beautiful girl,” he whispers, turning his face so his lips brush the crown of your head, his breath warm against your scalp.

His palm presses gently against your cheek and his thumb skates the skin beneath your lower lashes again. You squirm a little, taking liberties as if you were asleep, and he must believe you are because he keeps whispering the things he won’t say to you out loud.

“I know I said we can’t be friends…” he trails off. You crack your eyes open just a sliver and peer through your eyelashes as if you will discover what has interrupted his thoughts. He sighs and his hand moves from your face, his fingers curling in your loose hair.

“I know that,” he says again, “but I hope you can tell how badly I am lying.”

You hope he can’t feel the warmth rising in your cheeks.

The press of something warm against your face has you convulsing again. You think you might scream again, anything to stop whatever pain you’ve been roused for, but you find that your fear response has been replaced with anger. How dare he take you away from that dream? How dare he take you away from Yoongi?

How dare Yoongi take himself away from you too?

You are so angry, you try to jerk away but find that you’ve been strapped down, every limb suspended in place and your head locked. Hot, fat tears well in your eyes and spill down from the corners to drench your hair. Vainly, you give a thought to how awful you must look in your final moments and that pisses you off too.

“Just get it over with, you asshole,” you spit.

“Baby,” a voice whispers in your ear, so familiar to you and so absolutely not Mark that your eyes snap open. You wince at the bright lights overhead and groan. Yoongi is leaning over you, smoothing your hair back from your forehead and smiling so sweetly that a deep ache fills your chest. You have missed him.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, his free hand coming up to wipe away the flood of salty liquid still dripping from your eyes, “You’re okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You blink at him. You aren’t sure how Yoongi got here — or how you got here, honestly — but all the emotions you have been put through today come to a head and you settle on anger once more. You glare at him, this boy who has pushed you away and abandoned you until this very moment when it is almost too late. His smile falters and you can’t say you aren’t happy to see it.

“Oh, you can get it over with too, you asshole,” you spit again, “Jimin said you went all the way to Daegu to get away from me. You didn’t have to come all the way back just because I almost died. A breakup text would have been fine.”

They’ve given you painkiller and you can tell because you’re starting to ramble but you can’t stop. You desperately wish you could fall back into your dream where Yoongi would hold you and whisper the sweet things. You don’t want to be awake for this part.

“y/n, I know you’re mad—”

“MAD?” you screech, “Mad is an understatement. How are you gonna abandon me when that’s the ONE THING you were so afraid I was gonna do to you? Mad, tch! Why did you even come back? How did you get in here?”

“Do you…?” he trails off, looking very uncertain and suddenly very boyish. Your heart thumps uncomfortably in response. He’s making that little pout that has had girls swooning for a decade and suddenly you notice the cut across his cheekbone and the bruise blossoming across the bridge of his nose.

You jerk against your restraints to grab his face but you are securely locked in place. He presses his lips together and finishes his question, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you nearly shout, “What happened to your face?”

His hand springs back from your face and he goes to touch a cut at the corner of his mouth that you failed to notice. He must see the frantic look in your eyes because he is quick to shrug it off, “It’s nothing. I got into a little confrontation on my way up here. I’m fine. Honestly, you should look in the mirror because you really look like shit.”

He’s deflecting. You’ll allow it for the moment because the longer you are out of your delusions, the more you realize you actually are safe, and now you have other questions that need answering.

“Gee, thanks, pretty sure my psycho ex-manager just tried to kill me so I would expect nothing less,” you tell him sardonically, “You wouldn’t happen to know how I got out of that mess, would you?”

He smiles, relief flooding his features that you aren’t pressing him about his own injuries, and says, “Well, I was on the train back from Daegu when the girls found you missing. They thought one of the boys had tried to break you out of jail but they were secretly trying to keep you here too until I could get here—”

You cut him off, “What do you mean until you got there? Is that why Jimin was taking so long? You were really coming back to break up with me?”

You can’t help it. The tears are welling up in your eyes again. His eyes bug out and his hands are suddenly aflutter around your face as if there’s some secret button hidden there that he can push to stop you from crying. He wipes at your eyes and then carefully presses both palms to either side of your face, making you look at him.

“Are you stupid?” he asks. Your despair shifts back into rage but he doesn’t give you time to speak, “I was coming back for you. Because I was stupid to have ever left you in the first place and I was coming to beg you for your forgiveness and to promise you that I would never leave you again unless you wanted me to go. And to tell you that I love you.”

You squirm, trying to alleviate the sudden soaring of butterflies in your core, but it disturbs your injuries which suddenly light up in flames of pain. Yoongi sighs, peeling one hand from your face to press his palm flat against your stomach so you’ll stop moving. It doesn’t stop the butterflies from their maddening dance.

“You are a terrible boyfriend,” you mumble. He nods in agreement.

“The absolute worst. I’m so, so sorry, y/n. I should have been here with you. I should never have left your side from the moment I dropped you off from the arcade. Then you wouldn’t be like… this.”

You see the glassy look come into his eyes and the lump bobbing in his throat and you realize he’s about to start crying too. He’s been blaming himself for this awful chain of events ever since that night and he never gave you the chance to tell him it was always inevitable.

You wish you could lift your arms and pull him down against you. That you could stroke your fingers through his hair and calm the ache that must be tearing through his chest. You frown at him and ask, “Are you stupid?”

“What?!”

“You cannot blame yourself for anything that Mark does. If you had been there that night, that guy could’ve killed you. If you had been here at the hospital, Mark still would have come. He still would have waited until I was all alone and he would have taken me. This wouldn’t have turned out any different so stop blaming yourself.

“It’s probably not even your fault that Mark found me in the first place. If he had Lauren’s twitter and Lauren’s phone number, that means he probably found me months ago. He’s probably known all along. He was just waiting for the perfect moment, okay? There was nothing you could have done,” you tell him.

He takes a moment to consider this and then lets out a long sigh, “I should have been here.”

“You should have,” you agree, “Speaking of my would be murderer, what happened?”

“Oh,” Yoongi says as if he has completely forgotten about that asshole, Mark, and then he scowls, “Well, the police arrested him and I actually caught him in the elevator on my way up to you… which is why my face looks like this.”

“Yoongi!!” you cry.

He throws his head back and laughs, “It was worth it! Honestly, y/n, you should see his face. These are actually from one of the police officers trying to get me off of him. Mark looks a lot worse!”

“He’s gonna sue you for assault,” you scold him, wishing more than ever that you could reach for his face and erase the marks left there.

“That’s fine,” Yoongi says with a shrug, “I’m rich, remember? And nobody is going to be upset with me for throttling a man who tried to murder my girlfriend. I won’t even get negative press over this, okay? And it made me feel a lot better knowing he was hurting after what he did to you. He’ll never hurt you again.”

His nostrils are flared and there is hatred in his dark eyes. You sigh, upset that he risked getting hurt for you but so overwhelmed by the fact that he cares enough for you to have done it in the first place.

“I love you, Yoongi” you whisper.

Your words catch him off guard and he stares down at you blankly for a long moment. You wait, patient for the first time in your life, for your words to register and when they do, he breaks out in his wide, gummy grin.

“I know you’re still mad at me,” he starts, his fingers fiddling the fabric of the hospital gown at your waist. There’s a fire starting down there that makes you want to squirm for relief but you don’t dare move. He presses his lips together, thinking carefully of how to make his request, and asks, “Do you think I could start making it up to you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

He leans down, the one hand still pressed to your stomach, the other gently caressing your face, and presses his lips softly to yours. He’s kissed you before. Shy kisses in his bed the night you finally confessed your feelings to each other and more frenzied makeouts in dark corners of loud arcade rooms. Coffee laced kisses on early mornings. Lazy kisses in his studio that you’ve mentioned to no one.

But you are determined that this one should top all the others.

You open your mouth to let his tongue tangle with yours and sigh when his fingers move to loop not so gentle knots in your hair. Your fingers curl, aching to hold him but secured firmly at your sides, and you break the kiss briefly to whine at him about the straps holding you down.

He laughs a husky, breathless chuckle that catches in his throat. It’s not fair that he holds all the power in this exchange though, and you demand to be freed. Kissing the tip of your nose affectionately, he loosens the strap around your torso just enough for you to slip your arms free.

You do, snaking them around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the base of his neck as you pull him as close to you as you can manage. It is a mixture of pain and pleasure as the weight of him jostles your injuries but you don’t want him anywhere else.

Your lips meet again hungrily and you don’t waste time parting them. Your tongues dance as if they’re meeting for the first time and a low moan hums in your throat. Yoongi pulls back, his dark eyes fiery with his desire for you.

“Oh god, y/n,” he gasps, “You can’t make noises like that when you’re injured like this. I’m going to get carried away and forget to be gentle with you.”

You only laugh and coax his lips back down to yours. You’d like to trace your lips across his jaw… and down his neck… and lower… and lower… but you settle for letting him explore your mouth instead. His hand, splayed across your stomach, begins to explore too and the fire in your core grows almost too intense.

You gently bite at his lip, a warning to cool it when you both know you can’t go much farther than this in the condition you’re in. He pulls back, whispering an apology against your lips, and you decide to offer him a promise in return, “I heal fast, sir. And when I do, I don’t want you to be gentle with me at all.”

He whimpers and it’s all the satisfaction you need.

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hex-obsession · 3 years

Text

Silver Lining - Two

word count- 2,259

content warning- language, angst, indirect s**cidal thought

____________________________________________

Crows cawing, your eyes open just enough to hazily make out the all too familiar color of your room.

“Early bird gets the worm, you know,” a familiar voice murmurs. Pushing off the wall to your right, your body slides diagonally over your bed, your head dangling off the side. Upside down, Cheryl is slumped against your door frame, arms and legs crossed. Brazen as usual, just the way you loved her. You held your own in most regards but Cheryl was always there when you least expected it and needed her most. You swear there were a halo atop that adorable shaggy blonde head of hers. And not one of those tacky event items either.

“Like I’d get anything any time of day with all the birds around here.” A tickling squeeze builds in your abdomen, branching up your neck to your cheeks which now had a telling pink glow.

“So you gonna talk to old lover boy yet or what?”

You jolt forward and whip around fast enough to make any killer miss a swing. Your response is unnecessary as she’s already smirking devilishly, aware of what she’s doing. She might have been your closest friend but that did not stop her from tormenting you, or anyone else that crossed her path. All in good fun and love, of course. It went without saying that you enjoyed it and she knew when it was, rarely, time to pack it up.

Raising her eyebrows, she leans back and throws her hands up. “I’m just saying, if you don’t, you might lose your chance. That’s all I’m saying,” quieter now.

You sighed. She was right. You weren’t the only one who took a liking to Leon. But, unlike you, Yun-Jin did not hide her feelings, from anyone for any reason, ever. Of course, everyone thought he was charismatic and most, undeniably handsome. That was common knowledge. You ran out of things to talk about in a place like this, and secrets were few and far between. There was no reason to hide here. This was your foreseeable future, together. There was no getting out, no changing things. Being open and sharing everything together made your day to day bearable. The connections you lost in your old lives left gaping holes, but together as one tightly knit, weird, fucked up family, you helped fill the voids. Some took longer than others to accept that fate, and there were some inevitable hiccups, but everyone came around eventually.

Anyone who wasn’t blind could see the attraction Yun-Jin had for the newest addition to your group. Placing her hands on him in conversation whenever she got the chance, laughing a little too hard at the things he said, biting her bottom lip and smiling at him when he talked. You’d even caught her pecking his cheek playfully here and there. He’d always smile and look away, as if it were a game. Leon always had a sultry attitude to him, a ladies' man no doubt. Subtly flirting with everyone was just commonplace for him. That was part of the reason you held back. Fearing you missed your chance and someone else had filled the role you longed to be in. Maybe it was your fear of rejection or abandonment, or not wanting to lose something this important in a world as cruel and bare this. You were subconsciously working hard to convince him you were only a friend. Which you were, definitely friends. Close even, given the circumstances. Trauma bonding does one hell of a number to the timeline of friendship. Still, you sensed zero difference in his behavior toward you versus the others. Which, admittedly, was quite the letdown. Nonetheless, you had nothing to lose by casually admitting your feelings for him. Keep it light and airy and there would be no reason for things to change on the chance he didn’t feel the same. After all, you surely weren’t the only one with a harmless little crush. That’s all it was. Right? So what if you constantly day-dream about him holding you so close he might consume you, kissing you with four times the passion the Notebook tried to capture, never leaving your side regardless of what the future held. His taste, his smell… what his cock would feel like ramming into your cervix. Your brain was one giant knot, constantly distracting you and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it. Except tell him, but keep it simple.

By your calculations, it was November 18th. You’d been keeping track, not sure if it made things better or worse. Your third anniversary in this place was not far off. Despite being a literal nightmare, it had its perks. Your need for food was no more, as well as your other bodily needs. Sickness was a quickly forgotten annoyance of the past. You stayed in this eerily perfect state. Makeup never crusty, hair never oily and always smelling of your favorite fruit. The dirt and blood you’d acquire during trials magically disappeared upon return. You had a handful of outfits to rotate but there was no real need. Another upside, there were no severe temperatures here. Jackets, shorts, sandals, snow boots if you were Nea. You were always mostly comfortable. Even on Ormond where snow blanketed the ground, those gusts of wind should have sent chills right through you, but they didn’t. It felt like living in a dream or a, simulation. Just, where you’re hunted all day and night for the rest of your existence. At least death wasn’t permanent. Sometimes you’d wish it was, just to escape.

Several months have passed since Leon and Jill were introduced to your world. You had inside jokes and more close calls than you could both count. You were a damn good team and got along smoother than melted butter. What were you waiting for? You inhaled sharply and broke your stare out the window.

“I’m gonna do it.”

To no avail, your deep breaths failed to remedy the painful pounding in your chest, or the heat radiating from your face. Nevertheless, you marched out to the campfire to seek out Yun-Jin. As selfish as you wanted to be with Leon, she was your friend, and you held that in high regard. She was easy to spot in a crowd given her loud attire, but wasn’t around the fire. Which lead to your next realization; neither was Leon. Your throat tightened, heart still pounding. You set off a little too quickly to find her, or them. First stop was Ace’s shack. Judging based on appearances, you figured he would be one of the last people she associated with. Quite the opposite, they were dear friends. Not connected at the hip per se, like her and Claudette, but they related to one another's childhoods. Trauma bonding, can't beat it. To your dismay, the shack was empty, a seed of despair planting in your stomach. Maintaining the most convincing composure you could, you continue your search. Heading left down the line of shacks, robust laughter grows closer. You’d know that laugh anywhere. Cutting through the row, David and Felix are reclined under a tree. They were one of the few monogamous couples among you. The others being Nancy and Steve, and Adam and Zarina. You understood the allure of being romantically involved with more than one person, especially given your less-than-ideal situation, but it wasn’t for you.

“Hi y/n!” Felix shouted toward you.

Not wanting to stop and chat given your current objective, you flashed a cheeky smile and waved to them. Before they could get another word out, you dipped back behind the row of houses. Nerves getting the best of you, you parted your lips to breathe through your mouth. Every breath burned your lungs, realizing now all the times you brushed off your feelings have come back to haunt you. You should never have waited this long. At this point you would be more than willing, desperate, to share Leon. Refusing to let your anxiety get the best of you, you ball your fists and dig your nails into your palms to get a grip on yourself. There was one more place they could possibly be. A sliver of premature acceptance wedged itself into your train of thought as you trudged toward your own shack. Leon’s was adjacent to yours. Feeling foolish for not checking earlier, you round the corner to the opening. As much as you wish you could close your eyes, they were pinned open with anticipation. Looking up from your feet you were shocked to see an empty room before you. Relief and confusion replace your foreboding. Too much time had already been wasted, so you return to the campfire.

“Hey, have you seen Leon or Yun-Jin anywhere?” you, as calmly as possible, ask Élodie.

“They got pulled a little bit ago babe.” She was intently focused on Jane, her concentration not broken. “Which do you like more, up or down?” her gaze still fixated on Jane.

You have to either keep the courage you finally mustered until they get back or give yourself emotional whiplash by releasing until they do. You hesitate for a moment, but to hide your disappointment you quickly retort, “Up, definitely up. Gotta distract the killer with that beautiful face you know?”

“Like they're looking at her face and not that dumptruck ass!” Élodie howls. Jane facetiously puts her fingertips to her chin and looks upward, a façade of innocence no one here would ever buy. You can't help but giggle despite your inner turmoil.

“Well hey,” you add through chuckles, “when they're back can you please send her my way?”

“Sure thing babe,” Élodie assures, finally turning to meet your gaze.

A horrible nauseating mix of dismal, relieving, lewd thoughts of Leon swirl in your mind as you wait for Yun-Jin to step into the doorway. You knew you liked him but holy shit, where did this come from? The realization slapped you in the face. Try to blame infatuation all you want, not that you did, but it was so painfully evident now you were dumbfounded.

A soft knock jerked you out of your thoughts. “Hiya y/n, what's going on?”

Her delicate eyes effortlessly comforted you from across the room.

“I...” your eyes now glued to the floor beneath your feet, a reservoir of tears barely being held back, “I need to know how you feel about Leon.” Your nerves went haywire just uttering his name to her. An icy splash of chills surged from your head to your feet as your chest panged with dread.

“Well of course I like him,” her brow furrowed ever so slightly.

All that could escape your mouth was, “Oh.” Emptiness, despair replacing the jealous unease you felt before. Tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably, feelings that danced around menacingly finally coming to a head.

At the sight of your distress, she rushed to sit next to you. “Honey, what’s going on?” her voice barely above a whisper.

You were ashamed for breaking down in front of her, afraid of guilting her for something that was not her fault, and now terrified Leon might follow her here, only to find you undone over him. You jerk your head up to face her and blurt out, “Jinny I think I love him,” face sopping wet with untouched tears.

She raises her eyebrows and smiles at you. “Honey I have fun toying with him all in good nature but there’s no connection there.” Your heart thuds against your ribcage. “Sure, I’ll admit he’s attractive, who wouldn’t, but I have nowhere near the same feelings for him that you evidently do.” She uses both hands to cup your face and pushes as much wetness as she can aside with her thumbs. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Not only to me but to him!” Despite being similar in age, she feels like a mother to you. Caring for a child, your own or not, will do that to you. That’s not a trait you lose over time.

“I’m so afraid,” you softly whimper, “of what he would say, what you would say.” You're picking at your cuticles, a habit you acquired during puberty as an outlet for your overwhelming feelings.

She wraps her arms around you, carefully as to not tarnish her jacket with tears, which would definitely stain the material. “I was just having a little fun, and from what I’ve gathered, he was more so allowing it than participating. You know I love you all to death but I’m not looking for anything like that, definitely not here.” She gives you a squeeze, and suddenly you can breathe again, the air around you no longer dense and difficult to swallow. “Honey, go get him.”

“Oh Jesus, let me fix myself a little first at least,” the sudden relief causing you to laugh involuntarily.

You were grateful disease and ailments didn’t exist outside of the trials, if they had you're sure you would've had an aneurysm from the stress you went through in a matter of an hour. Yun-Jin left you to your thoughts, which were now solely you and Leon together, doing anything and everything you could think of. The rest of the day you contemplated telling him, more so, how to. Thankfully you didn’t have any trials together, you were far too disorganized for that right now. “Tomorrow,” you promise yourself. Nothing like a clear head and a night’s rest to help you be your most collected, confident self.

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Silver Lining masterlist

#leon x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #dbd smut #dbd fanfic #dbd fluff

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retrievablememories · 3 years

Text

afterdeath | lucas

title: afterdeath pairing: vampire!lucas x fairy!reader genre: angst, forbidden romance, fantasy, vampire!au request: May I request a Vampire!Lucas with a fairy!s/o (Forbidden romance perhaps?) word count: 8.6k warnings: descriptions of death and sickness, mentions of a funeral, viewing, and funerary preparations, major character death (but...with a slight twist), mentions of blood and drinking blood, smoking cigarettes, arguments/conflict, mentions of physical violence, some romeo and juliet elements? a/n: hmm this fic probably could’ve been more detailed but i was trying to avoid triggering my own damn self with so much talk of death...ha...not sure why i went this route but i wanted a forbidden romance with an actual decent ending for both characters and this was the first idea i had recommended songs: OLLA - jhené aiko

Year 1508

“We’ve felled the demon!”

“Indeed, we have!”

Cheers ring through the dawn as a large group of fairies dance around an immense bonfire, raising their shouts of celebration to the sky. Within the fire burns the body of the Primitiva Vampire, the One and Only Pureblood, haphazardly thrown over the wood pile and relieved of her head—which sits near the bottom of the burning mass of wood, her face still twisted in a mien of anger.

As the sky begins turning lighter with the onset of sunrise, the fairies continue their celebration, staying close to the fire all the while. They carry large flaming torches to guard against any of the Primitiva Vampire’s followers who might try to sneak upon them and strike in that sliver of space where the sun has yet to rise.

The Primitiva Vampire had a long reign of terrorizing fairies and turning humans and other supernatural creatures into vampires. Each transformed being became a terrible revenant, one which viciously hunted villages and stole into people’s homes for more blood, more death, and more unwilling adherents to the vampiric cult.

Mass numbers of fairies had been decimated once the vampires first tasted their blood and took a unique liking to it. For over 200 years, the carnage continued on at the hand of the Primitiva Vampire, who had one day blinked into existence in a way that could never really be explained by any conceivable means, either human or magic. And without ever giving a hint to her strange conception, she tore across cities and towns, converting others into night creatures like herself and building a loyal following of half-bedeviled beings.

When fairy populations had dwindled to nearly extinction-level quantities, they were left no other choice—fight back or be wiped completely from the universe’s ledger. So they took up arms, honed their magic skills, and did just that.

And now, all their efforts culminate in this blood-stained morning. It marks a much-anticipated moment of revelry before they have to return to their posts to watch for the night creatures inevitably waiting on the other side of the sunset, ready to avenge their slain Goddess.

Present Day

“You probably shouldn’t be here right now.”

“I wanted to come,” Lucas replies, taking your hand is his large one. “I wanted to see you.”

“I can figure that.” You laugh quietly, a little afraid to let your voice rise higher in case it carries too far. “But that doesn’t mean you should’ve come.”

Lucas holds your hand tightly. His skin is cold against yours due to his slow blood, and colder still from the chill permeating the air. It’s only one of many vampiric traits that the other fairies would think of as strange or barbaric, but you don’t see it that way. The chilliness just reminds you solely of him.

“Well, I missed you. And I’m here now, so you’ll just have to deal with me.”

The building you’re standing behind is damp, old, and dilapidated, and it’s not even one of your pre-designated meeting places. In front of you is a rusted chain link fence, which barricades a field of tall and unkempt grass. More aged and crumbling buildings scatter themselves across the distance, taken over by grass and climbing vines.

You don’t know what’s out here. This is one place within your district you haven’t been to before. It was Lucas’s idea to come here, after your last meeting place had nearly been discovered and he found it too risky to keep going there.

The entire city of Beijing is split up into different districts, each belonging to a different faction of supernatural beings. Some nonhuman races have close ties with each other and allow frequent cross-district mingling; others are sworn enemies, forbidden to fraternize with each other under pain of death. In these latter cases, crossing into another’s territory without express permission—or in rare situations, ties to a powerful ally (or allies) on the other side—is asking to get arrested, injured, or worse.

Lucas would be your tie to the vampire side and you his tie to the fairy side if your species weren’t centuries-long enemies. Instead, you’re relegated to having him sneak in and out of your district and hide what he is with blood-scent blockers and eye contacts to make the trickery easier to get away with. There’s only so much you can do to disguise your fae nature; stepping into vampire territory would turn you into a shining beacon.

“Hmm…” you sigh, shaking your head with a small smile on your face. You grasp Lucas’s hand so you’re now holding it with both of yours. “How long do you think we can keep this up? Going from place to place like this. Hiding like criminals.”

Lucas gives a lopsided grin—one that cannot morph into a full smile because of the sadness coloring it. “I don’t know. Forever, if we’re lucky.” He chuckles.

You stare at your intertwined hands, unaware of the sheer intensity of the longing expression on your face, though Lucas sees it clearly. It threatens to burn his heart to ash. “Unfortunately, fae don’t live forever like you do, so maybe not. Besides, your people would probably find out and come after me before we could even settle into a ‘forever.’”

He shakes his head fretfully at your words, squeezing your hand. “Do we have to talk about all that now? You know we don’t have much time together. Let’s just enjoy it for what it is.” Lucas pulls you into him, tucking your head into his shoulder.

“That’s fine by me,” you say, and resist the urge to make some dark joke about how scandalous it is for a fairy to have their neck so close to a vampire’s mouth—or a vampire’s anything.

You both stay together in that dingy and old spot for a while, talking in the dark until he tells you he has to go. He follows you the whole way back home to ensure you’re safe, keeping to the shadows until he sees you disappear past your front door. Then, he slips away again to head back to the familiar manor in his own district.

It’s nearly morning when Lucas gets back to the large house he shares with the other six men. By this time of day, he knows they will either be in bed or getting ready to turn in.

“Still visiting that fairy, I see.”

The unexpected voice doesn’t scare Lucas, but it does make his body tense up a bit in irritation and a slight sense of anticipation. He sighs and stops in his tracks on the way to his room, though he doesn’t face the clan leader just yet.

“Is that a problem? Because you know I’m not going to stop.”

Kun makes a noise of disbelief. “Of course it is. You know what the consequences are if anyone outside of us finds out.” Lucas turns to him slightly, and the look on Kun’s face is more disappointment—maybe even slight fear?—than anger. “I clearly can’t stop you from doing what you want to, but I can’t help you if the Association gets involved.”

Lucas rocks back on his heels and sighs, rolling his eyes at the mention of the vampire organization. “Fuck the Association. They’re nothing but a bunch of old ass hags who have no purpose in their lives other than ruling over every other vampire in the world.”

Kun looks weary at his words. “You really don’t care, do you, Xuxi. They’d have your heart on a stake if they ever heard that.” He pauses and rolls his eyes. “They’re also not that much older than me, so I wonder who you’re calling an ‘old ass hag’...”

“Isn’t it a good thing that they won’t hear it, then?” Lucas laughs, but it’s not an entirely humorous sound, and he gives Kun a searching look as his chuckles die off.

“Don’t look at me like that. I have no interest in telling them anything, mostly because I also have no interest in our whole clan being wiped out.”

Lucas nods, reaffirming his somewhat shaky but still present trust in Kun, needing the regular reassurances for his own calm. He stretches his arms above his head and takes a few steps like he’ll go to his room, though he doesn’t move to leave just yet. “Just don’t see what the big deal about all this is. All this over some ancient bloodsucker who died like 500 years ago...who cares.”

Kun winces again, though he doesn’t bother with reprimanding Lucas this time; he only shakes his head and sighs heavily like it’s already a lost cause. “A vampire and a fairy together is more than blasphemy—it’s ridiculous. It’s illogical. They all think we’re bloodsucking demons hellbent on killing them.”

“To be fair, there’s definitely a sect of vampire zealots or two who are trying to do exactly that despite the laws.”

Kun sighs. Lucas is right; what can he say to argue that? “Xuxi…”

“I’m telling you I’ll be fine, Kun-ge. You don’t need to worry about me and Y/N. Things have been going fine for this long.” Lucas nods, then heads off to his room for real this time. Kun watches him leave, feeling a lot less reassured than the younger man.

Ten takes Xiaojun and Lucas on one of their weekly outings to a blood lounge. Blood lounges are an easy and accessible way for vampires to get blood, though the legalities of this practice are a little muddy. Before getting with you, Lucas didn’t mind drinking straight from the source—going to one of the back rooms and sucking some willing, vulnerable being just to the point of death—but now, it feels like a type of transgression. Drinking someone else’s blood can be an intensely intimate act, on the same level as sex depending on the context, and he doesn’t want to do anything to make you think he’d be unfaithful.

To his fortune, there is no club rule about having to feed off other beings; many vampires take their blood in fancy champagne glasses, just like drinks in a human club. He does that now as the three men sit in a darkly lit booth.

Their conversation is unexciting for a while, with Lucas keeping careful not to mention you or any of his recent visits to your district to avoid any prying ears in the lounge. However, things soon get interesting. “We all know how Renjun got taken off the Association’s Registry a year ago, right?” Ten asks suddenly.

“Yes, of course.” Xiaojun answers like he’s already bored of this turn in the conversation. “That’s what happens whenever a vampire dies.”

Ten nods, but his eyes are wide like he has a secret he’s itching to tell. “But I don’t think he actually died.”

Lucas’s ears perk up at that.

“Why?” Xiaojun asks.

“He was seeing that human before he supposedly died, you know—”

“The one who lost it and drove the stake in his heart? We all know how it happened—”

“Can you let me finish? Anyway, I’ve heard some...suggestions that he faked his death—that maybe he got a magic user to set the whole crime scene up and make it look like it was real. Illusory magic, or something like that.”

Xiaojun sits forward. “A magic user. As in a fairy? Or a witch? Who?”

“I don’t know, just someone who uses magic. People are starting to think he and the human faked it all and ran away to Tianjin. I heard someone even claimed they saw somebody who resembled him when they went to Tianjin recently, though I don’t know how true that is…”

Xiaojun’s interest is thoroughly engaged now. “Think the Association will go looking for him, if it's true?”

“I don’t know if they’d care enough to hunt down an unregistered vampire who’s laying low and not creating chaos with other citizens. We all know Tianjin is way more relaxed about inter-species relationships, too. But the Association doesn’t like looking stupid. And that kind of trick definitely makes them look stupid.”

Lucas sits back, taking all of this information in. He is uncharacteristically quiet, but he doesn’t know what to make of that situation or why Ten is telling them about it. He thinks he can guess why, though, by the way Ten’s gaze lingers on him, and that scares him a little. The way this rumor piques a forbidden interest in him scares him. Lucas lifts the glass of blood to his lips and drinks from it, trying to distract himself from the current conversation.

“All this for a damn human. Only an idiot would try something like that,” Xiaojun says, shaking his head.

“Maybe a smart one. It did get him off the Registry.”

“How can you be a smart idiot?!” Ten and Xiaojun start arguing over the semantics of the term, and Lucas watches them in amusement, though his mind remains in two different places for the rest of their time in the blood lounge.

—

Later that night when they are back at the manor, Lucas pulls Ten aside, just like the older man expected him to.

“What’s wrong?” Ten asks, though his expression shows he already knows exactly what’s the matter.

“You...the stuff you said about Renjun earlier. I…” Lucas doesn’t know how to start or break his idea to him softly, so he decides to just say it. “Is it really possible?”

“I think it’s possible. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to get off the Registry…though many other attempts were way less successful.” Then Ten hesitates before saying, “You could try it.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” Ten’s expression softens a little. “I know you and Y/N love each other a lot, but there’s no way the Association will ever let you stay together if they find out. Y/N’s life could actually be in danger. Both of you are, every moment you spend together while living in these districts. If you really want to stay with Y/N, then…”

“...But I wouldn’t be able to see any of you again.” You and Lucas have become so entwined with one another that he can hardly imagine a life without you, but he also finds it difficult to picture his existence without his brothers. They’ve become like blood family to him over the last couple centuries.

“Yeah.” Ten sighs deeply, and although his reply is short, Lucas knows that one word is carrying the weight of all of his stress and sorrow about the idea. “Maybe we could find a way to visit you sometimes. Get the fairies or witches to do some of their magicky shit.” Ten laughs quietly. “But...it’s still just an idea. You don’t have to do it.”

Lucas shakes his head slowly. He wants to put the idea to bed and try to continue on with his life, managing his clandestine visits to your district when he can. But now that he knows of an alternative way, no matter how unreasonable or unbelievable it is, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget about it. “Kun-ge is going to kill you once he finds out this was your suggestion. You know that, right?”

Ten shrugs, and the sadness lifts momentarily in the curve of his lips. “He can try.”

The next time you and Lucas meet up, it’s in yet another different place under an ancient and mostly abandoned bridge. As a precaution, you stand together underneath the darkness of the bridge and stay out of sight, though there are few chances of anyone being around to see you in the first place.

He has to muster up the courage to tell you of his idea, unsure of how you’ll react or what you’ll think of it. It’s a lot to ask of you. Your kinships and friendships are not as extensive as his, only having a brother and two cousins left in the world, but he doesn’t know if he could ever ask you to leave them behind like this. Or if he could shake off the guilt that would remain from it.

“There might be a way for us to change things…” Lucas starts, skipping the build-up because he knows it would take him forever to think of something appropriate to say. “But I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Change things?” You glance at him curiously. You wish you could see the deep red of his irises, but they are hidden behind his brown contacts. “As in, with us?”

“Yes. So that maybe we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. Or at least...not sneak around as much as we do now.”

“What is it?” you ask. Despite yourself, your wings flutter against your back as wonder and excitement rise in your chest. You and Lucas have waxed poetic many times before about how you wish things could be different; and neither of you have ever been able to come up with a workable plan. But now, his claim that maybe something is possible has you dangerously curious.

“Taking myself off the Registry. I could basically just...disappear. The Association can’t harm what technically no longer exists.”

You stare at him in confusion. “But you can’t do that, right? Only under special circumstances…”

Lucas sees the question in your eyes and nods. “Right. Like if I die…” You flinch, shaking your head immediately. “...or pretend I’ve died.” This makes you pause, not expecting to hear something like that come from him.

“Pretend...you’ve died. Faking your own death?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but...there’s another vampire who we think has done it before. And...it worked. Supposedly.”

You shake your head again, but you turn the idea over in your mind. “How would you even do that? Someone would have to know you’re not really dead. That can’t be as easy as it sounds...”

Lucas swallows hard. “I know, it doesn’t, but maybe if we plan it right...I think we could pull this off. Some of the others...already know about it.” Only Ten, really, but that’ll inevitably change soon.

Your heart is hammering in your chest just thinking about this plan—the small, undefined plan that it is—and you’re unsure how to approach it. “If we leave under those circumstances, we can’t come back here to Beijing. Which means we won’t see anyone else again, our families and friends...”

“You understand that.” Lucas’s voice comes out strained.

You sigh, wringing your hands. “I do.”

Lucas hangs his head, closing his eyes tightly. “It’s too much to ask of you. We can just forget about this, really. I know sneaking around has been difficult, and I just—”

“I never said I wouldn’t agree to it,” you say softly, interrupting him before he can begin deriding himself about the idea.

Lucas’s head perks up again, and you both look at each other for a long moment. A cold night breeze flows through your clothes and rustles your wings, which remain tucked close against your back.

“Just think of it as leaving the nest, I guess,” you say, though there are tears welling in your eyes. “Growing up and making a life for ourselves. We can do that...right?”

Lucas bites his lip and closes his eyelids to stave off the tears trying to form in his own eyes. “Yeah. We can do that. Even if it’s a bit...unconventional.”

You nod hurriedly, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands before any more tears can make their way out. “If you really want to do this, then we need to visit my brother.”

—

Your brother is predictably not thrilled about the idea. He likes Lucas well enough, but he’s never been very good at hiding his skepticism about your relationship. Though he would never say this to you directly, he never expected your relationship to make it past a few months; and yet it’s been a year and a half since you and Lucas started seeing each other. Maybe he’d be glad about your relationship’s stability if your partner was anyone other than a vampire. Alas, he instead spends all his time stressing over whether either of you will be found out at any moment’s notice.

“You’re playing with fire,” your brother says as he sits down at his desk within his apothecary office. He shakes his head the entire time, but he rifles through his collection of books on magic anyway. If there is anyone who knows a potion or spell that could work for this scheme and would actually be willing to keep it all secret, it’s your brother.

“I know that, Aldriel.” You cross your arms, sighing impatiently at your brother’s continuous reprimands since you’ve stepped through his door. “That’s why we came to you. You’re one of the best magic wielders and potionists around.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. No need to blow smoke up my ass,” Aldriel replies, never one to let a moment to brag slip away. He continues flipping through his book fast enough to make the words on the pages blur, his brow creased with focus. He is paying attention to the words and pictures on the pages, though you also know him well enough to realize this is him trying to distract himself from the many thoughts that must be crowding his brain.

“Don’t be so worried about it,” you say, trying to speak against the lump that’s suddenly forming in your throat. “You’ve always complained about wanting me out of your hair, anyway.”

Aldriel pauses in flipping through his spell book to look directly at you now, his brows creased even further and his face creating a visage of bitter desperation. “Not like this.”

Sighing, you turn away from him and let him go back to his textbook, knowing you’d probably start to cry if you look at him any longer. And who knows what will happen once that begins.

You go back to Lucas, who is sitting in the other room with his face turned to the window. It is nighttime and the blinds are closed, so you know he’s not looking at anything in particular. His mind must be similarly preoccupied.

“You okay?” you ask, touching his arm.

“Fine,” he answers, though he doesn’t turn to you. He just grasps your hand where it slides down to his own, gripping your fingers tightly. “As fine as I can be in this situation, I guess.”

You sit down in front of Lucas on the floor’s intricately decorated rug, resting your head against his knee. “It’ll be okay.” You aren’t sure of the words when they leave your lips, but you have to believe in them or else all will be lost.

—

You both spend a few hours at Aldriel’s place. At one point, you try to prod Lucas into going back to his clan to avoid raising suspicions for being gone too long—you can just get the potion to him some other day—but he insists it’ll be easier for him to stay and receive the potion now.

Finally, in the hour before dawn, your brother’s door opens and he steps through. “It’s ready.”

Both you and Lucas come alert at that, and you step back into Aldriel’s apothecary to see what he’s developed.

“This is an advanced death glamor potion,” your brother says, holding up a small glass bottle. “It contains a magic incantation that will leave you dead for a week and only a week. Seven days. Your body will remain in perfect stasis, so there’s no risk of the regular side effects that come with death.”

“A week?” you repeat, nervousness coursing through your body. Lucas looks equally apprehensive, and he squeezes your hand tighter.

Aldriel nods, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “That should be enough time to take care of the funeral arrangements and make everyone else think you’ve passed.” He says the last bit while gesturing to Lucas. “I’m not super clear on how vampire funerary customs work, though, so—”

Lucas nods. “No, it’ll work. That’s enough time.”

Your brother’s mouth creases into a thin line. “Good.” He passes the vial to Lucas, makes an expression like he might say something else, and then shakes his head, glancing to you instead. “You plan to go to Tianjin, right?”

“That’s right,” you say quietly.

“You’ll need to find a place to stay, then, until you can get one of your own. And I think we both know exactly where that will be.”

The potion works just as Aldriel said it would. It’s hard to know whether to be dismayed or relieved about this, though the former emotion quickly wins out with everyone.

Lucas takes it a week after meeting with your brother and procuring all the necessary fake documents, claiming it’s best not to wait any longer for it. You feel apprehensive about doing it so soon; or maybe you just want to stall for a little while longer. By now the other five men in his clan all know, each with varying reactions to it but ultimately unable to do anything to change his mind—not even Kun.

On the night Lucas uses the potion, Kun makes one last ditch attempt at reasoning.

“You don’t need to go to this extreme,” the older man insists. Though his voice is cold and sharp and deceptively calm, his entire face is a picture of perfect anger. Everyone had already had their turns talking to Lucas alone and telling him what they needed him to hear—and now it’s just Kun left.

“It’s my decision,” Lucas says, keeping his voice steadier than he feels. “I want to be with Y/N. There is no other way.”

“You’re endangering the entire clan with this. You’d throw us all away for one person?” Kun’s eyes are red-rimmed, but not just from the rage; Lucas knows he’s been crying. Lucas shuts his own eyes, his forehead creasing as he presses the pads of his fingers to his temples.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Lucas shakes his head, knowing he is treading on very dangerous waters with what he’s about to say. As if the situation weren’t already contentious enough. “You closed yourself off to love a long time ago. After Jingyi died. You just wouldn’t know.”

The vivid red hue of anger bleeds into Kun’s irises at the mention of his late human lover, and he has to make a very concentrated effort not to reach for the younger’s neck. “How dare you speak of her.”

Lucas opens his eyes again and looks directly at his elder now. “You’ve let the Association run your life too much,” he says, though the words come out sounding a bit defeated. He’s not even sure why he invokes Kun’s lover now; maybe he is trying to make the split easier by provoking the other man into hating him. “You’ve let them beat it into you that love is not worth trying for. What did you gain from that, in the end? But more loneliness.”

Lucas gets the breath knocked from him when Kun slams him up against the wall, and the unpleasant sound of wood splintering strikes against his eardrums. A long vertical crack forms in the wood behind Lucas, but not wide enough to make the wall separate completely. Not using his full strength, then, Lucas thinks to himself.

Kun looks for all the world like he might kill Lucas then and there without the younger man ever needing to take a potion—just bite his heart right out. He crumples Lucas’s shirt in his hands, fisting the fabric tightly enough to create small rips in it. His irises are the color of newly spilled arterial blood, and alongside the red rimming of his eyes from his earlier crying, it makes for an agonizing sight—one that sears itself into the back of Lucas’s mind. It’s made even worse by the new tears spilling down the older man’s face.

He chokes out through the tears, “You cannot do this. I raised you. You would have me destroyed twice?”

Lucas wishes he could shut every one of his senses off right now, but he can only manage to shut his eyes, once again, against the pain in the other man’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Kun-ge.”

—

After that, Lucas goes back to his own room and sits on the bed for a long time, replaying the events in his head and growing colder with the realization of what he’s about to do. He stares at the small vial on his dresser until he can’t stare at it anymore, and then he downs it all at once. He looks at the vial with renewed interest as it actually disappears once the fluid is gone, the glass evaporating away in the palm of his hand like water droplets under the sun. No evidence.

Lying on his side, he stares at the wall across from his bed and waits for the spell to begin working. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually his vision begins to blur, almost so imperceptibly that it’s difficult to realize until he notices everything in his field of view is doubled, objects bleeding out of their lines like pictures drawn by a drunken artist—there’s a strange ringing in his ears too, a sound on the edge of his hearing but still present, and he doesn’t know what any of it means, or if this is how other beings feel when they are on the brink of death—it’s frightening, and he feels a momentary pang of sympathy for other nonhumans and humans alike who have no choice but to experience this terrible ordeal at the closing of their lives—

It’s harder to keep his eyes open now, so he closes them and lets all sounds and sensations fade out of his hearing—he only holds one last memory of you in his mind, of the soft and filmy texture of your wings underneath his fingertips, of you laughing whole-heartedly at something silly he’d said, and he joins his hands together in the universal symbol of prayer even as they grow weaker, hoping and praying even to his cursed vampire ancestor that this won’t be the very last memory of you—

—

“Yes, he has...most certainly departed from this world.”

An Association council member known as Belial announces this to the room of men after doing a thorough check of Lucas’s body. His voice is distant and saddened. The texture of it is almost tangible, dragging everyone down with it like a physical thing—akin to a rock being dropped into a thin sheet. “Such a fledgling, too. Truly tragic and strange circumstances.” Belial stands beside the bed, shaking his head and looking down at the still form of the younger man as if he might discover an answer if he stares for long enough. “Was there no indication…?”

“He was probably exposed to bad blood,” Ten replies, his voice tense and quiet. Though Kun is clan leader, he doesn’t say anything at all, leaving all the dirty work of explaining the lie to Ten.

Belial’s gaze turns to Ten. He shifts his head slightly to turn his ear towards him, as if he didn’t understand what the other man said. “Bad...blood? As in death by blood weakness?”

The room feels like it’s been sucked of air once these words are spoken, and the younger men shift uncomfortably. Sicheng never lifts his gaze to look at Belial, though Yangyang’s eyes keep darting between Belial and Lucas on the bed like he’s waiting for something to happen. Hendery is just as anxious beside Yangyang, both of them passing uneasy energy between each other. Xiaojun’s face is still fixed into the same permanent frown it had been in since Lucas first told them of the plan. His eyes remain downcast and fixed on Lucas, silently asking Why did you have to be the idiot this time?

“Yes, blood weakness. He hadn’t drank as much blood as usual in the last few days...maybe he seemed a little restless...but we didn’t think it was unusual. He...didn’t seem sick.”

“Where would he have gotten bad blood from? We vampires always take such care…” Belial’s tone turns condescending, as if he could expect no better from a young vampire—someone not even wise enough to tell bad blood from uninfected blood. How could one let themselves be taken out of this world by such a fundamental, basic mistake? Kun curls his fingers into a fist at his side, though he quickly remembers himself and tries to let them relax.

“The blood lounge,” Hendery blurts out. Every eye turns to him now, and Ten’s mouth thins into an agitated line. This isn’t what they agreed on. “M-maybe it was spoiled blood from the blood lounge. It had to be. He’s more careful than that…”

Belial’s eyes are whirling with so many emotions that it’s hard to pin any singular one down. “Serving bad blood, with or without knowledge of it, is an incredible offense within any vampire district. In that case, the establishment must be shut down—after an exhaustive investigation, of course.” This statement causes more discomfort among the gathered men, almost too much of it to be properly concealed.

“I think that won’t be necessary,” Kun interjects quietly. Belial looks at him with an expression that reeks of offense, and Kun returns the stare, glaring straight into the elder vampire’s eyes. “He died of blood weakness, most likely from drinking from some disease-ridden human. Even though he used the blood lounge and blood bags, he was in the habit of getting outside blood on occasion. It was a moment of poor judgment that cost him his life...and nothing more than that.”

A tense silence stretches over the room, and Belial’s eyes still don’t leave Kun’s. The other men remain statue-still, waiting to see what will happen—if it will work—until Belial says, “Yes. Of course. I’ll file his passing with the Keepers of the Registry, as protocol states.”

The other men stay quiet and motionless until Belial departs from their house.

“You used your compulsion on a council member,” says Yangyang, and even his voice is trembling when he speaks.

“I didn’t think that was possible,” Xiaojun notes, though his tone is more irritated than awed. “They’re all so much more advanced.”

That action obviously didn’t come for free, though, because Kun is holding his head like it hurts, turning away from the rest of them. “Such recklessness is not my style. Primitiva help us all. We’re all dead if we’re found out.”

“Why did you say that,” Sicheng deadpans, his words directed to Hendery. Even though Sicheng hasn’t said or done anything since stepping into the room, he looks thoroughly exhausted. “You almost gave us away.”

Hendery holds himself up on the bed as if he’ll collapse, his body bent with all the weight of their lies. He makes a motion like he might sit on the bed before remembering it’s where Lucas’s body is resting, and he straightens himself with some effort. “I...but he was thinking badly of Lucas. Like it was his fault.”

“It was,” Kun says faintly.

“You can’t let your emotions get the best of you right now. Just let me handle the talking.” Ten’s expression is stressed, and for a moment he starts to wonder if he should’ve ever said anything to Lucas at all.

Xiaojun shakes his head. “For now, there is a lot more we need to do than just talking.”

Vampire funerary procedures are much different from what many other supernatural races are used to—even blasphemous to some. Everything is handled at the home of the deceased instead of a funeral home or mortuary, in keeping with the tradition of honoring one’s vampire ancestors—and ultimately, the Primitiva Vampire. After the Primitiva’s gruesome death hundreds of years ago, all that had been left was her ashes once the fire burned out, but her followers still gave the remains a proper processing and burial.

The men dress Lucas in one of his nicest suits and perform all the necessary actions that would be involved at a funerary home, including preparing the casket. All of them help throughout this process as tradition dictates, though it is more difficult than any of them expected it to be. (No one even makes a dark joke about you’ll have to do this for me when I’m gone, which speaks to their inner turmoil.)

The viewing is equally challenging to get through, if not more.

Many of their vampire friends and acquaintances attend, including various members of the Association. Everyone seems to buy the blood weakness lie perfectly, which means Kun’s compulsion worked as it should have. That knowledge does very little to relax any of them in the grand scheme of things, though.

Though they know Lucas is not really gone, the sight of him lying there in that dark coffin with other vampires looking sadly down at his still face and dabbing their tears away is deeply frightening.

The night of the viewing goes by at a glacial pace, and every other night after that up until the funeral passes even more slowly, like time itself has dropped its speed to prolong the torment.

When the last few straggling visitors for the viewing are gone, the men go their separate ways to try to deal with the not-so-small trauma of the day’s events. Kun goes up to one of the manor’s several wide balconies, one that they’ve all used as a familiar hangout spot or simply a place to unwind over the years. The sun will not rise for another forty-five minutes or so, giving him enough time to sit and think before it becomes unsafe. He is not very surprised when he finds Ten already there, though he decides not to leave.

“You stopped smoking three decades ago,” Kun comments, waving his hand in a pitiful attempt to clear out the smell of smoke filling the air. There’s no hint of teasing or personality in his voice, only hollowness and exhaustion. He sits beside the other man in one of the chairs sat outside. “Where did you even get cigarettes from?”

“Don’t worry about me. This is just for the nerves.”

“Why would I worry, it’s not like you can—” Kun pauses before saying the word they both know, realizing it hits far too close to home right now. Silence falls between them until Kun asks, “Do you actually believe this will be worth it?”

“It will. We’ve worked too hard for it not to be.” Ten takes a drag from his cigarette. “We’re giving them a second chance. Isn’t that something to feel good about?”

“A second chance. How interesting.”

“Everyone deserves one.” Ten glances at Kun from the corners of his eyes and doesn’t say anything more, but Kun already knows what he’s vaguely implying.

“And yet everyone doesn’t get one.”

“All the more reason to take the opportunity when it becomes possible.”

Kun doesn’t reply to that. Ten places a hand on his shoulder, but the older man meets this with little regard as he rises from his seat and walks away at a sluggish pace.

You stand in the train station ready to buy a ticket, clutching documents falsifying your identity and feeling more terrified than you possibly ever have. Today marks the seventh day, and you don’t even know if Lucas is alive right now. It was too risky to have any of the other clan members contact you—not until you and Lucas meet up in the designated place. You know Aldriel is an excellent potion master, and if he says the spell will work as intended then it will, but there’s always that seed of doubt.

Your parting with Aldriel had been typical of your relationship with him—you crumbling before him and him pretending like he was fine, lending enough strength for the both of you to survive on, though you knew he was also bleeding from the heart.

“You better not forget about me,” you’d told him, smushing your face into the sleeve of his shirt to hide your tears, though there was no stopping the flow. It was staining his shirt sleeve right through.

He’d scoffed at you, though it was a watery sound. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” He’d held your head closer against his shoulder, the both of you glued together in whichever way seemed fit when you’d walked through his door one last time to say goodbye. “We’ll see each other again. Don’t worry.”

You’d lifted your head from his shoulder then, looking at him with an aggrieved expression. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Aldriel put his hand on top of your head, petting you like a small puppy. It was a thing you’d disliked since you were both children, but which only made your heart hurt even more now. “Have more faith in me than that, dear sister. You’ll see.”

When it’s your turn to get a ticket, you step up to the counter and hand over your information, trying to keep the shaking in your hands to a minimum. The teller behind the counter is also a fairy, their wings tucked against the back of their uniform but peeking out at the sides. You childishly try to take some solace in that, hoping there will be some solidarity between you two. Maybe they’ll be less critical of your legitimacy than any other being might be.

The process is scarily easier than you’d thought it would be, though you are sweating the entire time. A fake name and birth date, and no one suspected anything. All of this would have to be your new identity now if you were to live with Lucas in Tianjin without being discovered.

Getting on the train when it comes is only part of the long journey ahead. It doesn’t provide you with much relief, but you are at least thankful to have one segment of that journey complete.

—

It takes another cab to get to your destination once you’re off the train, but you soon arrive at the house of one of Aldriel’s friends and his similar-name twin—Raziel. Raziel was Aldriel’s most trusted and oldest friend, their woven history extending back to childhood. The three of you had grown up together, and you’d even been quite familiar with Raziel until they left for Tianjin some years ago. Now, you’re back in front of each other again under circumstances that you never could’ve guessed.

“You’re here. Good.” Raziel welcomes you into their house with open arms, tugging you into a jittery hug that you anxiously return.

“Have...you heard anything?” you ask, though you know it’s futile. Raziel wouldn’t have gotten any more information than you have, not until Lucas was standing right on their doorstep. They shake their head and give you a sympathetic look, patting your hands.

“He’ll be alright. Everything will go well. I believe it.” Raziel guides you further into their house, presumably towards the room you’ll be staying in while you’re there. “It’s all so romantic, though—even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. I hope you know you’re doing a good thing, in the end.”

You force your facial muscles into a smile, though it is a ghostly and fleeting one. “Thank you.”

Either way, you will have to wait until nighttime to know if Raziel’s words come true or not; the sun is still high in the sky. It’s only midday. You’ve never before hated the sunlight, but right now you curse the sun’s rays that elongate the time between you and your lover.

—

“You all, give him some damn space,” Ten says, trying to pull the younger vampires away so they won’t crowd around the coffin. “He doesn’t need the scare of his life looking at all your faces when he wakes up.” Despite trying his best to be the voice of reason, Ten also has to refuse the urge to station himself beside the coffin and watch for the slightest movement of eyelids, the tiniest twitch of the lips. His hands shake from the frayed nerves of a week of nothing but death and gloom, and even though he doesn’t need to sleep, he thinks he will be out for at least two days after all of this is over.

There is no set time, no designated signal for when—or the dreaded if—Lucas will awaken. The waiting game feels longer than it really is, especially with the hours until the funeral commences steadily counting down. However, it is not very long before there’s a big sucking breath coming from the coffin, the sudden sound of lungs being filled after a week of complete stillness. Everyone rushes back to the bier when this happens, peering wildly inside the coffin.

Lucas’s eyelids flutter for an eternity before shooting open. He immediately seems distressed upon waking, sitting up out of the coffin so quick that it stutters on its stand, and the others have to steady it before it tips over.

“Xuxi...are you okay?” Sicheng asks, voice hushed with nervousness. Despite his unending anger and distress about the situation, Kun has also crowded in to witness Lucas’s awakening, and he visibly sags with relief to see the younger man is at last awake.

The look in Lucas’s eyes is wild. They are momentarily afraid that maybe something has gone wrong with the potion—maybe it has affected his mind somehow and he doesn’t remember any of them— but then he says,

“Y/N. Is Y/N okay?”

“We don’t know,” Sicheng replies. “I mean, hopefully. But it was safer to not have so much cross-communication going on—you’ll have to go to the meeting spot to find out…”

Though the reasons for this make sense, this does not provide consolation. Lucas fumbles his way out of the coffin with the men’s help. It’s clear he’s still disoriented, which makes them even more nervous, if that’s possible at this point.

“You should drink some blood before you leave,” Hendery suggests, and everyone else agrees. Lucas won’t argue that, so he downs one of the blood bags they have stored until he feels a little more like himself.

“You have to go soon, the funeral is set to start in another hour—we’ll have to leave—” Yangyang warns him, though the words fade at the end of his sentence. He doesn’t know how to continue his thought or how to even begin saying goodbye.

Lucas fills that gap by steeling himself and saying his farewells to each of them in turn, though his eyes are troubled and his chin crumples like he might cry at any moment.

“Don’t say I never helped you out with anything,” Ten says, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. Being separated is painful, but it’ll ultimately serve its purpose of giving Lucas a chance at having a love that none of them could. After seeing Kun suffer the way he did after losing Jingyi, Ten wants to spare another one of his mates from dealing with the same fate.

When Lucas gets to Kun, there is a slight awkward silence and a swift exchange of glances—Lucas’s soft gaze butting up against Kun’s more solid one, which is simultaneously pleading to him and rebuking him for his actions. Still, Kun embraces him tightly enough that their bodies could join together.

“Xuxi…” Kun starts, “I don’t…” And then his words break, leaving an unspoken thought between them.

“One day, you’ll forgive me for this,” Lucas whispers to the older man. Kun gives him an endlessly hurt look in return, silently asking him how he could even conceive those words. When they separate from each other, it’s with much reluctance. Lucas looks at them all and nods once, his mouth tight with grief.

“Right. Time to go, then.”

—

You awake in the middle of the night to cool fingers on the side of your face, which startles you completely out of your sleep. Opening your eyes to an unfamiliar room scares you even more, and it takes you a moment to remember why your surroundings have changed. The knowledge comes back to you quickly when a large palm slips against your own, long fingers twining with yours.

“Xuxi,” you whisper quietly, the sound of his name hanging in the air like a prayer. One of the last few times you’ll be able to freely call him that, except in private.

You can’t see his figure well with all the lights turned out, but he had no problem navigating through the dark to reach your bedside. Wanting desperately to see his face, you fumble around for the bedside lamp switch before turning it on.

“Y/N…” Lucas’s face is suddenly illuminated to you in all its golden glory, a myriad of emotions flickering over his features.

“I didn’t even hear you come in,” you say breathlessly. You’re somewhat sad and wish you could’ve met him at the door, embraced him after his long trip, but it doesn’t much matter anymore because he’s here now.

“Poor Y/N. My baby must’ve been so tired.” Lucas bumps his forehead against yours, his whole body drooping with relief as he practically sinks into you, and you giggle a little as you complain about having to hold his weight up. There is a tingle behind your eyes that threatens to turn into a sudden burst of tears, but you try to hold them at bay for a while longer.

“Are we safe?” he whispers, needing your confirmation. “Raziel said so. But...are we really safe?”

“That’s frightening to even think about,” you reply quietly. “We can’t stay here too long, but for now…I think we will be.” Lucas nods without a word, still holding your hand. His blood-scent is completely absent, as it usually is when he’s around you, and you know he’s used the blockers. Soon, with the ability to go out together and not be arrested or threatened for it, that will not be necessary to disguise his vampirism anymore. “It...won’t be easy.”

“No, but the things we want out of life usually aren’t.”

You squeeze his hand. “Raziel will help take care of things for us. It won’t all be trials and tribulations. I hope.” More hesitantly, you ask him, “What was it like? Being dead?” You know that vampires, being once human, still have souls and an afterlife to go to like most other living beings.

The look on his face is worrying. He doesn’t meet your eyes; he only shakes his head and stares at your joined hands. “It was cold without you.” His lips pull into a weak and chapped smile, if only to quiet your worrying, but that doesn’t work as intended. You decide to leave it for now, figuring there will be more time to talk about it when he feels ready.

Turning the light back off, you both press your bodies together as close as they can physically get, Lucas’s head on your chest and his long legs all jumbled together with yours. You fall asleep before he does, lulled away by his comforting and safe presence. He stays awake for a while longer, staring into the dark and the dark staring back into him, before everything else falls away.

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axoxtxhxh · 3 years

Text

Promise Me - Chapter 1 - Water

Summary: Reader and Armin fall out of an air carrier during a training mission and end up in the ocean. They manage to wash ashore but they have no idea where they are. ArminxFem!Reader Content: Death Word Count: ~ 2,900

A/N: Here is the first chapter of my first Armin story. I posted a summary chapter a while back, but actually got around to start writing it. I hope you like it! Also, thank you @luanabonn for helping me think of the title :)

The wind shifted and the air carrier lurched sideways sending Armin flying to the other side, near the opening. His light body soared through the air leaving him nothing to grab ahold of. You saw him flying back and dove for him, grabbing his arm just in time as he dropped out the entrance. You held him over the edge, trying to pull him, but the air carrier shifted again as you slid backwards, your arm being strained against the threshold.

“Section Commander!” Armin screamed.

“I’m trying, Armin! Don’t let go!” You reached your other arm up, trying to pull yourself up to get better leverage when suddenly the air carrier swung a third time, sending it shifting the other direction. You had nothing to hold as you footing continued slipping, slowly sending you and Armin out the opening and into the dark ocean below. “Shit!”

You both fell through the air, barely able to see how close or far your impact was. Armin was screaming, holding onto your arm with both hands. You reached over and wrapped your fingers around his metal straps and held on as tightly as you could, bracing yourself for the inevitable crash into the water.

“Arm—” You both hit the water hard. The water hitting your face like needles, ice cold needles.

You couldn’t tell what was up and what was down and you quickly tried to assess your surroundings. You were still holding onto Armin, but he wasn’t holding onto you. He must have either passed out from the impact or from the fall. As you stayed still in the water, you could feel a pull in one direction and you swam that way, kicking until you reached the surface and gasped for air as you pulled Armin’s head above the water.

“Armin.” You shook him a little, trying to see if he was conscious or not. No response. “Armin.”

You shook a little harder and checked his pulse. He was definitely still alive. Setting a finger on his lip, you checked to see if he was breathing, but didn’t feel any air.

“Fuck. Come on, Armin.”

Leaning forward and being careful to not push him in the water more, you brought your lips to his, pinching his nose and breathing into him deeply then pulling back and waiting. Nothing. You did it again. Nothing. You did it again. Nothing.

“Please Armin, please wake up.” You breathed into him again and his body shook, his head lifting up and he started coughing up water.

It didn’t take long after that for him to start screaming again, realizing he was in the open water in near pitch blackness.

“Section Commander!”

“Armin, I’m right here.” You put your hand on his cheek until he calmed down.

“Where are we?” He tried to look around.

“Somewhere in the ocean.”

It was silent while you both worked to stay afloat, neither one of you being an experienced swimmer.

“Section Commander?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

“Me too, Armin.”

“Should I titanize?”

“We don’t know how deep this water is. It may not even help.”

The silence was difficult for both of you to hear. The darkness making it even worse. You tightened your grip on Armin’s arm as the sound of the wind picked up. You had no experience in the water, you were both completely out of your element working with the little knowledge some books and the volunteers from Marley were able to provide. Marley.

The mission was to take the air carrier to Marley to survey the area from a distance. You weren’t even sure at this point how close you were to Marley’s shores. The air carrier has left Paradis and moved for quite a while. You never reached Marley, but it’s possible that you could be close enough to swim.

Would that even be safe though? Swimming to enemy territory. It had to be safer than the situation you were in now. Either way, there was nothing you could do but hope you don’t drift too far from shore while waiting for morning. Right now, you just needed to make it until morning.

“Armin, take off your metal straps and boots. I think we need to ditch any extra weight.” You instructed. Armin followed.

Feeling your boots drop from your hands and disappear below you filled your heart with trepidation. The unknown completely surrounded you both. You shook it off. Fear wasn’t going to help either of you now.

“Take off your pants.” You told him and he followed.

You unbuckled your pants and pulled them off, tying the legs and whipping them into the water to build up air. Using your belt, you tightened the waistband, holding the air inside and putting it over your head as a lifejacket.

Armin watched you as best as he could, in awe of how quickly you created a life jacket. He did the same and you both linked arms to stay together. Floating into the darkness and hoping when the sun came up that you’d be able to see some land.

…..

You had both been floating for a several hours. It was hard to tell how much time had passed. You knew it was around ten o’clock when you both fell out of the carrier. If slivers of light weren’t coming from the horizon of any direction, you had to assume it’s been less than seven hours. However, it had to be more than four. What a pointless thing to be thinking about, you thought.

Armin’s head was bobbing as he tried not to fall asleep. You were just as tired. Even with the help of your makeshift life jacket, you were both exhausted.

A couple more hours later, you were doing math in your head again when Armin’s head shot up.

“Did you hear that?” His eyes were still lidding, wanting to sleep more, but forcing himself awake.

“Hear what—”

“Shh… listen.” He leaned his head forward as if getting a couple inches closer to the sound would help. You did the same. His eyes opened wide with excitement. “A seagull.”

“Are you okay?”

“If we can hear a seagull, we have to be close to shore!”

You thought about it. He was right. You could definitely hear birds, but it was still too dark to see which way they were coming from or where you should swim. You both spun around, looking for any light. It would be another hour or so before you should see the sun rise.

“We just have to wait; the sun should come up—”

“There!” Armin shouted and you turned to look. The tiniest amount of light started creeping over the horizon. Armin was smiling at you and you couldn’t help but smile back. The night was over, but you still had to make it to shore, wherever it was.

It took about thirty minutes for there to be enough light to see which direction to go. It was a bittersweet moment when you both spotted land and began swimming as fast as you both could. Armin quickly stopping and looking at you, worry painted on his face.

“If that’s land,” he started, turning to the sun, “and the sun is rising from there… That isn’t Paradis.” You both sighed.

“We’re going to have to make it work. Be careful as we get closer.”

You felt like you were swimming forever. The shoreline getting closer and closer, but the cover of nighttime was no longer there and you now had to swim to shore fully visible. From what you could see, it looked like an empty beach. So maybe luck was on your side a bit.

You pulled Armin’s arm to the direction on the side of the beach. If you had to get there in full daylight, you might as well avoid the middle of the beach.

When you reached the shore, both of you laid down on your backs, panting and you squeezed the sand in your fists.

“We did it.” Armin sighed.

“Let’s go. We shouldn’t hang out here longer than we need to.” You stood up and pulled the lifejacket off, untying it and pulling your pants back on.

“Section Comm—” Armin started.

“Don’t call me that.” You looked over to him as you buttoned your pants. “Not here.”

“Y…Y—Y/N…” he stumbled over your name, “where are we going to go?”

“I’ll think of something. I’m sure there are places to hide.”

“But we don’t—”

“Armin.” You grabbed his arm and he gasped, his eyes wide as he listened to you. “Your discomfort and concern are valid and I understand them, but right now it’s not helpful.”

He nodded, finishing putting his pants back on and you watched the cheerless look on his face and felt guilty.

“I’m sorry.” You sighed.

“It’s okay.” He shrugged but didn’t look up.

“No, I disregarded your concerns too quickly.” You put your hand on his shoulder. “Right now, we only have each other. I want to hear what you have to say.”

Armin looked up at you and smiled and for a short moment, you almost forgot you were stranded. That is until Armin’s smile dropped at something behind you.

“Section Commander.” His whole face dropped, turning white as be brought a shaky finger up to point behind you.

You quickly turned to see what he was pointing to and were immediately met with a man holding a gun facing the both of you. Your first instinct was to stand in front of Armin, but just as you stepped in front, Armin pushed you down.

“Armin!” You yelled, turning around to look at him just as the man shot the gun. Armin’s head flung back and his body hit the sand. You crawled over to him, grabbing the collar of his jacket and shaking him. “Armin!”

His eyes stared blankly at the sky while your eyes filled with tears as you looked up to the small hole in his forehead now pooling with blood.

“Armin…” You shook him again. “Armin, no.”

You sniffled as the tears dropped down onto his chest and you moved your hands to his cheeks, holding them. They were still warm and you dropped your head down to his chest trying to hold the warmth there a bit longer.

“Armin!” You shouted, shooting up from the bed. You looked around the dark room and took deep breaths. You quickly reached next to you for Armin’s body and he sat up.

“Another nightmare?” His voice was raspy with sleep. You nodded, knowing he couldn’t see you and grabbed his face, brushing his hair back and checking his forehead. “I’m fine, Y/N.”

“I know… I just need to check.” You were still panting when he put his hand on your back and rubbed it gently. “It’s fine. Let’s sleep.”

He put his hand on your shoulder and pulled you back down to sleep.

He had asked you enough times before to know better than to ask about it now. You never wanted to talk about your nightmares. He figured they had something to do with him getting hurt because each time you had to check him for an injury that wasn’t there. The first time it was his back, then his stomach, then his throat, tonight it was his forehead. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer and quickly falling back asleep.

His snores and the warm air from his breathing hit your ears and you felt an odd comfort from them, knowing he was okay. It had been almost a full month since you both reached the shore. The nightmares only started a couple nights in. They were all the same in one way or another, Armin dying. You took a deep breath, pushing yourself deeper in his arms and closing your eyes until you could fall back asleep.

When you woke up, Armin wasn’t in bed next to you. You looked around and found him standing by the window, looking outside.

He was holding a cup and drinking something warm and you watched the steam swirl out of the top, disappearing the higher it got. Armin brought the cup to his lips, then turned to look at you. His eyes lighting up, noticing you were awake.

“You’re up.” He smiled, walking closer to the bed. It wasn’t actually a bed. You dreamed of the day you could be back home sleeping in your bed. This was more like a bunch blankets on the floor, but it had been doing the job well enough.

“What are you drinking?” You sat up, smoothing your hair out of your face.

“Tea.” He sat down cross-legged in front of you, offering the cup to you. “Have some.”

You took the cup and took a sip, the warm, sharp-tasting liquid glided across your tongue and down your throat. You had never been much of a tea drinker, but you had to admit, it did taste good.

“This is good. Where did you get it?” You handed the cup back to him. “You didn’t go outside to get it, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. I told you I wouldn’t.” He took the cup back and took a sip. “It’s from one of the bags you brought yesterday.”

“Oh, I don’t even remember picking it up.”

Armin took a sip of the tea and watched you staring off at the wall. You had both already gotten thinner in the short time you’ve been there, but he could really see it on you. You had a slightly more muscular build than most women and then the lack of physical activity topped with eating less had slimmed you down quite a bit. He handed you the cup of tea again, but you shook your head.

“I should get going. I already slept too late.” You stood up and grabbed your pants, pulling them on then slipping your shoes on. Armin watched, setting the cup on the floor next to him.

“I was thinking—”

“You’re not coming with.” You turned to look at him, tired of him asking this same question every day.

“Please, Y/N. I’m going insane sitting in here all day.” He stretched his legs in front of him. “I will stay right next to you and do whatever you say.”

“Armin…” You started. You did feel really bad for him. It must be incredibly boring and honestly really exhausting sitting in the building all day. It was too big of a risk for even you to go out, but you needed food.

“I can help.” He sat up, seeing a chance to possibly convince you. “I won’t say anything to anyone. I will just carry stuff. Please?”

It wasn’t too terrible of an idea. It wasn’t that unsafe for him to be outside. You just preferred going alone because it was one less thing for you to have to watch while you were out. Looking at him really had you wanting to say yes. He sat back on his heels and smiled at you, his big blue eyes excited for a ‘yes’.

“What about shoes? You don’t have any to wear.” You pointed out. “These barely fit me.”

Armin stood up so quickly, you thought that maybe he heard something. You watched him run to the area you kept the food and started digging through the bags. He came back with a pair of black tennis shoes and put them on. Your eyes widened then quickly narrowed.

“Where did you get those?”

“I went outside yesterday,” he mumbled, looking down.

“You did what?!”

“I went outside. I can’t stay in here all day by myself.” He was sitting on his heels again, his hands on his thighs and his head lowered. Even in such a submissive position, he was still standing his ground.

“You have to. How irresponsible can you be? You went outside and didn’t even tell me.”

“You wouldn’t have let me go if I asked.” “Armin, we barely know where we are. It’s my job to get us home. We made a plan and we both agreed on it. I would be the one to go out and get information. When I bring it back to you, you figure out what it means.”

“That was a good plan before when we thought we would only be here for a couple days. It’s been weeks.”

“So you’re just changing the plan without talking to me?” You huffed, extremely cross that he disobeyed you, but honestly a tad impressed. Armin was always one to follow what section commanders said and seeing him decide something for himself made you look at him differently.

“I’m not changing the plan. I didn’t even plan to go outside. I saw a man fall down the steps across the street. I went down to help him and he saw that I didn’t have shoes so he gave me an old pair. I came right back up. I promise.”

You took a deep breath turning your back to Armin while you pinched the bridge of your nose. He was right. You had both been here for too long already. Your idealistic plan of making it back to Paradis in a couple days was long gone and it was time to think of a plan B. You turned around to look at him. He was still looking down and you felt bad. Damn it.

“Alright,” you muttered, “you can come with.”

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sinnergetreadymp3 · 3 years

Text

CHAMERON FIC CHAMERON FIC CHAMERON FIC

Uhhhhh I feel like I should give this a title but I have no idea what to call so uh, nevermind !!

Anyways,I finally finished the fic I said I was writing like,a month ago lol. All my Chameron stans out there this one's for u,I rlly hope at least one person enjoys this,I rlly enjoyed writing it !! Ok sappy stuff outta the way,here it is:

As rain pounded against the window Charlie sent what was probably the thousandth crumpled ball of paper across the room.

"Jesus Charlie,is your arm not getting tired?"

Charlie smirked at that, clearly preparing to make a dirty minded joke,but a thoroughly exhausted Richard Cameron was already one step ahead.

"You know what,forget I asked, you're gross."

Getting up from the seat at his desk and ignoring an indignant retort from Charlie, Cameron thought of the rest of his friends,out for the weekend. Todd and Neil celebrating their one year anniversary, Meeks and Pitts embarking on a two day road trip,for what they still claimed to be, entirely platonic reasons (although the rest of the poets were all too aware of the almost palpable romantic tension between them). Even Knox had found something to do with himself on this miserable Friday night.

And here Cameron was,stuck in his dorm with nothing but stacks of extra homework and his obnoxious roommate to keep him company.

Speaking of that obnoxious roommate, "Oh come on Cam,you're not seriously going to bed already,it's barely eight!"

"Shut up Dalton,I'm tired."

Refusing to admit defeat, Charlie sprung from his own bed into Cameron's, attempting to wrestle the poor boy from his comfortable position.

"Charlie,get off you psycho!" Cameron managed to get out, already laughter threatening to give away just how welcome his friend's childish antics were.

After a few more minutes of "fooling around" as Charlie insisted on calling it (mostly because of how profusely it made Cameron blush),the two boys lay breathless beside each other,trying desperately to think of something else to do that would ward off impending boredom.

After a few moments of comfortable silence,Charlie suggested,looking expectantly towards the ginger, "Wanna go to the cave?"

With extreme,mind numbing boredom as motivation, it was inevitable that Cameron would say yes. It certainly helped that Charlie was gazing at him with those oh-so convincing doe eyes of his. Charlie Dalton and his stupid,gorgeous eyes. And his stupid,gorgeous smile,which Cameron was abso definitely not thinking about as he got up and grabbed his coat.

The two boys trudged through the woods,bickering lightly when Cameron complained of the cold that Charlie apparently couldnt feel at all,but always with an unusually friendly air between them. Before long they were sat together in the middle of the cave,sharing an apple that Cameron had managed to salvage from somewhere (a feat Dalton was of course impressed by),and trading stories of girls and parties galore. In Cameron's case, the stories of girls were few and the parties were from years long before even middle school,so Charlie did most of the talking.

After a while though,the boys came to discussing their friends,and the luck they all seemed to have in finding each other so easily. Charlie, ever the romantic,made no waste of his extensive vocabulary,tediously lamenting on all the opportunities of love he had missed and the everlasting loneliness he was doomed to,all because his dashing knight in shining armour would never come to find him and-

"Why dont *you* just find somebody?"

Charlie,still sprawled dramatically over a rock ,and mildly offended at the interruption,indignantly questioned "What do you mean?"

"What I said? You dont just have to wait around for somebody to come find you and fall madly in love. Why don't *you* just find somebody?"

He thought for a moment,taken aback by the ginger's harsh words,but eventually decided to humout him for a moment.

"And where exactly do you suggest I find him then, hm?"

Cameron shifted in his seat,not expecting to be taken seriously and certainly not prepared to be giving advice. Especially not *this* kind of advice. Especially not to *charlie*.

"Well,uh," he looked up to see the other boy looking at him expectantly,with that ever-present smirk on his face that, oddly enough,made Cameron feel a little more comfortable.

"Maybe,you could,I don't know, consider that the guy you're looking for has been here the whole time?"

"Wow Cam,Pittsie and Meeks' radio must've really gotten to you. All those love songs have turned you into a big softie." Charlie joked,grinning and nudging Cameron playfully.

Through a soft laugh,Cameron continued, "No I'm serious man,I think you're making this whole love thing way harder for yourself. I mean- and be honest with me, what's actually wrong with the guys at our school?"

"Other than the fact that about three quarters of them are raging heterosexuals?"

Laughing again,Cameron replied "yeah,other than that."

After about zero seconds of careful consideration,he had come to a conclusion, "Well,I guess nothing,but I dont know? Cameron, I don't see how this changes-"

"It *changes* things because clearly you don't anything about half the guys at our school. And you can't write off people you don't even know." At some point, Cameron had gotten up and started pacing around,but with the end of this triumphant speech,he finally sat down,a little closer to the other boy than he had been before.

Charlie looked across at Cameron and was suddenly met with a wave of fondness. Weird,how all it took was to sit and talk for a while before someone you thought you near hated,started to feel like your favorite person in the world. And,was he going completely crazy or Cameron at his most comfortable, without the fear of a teacher lurking nearby,without the stress of constantly trying to prove himself,was he... A little..... attractive??

All at once,Charlie made a decision,partly to try and prove himself wrong,but also because hey,if Richard Cameron was the surprise love of his life,what better time to figure it out than right now?

"So how,sir Richard Cameron,do you propose I get to know all these charming suitors?"

Cameron, completely in the dark about Dalton's recent epiphany,was still stubbornly trying to explain how much easier Charlie's love life could be,if only he would let it.

"Well,maybe by actually talking to them? Y'know,kind of like,What we're doing right now."

"So,what you're saying is,*you* could be my knight in shining armor," he said with a smirk.

"Well,that's not what-"

"No,no it's fine,as long as we're talking about this version of you. Regular Cameron is kind of a buzzkill but Cave Cam is actually a kind of.... And I can't believe I'm saying this but,in here,like this...well. You're actually a little hot."

After this, overwhelmingly romantic confession, Charlie was certain he had completely stuffed it,and sure enough,

"Gee Charlie,thanks. Really makes me wanna ride into the sunset with you." To say Cam's ego had been hit was an understatement,but before he could make a swift exit from the cave and lock himself,alone,in his dorm for the rest of the weekend,of course Dalton kept talking.

"God,I'm sorry,that was, I have no idea why I said that. I thought I was being funny but out loud- god I'm so sorry," while he had initially been mad,seeing Charlie fucking Dalton blush (and because of *him* no less) was rather funny. And sure,a little cute. So Cameron decided to hear him out.

"Can I start over? You're not saying anything so I'm gonna start over. I,uh, I really do think you're hot. Like really hot. And not just right now,all the time,like that time we were at rowing practice and I started pushing you around and we ended up on the floor and I saw like,a single sliver of skin because your sweater had ridden up,and I couldn't stop thinking about it all day,which I thought was a little weird but then-"

"Uh,I think I get it,Charlie." Now Cameron was the one blushing.

"Uh,sorry. What I meant was,that I *do* think you're hot l-"

"As you've said"

"Yeah,yeah,but it's more than that. Like,when I realized we'd basically be spending the whole weekend alone together,I was actually sorta excited for that,even though I knew I'd just be sitting by you while you did homework the whole time,I like,wanted to do that. And tonight,I haven't talked like this with anyone who isn't Neil like,ever. What I mean is,I guess,is that,I think that uh,"

Deciding to lighten the mood,Cameron tried for a little sarcasm, "Wow,Dalton, stuttering? I must be superman or something."

"I'm trying to be romantic here Carrot top," Charlie said with a grin,

"Listen,I don't really know what I'm doing here,but I think it might be kinda nice if we tried having a little romantic weekend of our own. Just to try it. If it totally sucks we can pretend it never happened and the others don't have to know about it and-"

"Charlie."

"Yeah?"

"Relax," Cameron said with yet another laugh ,he didn't think he laughed like this since... Well,he couldn't even remember.

So with a radiant smile on his face,he said,"A romantic weekend of our own sounds amazing. Gotta warn you tho I'm not a great kisser."

"Well, lucky for you I am a great teacher," Charlie replied,with a somehow even bigger smile on his face than Cameron's,

"Why are you laughing,I *am* a great teacher!" Unfortunately for Charlie,his indignance only made Cameron laugh harder.

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"If you shut up and stop laughing,maybe you'll get to." After this was all it took to get the ginger to sober up, the look on his face pushed Charlie to make his final,but (in his opinion) most important decision of the night.It was high time he flirt with Cameron way more often (which was *very* difficult to explain to the other poets,at least the first time).

#yh i did proofread it #yh there probably r still mistakes #i was very nervous so #but yh uh #chameron #dps fic #dps chameron fic #dead poets society chameron #idk how to tag things properly if u couldnt tell from my other posts lol #anyway !! bye

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

billy and steve would both be such dilfs. i feel like when billy starts putting on weight, he gets really insecure about it, is afraid steve won’t think he’s sexy anymore. but steve will practically throw himself at billy the second he gets back from dropping their kids off at baseball practice. and now that billy didn’t work out as much (other than a morning jog) they got to spend more time together.

and steve would be really insecure about getting wrinkles and just getting old in general because he grew up listening to his mom complaining about her wrinkles and how they made her ugly. but billy would love them because they showed how much he made steve smile and laugh. he’d press kisses all over steve’s face. and billy would just be so happy that he’s going to grow old with the love of his life, which is something he never thought he deserved.

“Okay, what about a little-” Steve placed a finger on either temple and cheekbone, lightly pulling “just a tiny lift.”

Billy was standing behind Steve, watching as he nitpicked over himself in the mirror.

He was prodding at the wrinkles around his eyes, mussing up his hair.

It was still long and thick, his barber told him a month ago that’s Steve’s the only client that asks to have his hair thinned out. But he was going greyer everyday. It began around his temples, the moved up. He used to plug the sliver hairs, until suddenly there was more salt and pepper than brown and he threw in the towel.

Billy loved the grey hairs, called Steve my silver fox of a husband. Steve threatened to dye it all back to brown at least once a week.

“Baby, leave your face alone. I like it.” Steve pouted at him in the mirror.

“Just look so damn old. Don’t know how you can even stand to look at me.”

Billy moved forward, pressing against Steve’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“You’re still hot as all fuck.” Billy reached up to brush his fingers over the lines on Steve’s face. He thumbed the hairline valleys around Steve’s eyes, dropping to dust feather-light fingertips around his mouth. “See these? All from laughing.”

“My mom warned me about laugh lines.”

“Nothin’ to be ashamed off. Means you’ve been happy.” And that, that’s why Billy loves them so much. They show that he’s made Steve happy, that their life together has made him happy. Billy could fuckin’ cry at the thought.

Steve turned around in his arms, draping his arms loosely over Billy’s shoulders. He had that soft little smirk on his face. And Billy fucking knows that look.

“We got two hours ‘til I gotta pick up Chloe.”

Steve’s eyes only got brighter.

“Then what are we doing with clothes on?”

Billy barked a laugh at that. Steve swooped in to plant a kiss on Billy’s cheek, flouncing past him, turning around halfway through the bedroom to face Billy, flopping backwards onto the bed.

He reached up, making grabby hands in Billy’s general direction.

Billy rolled his eyes.

How many years and Steve is still a fucking brat.

He wouldn’t have it any other way though.

Billy approached him, kneeling between Steve’s spread legs, leaning over to plant his forearms on either side of Steve’s head.

Steve was already yanking at the buttons on his flannel shirt, opening it up and pushing it as best as he could off Billy’s shoulders.

Steve liked to call Billy’s current look lumberjack dad chic.

There were a lot of flannels involved. His beard had some grey streaks running through it.

He had decided to lean into the whole vibe a few years ago.

Billy started putting on weight in his late twenties.

He wasn’t working out as viciously as he used to. Coupled with the fact that Steve is a really good cook and his metabolism slowing down, chubbiness was inevitable.

It used to get under his skin, every time he’d have to buy new pants, go up a size or two on the waist band.

But something interesting happened when his gut began to settle in.

Steve couldn’t keep his damn hands to himself.

He was insatiable. Their sex life had never been so good.

So Billy felt pretty okay about it.

Plus he’s like, a dad now. He doesn’t have to be the most fuckable guy in town anymore. (But Steve says he’ll always be the most fuckable guy in town. Billy appreciates it.)

And something about being fat and happy makes him a little misty. Spending lazy mornings in bed with his husband instead of going to the gym. Eating the rich foods presented to him with a kiss and a smile.

It’s like Steve’s laugh lines.

Marks of growing old together.

Because Billy never thought he’d see thirty.

Thought Neil would get to him before then. Or maybe his own rage.

And Steve thought he’d never find anyone that loved in the same way he did, as all-consuming and enormous. He thought he’d be divorced and depressed by now.

But they’ve got family together, and furniture they share, and a goddamn house, and children.

And Billy’s lived past thirty. He’s closing in on fifty now, which is scary in a totally different way.

And Steve’s got someone that would go to the ends of the Earth for him, who loves him as much as he loves.

And they’ve got this shared history, these matching scars and tattoos and wrinkles.

And they’ve watched each other grow old, when neither of them thought that was going to be in the cards for them.

And Steve’s got lines on his face and grey in his hair, and Billy’s got soft fat covering all his bulky muscles and his kids tell him he gives the world’s best hugs, and it feels like they did the impossible. Grew up together. Grew happy together.

And Steve comes with Billy to pick up their daughter, and they hold hands the entire drive there.

Just because they can.

#yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #zest of lemon #really mildly though dw

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Text

You Put the Stars to Shame

Request: Hey! I wanted to make a request with Din. Maybe some soft, touch starved, love making?

A/N: So, this started as something much shorter and then ended up here. I have no shame and I am not sorry. This might be some of the softest stuff I’ve written, so I hope you enjoy! xx

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: this is soft, but it’s still 18+ because of you know...sex

Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Pacing back and forth along the cargo hold of the Razor Crest, you held the babbling green baby tightly to your chest, trying to get him to calm down and finally succumb to the soft pull of sleep. He’d gotten up along with the sun that morning, rousing you bright and early and keeping you occupied all day. He was just like any other child, so curious and in awe at everything that it was a job in and of itself to take care of him all day.

But right now, not even the wild little child could not keep your mind occupied and free from thoughts of the Mandalorian that had been absent for more days than you would have liked. He’s left four days go, early one morning before the sun rose off in search of an elusive quarry. He’s promised the two of you that he’d be back within the day, two at the most, but he still hadn’t made his triumphant return. You’d had no communication or heard anything from him since then.

The first day you weren’t worried; you knew there was a variable amount of things that could go wrong, and the off chance that the quarry wasn’t even on that particular planet. You’d managed to clean through all of the weapons in his cache, polishing and shining them until they looked brand new, with the help of your small assistant of course.

The second day, an uneasy feeling had settled into your stomach, but you ignored it, reminding yourself that there was nothing to worry about. Maybe he was just being slow and methodical. He’d had bounties had before that had managed to allude him for some time before. You cleaned up the entirety of the ship that day, making everything spic and span, shining like it never had before.

The third day that uneasy feeling had transformed into a giant knot and you could think of nothing but the horrid things that could have happened to him. What if something had gone terribly wrong? What if he was laying in the ditch somewhere, bleeding to death or already dead? What if? What if something happened and you never told him how you felt? You managed to pull yourself together enough to keep the child occupied, trying not to worry him along with yourself. He was sensitive to your every mood and could easily pick up on your distress. He shouldn’t have to worry - Din wouldn’t want that. He wouldn’t want you to worry either. Instead you focused on washing all the blankets, pillows, and clothes you could find, even mending and patching the threadbare pieces, making a note that you’d all need new clothes soon before winter’s harsh bite was too strong.

By the fourth morning, you were at your wit’s end. You hadn’t slept much the night before, tossing and turning with nightmares plaguing the little bit of slumber you did find. Whatever images flashed through your mind, they all ended with Din being hurt. By the time the child was tugging on your arm, you were almost happy for the relief of being awake. He had cooed at you excitedly, his large eyes wide as you scratched his big ears and held him close, trying to reassure him, and yourself, that everything was alright. He was getting worried too; you could sense it. You’d spent the day letting him stretch his legs and play in the lush green surrounding the ship were you had made camp, resorting to baking and cooking once the sun started to set. It was something to keep you occupied, but it wasn’t enough. You were almost sick with worry.

“Come on my sweet love,” you whispered gently to the babbling baby, softly tapping his nose before scratching the space between his ears. Swaying him with gently, hoping it would do something to quell his worries, you hummed under your breath. You didn’t know the tune, but you’d heard Din humming it probably close to a thousand times by this point. You never asked what it was or how he knew it, but you loved it either way, “don’t you want to try and sleep? Your papa will be home soon.”

He perked up a little bit, giving you a curious look with those big owlish eyes, almost as if he was questioning you. You gave him a small smile before sitting down on the floor of the small makeshift kitchen, “I dunno how I know. But I just know, you know?”

You answered his unspoken question and he cooed lightly before reaching up and gently touching your cheek with his small hand. A few tears had inadvertently rolled down your cheeks and he was doing his best to wipe them away, which only served to make you cry harder. What were you going to do if Din didn’t come back, “it’ll be okay, right? Tell me it’ll be okay. Maker, I wish you could just tell me that he’ll be home soon, heavy sigh and all.”

He made a small sound, almost as if he was commiserating with you, before laying down on your chest and doing his best to wrap his small arms around your neck. Trying to quiet yourself, you held him tightly, hanging on as if you feared that if you let go he might disappear. Eventually, after crying yourself to the point where your throat felt raw, you find solace in sleep, the two of you lightly snoring.

You weren’t sure how long you were asleep for, but eventually a small sound met your ears and cause you to startle awake. You sat up, one hand rubbing at your eyes and the other still clutching the small, sleeping bundle. He must have been tired and in a deep sleep if he hadn’t stirred. Standing up slowly, you held him tightly as you looked around for the source of the noise, a small sliver of hope in your heart that it might be Din.

You ducked quickly into the small sleeping quarters, gently laying the child down in his little pram and closing the shutters so he wouldn’t be disturbed and actually get some sleep. Stalking back into the main hold of the ship, you looked around everywhere for the source of noise, hoping the Mandalorian would surprise you at any moment. But your heart quickly sank as you searched every part of the ship and found no other signs of life. You came to the conclusion that Din was not there, and it was either your imagination that had roused you from slumber, or just something from outside.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you trudged back into the kitchen and stared at the little cake you and the child had spent the afternoon baking. It was a sad, meager little thing, messy and uneven, but it was Din’s favorite. You knew he would love it, especially since the two of you had made it together. Maybe now he’d never even get the chance to try it.

Another wave of sadness washed over you as stared at it, hoping he would be back to try it. Until then, you decided, you’d wrap it up and keep it safe for him. Pacing around the hull for a moments, you dragged your fingers along the cool metal of the walls, knowing that sleep would evade you, knowing that nothing would settle your heart. What would you even do? Maybe you should contact Cara, or Kuiil to see if they could offer assistance. Surely they must be able to help, right?

So consumed in your thoughts, at first you didn’t even hear the ramp to the ship start to open. When you finally did, you were so startled that your only reaction was to grab a blaster - fight or flight definitely kicked in and it had definitely been honed by Din.

Stepping down the ramp, blaster at the ready, you prepared for the inevitable; instead you were met with the sight of Din, clutching his arm and slowly making his way up the ramp. So surprised and taken aback, you kept the blaster pointed at him as you took a few ragged breaths.

“What are you going to do?” his voice sounded rough and raspy, even more so since it was modulated by the vocoder of his helmet, “were you going to shoot me, mesh’la?”

“Din,” your voice shook as you discarded the blaster, tossing it to the side as you rushed over to him. You put your hands on his shoulders, almost as if you were unsure it was him, that you could possibly be fooled by a mirage. But your hands met the very real metal pauldrons of his armor. Tears, this time not of fear or worry, flowed down your cheeks as you came to the conclusion that he was back. He was here, “Din.”

He let out a ragged breath, as he slowly sank to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he held you tightly. Din didn’t say a word, as he hugged you, holding onto you to ground himself and pull back into reality; he was home. Winding your own arms around his neck and leaned down, resting your head on top of his shining beskar helmet. You stayed there like that for some, as his breathing evened out and he slowly regained his collected senses.

“You’re hurt,” you spotted the nasty looking gash on his arm, wincing slightly when you realized just how painful it must be. He looked up at you, his expression hidden by the visor of his helmet, shaking his head, “Din, please...let me take of you.”

“It’s okay,” he insisted, stubborn as a blurrg as you helped hoist him up to his feet, “please don’t worry yourself.”

“I don’t recall asking a question,” you insisted firmly, touching the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and gently rubbing the small bit of exposed, tan skin, “come on, my love.”

Your words were not lost on him as you slowly started making your way up the ramp, keeping a tight grip him to make sure he wouldn’t fall. You hadn’t realized your little gaff, but even if you did, you wouldn’t have cared at this moment. You locked everything up behind you, before helping him to his cot. Once he was seated, you put a hand on his helmet where his cheek would have been, “stay here for just a moment and I’ll get some supplies to clean you up.”

Not even giving him a chance to argue, you stood up and went to grab some gauze and bacta spray and pads - whatever would help. When you walked back in the room, he was sitting there, hanging his head, looking worse for the wear. You kneeled in front of him, taking his hand in yours, and giving it a light squeeze; although you couldn’t see his face, you had a feeling there was a light smile there. You’d been about to tell him that he should take his armor off, but decided against it, a soft bit of understanding passing between the two of you.

Starting with his gloves, you slowly peeled them off and set them aside. His hands were large, warm, and surprisingly soft. You almost never got to see them without gloves, but you were about to take advantage of they felt in yours. A light sound was in trapped in his throat as he studied you with reverence, before you gently peeled off the rest of the beskar, piece by piece.

Din was soon left in only his underclothes and helmet, and it appeared, thank the Maker, that the only injury was on his arm. Grabbing the bacta pads and spray, you started to clean the wound, being as gentle as possible as to not injure him further. He hissed slightly at first, but let you work, slowly relaxing as he watched you, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips once the gauze was secured around his arm.

Letting your hand linger on his arm, you looked up him, still nestled between his large legs. It was an almost compromising position, but there was nothing awkward or wrong with how it felt now. He leaned his head down and rested his forehead against yours in a soft sign of intimacy. Softly, your voice barely above a whisper you said, “your helmet....I...please tell me you’re alright under there. I don’t want to...”

You would never dare - ever - to remove his helmet, but you were curious. You were curious to see the man underneath the helmet, as he was, just him. You wondered if he had the soft brown eyes you always pictured, if the dark curls that sometimes poked out from under his helmet matched the rest of his hair. If his smile was gentle as you imagined, if his nose was as noble as you dreamt of. But you would never do anything to comprise his creed, to give up the way.

Din’s breathing quieted for a moment, and you brought your hands to either side of his helmet, holding him as close to you as possible. If there was a moment that you never wanted to let go of, it was this: the quiet peace, the gentle tenderness and sacrosanctness of the moment. It was a few moments before he brought his hands up to yours, his much larger ones easily engulfing yours, warm, firm, and steadfast on yours. Slowly, almost achingly slowly, he started to push your hands up; you were so surprised that it took a long moment to see figure out what he doing. But once you did, your heart pounded rapidly in your chest and you wondered if his was doing the same, if he had thought about this moment before, if he had been waiting for his moment as long as you had.

“Din,” it was small, almost whimper, holding the promise of so much more. He knew what you were asking, he knew what this meant. What this meant to you, to him, to the creed, to everything that you weren’t just a friend or a companion, you were more - much more. Suddenly you knew Mesh’la was never just a nickname; it was everything.

It seemed like it took a million years, and yet no time at all, as the anticipation that had been building for so long was threatening to bubble over. Once you had gotten a glimpse of his chin, your eyes instinctively squeezed shut, blocking out even the brightest of light. Your hands were guided by his as he set the helmet down, at his side. He dropped them from yours, and slowly brought his hands to either side of your face, gently cradling your cheeks. Your eyes still remained shut, lashes clinging together, damp with tears.

“Mesh’la,” his voice was saccharine, beautiful and warm as ever, “open your eyes.”

Look at me, he wanted to say, please just look at me.

Taking his hand and bringing it your lips, you pressed a soft kiss to his palm. You trusted yourself, you trusted him and slowly opened your eyes, taking a moment to blink away the bleariness from your tears. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, but as your vision focused, a gently smiling face, one with sweetest brown eyes you had ever seen was staring back at you expectantly.

You let a shaky breath as you realized this was Din. This was him in his most vulnerable state, his most true self. He was just as nervous as you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you studied him. His soft dark hair was mussed, he looked beyond tired, and there was several days worth of stubble on his face. He was everything you had ever expected, and then much more. But Maker, was your silence making him worry.

Leaning up slightly and catching him off guard, you placed your hands on his cheeks, getting familiar with the feel of his skin, how delicate and warm he was. How human. But then, surprising you both, you closed the small, almost nonexistent gap between your bodies and pressed your lips to his plush, full ones. It was nothing dramatic, nothing crazy or wild, like legends and stories always make a first kiss out to be.

Instead, it was a slow, soft, unsure thing as you both tried to figure out what you were doing, how badly you had been craving this. It was far from perfect, a passionate mess of teeth and tongue as you moved against his each other and he cupped the back of your neck and held you as close as possible. You hadn’t even realized that you were crying again until he pulled back from and wiped away every last bit of your tears.

“I thought I had lost you,” you faltered as you watching, more thankful than ever before that he was back, safe and sound, “I was scared, Din, so scared. I don’t know what I would have done if...”

“Shhh,” he said gently, “it’s okay, Mesh’la, I’m here. I would never...I’ll always come back to you. In this lifetime and the next and the next. Every one of them, even if I had to drag myself from the pits of hell.”

Unable to think of a proper response, positive that words would not be able to properly convey how you felt, you kissed him again, and responded in kind, his hands finding your waist and pulling you up so you were sitting in his lap. Your hands found purchase on his shoulders and you leaned into him as closely as possible. You had been refraining from this for so long, so long had you ached and longed for him, that now you wanted to feel every part of him as much as you could.

Once you found your rhythm, you could feel him smiling against your lips as his hands touched the soft, exposed skin of your hips. It wasn’t on purpose, an accident rather, but it caused you to gasp lightly. Din stopped for a moment, searching your eyes to make sure you were okay, and not feeling uncomfortable. You grabbed his wrists and held his hands steadfast on your hips,”it’s okay. I was just startled, your hands are cold.”

He laughed lightly, bringing his head forward and resting his head on your shoulder. You reached up and ran a hand through his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp as you held him close, before burrowing your face into his neck, “Din. You’re so beautiful, my love. You always were before, but getting to have you...completely...it is not something I cannot easily described with words.”

He murmured something softly against your shoulder, but you couldn’t make out the words. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to, or if it was just for him. Tracing your hands over his back, you slowly started to pull up his shirt, testing the waters as you both entered new territory. When he didn’t stop you, you continued your work, slowly, inch by inch pulling off his dark undergarment; he pulled back and lifted his arms, making it easier for you strip him completely as you discarded the shirt onto the floor.

His torso was a golden bronze, soft and warm, and littered with various marks and scars that he had no doubt acquired over the years from his line of work. He seemed almost shy as you cast your eyes over him, trying to commit everything to memory. You turned slightly and slowly starting to push him back so he was lying on his back on the cot, staring back up at you. You traced your fingers lightly over his torso, touching every part of him, every inch of him that you could. He sighed lightly under your feather light touch.

His hands traced over your sides and you nodded lightly, silently granting him the permission he sought. Peeling off your shirt, he soon had it on the floor next to his, and you quickly let your undergarment join the shirts. You leaned down so you were basically laying on top of him, pressing gentle kisses to his skin. A few on his shoulders, his collarbones, his chest and down his stomach, the areas where he had particularly painful looking scars getting extra attention.

His stomach blossomed with nothing but love and affection for you as you were gentle, so gentle with him. He was not sure he had ever experienced this type of kindness and love before - honestly, he wasn’t ever sure he was deserving of it. But you always made feel the expect opposite, so loved, so human, so worthy.

He slowly pulled you back up, bring his lips to yours as he wrapped his arms around you and hugging you tightly to him. A soft sigh left your lips as kissed with such a fervent passion that it almost left you feeling drunk - on his love and touch.

You tilted your head back as a small mewl left your lips allowing Din even easier access your jaw and neck, almost inch of you bared before him. You were in such a vulnerable situation, but it didn't feel like anything but pure bliss and warmth as his lips explored every inch of your soft skin. His grip was firm but his exploration was the opposite.

Din was trying to learn every bit of your body, every touch, every curve. He admired how soft and delicate you felt, a complete juxtaposition to him; a balance of the darkness he had experienced and the lightness you carried.

Lightly, his mouth almost never leaving yours, he switched positions with you so you were on your back. Your eyes were trained on his, curious, wide, and filled with pure adoration. Surely he must have ascended because he would not think himself this fortunate in any lifetime to experience you in such softness.

You pulled him back to your swollen lips, arms around his neck as you held him close to you. It was so little, but meant so much. He took his sweet time, in rush as though all the time in the galaxy was on his side. And you let him, keeping a firm grip on him, but remaining gentle with his bandaged arm. The sound of your small sounds were saccharine to his ears, like music meant only for him.

It was a long time before he pulled back from you, and you silently grabbed his hands, setting them on the waistband of your pants. His eyes got lost in yours as he slowly undid the zip and fly of your pants, slowly them own your legs, drinking you in like he was a man that hadn't seen water in ages.

His touch was almost searing on yours as he explored the parts of you he had never seen before; your hips, your thighs, and every part. Sure that he was still either in shock or nervous, just as you were, you decided to help by pulling the remainder of your undergarments down and kicking them off, leaving you naked as the day you were born. His breath hitched in his throat as he reached up and ghosted his long fingers over your face, "you are easily the most stunning thing I have ever seen. You put the stars to shame, mesh'la."

You responded with a soft smile as you reached for the waistband of his thick trousers, fingers shaking lightly with nerves as the gravity of the situation slowly sunk in. This was happening - you were committing yourselves to each other in more ways than just physical. But you had known that as soon as he had made the decision to take off the helmet; you also knew that his decision had not been made on the spot, it had been slowly coming to fruition over a long time.

When the waistband was unbuttoned and unzipped, Din took over and slid his woolen pants down, kicking them away in a hurry. It wasn’t that his lust was all consuming or that he couldn’t wait, no, he’d already waited so long for you and he would be having been willing to wait for however long it took. But, rather, he wanted to feel every part of you on every part of him. He’d...known women before you, just as you’d known other men before you, but there was something so much more intimate and special about this, about you. But the way you beamed at him, a smile that rivaled when the beauty of Tatooine’s twin suns, his misgivings were washed and he just felt...loved.

He propped himself on an arm next to your face, his injured arm burying itself in your hair as he kissed you, nuzzling his nose against yours. Capturing his lips in a soft kiss, you whispered a string of soft reassurances in his ear. Maker, you hoped, desperately so, that this was a sight that would become familiar. Reaching down you took his hardened length and guided him to your entrance, already well slick with your arousal.

He slowly pushed in, a low moan escaping him as he gave you time to adjust to his length. It was a blissful feeling, mildly painful as you body adjusting to his width, but soon replaced with pleasure as he fully sheathed himself inside of you. He let out a breathy laugh before kissing you again, relishing in how you felt around him, how everything felt so right, so perfect.

He had stilled in you, but slowly began to move, taking his time as there was no rush; he could have stayed buried in your forever. Arching into his touch, your hands were all over his body as you didn’t bother to hold back the little moans and sounds that he was pulling from you. It was such a slow and soft thing, you both knew you wouldn’t last long, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, really, just being there in that moment.

“Din,” you pulled his face towards, making sure his eyes are were on you, “when we go to bed, or when you leave, you always say...well, I don’t know exactly what, but I want to know what it means.”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum?” he asked quietly as a light blush crept into his cheeks. You nodded and tried to repeat the words, failing miserably at doing so, causing the Mandalorian to chuckle fondly at you, “you’re so close...you’ll get there eventually, Mesh’la.”

“What does it mean?” you repeated, almost burying your face in his neck as he continued to move, and you were getting closer and closer to seeing stars, your vision softly going hazy, “you can tell me anything, Din.”

“It’s Mando’a,” he explained, kissing the side of your head as he felt himself getting incrementally closer to his bliss too, “it means...I love you.”

“I love you?” you gasped softly as he pressed almost nonexistent kisses along your jaw and neck, inhaling your warm scent; it had been his favorite for a long time, “but...you’ve been saying that to me for....”

“I know,” he finished your thought for you as he slowly started to still his lips, and you felt him twitch within you. He felt you grin against his chest as your hands trailed to his hips and beyond, grabbing the soft flesh of his backside.

“Ni...kar’grar...suum,” you mumbled against him, forgetting the words as you closed your eyes as your release washed over you, “kriff - I love you.”

A slight moan spilled from his lips as your words crashed around his ears, and he never felt more grounded or alive than ever in that moment. It was enough to spur him into his own release you and felt him spill within you. Wrapping him in your arms, you pulled him down to you, ignoring the fact that he was virtually crushing you, just wanted to feel him as close as humanly possible, to feel every breath he took, every movement he made.

His eyes met yours and pressed a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth, “I love you.”

There it was. Finally, hanging in the air and in the open. Although, as you had found out, he had been saying it to you for so much longer than you could have imagined. But it was easier, so much easier than you had thought it ever would be. Maybe that was how love was supposed to feel....easy and bright. You liked that idea; you liked the idea of sharing that sort of gentle love with Din.

He re-positioned himself so he was lying across from you, his longer legs still tangled with yours as he brushed the stray locks of hair away from your face. You were worn out and sweaty, basking in the afterglow as you stared at your newly anointed lover. Maker, he was the most wondrous sight you had ever beheld.

“We made you a cake!” you suddenly remembered, eyes widening as you pictured the sad little thing that was wrapped up and waiting for him. His eyes light up as he laughed warmly, a rich, deep timbre that sent a pleasant shiver up your spine.

“Kriff,” he sighed lightly, “what did I do to deserve you?”

“You haven’t seen the cake,” you leaned in closer so your nose was brushing against his, “I wouldn’t say that just yet.”

“I’m not talking about the cake,” he let out a content sigh as wrapped an arm around your waist. You burrowed into his chest, listening to the even beating of his heart; it was strong and steady, just like him.

“I know,” you echoed his words from earlier, “I just...”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” he repeated slowly so you could listen to the inflection and tone of each word, “I mean it, Mesh’la. I have and will, in every lifetime I am blessed enough to find you.”

“Every lifetime,” you suddenly felt tired, a deep tired, but a happy one as you settled further into his chest, “like you said. Even if I have to drag myself from the depths of hell to find you. I would it, and again, and again, and again.”

He rested his head on top of yours and you could feel his throat catch as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. Closing his tired eyes, he let himself drift to sleep, content in knowing that this wasn’t just a dream - you were tangible and very real. You’d wake up in his arms and he’d get a lifetime of this. A life time of kisses, of love, of you.

And he was okay with. Even if he had to crawl from the very depths of hell to just see you smile one more time.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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izzabeean · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5 : Impulse

SUMMARY

You've learned something you wish you didn't about Ushijima and now you wish you could forget.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 2,836

tags : alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n : What can I say, Y/N has a bit of a sweet tooth! I mean if I spent a day in the city you bet I would be eating a lot of food. Or is that just me? Anyway, I am happy with how this turned out! The next chapter is going to be so fun!

Will try to post every Thursday evening PST, if not latest by Friday.

Hope you're enjoying the series so far!

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Today sucks.

After last night, you didn’t think it could get any worse, but you were so wrong. The sliver of hope that today was going to be a bit better quickly vanished in a matter of seconds leaving your heart even more shattered than you thought was possible.

So why?

Why is it that you saw the person you’d love the most with a girl you’d never seen before? As much as you wish it weren’t so, the evidence is right in front of you no matter how many times you try to push the image away.

Staring down at your soft serve ice cream, nearly melted, you let out a big sigh trying to repress the tears wanting to form. You wish your favorite flavor of frozen dessert could solve all your problems, alas, the rich creamy flavors only remind you of a date you had with Ushijima…

“It’s never too cold for ice cream,” you spout, arms linked with Ushijima marching your way to your favorite ice cream shop. It was this particular spot that made you realize Ushijima is more than what you’ve ever wanted in your life. You’d been dating for six months now, a new record in your love life, also a big surprise you haven’t tired him out with your nonsense.

Instead of arguing whether a cold dessert was an appropriate snack in the winter, he just let out a deep sigh in reply knowing you’re not going to be convinced otherwise.

“Don’t give me that,” you holler, covering your face in your hands, refusing to look at Ushijima.

Gently, he grabs your hands pulling them away from your face giving you a little kiss on the cheek in apology for his teasing.

“Y/N.”

Oikawa’s voice pulls you out of your bitter memory back to sitting across from him at a cafe. Your heart drops, realizing that there will not be any more moments like that with Ushijima. Did everything always remind you of him this much?

“You’re ice cream,” Oikawa says, eyes locked on to the dessert dripping on your hand.

Quickly you get up from the table grabbing some napkins to wipe up the mess you’ve made which resonates with you very well at this point. Not only are you emotionally a mess, apparently now you can’t even physically get a hold of yourself. Emotional pain is just temporary, yes, yet there’s this overwhelming feeling that makes you think your entire world is closing in on you.

In the process of cleaning up the sticky residue, you let out a growl noticing it’s dripped onto your palish pants producing a humiliating colored stain. You start pressing on the fabric in hopes your mishap would magically disappear… It doesn’t.

Oikawa peers down at your pants attempting to conceal his chuckle with a titter.

“It’s not funny,” you rasp.

But Oikawa can’t stop himself from bursting into a loud guffaw resulting in a free-flowing of tears.

Completely exasperated by the chaos, you throw out what’s left of your liquefied treat and sit back at the table covering your face with your hands. You didn’t feel in a rush to embarrass yourself more by strutting around the city with a large smudge of ice cream on your pants.

Once Oikawa gains his composure, he takes his jacket off and passes it to you across the table.

“You can hold this to cover it,” he offers.

The gesture feels loaded, like the true intent is much more devious than that, especially since he seemed to find it so amusing. There’s no way Oikawa could perform such gracious acts of kindness.

“Take it,” he says.

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” You reply, shoving the coat away with your hands.

Oikawa shrugs, “I’ll be fine.”

Giving in to his persistency, you take the jacket. “Thank you,” you breathe.

You watch Oikawa straighten out his shirt and fix his hair as a couple of girls walk by giggling, smiling at him, one even gives a little wave. It puzzles you how Oikawa can be such a dreamboat, from your years of friendship, his reputation borderlines annoying and childish, but the little gestures he’s made today have really made you rethink; this was a side to Oikawa you’ve never seen before.

On your way back to the train station, you look out toward the horizon and see the sun setting; pinks and oranges fill the sky, and the sight before you is quite romantic. The scene itself ended up turning out to be soothing despite the alarming encounter from earlier.

Now your new reality is finally setting in where there’s no Ushijima.

“I don’t want to go home,” you utter.

Oikawa studies you with your head hanging low. The glow of the sun coats you in its gleaming rays, he wasn’t sure if he was imagining things but he noticed the light capture a shimmer of a single tear tracking down your cheek. Then it finally resonates with him: you're not okay.

“Wish I could get out of these pants though,” you laugh. Then just like that, you revert to a smile.

“Let’s take you out,” Oikawa says.

“Out? Like to a club?” You didn’t fully expect any sort of resolution from Oikawa, your comment was meant to be rhetorical.

“Yeah! You, me, and Iwa! We never go together and it will be good for you to go out to have some fun!”

“I don’t know about that,” you sigh.

Oikawa’s eyes widen, the look on his face is full of excitement basically begging you to say yes. He must know you’re feeling vulnerable because it doesn’t take a moment more of hesitation to.

------

When Oikawa said he was going to take you out, he really meant it. The nightclub is lavish as loud music pulses in your chest while crowds of people huddle around the bar and scatter across the dance floor.

Oikawa could be considered an avid clubber, how could he not be when he is so popular with girls, and had always tried to convince you to join him. You never really have, but you’ve also never really had your heartbroken to this degree.

“It’s about to get even more crowded,” Oikawa yells into your ear.

10:13 pm on a Saturday evening and it’s going to get busier? Oh god.

Crowds aren’t your thing. Clubs aren’t your thing. Drinking isn’t really your thing. What are you even doing here?

“Shots?” Oikawa suggests pointing to the bar.

Your stomach churns at the thought. Diving into the night with shots seems excessive; they always leave a bitter taste in your mouth and the strong smell makes you want to gag. You wanted a drink to ease you into the evening...

“6 shots of Jäger,” Oikawa orders.

Maybe not so much tonight.

The bartender retrieves the alcohol and brings back six shot glasses, each filled to the rim of dark liquor. Holding the shot glass up to your face, the potent smell makes your nose scrunch. With a cheers, you throw back the alcohol and the sensation burns your throat; it’s awful. Knowing there’s a second shot waiting, you don't delay the inevitable.

“Someone’s eager,” Oikawa purrs watching you down the second shot.

The corners of your mouth turn down as the hairs on your back stand up. You let out an ick and turn to Oikawa and Iwaizumi who are both in awe of your tenacity. Truthfully, you were shocked too. Then all the tension in your body seems to disperse, from the day, from entering the nightclub. You finally feel relaxed.

“Am I going to be waiting for you all night? Or what?” You tease eyeing their untouched liquor.

Both men look at each other and take the shot in one gulp. Calling over the bartender you order another round, this time they’re a lot easier to take.

“You’re really not playing around,” Iwaizumi teases, impressed that you’re able to down three shots in a matter of minutes upon entering the venue.

Shifting your gaze to Iwaizumi, he looks so hot in his black button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone. A warm feeling fills your chest, you didn’t know if it was the alcohol hazing your perception or you were genuinely starting to crush on him.

Damn it, you think to yourself while your eyes continue to linger on him.

Considering your current situation, the smart thing to do here would be to do nothing. On the other hand, you couldn’t help that your heart fluttered in Iwaizumi’s presence. Surely, he didn’t realize the meaning behind his words but it brought you lower into the sort of absolution that you were definitely forming a rebound crush on him. But you couldn’t let yourself. Of course, if you did, you were bound to hurt Iwaizumi and your friendship with Oikawa. You had to stop yourself before it was too late.

Oikawa’s eyes fall onto you, noticing your ogling. You seem to illuminate with this glow he hasn’t seen all day and for a split second, he is fueled with irritation at the sight. But catches his outward anger and pushes it down, gaining composure.

------

Keeping up with Oikawa for most of the night was a bad idea. Certainly, it didn’t occur to you until you stumble into the bathroom all by yourself, realizing you were most definitely unable to stand straight without help.

Check yourself out in the mirror, you pull out your phone to take a raunchy selfie. You smirk at yourself checking the photo before posting it to your social media story.

That will show him, you think, hopeful Ushijima will see the image you’ve posted. He’s not the only one who can have fun.

Before even pressing “post” you get a text from Oikawa asking where you are. You giggle as you type come find me and press send with the intention of finding him first.

As you leave the bathroom, you begin to scan the crowd for Oikawa or Iwaizumi trying to recollect where you last saw them. The crowds of people in the vicinity make it practically impossible and the further you walk into the nightclub, the louder the music gets, the brighter the lights are, the warmer your body feels.

All you wanted to do was get out.

Stepping outside, there’s this instant relief from the crisp evening air although it doesn’t last long, and soon a violent shiver courses through you. Turning around to go back inside the bouncer stops you then points to what seems like an endless line of people.

“B-but, I-I just need to get my jacket,” you stammer.

“Sorry, ma’am. You’re going to have to wait in line,” he booms.

Your outward calmness cracks, too anxious to even think up an excuse. You needed to find Oikawa or Iwaizumi and you need to find them now!

You turn your attention back to your phone as you begin to type out a text to come meet you outside the club.

“Hey sweet cheeks,” a raspy voice calls out.

You look up and see a rough-looking guy in line making intense eye contact with you. Normally you don’t judge, but your drunk bordering wasted self notes this man was very sketchy and it’s best to avoid him. So you turn your back to him and call Oikawa instead.

“Hey don’t ignore me,” he yells.

You start walking in the opposite direction from the line as far away from the stranger as possible. You’re a bit worried he can still see you and slip into an alley beside the nightclub, the phone still ringing on the other end.

“Pick up. Pick up. Pick up!!” You mutter into the receiver. Oikawa doesn’t, so you try again.

“I don’t like being ignored, sweet cheeks.” The same raspy voice makes you jump as you turn around to see the scraggly man backlit by fluorescent streetlights, only making his appearance more menacing.

The call goes to Oikawa’s voicemail again.

“Guess your friend ditched ya,” he continued walking closer to you. The statement sobers you up as his aura escalates to a more threatening demeanor.

“They said they’ll just be out,” you squeal.

“Yeah?” The stranger keeps shortening the distance every step. “Why don’t you come with me?”

He’s so close now that you can smell his disgusting breath and you start to panic. “I-I can’t, I’m waiting for someone, th-thank you though.”

Why the fuck did you say thank you? Your brain screams at you.

“Oh come on sweet cheeks,” he coaxes, reaching out to clasp on to your wrist. “I’ll show you a good time.”

Your body freezes at his touch. It stings as a sharp pain from his grip makes you want to scream or cry, but the shock was melting your ability to. You felt so useless and timid in times of distress. You didn’t know what to do, you couldn’t escape searing clutches of--

“What do you think you’re doing?” A deep voice thunders.

The stranger turns to see the culprit and you slowly glance to see Iwaizumi with an intimidating aura protruding from him.

“Just having a nice talk,” the stranger purrs, tightening his grip more and you let out a little yelp.

“Is that what this is? She looks pretty scared to me,” Iwaizumi retorts.

“This’ none of your business kid,” the stranger rages.

“Actually it is,” he demands stepping closer. “Let go of her.”

A vein on Iwaizumi’s neck pops out as his hands start to ball into fists. Now the stranger is intensely regretting his choice and you can sense it from the fact he’s visibly shaking. You are nearly on the verge of tears from the pain in your wrist and wonder if he was going to break it.

“Let go,” Iwaizumi orders again.

And this time he does, the man, nothing but a weak buffoon, frees your wrist and walks off in a trudge.

“You okay?” Iwaizumi walks over to you to take a look at your wrist.

You nod, letting out a deep exhale trying to hide how petrified you were while holding your wrist.

“Does it hurt,” he asks, gently applying pressure to it. “Let me take a look.”

Initially, you flinch at his touch, afraid the searing pain will return, instead, his fingertips lightly trace your wrist while analyzing it thoroughly.

“Let me take you to a hospital to be sure.”

“No, no,” you breathe, locking eyes with him. “I’m fine, just a little sore.

Iwaizumi’s face flickers with a bit of uncertainty but decides not to push it and lets go of your wrist to take out a cigarette.

“Fuck,” you hiss. You felt like an idiot for going off on your own, for drinking this much, for going out at all. “I’m sorry.”

Deeply inhaling the smoke, he turns to you, “For what?”

“For running off by myself, and you totally just saving my ass. It’s just… pathetic,” you exclaim, reverting eye contact with him-- you’re slightly embarrassed and his silence is only telling, considering you barely know each other. “I swear to god, I’m not normally like this.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he states, shrugging his shoulders. “Oikawa says you’re dealing with shit.”

Your reaction isn’t short of an embarrassment. His words hurt you as the scenario of Oikawa telling Iwaizumi about your break-up fills your mind. You scoff. “I’m fine!”

“You’re a horrible liar.” Iwaizumi didn’t have a problem calling you out as you stared at him after a few moments of silence.

“So what am I supposed to tell him?” you mutter, this surge of anger sweeps over you, you feel this swell of rage boiling inside. “That it’s ok to see my ex, not even a day broken-up with a new girl? It’s fucking bullshit!”

He turns to look at you and blinks at your reaction. The sudden unexpected word vomit makes you pause.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” you whisper. “It’s just weird, you know, all of it. I didn’t expect to be blindsided like that. It’s just…” You look over to Iwaizumi listening intently to you and feel your face grow hot. “Oh my god, I’m sorry! You never asked.”

It’s awkward and quiet, you’re pretty sure Iwaizumi can feel it too. You’re puzzled with what to say and feel pressured to express a less depressing answer. You didn’t want to drop the mood of the evening. In those moments, it became apparent you needed to sober up.

“Can I have one?” you ask.

He looks at you with wide eyes, “You smoke?”

You take out your lighter that you have stowed away in your purse flaunting it as evidence of your new bad habit. Iwaizumi tosses you the pack of smokes.

“You’re not going to tell on me, are you?” You’re trying to sound like you’re joking but a hint of worry seeps through and you’re left waiting for a serious response from him.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x y/n #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime

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oikirstein · 4 years

Text

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 | 𝐤.𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚

PAIRING: tsukishima x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: You’re in your third year at Karasuno High, and have liked Tsukki for all of them, but after finally being in a relationship with him for the past six months, you realize his cold, careless demeanor, which you once fell in love with, was the same reason you were falling out.

CONTAINS: Angst (?)

WORD COUNT: 2,610

A/N: Anyway, this is my first time writing a char x reader one shot, so hopefully it isn't too dreadful to read. I wanted this one to be about Mr. Kei Tsukishima because the phrase “take it back” sounded angsty, and I have a burning hate towards him, so I thought it would be fitting.

Part two here.

Prompt from here.

Six months.

That’s how long you’ve been in a relationship with Kei Tsukishima, but is that how long you’ve practically been in love with him? Of course not. You’ve liked the blonde boy since your first year orientation, when you noticed how much he soared over the other students. Obviously his height wasn’t the only thing you liked about him. You adored the way he cared about his best friend, Yamaguchi. You found it hilarious when he picked on the other first years (and occasionally the upperclassmen as well). You were in awe of how he almost glowed at the end of a long game. You grew to love his stone cold face, which he wore so effortlessly and so undeniably well. You were fond of the way he’d get annoyed of his short golden curls tickling his forehead. You were desperately in love with every little thing about him. Who would’ve thought that over these past six months, those things that you found so much comfort in, would’ve also become the exact reason you were in the position you’re in now?

You had the grades, you had the looks, but most importantly, you had the boy. What more could you ask for?

It was January when Tsukki had seemed to have forgotten to walk you home—which you thought was strange since he’s walked home with you everyday for the past year and a half—but you made the excuse nonetheless.

Maybe he’s just running a bit late. Maybe practice was taking longer than expected. Maybe he just lost track of time. Maybe—

Excuse upon excuse was running through your head as you sat outside the gym waiting for him, like you did every day you were together. You always asked him why you couldn’t just wait for him inside so you weren’t vulnerable to the elements (and so you could watch him practice).

“You’d only be a distraction,” is what he always said before walking away and leaving you all alone beyond the gym doors.

A forced smile spread across your face as you shrugged your shoulders and turned on your heels to sit on the bench near the vending machines. You wondered why he was so distant with you—no—you longed for a real answer. Was he trying to hide something within those concrete walls? You knew Tsukki had secrets that he kept from you, hell he hardly ever talked about the things that weren’t secrets, but to say you were shocked when you found out the secret he was keeping was you, was an understatement. Because that day, that special winter day, was the day the sky decided cry.

Your legs moved before your brain could think, and suddenly you were running towards the gym’s entrance, seeking refuge from the rain. The sounds of sneakers squeaking against the laminated hardwood floors, the echoes of volleyballs ricocheting off of walls and hands, the murmurs of huffing and puffing coming from the athlete’s chests—they all came to a halt as they stared at the girl who just interrupted their practice.

“Can we help you?” their captain, Yamaguchi, said with a smile and both hands resting on his hips.

“Oh um sorry. I was waiting for Tsukki outside and it started raining so I kind of just ran in here without thinking,” you giggled to hide your nervousness, but your shaky tone was still apparent.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi questioned.

“Yeah...” you trailed off thinking of what to possibly say. Tsukki wouldn't be very happy if he found out that you actually came into the gym and showed yourself in front of his teammates, but then again it’s not like he ever got upset about anything, “it’s just that me and my boyfriend usually walk home together and he still hasn’t come out.”

If according to routine, Tsukki typically would’ve been done with practice about two hours ago. At this time, It would usually be just Yamaguchi left alone with the first years, as he liked to spend extra time working with them and their skills.

“B-boyfriend?” the green haired boy almost couldn’t contain his laughter in his reply.

“Yes...” you tried to laugh with him, but the awkward tension in the air kept getting thicker and thicker.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, “it’s just that Tsukki’s never told us he had a girlfriend, or even liked anyone before.”

Oh. So that’s why he wanted to keep you out of the gym.

“Say, how long have you two been dating now?”

“A little over six months.”

His expression went a complete 180. What was once the look of light, friendly banter, was now riddled with fear, shock and a jaw nearly touching the floor.

“Oh my god,” Yamaguchi looked as if an apology was on the tip of his tongue, but before he could get the chance, you opened your mouth.

“Uh well since Tsukishima obviously isn’t here, I’ll just walk home myself. Thanks for the help Yamaguchi,” you hurriedly replied, one foot already out the door.

Step after step, the time it took between your strides became shorter and shorter, as you broke into a run, making your way towards home. Why would he keep you a secret from them? Why is he always so cold? Why does he always push you away? Why does he always tease you with that same monotone voice? Why did he not love you?

You stopped mid-step as you took in your surroundings. You knew exactly where you were. This was the intersection where you and Tsukki would part ways. You debated: left or right? My house or his? Where should I go?

You took a minute to think about which direction to take, when suddenly your phone rang. Pins and needles ran through your skin and a chill went down your spine as you read the caller ID.

“Tsukki”

You stared at the phone in shock, eyes wide, mouth agape, and skin turning paler by the second. He never called you first, so why start now? Ah. That’s right. Yamaguchi probably told him what happened.

“Hello?” you practically almost whispered.

“You went inside the gym today?”

“Uhm yes?”

“Why do you sound like you’re not sure,” his words said one thing, but his tone said another. Like he was trapped trying to scream in a place where the volume was muffled.

“Yes,” you said, more stern this time. Today was the day you were going to get answers.

“Why?”

“Take a fucking guess, Tsukki.”

Silence.

“I was waiting for you. Outside the gym. For four fucking hours,” you all but yelled into the phone.

“You could’ve just stayed outside.”

“Are you blind, four-eyes? Did you forget your glasses or something? Its raining!”

“Y/n,” he didn’t say your name often, maybe that's why it always had you so weak in the knees, “where are you right now?”

“Why?”

“Well you sound upset and it seems noisy in the background,” maybe he actually did care about you?

“The intersection.”

“Theres thousands of intersections in Miyagi, Y/N, try being a little more specific,” there it was, the passive aggressiveness he was so good at using.

“I know that, dumbass,” annoyance dripping from your lips, you tried getting across to him that you were fed up with his attitude, “the one where we always split up.”

“K,” was the only thing he uttered before you heard the dial tone.

Could he be on his way here? Did he want to talk to you? Did he want to see you?

One ounce of you. All it took was one ounce, one sliver of hope, for you to be waiting out here in the rain, not entirely sure if Tsukki was going to show up or not. You made a deal with yourself: if he wasn't here in the next fifteen minutes, you were leaving, and the two of you would be over. Right then and there, you hadn't realized that one of those things would have been inevitable anyway.

Five. Ten. Fourteen.

You cautiously watched the clock on your phone as your anxiety grew more and more intense with every passing minute.

There it was. Fifteen.

Some part of you must have known he wasn’t coming, because when the clock struck exactly fifteen minutes, you did not hesitate to get up and take the right to finally go home.

As you turned the corner, you heard the faint tap, splash, tap, splash, tap, splash, coming from behind, growing louder and louder the closer it got. You thought it was just a dog, or maybe some sweet, innocent child playing in the rain. Then you heard the volume of a voice you never thought you'd hear.

“Y/N!” Tsukki cried while running towards you, “Wait!”

You did not stop. You did not wait. Your steps did not waiver the way your breath hitched at the sound of your name. You continued on as if nothing was said at all.

Though this plan of yours didn’t work as you had forgotten one important factor: Tsukishima was an athlete. You forgot how fast he could run if he really wanted to...but maybe you wanted him to run after you? This was all you wished for after all. For once you wanted him to understand how it felt to chase after someone with no requiting in sight.

You didn't stop walking until you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder and an audible exhale against the nape of your neck.

“Why are you running away from me? I know you heard me,” he said, his monotone tone of voice almost slipping...was he...pleading?

You hadn’t turned around yet when you spoke, “You have some nerve asking me that,” you all but spat.

“W-what?” Oh so now he was stuttering? Was this even the same Tsukishima you fell in love with all those months ago?

You turned around so fast, you could have sworn he winced when his arm was violently whipped to the side.

“Isn’t that all you’ve been doing for the past six months?” You raised your voice—something you’ve never done in front of him before—but little did you know that this day was going to be full of firsts for you two, “Just look at today. You forgot about me. You didn’t tell your team about me. You barely even talk to me.”

“Wait, that’s not true—”

“Is it not? Your best friend didn't even know that you had a girlfriend,” you cut him off.

“Well if you would just shut the fuck up and let me explain you would know why I did all of that!”

What a terribly heartbreaking sight: to see two young lovers yelling at each other in the rain. Tsukishima grabbed your wrist and turned around, making an effort to start walking in the opposite direction.

“Just follow me,” he sighed, putting his headphones on and dragging you along behind him.

You were tired—exhausted really. It was draining to be the only one putting in effort to stay together. You genuinely believed that if you stopped initiating, the two of you would fall apart. That’s probably the reason why only a mere whisper could be heard from your lips.

“Do you even like me?”

With the sound of the rain’s relentless smacking of the puddles on the floor and the music coming from Tsukki’s headphones, he wasn’t entirely sure if he heard you correctly, or if you had really said anything at all. Still, although his pace never faltered, he still felt a pang in his heart from your supposed words.

You used your free hand to ever so lightly tug on the hem of his shirt, and that’s when he realized you truly did utter those broken hearted words. It was like he nearly came undone at your touch.

“What?” he said as he slowly lowered his headphones to rest on his shoulders.

“I know you heard what I said,” suddenly the sky wasn’t the only thing crying that day, but unlike the heavens above, your tears were warm, livid, and came slowly down your face—inaudible to the human ear.

“Y/N—”

“It’s a simple yes or no answer, Tsukishima,” you said this despite already knowing the answer. He was either going to tell the truth or lie.

“Yes.”

He lied.

It was true: you had the grades and you had the looks, but life could not grant you the boy.

“Let’s,” your voice almost broke at the thought, but you kept yourself together for just a little longer, “break up.”

Tsukki swore his heart stopped beating for a second. Surely you weren’t serious.

“W-what? Why?” His voice was shaky and panicky—two things you wouldn’t dare associate with him.

“You’re smart! Do you need me to spell it out for you?” You looked up at him, eyes glossy from oceans spilling out of your lash line, and the sound of defeat flowing out of your throat. “I’m so tired of this whole relationship being one sided! Do you want me to start coughing up rose petals for you until I can’t breathe? Because surely I’m getting there.”

“Do you seriously think I don’t like you? I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn't care for you,” he half-screamed. Tsukki was offended that you’d doubt him, but he was the one who gave you every reason to.

“For the first time in six months—six fucking months—you came for me. Where was this attitude yesterday? Or the week before? Or months ago? The fact of the matter is,” you took a deep breath as to not unravel right then and there, “your heart is the one thing that will never be mine.”

You turned away from him and whispered, “So let’s just end this here, before any of us—before I—get hurt,” and you walked away. It wasn’t until you were out of earshot when Tsukki’s heart wrenching three words slipped from his mouth.

“Take it back,” he held his hand out for you, watching as your petite frame got smaller and smaller with every stride.

When you disappeared from view, he slowly turned around and slumped in his step. He went back home and dropped to his knees when he opened the door to the reminder of your absent presence.

Why had he left early?

He planned a special surprise for you at his house for your six month anniversary. A banner, chocolates, roses, teddy bears, and all of your favorite movies. It took him all of six months to build up the courage to do something as heart warming as this—but unfortunately, he was six months too late.

Why was he so cold?

He knew that’s why you caught feelings for him. You told him all about how you fell in love with his distant demeanor. How you thought it was cute when he cringed at people trying to make conversation with him. He never changed because he thought that's what you wanted. After all, that is the reason you liked him, wasn’t it? Maybe he was just too inexperienced to recognized what you truly wanted—no—what you truly needed.

You see, Tsukishima was the type to love in silence, the way you did all those years ago. He left you love letters in your shoe locker, the ones you assumed to be from random secret admirers. He’d leave practice thirty minutes early so you wouldn’t have to wait for him too long. He’d make sure to shut anyone up who dared speak a single negative thing about you, because he too, was in awe of every single aspect you had to give.

Neither of you could have predicted that that unassuming day six months ago was truly the beginning of the end.

reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

#ik i don't like tsukki but writing this kinda made me sad #hopefully its angsty enough #keitsukishima #tsukki #tsukishima x reader #reader x tsukishima #tsukki x reader #reader x tsukki #haikyuu #haikyuu one shot #haha fuck tsukki #gel scribbles

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aadmelioraa · 4 years

Text

Take Two

A Happiest Season Abby x Riley fic (2.4k, T)

It had been one year since Abby had left. One year since they’d called it quits. One year since their engagement was over.

And now it was Christmas time again, only this time Abby was more alone than ever.

She’d been on a few dates since they’d broken up, but no one had stuck around. Probably more her fault than theirs. It had been good to get back out there, but it still hurt to remember how things with Harper had ended.

It was a pretty big shock at the time, but looking back it had been a long time coming. Abby and Harper were on different paths and it just wouldn't have worked, no matter how much they loved each other.

“It’s not you,” Harper had insisted. “It’s me, and I’m so sorry.”

That was one of the last things Harper said to her.

They’d been talking wedding plans that morning and by evening Abby was packing her bags.

Harper had been so desperate to make her happy since they got engaged, but her constantly bending over backward wasn’t what Abby needed, and it was stressing Harper out. Neither of them was their best self together, not anymore. Rather than bringing them closer, in the end, that Christmas with the Caldwells had exposed too many rifts in the relationship to salvage.

Tagging @mego42 @endlesslychildish @arcane--soul @skittles321

Read the rest below the cut or on ao3

“I want you to be happy without trying so hard to satisfy the idea of me in your head. You’re such an amazing person—“ Abby had started sobbing here, “—but I can't give you what you need either.”

She’d moved out that night. Harper hadn’t accepted the breakup at first despite sort of initiating it. The conversation had lasted for hours, but eventually, she acknowledged the inevitable and left Abby alone for a few hours to pack. John, thankfully just a text away, had helped her drive everything over to his place.

It had been the second-worst night of Abby’s life.

She’d moved to Philadelphia two months later. She’d grown up there, technically, but without her parents, it didn’t really feel like coming home. New neighborhood, new apartment, new job. If that wasn’t proof she could get over it, what was? But when the holiday season came around again a lot of memories, once happy, now painful, resurfaced.

Waking up alone on Christmas Eve that year, in a word, sucked.

Abby was awake at 6:30 am for some reason. She checked her phone. She’d missed two non-emergency texts from John last night after she’d taken melatonin and passed out. He was definitely still sleeping; she’d text him back later.

She made a pot of coffee and stood in the kitchen in her pajamas wondering what she was going to do to keep herself occupied all day. John, who was living with his boyfriend in New York now, had invited her to stay the night and spend Christmas with them, but Abby wasn't sure if she was feeling up to it. She kinda wanted to sit the holiday out completely this year. She opened her phone and jumped aimlessly between the same three apps, then finally forced herself to take a shower.

At noon she decided to get dressed and go for a walk. That ought to keep her distracted enough. She put on jeans, thick socks, and her warmest sweater under her coat and started wandering.

There was nothing quite like Philly at Christmas. Still brash, loud, and occasionally vulgar but now decked to the nines with tinsel. She was glad to have new haunts to discover along with revisiting old haunts.

The snow from the previous day had turned to slush by the time the sun was at its peak, but that didn’t stop the kids in her neighborhood from spilling out into the streets to play football and tag under the grey sky. She waved at her upstairs neighbors and made a mental note to try and get to know them a little better in the new year.

It was a nice enough day. Maybe she’d head to Fairmount Park. Wherever she ended up there were sure to be plenty of frantic people coming to and fro, finishing last-minute Christmas shopping.

A wave of mixed emotions washed over her as she passed by a jeweler. Harper had given back the ring, of course. It was with John for safekeeping. Abby couldn’t return it, but it felt really weird to have it at her new place. Fresh start and all. Maybe someday she’d be ready to sell it. For now, she didn’t want to think about it.

She continued on at a brisk pace, stopping at a street cart for a lunch of falafel which she ate standing over a trash can, then continuing on.

It was after four o’clock by the time she realized how far she’d walked. Her hands had grown pretty chapped, she should probably go inside for a minute. There was a bar up ahead that looked open, and she could definitely use a drink.

It was fairly empty when she entered which made her instantly relax. She sidled up the bar and took a seat, rubbing her hands to warm them.

“Hey.” There was one bartender working, a curly-haired woman wearing a bandana headband, fitted flannel, and impeccable winged eyeliner like some kind of femme Luke Danes. “What can I get for you?”

“Vodka tonic?”

“Not feeling the Christmas spirit today, huh?” the bartender asked, grabbing the well vodka and rimming a glass with a wedge of lemon.

“Not really.”

“Yeah me neither. Anyway, name’s Gem,” the woman said, setting the cocktail down with a gentle tap. “Yell if you need anything.”

She smiled and walked to the far corner of the bar, a towel draped over her shoulder. A tall redhead and a petite girl with shoulder lengths locs raised their glasses at her.

Even if Abby wasn’t feeling it today, she’d picked a good spot.

She’d just started to feel the effects of the booze when she heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, I thought that was you.”

Startled, Abby nearly dropped her drink.

Riley, Harper’s Riley, slid onto the stool next to her.

“Hey!” Abby said, “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” Riley laughed.

“Yeah, I mean—great, great to see you.” Abby couldn’t help from grinning. She probably looked like an idiot but she didn’t care.

“You look good,” Riley said, subtly sweeping her eyes up and down in an appreciative manner.

“Thanks, thanks.” Abby was glad she’d foregone the beanie with the hole in it. “You look good too.”

She really did. Her hair was a little shorter now, though it still framed her face perfectly. Otherwise, she looked exactly the same as when they’d met two years ago. She was wearing a black mock neck sweater and a pair of perfectly tailored wool pants. Her boots had a slight heel, not too high to be practical in an East Coast winter. The hem of her sweater pulled up a little as Riley leaned over the bar, exposing just a sliver of skin. Abby tried not to stare too obviously while she ordered a drink.

“I moved to Philly last month, to answer your question,” Riley said. “Got a fellowship at Kensington, I start in a week.”

“Oh, cool. Congrats, that’s awesome.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Riley took a sip, glancing over at Abby in a way that made her face grow slightly warm. “What have you been up to?”

“Finished the doctorate and got a job as a curator at the PMA. It’s going well. I mean, relatively.”

“Well, look at you!” Riley raised her glass. “Doctor.”

“Doctor,” Abby echoed, laughing, as she knocked her glass against Riley’s.

“Glad to hear that.” Riley took another sip of her drink and paused, mouth pulling to one side awkwardly for just a second.

Abby knew the question that was coming.

“So,” Riley was looking straight ahead into the mirror behind the bar, “how’s Harper?”

Abby grimaced.

Riley’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit…”

“It’s ok! It’s ok,” Abby could feel herself overcorrecting. “It’s been about a year. But yeah, we’re not together anymore.”

“I’m really really sorry, Abby.”

“It’s fine, really,” Abby shrugged. “I mean, if anyone knows how I feel, it’s you.”

Riley exhaled and leaned over the bar, her elbow just barely touching Abby’s. “Yeah, that’s definitely true.”

“So what are you doing in a random bar on Christmas Eve anyway?” Abby asked, ready to change the subject.

“I live up the street, actually. I’m heading to Pittsburgh to see family tomorrow, but that’s going to feel like work, so today I just wanted to relax.”

“Totally,” Abby said, watching as a party of college aged kids spilled in from the street and headed to the high top tables towards the back of the bar. “I’m just taking it easy today, too.”

“Big plans tomorrow?”

“Might see John. I think you met him…when we met.”

“Yeah, I remember John. How’s he doing?”

“He’s really good. Thinks I need to get out more, but otherwise he’s very happy.”

Riley laughed. “I’ve been out exactly three times—wait, no, this makes it four—since I moved here in November so clearly I have no idea what that’s about.”

“You liking Philly so far?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, don’t get me wrong it’s weird as fuck, but it’s got some really great people. The doctors I work with are whatever, but this kind of place has a good vibe.”

She smiled at Gem, who was rolling her eyes as she made Long Island Iced Teas for the group at the high tops.

“You two know each other?” Abby asked, internally cringing at how un-cool about it she sounded.

“I’ve been here three of the four times I’ve been out, so you could say that,” Riley said. “Nice people usually.”

Gem dropped off the tray of Long Islands and brought Abby and Riley another round.

“They tried to order mojitos,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Fucking kids,” Abby said. Riley laughed. That felt good.

Another large group came in, middle-aged couples this time. It had grown dark outside, it must be after five by now.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the conversations happening around them. Old friends were reuniting to the right and left of them, the chatter that filled the air was starting to make Abby feel a little claustrophobic. She shifted towards the edge of her seat, tapping one foot nervously against the floor.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” Riley asked, raising her hand to catch Gem’s attention. “It’s getting a little crowded.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Abby said, relieved. “I’m just gonna run to the restroom.”

She threw a slightly crumpled pile of bills—mostly fives—on the bar and made her way to the back.

By some good luck, the bathroom was free with no line. The space was cramped and not overly clean, and the small black and white tiles that covered the lower half of the walls created a frantic pattern that did nothing to help Abby’s nerves. She exhaled a deep breath, fixed on her own gaze staring back at her from the mirror.

You’re fine. You’re just hanging out with a girl. A friend, even. Stop being so fucking nervous.

She rolled her eyes, annoyed at her own pep talk, then made her way back to the bar.

Riley was waiting with her hat on, hands thrust deep into the pockets of her dark green coat. Her face broke into a smile when she saw Abby returning.

“Anywhere in particular you want to go?” Abby asked.

“Not really,” Riley said casually. “Lead the way.”

“You got it,” Abby said, and Riley followed her outside.

The air was brisk, and snow had just started to fall as they left. There were Christmas lights everywhere, garlands wrapped around lampposts, a tree decked to the nines in nearly every window.

“Philly really gets in the holiday season, huh?” Riley asked dryly, then pointed up at a stuffed orange mascot that hung from a wreath on someone’s porch. “What the hell is that thing?”

“You really are new here,” Abby laughed. “I don’t know if you’re ready for me to explain Gritty tonight but I promise he's worth the wait.”

They continued up Broad Street, gradually making their way away from the noisy crowds. It had started to snow, which helped muffle the sounds of passerby and create a more mellow but still festive atmosphere.

“So, I’m glad I ran into you,” Abby confessed, breaking the silence that was lingering between them.

Riley’s shoulder bumped against hers as she sidestepped a puddle. “I am too. I have to ask though, is it because we’re both members of the Harper broken hearts club, or something else?”

“No, I’ve been trying not to think too much about that,” Abby said.

“Sorry to bring it up again.”

“I mean, it’s kind of unavoidable. That’s not what I meant, sorry. I’m glad because I really liked you when we met, and I kind of regret not realizing that at the time.”

Riley glanced over at her, genuine surprise etched on her face. “I liked you too, Abby. A lot.”

Abby smiled into her scarf and shook her fingers through her hair the way she always did when she was nervous. “Really?”

“Yeah, past tense though,” Riley added.

“Asshole,” Abby laughed, and Riley’s mouth twitched in reply.

They had paused on a street corner. The snow was falling around them in big flakes, Riley’s hair glittering in spots where it had landed and begun to melt.

Riley cocked her head, lips slightly parted, and stepped a little closer. Her brown eyes sparkled in the light of a Christmas tree peeking out of a nearby window.

“You good?” she asked.

Abby hesitated, chewing her lower lip.

“I can head home, if you’re not feel—“

Abby didn’t let Riley finish. Surging forward on her toes, she kissed her.

Rile tasted like the old fashioned she’d been drinking, smoky and slightly sweet. She kissed Abby back, running a hand through the hair behind her ear, and Abby could feel her smiling as their noses bumped together. When she pulled back Abby caught her breath and realized she was grinning too.

“I’ve wanted you to do that for a really long time,” Riley breathed.

Abby laced her fingers through hers and they kept walking. She wasn't feeling alone amidst all the holiday revelry any longer.

“Do you want to grab dinner sometime, maybe?” Abby asked tentatively.

Riley squeezed her hand. “How about now?”

Abby grinned. “Now is great.”

#abby x riley #happiest season #happiest season fic #kat writes

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