#and I love how Sully doesn’t try to excuse himself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loaksbitch · 1 year

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imagine neteyam sully finally stood up and proved himself he was serious about you in two ways, one was obviously with his words while the other was physically fucking his love for you in to you yes? YES! this is the finale of the i trusted you miniseries! — wc 4.4k ( tag list in the comments )

warnings - mating press, kissing, lots of kissing, neteyam is switch dom, cursing, vulgar language, him ripping your loincloth mentioned, crying, confusion, fucking, missionary, p in v, p penetration, size kink, mention of squirting but it’s short, praising, making love, mating, bonding, neteyam is a cry baby, jealousy, kinda rough sex (?), pinning against a tree, neteyam fucks you while hanging you on air. i think that’s it, lmk if i’ve to add anything.

“i trust you.” — neteyam sully (꩜,⨳)

here is part (one) — (two) — (three) of this series

everything from neteyam’s perspective was boring.

it was so fucking boring he had started playing with the decorations that was put on throne-like chair he was sat.

some part of him was happiest that you showed up but almost all about him was anxious and in pain when thinking you’re leaving after this party.

neteyam was very uninterested in how äeya was eyeing him or whispering things to him or how she tried to touch him. her touch genuinely makes his gut tighten in disgust.

how can she not take a sign when he pulls his hand away from her?

neteyam’s eyes wander at the crowd of na’vi in front of him, who are having fun and dancing. you’re not there. his eyes keep wondering before they finally land on your figure.

it wasn’t a pleasants sight when a fucking na’vi is trying to hold you from falling.

neteyam’s eyes squint to figure out who was standing next to you, daring to put his fucking hand on your body. neteyam would be honest that he’s glad the male stopped you from tumbling down and falling but putting his hands as an excuse on your waist?

unacceptable.

he hadn’t noticed how his body was tense from jealousy until äeya put her hands on his shoulder.

“nete’?” her sweet like voice calls for him but neteyam was too far invested on keeping his eyes on you. his jaw is clenched and hurting from how he’s biting on it.

äeya was again ignored and her stomach tightens, it kinda hurts when the person she was going to be mated with is ignoring her. yes, she doesn’t want him but then again they’ll be bound for life. yet äeya never wanted to be mated with neteyam, it was her parents to strengthen the so-called family ties or whatever they call it.

deep down, she really wished the feeling was mutual since neteyam kept ignoring her.

neteyam on other hand arches his brow when you suddenly make eye contact with him and sickening smirk on your lips before murmuring something like ‘fuck it, let’s dance’ to the male na’vi that’s tempting neteyam to break his neck

it was as if everything was numb and dull in neteyam’s eye except for you and that pet bitch that keeps following you to the crowd.

once you two were in front of neteyam, of course you’re the one who’s doing this intentionally, you start to dance with the na’vi male neteyam doesn’t know about.

he tried to shrug everything so bad until he saw the male pull you to him and press your body against his. neteyam felt like this was his last straw to brush it off as a bullshit

the stranger was fucking up with his love and neteyam will make sure to fuck him up.

taking off from his seat, neteyam walks down right to where you both are. “neteyam what are yo…” he ignored the call of his parents. the only target right now was latching you away from the asshole what’s trying to grind himself on you.

once he is close, he doesn’t fail to notice how the male na’vi pulls his hand away from you and instantly stops moving. you were distracted for the first few seconds before noticing no’xus and neteyam hears you about to curse the male in front of you

“what is it?” you’re annoyed when you turn and almost bump with neteyam who’s too close for your liking.

“put your hands off of her.” your words are ignored as neteyam ordered the male na’vi, no’ us only looked at him manically. “i’m not fucking repeating myself.”

all the na’vi’s had stopped their dancing and celebration, too confused why the future olo'eyktan is in front of you and demanding the other male to let you go.

your body is jerked away from the stranger you just met and you hiss when neteyam tugs you close to him. what is he thinking? in front of everyone?

“fucking let go of what’s mine and find your own mate.” neteyam scowls dangerously.

“his mate?” the whole omatikaya village gasps and whispers. “neteyam, what’re you do–“ he silenced you with a sharp “i’m dealing with you later.” and turns to his family and äeya’s before speaking loud.

fear was gone when he started to talk.

“i, neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan, has already chosen my woman as a mate.” you’re too shocked to even process what’s happening, even no’xus was gawking in shock. “and my woman is her.”

you’re tugged close to him and jake gets on his feet, “neteyam.” he warns with a deep voice but neteyam doesn’t even budge as his hands are on your hips. “no father, i speak this time and you will listen.” neteyam warns back

“i’ve always tried to be the perfect son for you and the perfect warrior but i’m tired of really giving up my happiness this time.” your eyes are wide, what was he doing.

“i’m not mating with äeya,” he was now staring at äeya’s parents, “i’ve always had the beautiful and prettiest girl i loved and want a future with.” neteyam tightens his hold on yours

“we had already made love.” right the moment the words leave his lips, the na’vi’s are whispering loud and netyiri clasps her hands on her mouth. “it is already done in front of eywa.”

it’s ironically insane how both of his parents sees their young love story between their son and you

“you can disagree or hate me for this but i’m fucking ready to let go of everything for her.” your breath is caught in your throat.

“neteyam, please stop.” you say but he only ignored you.

“i’ll step down from being the future clan leader if you want me to.” he was ready to give up everything for you. “i'm sorry for not stepping up for us before.” he was facing you now.

your eyes blurry when he leans to place his forehead against yours, you wish this dream never ended. “i see you, y/n.” a silent sob leaves your lips and neteyam quickly catches your tears, “don’t cry, baby.” he whispers

as much as jake wanted to deny it, he knew how much neteyam must be hurting and everything made sense to netyiri why her first born was acting up like this.

“what is this nonsense?” ty’sak, äeya’s father growls and neteyam closes his eyes before leaning back and turning to face the furious man. “i’ll apologize for my actions but never will i apologize for choosing her.” neteyam says ready to leave since he knows his parents will deal with them

“princess?” he holds onto your soft hands, “let’s get out of here.” you’re fast to nod and neteyam firmly nods, pulling you out of the pooled na’vi’s not forgetting to knowingly bump his shoulder with no’xus.

you don’t know what to feel and if scared and happy was the right answer? maybe you would agree.

what will happen after now? you’re holding on tight to neteyam’s large hand while he leads you out of the crowd, what will happen after this night? you’re gonna leave after tonight. what will happen right next moment?

neteyam has proved his point that he's really in love with you and chooses you but at what cost? you’re not gonna stay here anymore right?.. right?

once the two of you are far enough from the chaos, both of you are breathing heavily while staring at each other. you’re now in the woods, forest covering both of you.

neteyam made sure no one would find you two here.

“hey.” his rough voice makes your inside tingle, “hi.” it was as if you're both meeting for the first time. then again, awkward silence settles and neteyam doesn’t like any second of it ticking.

“look,” he starts but you shake your head and he shuts himself down fast. what’s going on inside that pretty mind of yours?

“princess?” he calls for you, “i love you.” his words makes your inside twist, neteyam has literally proved to you that he takes you seriously. “please trust me when i say that.” pain was visible in his voice.

you open your mouth to speak and close them again, why’re you like this? tell him you love him and trust him. your mind is going feral and neteyam watches you closely

“i love you.” you whisper quietly but it was loud enough for neteyam to hear it.

he wanted to tell you right there, cry in front of you and kiss you but he can’t just scare you away like that, not when you are telling him you’re in love with him.

there’s no point that you’ll deny your love for him anymore. it was obvious eywa was testing you both and you’re admitting you’re in love and trust this dumbass with your soul.

“princess.” neteyam is a consensual type of na’vi as his soft voice makes you look right to his eyes. “can i kiss you?” you’re gasping now, tears flowing as you desperately nod.

he was so careful with you, hands coming for contact with you, it was like fireworks exploding and ice cold water splashing on you. you watch him take a step to you and press his lips onto yours.

this was it, you both missed this.

the first time, it was gentle smooch against your upper lip then the second one, when neteyam leans more was more desperate and needy.

taking your lower lips in his and nibbling them lightly, you’re whimpering how he’s good at this, you’re both made for each other. neteyam doesn’t hold back when you whimper, two of his large hands cupping your jaw and pulling you more to him.

he was going hard on you, biting your soft lip hard that you’re convinced he broke your skin because the metallic taste on your tongue says so. “neteyam,” you call and feel him kiss the corner of your mouth.

“i’m here, i’m right here.” he tells you, hands roaming on your body, you’re trying to focus on his hands gripping you and loving how they feel but your heart is hurting from missing him so bad.

neteyam was quick to pull back and check your face, “what is it, tell me what’s wrong.” you hiccup, again so open and vulnerable to him.

“tell me, pretty girl, talk to me.” his soft manner and gentle touches only make it worse. you’re the first to break eye contact and you only lean to him and this time, you’re the one to kiss him.

neteyam doesn’t say anything and stay frozen, you need him just as much as he needs you but neteyam was surprised at your move.

neteyam inhaled the smallest gasp when you opened your small mouth a little wider for him to devour you, he remained still knowing himself that he’ll not stop if he gives in and kisses back

he’s trying not to lose his grip of pressing you against the wall and fucking his feelings into you.

you kissed him again and his breathing stopped, another kiss you delivered and this time he kissed back, striking the match of your pace and fully kissing you, pressing his lips with equal force.

you don’t deserve her, his own brain accused him

you’re just gonna hurt her more, neteyam was trying to block out the awful thoughts

the exchange of oxygen became difficult and you broke the kiss, taking deep breaths as your chest heaved up and down. neteyam took this opportunity and placed delicate kisses down to your throat, nudging your face to the side for more access

i never meant to hurt you, he wanted to say

i always loved you so much it was painful, neteyam thought

your silent moans are only pushing him further and further. clinging to him for affections and him doing the same so you won’t escape him was proof you wanted each other so bad.

his hand found your hips, gripping them tightly as he pulled both of you down to the grass. the way he pulls you to his strong thighs makes your breath quiver.

“neteyam,” you mewls when he pulls your lower abdomen to his, grinding you hard to his now growing bulge. your breath quickened when the increasing pressure of his shaft was on your center

was this really gonna happen?

neteyam’s mouth found yours again, licking your bottom lips and you granted his wish by opening your lips for him to devour you

he kissed you deeply until the need of breath won again eventually. foreheads pressed to one another, you two calmed yourself before you eventually locked eyes.

“i need you” your needy voice makes his cock stir.

neteyam tells you to hold onto him before bringing his hands to his shoulders and pulling the heaven material off of him. a relieved moan left his lips when he cracked his neck and looked back down at you.

you were much smaller than him and it was feeding his size kink well.

your heart starts to hammer when neteyam twists his arm and brings his braided queue in front of you, your eyes widen when you see his actions and look back at him, he was already staring at you and it was obvious he was scared and nervous just like you are.

the end of his queue moved and you gasped before speaking. “this means you’re forever with me, ‘teyam” you insecurely say and it pains him how broken you are about yourself.

he hums before looking straight into your eyes, “you are my forever.” he tells you and doesn't miss how you squirm under him.

your whole body is itchy with unbearable feelings and neteyam only waits for you.

it’s your turn to bring your braided queue to your front and see how the end of it twitches. neteyam was silenty asking you if you’re ready with his eyes and you only stare at his swollen scarlet lips and nod.

you’re both trying to breathe normal when you connect your queues and it was an audible gasp you both let out at the feeling.

everything was blurred except for both of you and how you saw each other.

you’re now feeling neteyam just like he’s feeling everything in you. and one thing you figured out from the connection was, this man is starving for you.

not only sexually but emotionally, you felt how he missed you and was hurting while neteyam on other hand felt exactly the same.

“princess,” he whimpered at the feeling and you closed your eyes shut. both of you tried to calm yourself.

once you’ve opened your eyes, neteyam was breathing shallowly and leaving no space between you as he tugged you close to him, “i need you close. i need you so close to me.” he grunts.

“i’m here,” you tell him and neteyam nods, “and i’m here, for you.”

your eyes are pleading him to make a move and make you feel full, neteyam doesn’t need tou to speak to understand when he’s literally connected to your brain.

a fleeting smile foresees his lips when you mewled as he grinds you down to him.

“neteyam, please.” yo breathed, tilting your head to the side, inviting him to mark you as his. “how do you want me?” neteyam voiced out in between marking you

“i don’t care…” you’re heaving, “just, i need you… please.”

you’re hurting and he wants to make you forget, remind you you’re his now and not gonna escape until death does you two apart. you’re calling for him, you’re telling him to mark you, fuck you or do anything with you.

you just want to be with him forever.

with his desires now uncontrolled, he brought his hands up from your hips to the pretty glowly leaves that are covering your chest and ripped them off away from you.

your fingers are sliding through his braids when he runs his hand on your bare back and grip you harder. neteyam sucked hard on your blue skin, making your eyes screw shut and breath hitch.

he’s gonna make you remember him when you’re trying to walk tomorrow with wobbly legs after he ruins you.

neteyam suddenly pushed you down to the grass and made you land on your back with a light tud, you begged for him and he’ll deliver it.

your legs are pushed wider, loincloth ripped away from you, he didn’t give you a second to feel shy as he went down on you.

long, pink flat tongue dragging all its way on your slit.

“neteyam!” you cried out when the pleasure striked. hypersensitivity winning on your heat, neteyam kept lapping on your arousal, hooking his arms under your soft plush thighs.

he pryed them open and tugged you to him way too close. he resumed his torture by delivering kitten licks on your clit and you keep crying out in pleasure. your hands sought to find his braids and pull hard on his locks, making him growl while eating you.

two fingers replaced his tongue, rubbing circularly has you on edges, you keep calling for him and neteyam only slides his other hand to your chest and removed on of your hand from his hair to intertwine his fingers with yours

he keeps massaging your spot and you cry out, two of his fingers sliding inside you, he curls them upward and your hips rise from the grass you’re laid.

“neteyam!” you yell.

you get louder when he ducks harder on your sensitive bud. your moans trembling and orgasm nearing, you feel your toes curl. when neteyam pushes his finger in and out of you while his lips im over your clit and lick it.

you’re almost there but the suddenly lose of his fingers and lips makes your eyes shoot open and you’re about to curse him but neteya had other plans.

“keep them open.” he demands.

neteyam gets on his knees, towering your body with his. he was fast to untie his own loincloth before removing them and you watch how his length sprang out, fully erect and big.

neteyam placed you a little higher to the ground and got between your thighs.

he didn’t make you wait long because he was now pushing himself inside you and taking each and every twist of your face, checking for any sign of pain since you’re physically more smaller and tighter than him.

neteyam groaned when he looked down.

he wasn’t even half way inside yet yoire squirming under him. “‘teyam” you whine when he keeps pushing and he only keeps brushing your hair out of your face. “too b-big.” you gasp.

“shh, almost there baby, i’m half way inside.” he soothes you.

patience running thin, neteyam places his hands on your hips and pulls you to meet his thrust. you scream but he was fast to shush you with a hard kiss on your lips.

“it’s okay, you’re doing good. taking me well baby.” he presses a sweet kiss on your forehead.

you grip on his arm, talking advantage of both of you being alone, you moan loud. “neteyam.” you moaned.

“say it again,” neteyam says, jaw clenched as he tries to help you adjust his size.

“neteyam,” you sigh.

amber eyes almost rolled into his head when he looked down at your, his mate’s state. “you’re so pretty.” he moans, “so pretty i’m losing it.” he was starting to slowly move his hips circular motion.

you only tighten your grip on his arm when you feel him move inside you, tip kissing the scarlet curve of your cervix. everything was perfect, so perfect to be true for him.

but then again, every time he opened his eyes and saw you under him, he knew it was real. he won you, and you won him.

“who’s fucking you so deep right now?”

he slowly dragged himself out of you only to plunge back. “say it, who’s fucking you deep right now?”

your legs tremble when you tell him, “you, you, you.”

“who’s making you feel good?” neteyam asks and you whine, why can’t he just shut up and fuck you?

“neteyam,” you bring your hand his hip, wanting him to go faster but he slaps your hand away. “answer me.” he roughly thrust and you gasp.

“who the fuck is making you feel good?”

“YOU!” you scream when he’s too deep and jolts your body up with every thrust he delivers.

“good girl.” your inside tightens.

“not that skxawng but me.” he says and your brows furrow in confusion before it hits you. he was jealous and talking about no’xus. “only me.”

he was now ramming to your heat harder and harder.

you feel your inside twist when you hear your mate whimper above you. the orgasm neteyam stopped you from having was returning and neteyam hisses when you tighten on his more than even.

“you’re gonna cum, huh?” he latched his rough thumb to down to your clit while he’s fucking his frustration into you and your body twitches, too much pleasure given.

your arousal milks neteyam’s cock and he snarls when your nectar and his precum decorated his cock. “ma ‘teyam” you mewl and cry when neteyam keeps fucking you, you wanted to tap out so bad but you’re good girl neteyam uses as his cocksleave

“for whom did you just cum for?” he was claiming you, no one except him makes you feel like this. “you!” you breath out.

just when you’re recovering from your state, neteyam suddenly pulls you up to him l by your waist and press you to him. “what’re you doing?” you ask when he grunts and pulls you both up from the ground while he’s still inside you.

making sure you’re not gonna fall, neteyam scoops you and places his hand under both of your knees before leaving you hanging on the air.

“netey— oh mother!” you scream when he pulls you down to his length fully, you’re dangling on his hand like a piece of an easy object and neteyam hold you and fucks you while you’re on the air.

“so good and easy for me,” he praises and you only moan, back arched and your breast pressed to his firm and strong chest. neteyam walks to the nearer tree and pins you against the wood before he’s jack-hammering you

kissing all spot with his girth.

“wait, neteyam, wait!” you whine but it was late when you explode down where you both are connected.

neteyam let’s a surprise chuckle out before looking down there then up to you before teasing you and placing a kiss on both of your reddened cheeks.

“you just squirted all over me, baby.”

you turn your face to the side, blushing and somehow surprised how he hasn’t came once. “i’m close,” he suddenly says, moans and grunts louder than ever. “so close, princess.” you pull him for a kiss and neteyam obliges.

“i love you, neteyam, i love you so much”

neteyam feels his emotions are winning over him when you say that and his eyes sting from the tears whelming up. “say that again, please?”

“i love you, ‘teyam” you smile and wipe the tears that were shed on his pretty skin.

“i love you more baby, i love you so much more.”

neteyam felt his lower abdomen contract and he moaned to your lips when you kiss him. “do you t-trust me?” he asks and you don’t fail to notice how his words hitch at the ‘trust’.

you don’t give a fuck how this is going or will turn out but what happened today proved you, you trust neteyam. “i do, i trust you.” you whimper, overly sensitive and not feeling your legs.

“fuck,” neteyam hisses when you say the words he was dearing to hear. “i love you, i love you, i love you.” he keeps saying with every thrust.

neteyam nudges your nose to the said that makes your whole face turn to the side, he then quickly hides into your neck and whines while gripping your hips so hard.

“princess.” he whines and you feel his thick ropes of seeds paint your gunmy walls. “i’m here,” you whisper to his flattened ear against his hair. “i’m here.” you keep telling him.

once he gains himself back, neteyam looks down to your lips before giving you a bold lick and you giggle. “neteyam ew!” you joke but deep down loving it.

“you clenching down there says the other though.” he teases and you slay his chest playfully. “fuck you!” you curse at him and gasp when he thrusts roughly.

“i think i already did that.” he proudly says before pressing his forehead against yours. “i’m sorry,” he says and the atmosphere instantly changes to a sad one. “i’m sorry i put you through so much…”

he opend his amber eyes he doesn’t remember closing and begs you. “but, please don’t leave. i’m nothing without you.”

your throat hurts when you swallow, too weak to voice out words to him but you manage few. “you’re not nothing, neteyam.” you tell him while you cup his cheek and make his look directly to your eyes and he shakes his head

“no, i can’t live without you, i’ll go insane.” you smile when he kisses your eyelids.

“my mom doesn’t know yet.” you watch him his tail wiggles and his ears perk at your words. “i’ll have to tell her i’m staying her– NETEYAM!” you laugh when he’s pulling you from the tree and hugging you close to him

you cling to him for your deal life when he twirls you both. “neteyam slow down!” you giggle at his excitement. he’s so baby-like na’vi. after you begging him several times, you watch him stop and let go if you gently

you feel the pad of your foot hit the grass and when neteyam lets you go by your own, you almost fall. “i’ve got you.” he tells you, catching you by your hips, a cocky grin on his face when he realizes you can’t feel your limbs.

“what do we do now?” you ask him, and watch him hum in thoughts before speaking.

“i don’t know, i just want to be with you now everything else can be solved later.” he starts to help you walk near the shores to eash your sweaty body.

“neteyam, this is serious.”

“i am serious.”

you just sigh, too tired to even think about arguing with him. you shiver when the cold water touches your skin as you make your way to the lake and neteyam follows you closely from behind.

everything was now how it’s supposed to be, neteyam can’t thank eywa and kiri for helping him with things. he’ll make sure to deal with his parents later because his main priority now is you.

only you.

oh my gosh, we’re now done with the ‘i trusted you’ miniseries and i can’t express how i’m feeling rn, to be honest it’s weird to not write anything about them anymore :( but what can i say? everything is sorted out now!!

thank you for giving this series a love and support than i ever imagined, it received the most wholesome and funny reactions from you guys and i can’t wait to make more of a mini series of all of you!! the “i trusted you” series has no came to an end, thank you for loving it with your everything.

like and reblogs are very much appreciated! i love each and everyone of you, lmk in the comments of the smut was toe-curling enough like you guys wanted it to be?? mwah** micasa signing off from this series <3

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rayassecretlife · 1 year

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Do you still love me?

Pairing: Aged up!Neteyam Sully x Fem!Omaticaya!reader

Summary: You and Neteyam’s family has stayed the same for many years, only one daughter who was now 4. But you fear that Neteyam doesn’t want more, scared he had fallen out of love with you after the birth.

Warning(s): Mature language, mentions of miscarriage, dad!Neteyam being a warning himself, just a lot of fluff and angst etc. not proof read

“Mama!” Your ears twitched at the voice, your daughters crying voice echoing through high camp. You had been working on one of the hunters but quickly excused yourself at her call, pushing past the groups of people to get to her voice. “Where is mama!”

“Aratakai!” The people moved away from you once they noticed, all bowing their heads as you passed and apologizing for stepping in the way. You finally got to the center of the circle, a sigh of relief leaving your chest as you made eye contact with her. “What’s wrong?” She runs to you, clinging to your leg like she had been scared somebody would take her away. You looked up at the other person, forehead creasing at him.

“Look, Y/N-“

“Bad men! Bad men!” Your four year old cries against your leg and your eyes quickly glare at him, watching his ears fall. “Try to get uncle Lo’ak”

“Y/N, I swear I didn’t mean to bring her in the middle I-“

“You brought her on your scouting trip?!” Your voice is enough to alert the whole village and everyone around you is staring at Lo’ak, watching in fear of when Neteyam would approach. He was nowhere to be seen, which was a surprise being that he could feel your emotions and most definitely could feel your rage. “I won’t even let Neteyam bring her outside the barriers! Her own father!”

“She was already out there!” He interrupts, kneeling down to your daughter who had been clinging to your leg. “Arat, tell her what you were-“

“Enough!” You hiss, reaching down to pull her into your arms. Your heart was beating terribly fast, and her cries only made it worse. “I thought you grew out of your immature faze, Lo’ak. I guess I was wrong-“

“T-try get the fruit, mama” You looked down at your daughters face, tears staining her small cheeks. “Uncle Lo’ak take me home” Your ears flatten at her words, taking a second to look back at your brother in law. He understood your frustration, he wasn’t mad at you for snapping.

“Lo’ak-“

“Make way!” One of the hunters called, the very large Ikran coming to the group. Lo’ak gave you a reassuring look and you nodded, hand pulling your daughters head to lay against you, making sure she felt safe.

“Ma’Tìyawn, what happened?” Neteyam’s voice makes her lift her head, now allowing him to see her tears. You could feel his fear and anger raise almost instantly, looking around to find the route of the problem. “Arat-“

“She got into the forest, Neteyam” You tell him, now feeling your own tears ghost your eyes. You were so worried, so angry that someone had brought her down there. She was only 4, there was no way she could’ve made it herself—not without an Ikran. “Somebody brought her down there”

Your husband looks around at your clan, jaw clenched tightly with his eyes strained on each and every one of their faces. When Arat was born, he set strict rules to never bring any harm to her. The people were sworn to protect her at all costs, so who the hell put her in danger?

Whoever it was, he was going to find out—and he was going to kill them. There was no debate about that.

“Lo’ak found her… brought her home” His eyes turn to his younger brother, watching his eyes soften at the sight of him. When Lo’ak found her, he didn’t know how she had even gotten there—so confused he searched the area for the person.

But he got caught between sky people, and Arat almost got hurt. He had never been more disappointed in himself—never been so terrified something could happen.

You and Neteyam kept her secluded from anything that involved danger. It was your biggest fear that something could happen to her because even though you’d feel like this with any child of yours, she was your only one.

You needed to protect her.

He thanked his brother before turning back to you, noticing how badly you’d been holding your tears back. “If you saw anything of my daughter leaving high camp, I suggest you tell me” He raises his voice to the clan, anger even worse now that his family was upset. “I will find whoever did this. And if not me, you better pray she doesn’t find you” The clan chants to him and his word, knowing their fear of you and neteyam was much greater then their fear of the sky people.

“As I’ve said before, my daughters safety is all of your priorities in battle! Let one finger touch her, I won’t hesitate to retaliate against you, do I make myself clear!” You close your eyes as you stroke your daughters hair, letting a few tears fall from your eyes with a sigh. You just wanted to go home now. “You are dismissed”

Lo’ak places a hand on your shoulder and presses a small kiss to his nieces head before leaving, Neteyam finally turning to tend to you and your daughter.

“Y/N-“

“I want to go home” You ignore him, turning to walk back to your cave with Arat still in your arms. He followed of course, but very confused as to why you were acting so angry at him. Why were you so upset? He understood, but there is nothing more he can do.

“Fruit?” Your daughters voice is soft against your ear and you sigh, nodding your head with a sniffle as you set her down onto her feet. Neteyam leaned against the doorway, watching your every move as you put out some of the fresh fruit you had from before. “Thanks, mama” her little lisp surfaces and Neteyam couldn’t help but chuckle, watching you wipe off her tear stained cheeks.

“Excuse me” You cleared your throat before making your way into you and Neteyam’s shared room, not even making it to the bed until his voice chimed in.

“Can you talk to me?” You continued to ignore your mate, walking over to the basket that sat on the floor to pull your small cover up from it. You already knew this argument that was bound to happen. Always doing this around in circles bullshit. “Y/N”

“Leave me alone, Neteyam. Please” yeah, now he knew you were mad. Usually you’d be all over him by now, knowing that he had to work a lot and most of the time wasn’t home to spend time with you unless it was at night before going to bed. What he didn’t know, are the thoughts you’ve been having the past couple of days.

Before you gave birth to your daughter, Neteyam would talk about wanting a huge family. He wanted boys, girls, even a pet. You wanted all those things with him, but as soon as you gave birth—it was like everything you had planned changed.

Neteyam never showed interest in mating any more, barely even seeing you during the day due to his duties. You’d cry when he wasn’t around, wishing you still had that teenage fever love. Was it the birth? Did he not love you anymore? It was so unusual for a Na’vi to lose interest in their mate, but your relationship just felt so one sided.

And then there was the miscarriage.

The loss of your second baby took a huge toll on your relationship for the worst. Neteyam and you would be constantly fighting, and you didn’t work for the longest time just trying to get out of the cave. You felt useless, the people hadn’t seen their Tsahìk for many two weeks.

That is the reason you were so protective over your daughter. She was the only child you had and probably would ever get to have. It stung, you loved the idea of a big family. You never even bothered to confront him.

“Y/N, I can feel your upset with me. What is wrong?” He grabs your hand, turning you to face him. His face was full of worry, taking in the sight of your tears in front of him. Eywa, how he hated it when you cried. His hands reach to cup your face but you push them away.

“Don’t act like you care now” His forehead creases at your words and he’s already shaking his head, more then confused as to what you had been talking about.

“What? Your crying, My love. Of course I’m gonna care-“

“Really? Because you didn’t the last few weeks” Now he was full on mugging you, knowing for a fact that if you had been crying he would’ve known. He would have felt your sadness… he should have felt everything. “Our daughter could’ve gotten hurt today, Neteyam. Where were you?”

“She’s here, isn’t she? I’m sorry I wasn’t there, but you know I have duties and you cannot worry so much. I will find out who took her-“

“Not worry so much? I don’t have a choice, Neteyam! She’s our only daughter! Our only child! If I lose her… Oh Eywa, if we lost her…” You shook your head, wiping your tears as they quickly began to fall. “She’s all I’ve ever wanted, Nete. I can’t lose her”

“That’s what this is about? Why were you crying before-“

“Because you don’t love me anymore!” You snap, your husbands jaw dropping at your accusation. Didn’t love you? Was that a joke? “Y-you promised me a family, and I give birth and you just lose all interest in me!”

“Y/N-“

“I’ve gone through so many heat cycles, Neteyam. If you don’t want more just tell me!” He was took aback by your sudden outburst, hand pulling your waist so you could be closer to him. “And then the miscarriage… Am I just not good enough anymore?”

Eywa, you were so clueless. “Not good enough? Was that a joke?” He reaches up to cup your face in his hands, finally being able to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Y/N, my mate, my wife, my beautiful fucking Tsahìk—you really believe I don’t love you anymore?”

“Everyday I wake up to you sleeping next to me, praying to Eywa that she keeps you safe while I’m gone. Telling you how beautiful you are everytime I see you, bringing home gifts for you and Arat, talking peoples ears off about you. I can’t even remember what my life was like when I wasn’t in love with you”

“And mating? I’ve always wanted to, but it’s been so long I didn’t think you wanted to anymore… and Arat’s birth hurt you so much I didn’t want to hurt you again” He thumbs away your tears, lifting your head so you could stare directly at him. “The miscarriage was not your fault, Baby. I promise you, everything you’ve been feeling, is the exact opposite of what I feel”

“Because I love you, and I want to build a family with you. I still want it all with you, Y/N. You hear me? Don’t cry, don’t cry because of this” His confession only made your tears worsen, arms wrapping around him tightly so you could cry. You were so naive, so stupid to believe he didn’t love you. Neteyam was a busy man, you should have known.

“I don’t want to lose you, Teyam” he shushes you, hand caressing the small of your back and your hair. Lose him? As if you could get rid of him that easily. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry, I wish you would’ve told me before so I could’ve fixed it” He sighs against you, pulling away after awhile and almost instantly taking your head back into his hands. “I love you so fucking much, Y/N. Do you hear me? Never say something like that ever again”

You sniffle, nodding your head with a small smile, leaning into your mate to press a kiss to his lips. “I love you so much more” He only pulls you back in, hands gently resting on your throat just to hold you there. He wanted you to know he was there, not going anywhere anytime soon.

“So, about baby number two?”

This is probably bad, I threw this together randomly butttttt finished in an hour so new record 🤭. Enjoy this little fluff while I prepare my smut writings!!

#avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar x you #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam x reader #avatar james cameron #neteyam fluff #neteyam gif #atwow neteyam #neteyam angst

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plzfeedmebread · 1 year

Note

🍞 i have come to request for jake + breeding 😔🙏make it spicy and soft please

word count: 2900

Pairing: Jake Sully x Female! Navi! Reader Tags/Warnings: smut, nsfw, p in v, swearing, breeding, smooching, a little fluff, R18 - MINORS DNI Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long! I hope it is to your liking :)

SCORCHING

It starts with an itch. A tickle, perhaps, at the back of his throat. Insignificant enough to easily ignore. His hands start sweating more than usual, a general warmth follows him, encasing him. He tells himself it’s fine, Pandora must be going through its version of summer. He becomes a little more worried when his senses become far sharper than before; but strangely, he notices, it is only attuned to you.

The twitch of your tail, a tsk on your tongue, the pop of a joint; every sound you make rings in his ears. Stronger still is the smell. Your scent invades him, controls him. Everything your hands merely glide over, becomes drenched in your scent. He can’t remember ever feeling like this; he feels almost drunk off of it. And God forbid should you be even the slightest bit aroused. One whiff and he’s as good as gone.

That is when he knows something is not right with his person. This level of unbridled arousal is astonishing. If he stares at you for too long, he’s as hard as if you had spent hours teasing him with no release. If he thinks about you for too long, he’s hard. If he smells your intoxicating scent to much, he’s hard. It drives him insane. He can’t control himself, and it frustrates him. He’s sure he’s never been this horny; not even as a teenager. One misstep and he has to excuse himself; desperately pumping his aching cock to your visage.

He’s fucked you every night for the past two weeks. Not that you complain, bless you. Never do you rebuff his advances, always eager to accept his love. It is only after he’s worn himself out in your wet heat that he finally feels some level of reprieve. The relief is so overwhelming, he’s asleep in minutes.

It all comes crashing down on him one morning though. He wakes up late; you left early to join a morning hunt. He would have joined you of course, but he felt far too groggy the night before.

His entire body aches. Every muscle in his body protests even the slowest of movements. He’s drenched in sweat. Jake rolls over to try and be more comfortable, but is immediately assaulted by your lingering scent. His hand is on his cock without a second thought, rough calloused hands bringing him to full attention with little to no effort.

He cums with a desperate moan all over his hand.

But his hand doesn’t stop pumping. He squeezes himself tighter, anything to relieve the burning ache nestled deep within his core. He cums again within minutes. But it does little to alleviate his need. He doesn’t understand; how can he still be hard after that? Fear ripples through him at this sudden unknown state of being.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He hopes you come home soon.

---

The sun is well passed its zenith by the time your party returns to village. It was a successful hunt, and your body aches deliciously with the strenuous activity. You return your ever faithful ikran to her beloved mate’s side. Bob’s excited trills puts a smile on your face, and you watch their cute little greeting with a soft giggle.

You stop at a nearby river to wash away the layer of sweat covering your skin. Not a proper bathing, but will suffice for now. The cool water soothes you, and you dive into its shallow depths for good measure. You do not linger long; wanting to get back to Jake as soon as possible. You hope that whatever illness that plagued him the night prior has since subsided. If not, you’ll be sure to have the Tsahik give him a once over.

You make the climb up to your tree nest. You notice the coverings have not yet been pulled open; the dwelling remains enclosed. Swift and quietly, you pry open one side and make your way in, closing behind you.

---

You're hit by the sudden smell of sex and it catches you off guard, there is a falter in your step. You give everything a quick once over. Your eyes lock onto your mate, still lying right where you left him this morning. He has his back to you, and it looks as though he’s curled in on himself.

Your ears flick forward as you pick up on his laboured breath. His tail flicks annoyedly. In the dim light seeping through the top, you can make out a faint sheen to his back. The stars freckling his body seem brighter than you remember.

Is this…?

“Ma Jake…?” You call for him, his ear flicks to your direction immediately. You move and kneel behind him and place a gentle hand to his shoulder. You pull your hand back almost immediately; he’s scorching hot to the touch.

“Hnnn….” He tries to say your name, but all he manages a pitiful whimper. Tentatively, your hands are on him again and you help him lay on his back.

When you see the state of him, you can’t help the blush that adorns your cheeks and bleeding down your neck.

He’s hard, cock standing at the ready, leaking precum all down the shaft. His abs glisten with the tell-tale sign of spent seed, and you notice a small puddle of release from where he had been laying.

His eyes find yours and without words, he is begging; pleading you for help.

You don’t hesitate, immediately your hand closes around his throbbing member, gripping him as tightly as possible.

He groans deep in the back of his throat, eyes rolling back. You waste no time pumping him with slow, hard thrusts. His hips snap up to meet your downward arch. One hand finds purchase on your thigh, gripping your soft flesh. His other hand goes to his mouth; he bites down hard as if to try and silence the sounds he’s involuntarily making.

You lean down and gently circle the swollen tip of his dick with your tongue. The taste of his prior releases makes your mouth water. Greedily, you take him into your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat.

“Fuck! [Y/N]!”

He cums the moment his dick caresses the soft warmth of your throat; shooting his seed straight down the back. You swallow with practiced ease, letting your throat muscles massage him through his orgasm.

Slowly you lift your head, licking him as he leaves your mouth, cleaning his dick of his cum and your spit.

You’re not surprised when he’s still half hard. But you see clarity has returned to his eyes, somewhat. You touch his cheek with your palm; still hot to the touch. He leans into you, eyes closed, and takes a deep calming breath.

“[Y/N]…What the fuck is wrong with me…? I’ve been horny the whole God damn morning—and it hasn’t fucking stopped…”

He squeezes your hand, seeking reassurance. You wipe the hairs stuck to his brow.

“Oh, muntxatan…I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if your body was capable of such a thing…”

“What…thing?”

“You’re going through your first rut, ma Jake.”

He stares up at you, brow pinched in confusion.

“Every few months, Na’vi men will go through a period known as a rut. You will become insatiable; your entire world will revolve around mating. The need to breed your mate will become your sole focus. Na’vi women will go through something similar, called a heat. It is when we are, most fertile. Sometimes mated pairs might even have their cycles align with one another. In some cases, when one starts, it triggers the other…”

“Well that’s just fucking perfect…How do I get it to stop…? How long is this gonna last…?”

You suck your teeth, pressing your tongue to your cheek.

“A few days. Maybe even a week.”

Jake groans in frustration.

“Don’t worry ma Jake. I’m here now, I’ll help you through it, yawne.” You lean down and press a soft kiss to the side of his mouth.

He grabs the back of your head and presses you back down to him, kissing you with burning passion. You taste like Heaven on his lips.

You move to straddle him, hands braced upon his chest. As he continues to explore your mouth with his tongue, you slowly start grinding your clothed heat against his hardening member.

You swallow his moan into your mouth, sucking on his tongue.

He's hard almost immediately. The heat radiating off his cock warms your pussy so deliciously, your loin cloth does little to hide your growing arousal. Wetness seeps through, coating him your sweet slickness.

You sit up, wanting to remove the cloth so as to feel him skin to skin.

His hands move to your chest, gently massaging your breasts in each hand. You exhale with a soft hum, the pleasure radiating straight to your loins. His thumbs make soft patterns around your nipples till they perk.

“Jake…” You voice is quiet and breathless as he continues to play with you. His dick twitches when you press your bare cunt to him.

“Please [Y/N]…I need to be inside you so bad it hurts…Please baby,” He begs and moves his hands to your hips, gripping you tightly.

“FUCK--!” His grip on your hips becomes bruising as he cusses loudly. The overwhelming heat and tightness of your pussy causes him to cum immediately.

You smile down at him and nod in understanding. You take him in your hand and lift yourself up, lining him with your center.

Slowly you lower yourself, letting him enter you at an excruciating pace. Once you find the right angle, you let yourself drop, your groin meeting his with a loud slap. You whine at the sudden stretch, a bolt of pleasure pierces through you.

You dare not move, letting him ride his orgasm to focus.

He takes a few calming breathes. You can feel him inside you, hard as ever.

Your eyes meet, and something shifts in his gaze.

Suddenly you’re on back. His hands grab both of your legs behinds the knees as he bends you in half, pushing into you as far as your body will let him.

He starts pounding into you with such force it knocks the air from your lungs. His thrusts are unrelenting, each snap of his hips causing his pelvis to crush against your aching clit, balls slapping against the curve of your ass.

“Ja—Jake~!” You moan his name as you feel your own orgasm approaching without mercy; no doubt the first of many for the night.

“That’s it baby, take my cock like the good little mate that you are.” Tears brim your eyes as the pressure builds and the strain of him folding you in half.

He presses your legs further down with his arms, both his hands cupping your face. His thumbs gently caress the streaks of a few stray tears.

A few more hard thrusts and your cumming around his cock, pleasure exploding from your pussy and spreading down your legs and up your spine. You moan loudly and without restraint as you ride out your orgasm, his dick caressing the spongy centre of your core.

“Fuck yes that’s it [Y/N], cum around my cock. I’m gonna fill you so fucking much baby--!”

One final hard thrust and all movement stops as he spills into you; hot fluid painting your insides.

He barely gives you any time to recover.

Before you know it, he has you flipped into your front. He pulls you both to your knees. He grabs your left arm, bending it behind you securely in his grip. He leans back, forcing you with him, resting your back to his chest. His legs force yours further apart as he pierces you with his dick once more.

Hardened and burning, he fucks you faster than before.

He uses his right hand to spread your folds, exposing your still sensitive clit. His middle finger, coated in your mixed fluids, easily glides over the bud in hurried strokes.

The pleasure is too much too soon, and you can’t help the pathetic whimper that leaves your lips. Tears fall from your eyes from the overwhelming sensation.

“Jake please—it’s too soon! I can’t!” You beg him, and he obliges by moving his hand. He doesn’t stop thrusting.

His hand moves then to wrap around your throat, forcing your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“Yes you can baby, I know you can. Come on give me one more, my good girl,” he whispers in your ear, licking the sensitive appendage.

You whimper, but your mind is becoming a mess. The desire to cum again slowly overriding all else. You move your free hand to play with your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure with each pinch.

As he stares down the planes of your body, your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts, he thinks this is one of his favourite angles in which to bask in your beauty.

The promise of orgasm builds up once more, and you cunt clenches him in anticipation.

“Fuck yes [Y/N], take all my fucking cum baby! Gonna breed you till you can’t even think straight!”

Your walls clench him again at his words and you mewl. He presses a kiss to your check and lets out a breathless chuckle.

“Is that what you want [Y/N]? Wanna be fucked full till I knock you up?”

His hand is on your clit again, and this time you make no move to stop him.

“Yesyesyes! Jake please! Don’t stop! Fuck me more! I want to have your children so bad!”

“Yeah?”

He pushes you down onto your stomach, securing both hands behind your back in one of his own. His other hand holds your head firmly to the floor. He braces himself, using his left leg for leverage on your side.

“Yeeeeees! Jake! Please! Cum in me again! Please!”

Still he pounds into you with reckless abandon. His thrust stretching your aching pussy, the sound of your skin slapping together drowned out by your chocking sobs and moans.

He lets go of your arms to grab at your hips, bringing your cunt back in time with his thrusts.

With a loud throaty growl he’s cumming in you. His hands hold you still, and he rides his pleasure with a few more slow hard thrusts. He’s filled you so much already that it starts to leak from you, dripping down your inner thighs.

His hand moves under you and to your clit, rubbing his spilt seed in fast circles till you’re cumming once again.

“Oh yes, by the Great Mother, YES! JAKE!” Your body shakes as pleasure wracks you. Thankfully he removes his hand when your body tries to jerk away.

He slowly removes himself from you, watching with a satisfied grin as his load spills forth from your abused hole.

“Fuck, [Y/N]…” The sight alone gets him hard again.

He carefully turns you around, laying you on your back. Gently he parts your legs, entering you once more. The slickness of your mixed fluids welcomes him in as he meets no resistance.

He moves one hand behind your back, cradling your head in his hand as he lifts you up slightly.

“The bond.” His voice is low as he asks you to join the two of you together. You grab both your queues and make tsaheylu. Jake curses as your senses invade his. Your hands wrap around his neck, and you pull him down to smash his lips to yours.

You kiss is fervent, nipping at his lips, tongue gliding over his own.

He starts moving again, but this time his pace is slower, his movements more meaningful.

He breaks the kiss to gaze into your eyes. His expression causes a flutter in your heart.

“Nga yawne lu oer,” he whispers, almost too quiet. Your tired eyes beam up at him, and you smile like the luckiest woman on Pandora.

“I love you too, ma Jake.” He returns your smile, quickening his pace, chasing that last orgasm.

“I meant what I said Jake—I want to start a family with you. Please.” Your hands gently play with his hair, massaging the base of his queue. He moans soft at your ministrations.

“Fuck [Y/N], you want me to breed you that badly huh?”

You merely nod, a loving smile adorns your face.

“Alright baby, I got you. I’m gonna full you up till this rut ends. Gonna breed you every. Single. Night.” He times hard thrusts with his last words, cumming in you at the end.

Your walls clench him greedily, still sensitive from before.

He collapses then, careful to lean himself to the side so as to not crush you. His breathing is strenuous, as is yours.

He moves to lay on his side, one arm stretched out. He pulls you with him, making sure his dick is still firmly nestled in your warmth. He pulls your crotch flush with his, draping your leg over his hip.

“Gotta make sure you keep as much as possible in there babe,” he says and presses a kiss to your forehead.

Your arm wraps around his chest, pulling yourself to him, resting your head on his outstretched bicep. His other arm wraps around you, holding you close, his hand rubbing soothing patterns to your back.

“Hey,”

He tucks a hand under your chin, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

“Thank you…It feels like forever since my mind was this clear.” You smile, grabbing his hand and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“Of course, ma Jake. You are my mate, my love, my future. I would do anything for you. And know, when it is my turn, I will be far more needy than you.”

His eyes widen at the prospect and it makes you laugh.

“Don’t worry, all will be well, I promise. But you must rest, this moment of reprieve will last for only so long. Tomorrow your body will return with renewed vigour.”

He kisses you then, long enough to steal your breath. It feels almost too soon when he pulls away.

“Then you go to sleep too [Y/N]. Because come tomorrow, I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight. Gonna keep my promise, and breed you till you can’t think straight,” he gives you one teasing thrust, causing you to yip in surprise.

Jake laughs at your reaction, before snuggling his face into your hair. He breathes deep of your scent, letting the warmth of your body pressed to his calm him.

You in turn snuggle yourself into his neck, pressing a soft kiss there.

“I love you, Jake.”

“I love you too baby.”

Sleep takes you, and your dreams are filled with the laughter of children.

#jake sully x reader #jake sully x na'vi reader #jake sully smut #jake sully x fem!reader #jake sully x you #jake sully fluff #avatar way of water #avatar fanfiction #jake sully avatar #na'vi reader #navi reader #female reader #jake sully x y/n #jake x reader smut #reader insert #afab reader #avatar smut #jake sully #jake sully x reader smut

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lost-girl-2021 · 1 year

Note

I'd love to hear more if you find any new ideas!

Part Two (really Part one) of my Metkayina Headcanons

Spider’s around the same height as Tuk, who is around 8-ish as far as I remember. Consider the Metkayina guys knowing he’s a child, but assuming he’s way younger than he actually is because of how small he is (in comparison to the na’vi). Like, I imagine they haven’t had the type of non-violent interactions with humans that the Omaticaya people have, so they don’t have a lot to go off of. I also think this would make Ronal and Tonowari a lot more angry at the Sully’s for leaving him to fend for himself, because he just can’t be older than ten or eleven.

When Spider is taken into their family, I imagine Aounung and Tsireya would be protective of him. He already knows how to swim, but they’d teach him about all the different plants and show him how to use a spear and all that. I also think this would prevent him from getting bullied the other teenagers, because everyone just kind of assumes he’d a little kid and it’s kind of embarrassing to bully a baby. And Aounung doesn’t know how to interact with anyone new without hazing, so he kind of channels that into going Big Brother mode. (In case it wasn’t obvious by now, I’m a sucker for the Protective Older Sibling thing). I mean, he probably still teases him, but it’s definitely not bullying and if Spider shows a hint of getting actually upset, he’s quick to take it back.

I also like the whole sleep pile thing, with the youngest ending up in the middle. Either the whole family, just the parents, or just the siblings, any work with me. Maybe on special/sad occasions, the whole family sleeps practically on top of each other, but otherwise Aounung and Tsireya think they’re ‘too old’ and sleep on their own pallets. Maybe Spider bounces from Aounung to Tsireya to their parents each night, always ending up with a Na’vi snoring above him and holding him close.

At first, Spider thinks it’s because he’s just a guest, so they don’t have a place for him to sleep. I can see him coming up with little excuses to make the situation make sense, because he can’t really understand that they just want to take care of him for the sake of taking care of him. Like, they need to keep a close eye on him (there always seems to be someone nearby whenever he goes anywhere, obviously they’re worried he’ll do something crazy) (what’s actually happening is that they think he’s this little guy and want to make sure he’s okay). Ronal always makes his plate for him at mealtimes, because she thinks he’ll be greedy and try to take too much, surely (actually, she’s just worried he won’t know what foods he can/can’t eat as a human, so she makes up his plate every time they eat).

Next part up later!

#atwow spider #spider avatar #miles spider socorro #avatar #avatar way of water #spider #atwow fanfiction #atwow #avatar fanfiction

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taeminscoconuthead · 1 year

Note

You know what, this makes so much sense.

Whenever people send those nasty messages, it seems as if they’re not actual Shawols and instead trolls trying to harass us.

I have a screenshot of an account who has harassed me in my art blog and as you could see, they don’t even look like a Shawol at all. (I could be wrong, but they tend to look exactly the same — also I didn’t save the message since it was very triggering)

Which makes me wonder, why are they ONLY doing this to Shawols and not other fandoms? I don’t see them doing the same with TechnoBlade, XXXTentacion or even Michael Jackson. I could name someone who has also commit suicide but NEVER gets treated like this. Etica. I’ve heard NOTHING from them and apparently he doesn’t get treated well by his fans. Never did I see a post telling them it’s “disrespectful to a deadman” but when Shawols try to celebrate his life that works for us, then all of a sudden we’re doing a bad thing.

I feel like this also plays on with the whole “terrorising K-pop fans because I’m edgy” trope. Yet, that doesn’t give you the excuse to harass someone who just want to grief in their own terms.

If they are a K-pop fan and they’re saying shit like that then, how would it make you feel if you bias passed away and then everyone treated you like shit because you’re expected to mourn and then pretend they never existed in the first place.

What if a member of Loona passes away and you’re not even allowed to say your favourite quote from them without people harassing you to “stop talking about her?”

What if a member of Stray Kids passes away and you have to pretend he never existed just to gain the approval of people around you.

What if a member of Enhypen passes away and there are people spamming his funeral pictures and clips that you can’t even go onto YouTube or Google anymore without it being shown to you.

What if a member of BTS passes away and you can’t even celebrate his life because “oh, you’re disrespecting the dead.”

What if a TXT member passes away and you have to constantly check every single person just to make sure they are comfortable to talk about him.

You could apply any group to this, and would you still like it? But oh, you was just telling people, right? No. You go up to them when they are vulnerable and start to harass them. For what?

Sorry, that was a vent here…

No, you’re totally right. It seems as if the messages are an attack on K-pop fans which makes sense due to the fact that people love to make fun of them for their music taste. This has especially been happening since the early days of when K-pop went worldwide and it has became this “alternative pop world.” I think it’s also the fact that since he’s the first idol that has killed himself, people use that to harass and terrorise others that may be otherwise trying to cope with no longer seeing their idols on vlive anymore and even music without them. You don’t see people doing the same to Sulli or Goo Hara. It’s only Jonghyun that gets this treatment.

People need to start being considerate and stop thinking that they have the rights to control how people grief and cope. Regardless if it’s a Shawol or not, they should really keep to themselves and focus on what coping mechanisms works for them. And if they’re not a Shawol and they’re harassing people for coping with death, they should be ashamed of themselves for terrorising them just because they do something that you don’t like that you’re otherwise not even a part of. They need to really shut the fuck up and know their place. They are NOT a Shawol mourning over the death of Jonghyun by referring to him as “dead man” and mentally harassing other grieving Shawols in their vulnerable state because they think they’re doing something “right” or they’re the “hero” in their story when really they’re making it so much harder for those people that they become traumatised and may need to go to therapy because of those people.

I’m not going to let that comment on hyunjin gf’s blog slide. The fact that they have the audacity to harass someone who is MENTALLY not in a good place by gatekeeping other ways to cope with FUCKING DEATH because they expect us to not treat him like he ever existed. For most people, that’s not how they cope, and it’s such a fucking unhealthy coping mechanism for most people since it could cause depression. Some people can do that whilst most can’t, and they need to understand that this is a thing that they can’t gatekeep for their own sake.

If any of these dumbasses decides to challenge me, I’ll screenshot their ask and I’ll report them to Tumblr because this terrorisation of K-pop fans needs to end. I would even bring them to the wall of shame so they can’t take back their words.

If you guys had gone through something like this, please note that you’re not alone and you don’t need to change how you cope with Dec 18th for anyone. You are allowed to grief, mourn and cope in your own terms. Remember, this is YOUR experiences and not others so YOU figure out what works for YOU and don’t cater to what those stupid delusional idiots like them say because most likely, they aren’t even Shawols themselves or even if they are, they cope with death differently than you and you don’t have to copy them just because they told you so. Please look after yourselves and make sure that you guys are putting yourselves first since mental health was the thing that killed Jonghyun, and he wouldn’t want you to be next in line.

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

Pining For You

Request: Hi bunny! Can i request pining hcs for Lucifer and diavolo pls? For a reader that's very oblivious, and very physically affectionate with the others. Thanks!

A/N: This was really fun to do!! I hope that you enjoy!!

Lucifer:

Pining for you ruins him. It ruins Lucifer in a way that it shouldn’t have ever been possible. He’s not one for the more romantic emotions, he’s far too busy with his own life to focus on something so frivolous. And yet, when the Avatar of Pride looks at you, he can’t help but feel a twisting around his heart and heat that settles in his chest and burns against him. It’s an odd feeling to pine over someone, especially when it’s him. It should be the other way around, it should be you wanting to confess and yet, he doesn’t find the entire experience awful.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt this way, so long that he can’t remember what the feeling is supposed to mean. He doesn’t have time for a relationship, and yet when you come knocking at his door, he’s willing to drop everything and run after you even if it’s for a simple task of reaching for the top cupboard. He’s willing to abandon his duties and promises, and have you lead him astray. It’s you that makes him a mess and it’s you that he’s fallen for. You’re oblivious and kind, and you’re human and one day you’ll die, but it’s you that he wants. If it’s you, he’d welcome any feeling, just to know that it was you that had left such a mark against his heart and soul.

You’re touchy with the others- constantly throwing your arms around them, leaning on their arms, and even playing with their hands. It leaves the demon with a bad taste in his mouth. He could easily return your affections, but it isn’t him that you’re choosing. He won’t admit it, but it makes him feel jealousy. He shouldn’t have to feel his way, and he doesn’t want to, but he does. He won't admit it, but due to you being so overly affectionate, he decides to have you closer to him. He has you sit with him during meal times, during council meetings he saves you a seat beside him, and he’ll find any excuse to just have you sit beside him.

Pride and obliviousness don’t go together. He’s sure of himself and he makes his attraction known to you, and yet, you can only smile and hold his hands in yours and tell him that you like him as well. It leaves him frustrated knowing that he’s confessed to you and yet you only take it as a friendly gesture. Despite the actions that he takes to have you notice him in a romantic way, you don’t. You take it as any other friendly gesture and he’s left with a headache forming between his brows and a heavy heart. It isn’t sadness- at least he doesn’t want to admit that. He’s a demon, a simple human shouldn’t be affecting him so and yet, you do. You make him want to scream when you accept his gifts and tell him how much you love them only to kiss his cheek and show them off to the others. It had to be in your nature to be oblivious, and while it’s frustrating, he’s still grateful that it’s you. He just wants you to see him the way that he sees you. You’re the one that turned the Avatar of Pride into such a mess that it's almost laughable if it weren’t his feelings at play.

A confession to you is not easy, but he doesn’t mind a bit of work. Lucifer knocks at your door, his head held high and hands clasped behind his back and he’s grateful that he has gloves to conceal how clammy his hands have gotten. When you open the door, he smiles gently at you and enters your room. His confession is meant to be short. He’s meant to just tell you that he has feelings for you but then he sees the way that you tilt his head and he’s left confessing himself to you. You are a human and yet you’re the one that has reduced him to nothing more than a mess. You’ve done so much for him and the only thing that he has to show for it are feelings that at away at him, feelings that make him lose his breath, and something so raw that it’s painful. He hadn’t known that pining after you would have caused such a ruckus in his life, but it has. You’ve left hi in a disarray. He’s your demon, and you’re his master, and whatever you want from him, he’d be willing to do.

Diavolo:

Diavolo hadn’t expected to find himself attracted to you in a romantic sense. He loves humans and in turn, humanity, but he never thought that the exchange student would be the one to capture his attention- especially when he was a prince and you were only a simple human. He sits with his feelings and that’s something that’s new to him. He’s so used to rushing forward without a thought, without a fear of consequence, but this time, it’s different. He doesn’t know what to do, he just sits with his emotions until he finally admits to out loud that he does have feelings for you.

You spend so much time with the others that it isn’t fair. He can’t spend time with you because he’s a prince, he has things to attend to and oversee and that costs him so much. He’s glad that you’re spending time with the others, that you aren’t alone, but at the same time, you rely on them, but not him. At a certain point, he starts to request your presence for just simple things at first- joining him for a meal, walking through the garden, attending a few more human related events, and then it gradually increases to staying late at the castle due to him convincing you to spend your time in the library, sitting beside him while he signs documents, and even just the simple task of him giving you a proper tour of the castle- anything to keep you around him longer. It’s all just a cheap ploy to get you to spend time with him. Sure he feels a bit guilty about it, but he’s also a demon, guilt is something he feels and to him, it’s just another emotion that he can easily rid himself of.

It isn’t easy to get you to notice his feelings for you. He’s sure that you can sense something has shifted in the dynamic but that also may be him just wanting to believe in that. Demon courting and human courting are two very different things that he isn’t quite sure which one to do. He’s sure you’d accept his gifts, but would you know the meanings behind it? If he were to ask you out on a date would you simply believe that he was just requesting more of your time? It’s such a bother, but it’s something that he must deal with- it’s his feelings and he’ll sort them out for you. He ends up trying a mix of both, hell flowers that seep with fortunes when bled on, a lovely note written in your textbook, gifts that are weighted in jewels and gold, and stuffed animals that he’s seen you admire. It’s a mix of things, but you seem to enjoy them so he doesn’t stop.

Perhaps it’s the demon in him that makes him so territorial when it comes to you. He’s surprised at his jealousy of having others touch you and having you reciprocate the touch- to reach out and cup their face or for you to pull them close for a hug. It leaves an awful, acidic taste on his tongue, an anger brewing in him that has him huffing out like a child. There should be no reason for him to feel so awful, but yet he does. It’s no surprise that you enjoy touch, but he can still sense your hesitation when it comes towards him. He thinks that it might have to deal with his title, but that’s only a hunch. At a certain point, he has to take the step forward and grab your hand that is so small in his and let it cup against his jaw and cheeks and when you run your thumb under his bottom lip, he only leans towards you, quiet with his eyes closed.

The poor prince can only handle his own feelings for so long. You’re oblivious and while that’s just a thing of yours, he can’t just sit quietly and hope you’ll pick up on the signals. Eventually, Diavolo pulls you aside and sits you beside him, his knee pressing against yours and his hands clasped over yours. It’s straightforward, he leaves no room for miscommunication. He tells you how he adores you, how you’re the one that makes him nervous and how he wishes that you would look at him the way that he looks at you, and as he lifts your hand to touch against his chest where his heart rests, you can only look at him with wide eyes. All he wants is to hold your hand and have you be beside him for as long as you’d let him; he may be a prince, but you’re the one who holds power over him. He’d bow before you and kiss your knuckles, he’d sully his own name if it meant that you would only kiss his temple.

#obey me #om swd #obey me swd #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer headcanons #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo x mc #obey me diavolo headcanons #i thought this was cute #and it was short #i hope you enjoy!!#love you bye

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jiangwanyinscatmom · 3 years

Note

This is a bit of a long rambly mess, but I just to vent somewhere! When I was at first getting annoyed at JC’s depictions, I thought fanon JC was painted as similar Mu Qing, right down to JC being given MQ’s secret care for children. But I then realized that even that comparison was inaccurate.

Even MQ apologizes (more than once across the story!), says that XL was right, and says he wants to be his friend. And if JC did that in most fics, that would at least be fine. But fans don’t even do the courtesy of giving JC that arc! Instead, it’s always JC being right -- whether about the GC transfer, or he’s suddenly become a person who’s willing to help the Wens and WWX is just a stupid idiot for doing it on his own -- and WWX has to admit that JC was right.

And where MQ becomes more comfortable with the fact that he used to be a servant, accepting and overcoming the insecurities, JC’s arc in fic could be learning to overcome his insecurities that WWX is better than him at many things even despite their class differences. But no, fanon JC has to be AMAZING at something, or even SEVERAL things, SO much BETTER at them than poor stupid WWX. That’s the BEST solution for Yunmeng bros reconciliation, obviously.

At this point, I honestly wish JC was actually given MQ’s character arc in more fics, because at least he could be said to have one, and not just have always been a perfect person, best brother, best jiujiu, bestest sect leader. Ugh.

It kind of feels like another side of purity culture from the people who should be against it. If JC and WWX reconcile,if JC loves WWX, then JC can’t have ever been a bad brother. Instead, it’s Wei Wuxian who has been the bad brother (the character who’s more easy to change since he a) has already gone through this characterization in all versions of the canon, so his development can be reversed for the fic and brought back up to speed by the end, and b) has actually had character growth, unlike JC, so it’s easier to write that growth). It’s Wei Wuxian who needs to change to match where JC is at. It’s fine if the “bad brother” is the character who tried to do good, but fucked it up because he “doesn’t know how to ask for help!” or “is too stupid to know other people care!” or whatever other excuse. That’s easy to fix! But it’s not fine when it’s the character who never really cared about people outside of his sect and is terribly low on empathy/mercy/compassion/caring. JC has to have been secretly good all along! He loves his brother, so obviously he never did anything terrible to him! Or to other people in the name of hating him! Love cannot be unhealthy or messy or crystalized over by and wrapped up in hate!

(I mean, if we’re comparing characters to JC, Severus Snape also has an unpleasant personality yet was actually revealed to not have been evil all along, and the discourse around him is more interesting than the stuff surrounding JC. It’s still often stupid discourse, but at least it’s based on evidence from the text and not a made up secret narrative where JC hasn’t been a bad person this whole time so fans can just make up whatever characterization they want.)

Instead of dealing with JC’s and WWX’s canon relationship and trying to find a way forward from where they left off in Guanyin Temple (if they’re ignoring the extras in MDZS, or going off CQL), fanon JC is just retroactively made into having always been a good person to justify the ease of their reconciliation.

And as someone who loves delving into fictional complex, complicated, messy, ugly relationships, I find it so...bland, boring, childish, and exhausting.

"As someone who loves delving into fictional complex, complicated, messy, ugly relationships, I find it so...bland, boring, childish, and exhausting."

Hello there anon, the above as well as what you said about reversing Wei Wuxian's character to be on par with how awful Jiang Cheng was to him is especially resonating. As a person Jiang Cheng himself for all intents was considered at least above average from the normal cultivators.

Yet his downfall always relied on his hate of Wei Wuxian (as a person, in talent, socially) it is a core part of his character that is woven into the work itself and the catalyst for Wei Wuxian's death itself. Jiang Cheng if anything, is coldly upfront on just why he refuses to help Wei Wuxian out of his predicament as well as framing Wei Wuxian. The text itself says he puts little fight in pretending to even speak for Wei Wuxian's behalf when Jin Guangshan begins to sully him and conspire about him wanting to be a sect leader. He is meant to be the complete contrast in Lan Wangji and Mianmian trying to speak for his good-will, in fact he contradicts this by saying that Wei Wuxian has always been tiresomely reckless and uncontrollable, something that holds little truth as Wei Wuxian worked in trust for Yunmeng Jiang's benefit for years. Their actions simply are not of comparable fault and the end of the work (in the least the novel) makes this message clear. Jiang Cheng, as a character, like MXTX said is a product of following what his environment made him as well as him putting no fight on his end to amend that to be better and learn. Love is very complicatedly explored in this work in all it's ways and that's what is very beautiful about it. It does not shy away from the forms it manifests in. Including Jiang Cheng's who at the base of it, the rivalry there was as much one-sided as Shu She's for Lan Wangji, the layers of irony are the best part of the novel for each of it's characters.

As for fandom. I do think a lot of it is petty stupid discourse (oh and I have never said I am particularly immune to it, I am far too sarcastic for my own good and have a bit of a loud mouth when I see something particularly ridiculous for this fandom and I do not know when to shut up my filter). But, so much of it is coated within personal resonance towards certain characters which leads to feeling personally hurt, especially when the block features exist on this site. Multiple tags have been implemented to block for this exact purpose, yet their comes the takes that you can not use these sarcastic tags that are blockable because "it's not the right ones". Fandom is ever shifting and as such it is curated as much as you want it to be. Being ordered to not use these tags or to avoid posting all together is a moot point as well as demanding others to read how you want them to, even when the work textually supports or does not certain interpretations. As lovely as the thought is that "all interpretations are valid", logically it does not work quite so well when you attempt to push that on so many others with little helpful evidence other than flimsy fanon popularity (Ron the Death Eater And Draco in Leather pants are infamous fandom tropes that are despised for reasons). JC is not a case of questionable good for selfish reasons as in the comparison to Snape, he is simply a show of selfishness who has an ambiguous opening to do better, in terms of those in the future. Too much clout though is put on that idea when the work itself is not shy to say real good, kind, supportive people are hard to come by.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #canon jiang cheng #jiang cheng #I love him but he is very much a trash racoon king #fandom also needs to chill with is elitisism and faux intellectualism

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kiwixlime · 2 years

Text

Envy

Part Four of the Seven Deadly Sins Series

The wicked envy and hate; it is their way of admiring.

Warnings: Angst, envy (obvs), jealousy, fluff if you squint.

Notes: Sweet little Sam is having a crisis. He’s just being dumb right now. Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy.

After your eventful night with Sam, you were afraid that he’d be weird and distant with you. It’s not like you weren’t within reason to suspect that of him. Sam has the mental capacity of a child most days. He wasn’t afraid to run out on you after your declaration of love all that time ago. Who’s to say he wouldn’t run after a night of unplanned and unprotected sex?

Truthfully, you thought he’d find some awkward excuse to avoid you -- like maybe he was drunk or not in his right mind when it happened (even though you knew better). That morning, when you woke up with him, naked and next to you, you weren’t sure how to process. It scared you. His strong arms held you tightly, but your brain couldn’t stop imagining the worst.

So, it totally takes you by surprise that Sam’s been quietly affectionate with you.

Sensual touches and playful kisses are some of his favorite ways to express himself with you. And he likes to say cheesy, endearing things to get you to smile and blush. He never goes into too much detail, they’re small things, but they’re big enough to let you know that he’s not regretful about what happened. He seems even…delighted.

He would be louder with his sentiments, he's admitted that much. But he’s afraid of Sully’s reactions. He doesn’t know if the older man would hate him for touching you or if he’d be upset with you for letting Sam touch you. Sully's never approved of your relationship with the older Drake. He thinks you can aim much higher than that idiot.

Either way, Sam doesn’t want to ruin the bliss you two have found yourselves in, finally. So he keeps his flirtatious teasing to a medium, staying on his best behavior when necessary. At least when the old man’s around.

If somehow, you end up alone together, he has no qualms kissing your neck or playing with your hair, or whispering explicit things in your ear to recreate that night. Or if you are out together, away from Sully’s prying eyes, he’ll happily hold your hand, give you soft pecks on the cheek, and whisper explicit things in your ear to try to recreate that night, only in public. It reminds you of your Sam from the past.

Honestly, you don’t know what to think about his behavior. You love his attention, you’d die for it, but you’re worried that this is just another high to him - that when this adventure is over, he’ll remember why he left you in the first place. If you get too comfortable now, it’ll hurt that much more when he inevitably leaves.

But you’re a masochist, remember? You’ll take the pain because it leads to pleasure. And right now, it feels so fucking good.

“Sam, behave,” you giggle, swatting at his sturdy chest with the back of your hand. He doesn’t even flinch, smirking into your neck as he continues to assault your skin with kisses. He laughs deep in his throat, knowing your attempts are futile. You don’t have any intention of making Sam get off of you. But you have to act like you’re putting up a fight.

You gasp as he bites down on your collarbone and that’s when you spring into action. If you don’t stop him, for real, you’ll do him right here on this loveseat. Using as much force as you can muster, which isn’t a lot since you’re already so turned on, you push Sam back. His lips detach from your tingling flesh and he falls back on the seat next to you. He sighs and looks over at you with a frown. “I can’t believe you’re making me go through with this,” he groans.

“Don’t be like that,” you whisper, poking his cheek teasingly. His smile barely reaches his eyes and you feel guilty for making him feel so glum. No matter how badly Sam’s hurt you in the past, you always wanted to be better than that. “Andre will only be in town for a few days and we need his help. It’s a good thing,” you say, offering a sliver of hope.

Still, Sam rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, pouting like a disciplined child. As frustrating as he is, this is how you know that Sam trusts you. He’s not afraid to show his raw emotions, open up and peel back those grave layers, not around you. Around everyone else, he’s rough and tough Sam or fun Sam, cracking jokes and never taking anything seriously. But he has his modest moments with you where he lets you in, opens his heart, shows you how vulnerable he can be.

You appreciate it. And you cherish it. So, yeah, you feel guilty putting him in this position, but you’re at a loss.

Yes, you ended up calling Andre. After releasing your tensions with Sam, he agreed, in his afterglow, post-orgasm. Sure, that was sneaky and kind of like taking advantage of his euphoria - even he even pointed it out afterward - but he was quick to forgive and accept when you promised that Andre is just a friend.

“Do you think he’s smarter than me?” Sam asks, his voice raising an octave, almost panic-stricken. Hearing that makes your heart sink. You know Sam always wants (has) to be the best, especially since he missed out on thirteen years of his life. He’s still playing catch up to Nathan, and even though Sam knows that he’s an astute, cunning guy, he doesn’t always feel it.

Sam’s hardly insecure until it comes to you. You’re the most important person in his life. He doesn’t have to love himself, or even like himself, he’s happy to pretend. But he wants you to. And if he’s the very best -- the wisest, most desirable, most experienced man you’ve ever met, then maybe you will.

“Sam,” you whisper, curling up to his side, bringing your hands to his shoulders. “You’re the smartest human I know,” you say as you rest your chin in the crook of his neck, stroking his already huge ego. He lets out a satisfied sigh, either from the work your fingers are doing to the knots in his shoulders or the sincerity in the words you speak to him. “Andre researches for a living, and he’s an extra set of eyes. We need the help.”

Nodding, Sam relaxes a bit, seemingly comfortable with your explanation. You smile to yourself. He’s a man-child, but he’s your man-child. And you’ll hype him up any chance you get if it keeps his mind from fading to those dark places.

“You okay?” You ask, your arms circling his neck. You feel him melt into your touch and hug him a little tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he answers and it takes you by surprise. His hands find yours in a loving motion, making your skin prickle. He turns his head to look at you, really look at you, his eyes meeting yours so intensely that it makes your cheeks bloom crimson. “I’m so sorry for letting you go. I’m sorry for leaving - for choosing Mandy,” his mouth twitches as he speaks about that day. He remembers everything, the burning of Avery’s ship, the fight with Rafe, getting out with Nathan and Elena, the look on your face when he grabbed Mandy’s hand instead of yours and left you without a word. It haunts him every day.

“We’ve talked about this…” You try to say, already feeling a lump forming in your throat.

“Not enough,” Sam admits. His eyes hold pain, years of pain, and regret. “I hurt you, dollface,” he expresses. “I was awful to you and you just…you’re here with me, forgiving me. I don’t--”

Sam’s impassioned speech gets cut short by a knock on the hotel room door. You sniffle, pulling away from Sam and wiping your clammy palms against your jeans. There’s more you want to say, like ask him why it took so fucking long for him to give you a meaningful apology, but there’s no time. “That’s Andre,” you say softly.

“Right,” Sam sighs dejectedly.

“I should answer the door,” you mumble, though Sam’s teary eyes are pulling you in.

“You should,” he nods and stands up, offering you his hand in the process. The conversation is on the back burner for now. It’s almost alarming how quickly he can change his demeanor. The sorrow has slipped from his face, lips now possessing the most impressive fake smile you've seen.

Another round of knocks sounds through the room, so you quickly head to the door, Sam slowly following behind. You put on your best smile as you open the door, but the fact is you don’t have to fake it when you see Andre standing before you. “Andre!” You beam, pouncing on him with a hug.

“Hey there, little one,” Andre chuckles, stepping into the room with you still in his arms. You hold him tightly, letting out little squeals of joy at his presence. The excitement of seeing Andre has you momentarily forgetting about your conversation with Sam until he coughs behind you.

“Oops,” you say shyly and Andre sets you back down on the ground. You turn around to look at Sam standing there with a very stoic expression. His hands shoved into his pockets, his lips drawn into a thin line as he takes in Andre’s appearance.

He’s tall, lean, dark-skinned with dark curly hair and dark, smoldering eyes. He looks young, but his facial hair makes him look poised and sophisticated. Hell, he’s stunning in all sorts of ways. Even Sam feels threatened by his good looks.

Watching the two of you together leaves Sam feeling anxious, annoyed, sick. He keeps his eyes glued to Andre’s arm and the way it slides around your waist with ease. Sam huffs, unable to keep his emotions in check.

You blush and step away from Andre, striding over to Sam. “This is my -- this is Sam,” you falter, not knowing what to refer to him as. Sam notices the hesitation in your voice and inwardly cringes. Great.

“Oh!” Andre exclaims, reaching a hand out to the other man. “Sam, I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to meet you.”

Sam nods, silent, and you jab him in the side with your elbow. He glances down at you and you give him a look that says, “be nice.” It’s the last thing he feels like doing, but if it’ll make you happy…

“Yeah,” Sam clears his throat, accepting the handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

Andre smiles a luminous smile that makes you swoon and Sam notices how you soften. He scoffs and steps away towards the desk where you’ve been keeping your discoveries. You get yourself together and motion for Andre to follow. Sam’s already leafing through your notes as if he can find something last minute to one-up Andre.

“Sam,” you voice, placing a delicate hand on his arm. “Come on,” your voice comes out in a whisper. You feel him tense under your touch, but he listens to you and phases back from the desk.

“This is what we have,” he says blandly, gesturing to the scattered evidence in front of them. “Good luck,” he grunts.

Andre offers a weak smile. He’s known you for a while. He already knows your deal with Sam so he’s not offended.

With Sam sulking at the bar, you show Andre the clues you’ve found so far, including the map and coordinates you uncovered at the cave, plus a few notes you picked up on your trek through the city on your first day here. You have evidence Selena existed, judging by letters addressed to her (numerous) lovers and her distant sister. You’re learning about her history, which is great, but there are still no clues about actual treasure. That’s fine with you, but you feel like Sam wants more. And you kind of do, too. There are answers out there. You just have to find them.

“This is really cool,” Andre says, impressed. “Where did you find these letters?”

“Dig sites, mostly,” you answer, picking up one of the letters you and Sam found on your first day. Andre nods, like he expected that. He explains that archaeological digs in Ancient Egypt found temples that treasure hunters believed to be connected to Selena’s crew. So the leads you’ve found so far are legit.

“Is this a riddle?” Andre asks with interest. Over at the bar, Sam moans. He’s tried like hell to crack that thing, but so far nothing. To be fair, it’s only been in your possession for about 24 hours and you and Sam have been working on other articles as well.

“We’re stumped,” you say, handing the enigma over to Andre. “If you can crack this, please, do it.” You chuckle.

“I think I can do it,” he smirks and sits down at the desk. He places the letter out in front of him and opens up one of your research books, getting straight to work. You decide to give Andre his space and head towards the bar to see Sam.

“Hey? You okay?” You ask with concern.

“Just fine,” Sam mumbles and gulps a hardy sip of scotch. He doesn’t say anything more as he pours another glass. You take the hint and make yourself scarce. At least Andre will chat with you.

So you hover over the desk where he works, making light conversation. He asks about your trip so far and if you’ve done anything fun or exciting in the city, where you were before Egypt, how you’ve been and how your job is going in New York.

It’s nice talking to him again, catching up and such. You list off your accomplishments and Andre is so proud, he showers you with compliments. It makes Sam sick. He finds himself envious of your relationship with the younger man. You’re soothing with him, bubbly, totally relaxed. You want his advice, curious about what he makes of things. Andre with the great looks and smart brain.

Sam wishes that you would look at him with that much respect, that you’d be that compassionate with him. But maybe he’s too late. Maybe you’ve moved on and the other night was just a quick fuck for you. Maybe Andre is who you deserve. He seems to be a total gentleman.

It takes a few hours for Andre to figure out the mystery. But eventually, he does. The riddle is more complex than you or Sam figured, so when Andre deciphers that the location is Spain, you’re both relieved and annoyed.

Spain, because of course it is. Nothing is ever easy in this line of work. But that’s what makes it so exciting.

“We’re getting a lot of use out of our passports,” Sam comments, falling down onto the chair next to you and Andre.

“It’ll be fun,” you say with a smile, sauntering over to him. You place your hands on his shoulders and push him back, making him tilt his head up to look at you. “Adventure, Sam,” you say, lightly kissing his nose.

Feeling like he’s intruding, Andre excuses himself and pulls out his phone to make a call. He has resources in Spain and is ready to call in some favors, such as transportation and lodging. Your main destination will be Ibiza and Andre has it on good authority that a fancy party will be a hotspot for information upon your arrival.

“So, you don’t seem to mind all the praise you’re getting from Andre,” Sam points out now that you finally have a minute alone.

“Samuel,” you glare, sliding down into his lap. He willingly accepts your position, placing his hands on your hips and holding you right where he wants you, where you belong. His grip is tight, possessive. You like it.

“Yes, dollface?” Sam sighs, smiling when you kiss him.

“You know me better than anyone,” you tell him. “Tinkerbell effect, Sam. If I don’t get attention, I’ll die.”

Sam chuckles, rolling his eyes at your banter. “Does it have to be his?” He whines, jutting out his lower lip in exaggeration.

“Only if you’re not here to give it to me,” you say coyly.

Sam grins and moves to kiss you, but Andre returns just before he can. Cursing under his breath, he taps your side. You slide off of his lap and take his hands in yours, pulling him up next to you.

“We’re all set. We leave tomorrow,” Andre chirps. “Room service?”

“Yes, I’m starving,” you groan. “Sam?”

He nods and you skip over to the phone to order for the three of you. Sully is out for the night, again. This is probably a good thing considering he would most definitely not approve of your situation right now. You can only imagine what he’d say. He’d probably throw poor Sam to the sharks and insist you run away with Andre.

You eat together and laugh and listen in awe when Andre tells you about his latest quest, but Sam is keeping his distance from the both of you. He watches you and Andre together and wants to fling himself off the balcony. Envy rears its ugly head, taunting him. He doesn't deserve you.

Eventually, Andre wraps up his work and you head to your laptop to update your research. You add the information Andre’s uncovered, including what he said about dig sites, for future use. You feel excited like things are finally starting to come together. Selena is in reach, you know it. Your mind is so caught up in this fact that you don’t even notice the two men behind you have started conversing for the first time all night.

“You’re a lucky man, Sam,” Andre comments with a defeated sigh. He rubs his forehead as a headache comes on from all the reading.

Sam is taken aback by Andre’s confession. You're a lucky man. What is that supposed to mean? Sam has been observing the two of you all night. You are so different with the younger man, bright and lively. Youthful. If anything, Sam should be saying that Andre is the lucky one. But instead, he finds himself bewildered. “Wait, you mean you two aren’t…”

Andre laughs, but it’s sad. Sam feels for the guy. He knows those laughs, the ones that hurt, but come out anyway. He trusts those laughs like old friends. But Andre is strong and doesn’t let it change his overall mood. He still wears an elegant smile as he speaks.

“No,” Andre confesses, answering the question that’s been weighing on Sam’s mind since you first mentioned Andre's existence. “I’ve tried for as long as I’ve known her to get her to see me as more than a friend. But she’s in love with someone else. Always has been. I never stood a chance.”

“Oh,” Sam responds as he feels his body go hot. It’s so obvious, and suddenly, he feels like an ass for acting like a jealous boyfriend when he had no right. If Andre’s telling the truth - and why wouldn’t he be - Sam is indeed a lucky man. Who else have you loved besides Sam? Unless… Rafe. No, Sam disposes of that thought immediately.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you,” Andre states. “I wondered if I could compete with you, see what your deal was, how you have her so smitten. But I can’t figure it out. You just have this connection. I envy you, Sam.”

“Me?” Sam laughs nervously. He’s heard these kinds of comments before. Sam’s traveled the world. He's hunted treasure. He's not unfortunate looking. But sometimes, like now, for example, when someone is envious of him for having you, he can’t believe it. It almost makes him cry.

“You have the love of an angel,” Andre explains with the most sincere grin. He believes every word he’s saying. "That is something so many people would kill for.”

Andre claps Sam on the shoulder as a goodbye and heads to where you’re sitting at the computer. Sam watches you two for the hundredth time that night, but now when he sees Andre touch you, his heart doesn’t sink. He feels lucky.

Fuck.

Masterlist

#sam drake #samuel drake #sam drake x reader #samuel drake x reader #uncharted fanfiction

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 3 years

Text

Take My Hand (Part Four)

Summary: doing what you think is best for another person never ends well (four of ??? parts - more parts to come!)

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Reader, Rafael Barba x Reader

Word Count: 7,579

Song: I don't like slow motion, double vision in rose blush / I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush (gold rush by taylor swift)

Warnings: T, lots of angst, but a happy ending?

A/N: thank you to all of you for reading, your comments and reblogs have kept me going! thank you to @laneygthememequeen and @bucky-of-the-opera for being the best beta readers!!

“Rafael, you don’t have to leave—” Sonny crossed his arms, as Rafael raised an eyebrow at him over his drink, sipping at his scotch mournfully, “McCoy said you could still work—”

“You know a lawyer’s reputation is everything, Carisi,” he swirled what remained of his drink in his glass, “it’s our main commodity, and mine has been taken out back and shot — by my own hand,” he downs the rest of the drink, “besides,” he sighs, “there’s nothing left for me here.”

Sonny frowns, sipping at his own drink, “What’re gonna do next?” Rafael shrugs, “I think I’ll broaden my horizons— this is the first time since before law school that I haven’t had a plan for my life — it’s just wide open.”

“And that’s?”

“Terrifying, surprising — I never thought I’d have to start over at this point in my career, but,” he leans against the counter, “it’s a change,” and then he looks over at Sonny, “and what about you?”

He furrows his brow, “What about me?”

“Are you going to apply for the opening in the D.A.’s office?” Sonny nearly chokes on his drink, “come on, Carisi, you’re more than qualified.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t know — I’m not sure if I’m ready for that change quite yet, besides,” he shifts in his seat, “I heard from Liv that McCoy has someone else in mind for the job.”

“Stone?” Rafael asks, and Sonny tilts his head, “I may not be in that office, but it doesn’t change the fact that it leaks like a rusty faucet.”

“If you know that—”

“Sonny, a piece of advice,” Rafael turns to face him, one elbow on the counter, “no one job is forever — Stone may last a while, he may not — but get your name in the ring at least because the next time the position is open, they’ll look to you—”

“But—”

“You have been part of the squad, you’ve seen these cases for years, you’re an officer and you have the education to back it up,” he pulls his wallet out, waving off Carisi, and placing a few bills on the counter, “Look, you went to law school for a reason right? If you keep making excuses, you won’t be able to do the good you could do.”

Sonny knew, he knew that he should but— “I’m just afraid that I won’t be able to handle it,”

Rafael raises an eyebrow, “You are a detective in one of the toughest units in the NYPD and you went to law school at the same time — I think you’ll be fine.”

Sonny blinks, trying to hide his smile, “Thank you — for everything. I’ve appreciated you mentoring me these past years.”

Rafael gives a small chuckle at that, “You shouldn’t be thanking me,”

Sonny tilts his head, “Then who should I be thanking?”

Your name leaves his lips, and Sonny frowns, “I didn’t really want to mentor you, but with some encouragement, well—” he shrugs, “my point is there’s no need to thanks, at least not me.”

A sentence burns on his tongue, hot as the anger sitting on his chest, and I should thank the person who cut me out of their life without any to-do? But Sonny doesn’t say that, he only smiles — as always.

He didn’t want to admit how much it hurt when you left. When you didn’t say goodbye. When you quit without warning. When you left him with nothing but a note and no explanation, only the feeling of your lips on his.

But it did hurt.

Especially because he didn’t know if it was because of him. He didn’t presume himself to be that important in your life — and maybe he wasn’t with how easily you had removed yourself from his life — but what other explanation was there really?

“I should go,” Rafael slips off the stool, pulling his coat on, and he holds out his hand to Sonny, “I hope to see you again sometime, Detective,”

Sonny offers a smile, shaking his hand, “Counselor, I expect to hear things about what you do next.”

“Same to you — your name is associated with me, I can't have you sullying it, now can I?” but then he grimaces, shrugging, “well, at least the bar is low.”

“Bye, Rafael,” and he nods, disappearing out the door, and Sonny straightens his coat, walking towards the door, before glancing at the bar stool you had sat at the night he picked you up — so much had changed and in so little time.

“How long has it been, Jack?” you skip the handshake for a hug, sliding into the booth across from him.

“Far too long,” he sighs, already had ordered his own food, “I heard about the stir you’re making in the Bronx,” he splits his chopsticks, dousing in his food in a very modest amount of sriracha, as you raise a questioning eyebrow at his remark, “The Brown case — I heard an earful from the Bronx D.A. about that case.”

You shake your head, ordering yourself a soda, “It was his fault that he didn’t have proper chain of custody on that evidence—”

“I know,” Jack nods, “it was a good catch.”

“Thank you,” you smile, pleased with yourself, “although I suspect this isn’t just for you to compliment me on my exceptional work.”

“Developed an ego at No-Go?” you roll your eyes at his “loving” nickname for your firm, Noble-Gordon LLP, before shrugging, “you know you could start your own practice and make more money.”

“I could, but I also wouldn’t get some control over where their pro bono hours go,” you order your food, stirring your drink with a straw, “now what do you want McCoy? And then I can bore you with the details of my life plan.”

Jack smiles, “Always straight to the point, huh, counselor?” he leans back, “what do you think of Detective Carisi?”

You furrow your brow, “Sonny? Is something—”

“Nothing is wrong,” Jack waved you off, “but what was your opinion of him?”

You tilt your head, “As what? Detective, a barred attorney, or person?”

Jack raises an eyebrow, “Let’s start with detective, and then we’ll get to the other two,”

You pause — how could you describe Sonny? “When he first started, I didn’t know what to think of Sonny — he was eager to learn, but green,” you suppress a snort at the thought of him the unfortunate incidents of him pestering victims and suspects alike, “but despite that, he was always willing to learn, quick on his feet. He was good with the victims, maybe not at first, but he’s a seasoned detective now, and I have confidence in his skills.”

“And as an attorney?”

“Well, I never was around to see him get barred,” and you feel a twinge of guilt crawl up your throat — you had promised to help him study, promised to help him celebrate — you didn’t do either, “but when he applied his legal knowledge to cases we worked on together and while shadowing at the Manhattan office, he showed aptitude, skill, and passion.”

“And as a person?”

You smile softly, “Sonny is kind, to a fault, but he’s practical, he knows there are grays to S.V.U. cases — he’s seen them firsthand. He knows how to handle tough cases, while having the empathy to handle victims,” Jack nods, sipping at his drink, “now I assume you’re asking for a reason?”

“Stone resigned,” Jack sighs, “effective immediately — and we’re looking for someone to get their foot in the door — quick.”

“Peter? What—”

“It wasn’t the right fit,” he shook his head, “he’s landing on his feet — don’t worry.”

You frowned, you didn’t know Peter personally, but you had heard stories of him and his father — both were legendary, “I’m sorry to hear that, but,” you tilt your head, “you’re considering Sonny for the position?”

“Yes, and now hearing what you had to say, I think I will," and you smile, "after an interview, of course."

"Of course," you shake your head, "I remember interviewing with you."

He raises an eyebrow, "And?"

"I think I convinced myself you thought I was a moron, until you gave me the offer after a week," he shrugs.

"Had to make you sweat," he purses his lips, "do you regret saying yes?"

You glance at the bar, a frown pressing onto your lips, "I regret a lot of things," and your food arrives at the table, and you break your chopsticks, smiling, "but never that."

You were not happy.

You hurried up the steps of the Manhattan courthouse — steps you had hoped you wouldn’t have had to hurry up ever again — not only had this case been unceremoniously dumped on the firm with a notice of one whole day, but it had been shafted to you with a whole two hours notice after one of your junior associates called out sick.

Sick or hungover? You couldn’t tell over from the 4:00 AM message left on your voicemail, but by the sounds of the clinking glasses in the background — they certainly didn’t have the flu.

This was not only the son of one of your firm’s biggest clients — the firm practicing not only criminal defense but also some business law matters. It was a simple case — a white first time offender on a petty marijuana possession — he would likely get no jail time, and get time served at most — with an expungement in the near future.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The crime was committed and the son charged in the jurisdiction of Manhattan, so that meant this was in a Manhattan courtroom, one that you hadn’t stepped into in what — two, nearly three years?

And on top of it all, there was the matter of who the prosecutor was. A silent curse muttered under your breath as you rushed to the courtroom — and it was someone you hadn’t seen in about the same amount of time.

Why a sex crimes prosecutor was covering for a narcotics case — you didn’t know, but you figured it was either a chance to learn the ropes in different departments or the D.A. needed someone to cover, and the new guy drew the short straw.

Just your luck.

You stood outside the courtroom, catching your breath, your heart thumping against your ribs — and you didn’t know whether it was from the running or from the fact you were about to see Sonny again for the first time in three years after you kissed him.

And he didn’t know you were coming.

Fuck it, you pulled open the door, stepping inside.

And you saw him— standing where Rafael and you once stood, his eyes first lying on his notes, but drawn to the noise of the creaking door and your footsteps against the marble floor.

You try not to look at him. You can’t help it, as you pass him by you catch a glimmer of his reaction — shock scrawled plainly across his face, eyes widened and nearly slack jawed.

“Your Honor, I apologize to you and to my client, ” you spare a small smile to the privileged 18-year-old, Jason Baker, beside you, before your eyes flicker over to Sonny — dress in a pressed suit, his hair slicked back, lips no longer curled in the smile he once had for you, but instead, in a thin line, “ as well as A.D.A. Carisi. I was only informed of this case this morning and I rushed here as soon as I could—”

“Yes, I understand,” Judge Lopez nods — Lopez being a judge you had dealt with many a time on cases — tough, but always fair, a definite leftist progressive (even by New York standards), “Do you need a moment to confer with your client?”

“Just a moment,” you confirmed the details of the case with Jason, before nodding, “I think we’re ready to proceed.”

The hearing went without much to-do, both of you agreeing to meet about a plea agreement to settle this case out of court. You promised your client you would meet with him after, as Sonny began to make a beeline out of the courtroom.

You barely caught up to him, on the heels of him striding toward the elevators, jaw set, “Sonny—”

“Counselor,” he replied coolly, and you frowned, “do you want to set a time for your client’s plea agreement?”

“Yes, but—” the elevator dings and he steps in without another word.

“I’ll send you and your office an email,” his smile is curt and cordial, but his words have an edge to them, “nice to see you again.”

And the doors shut.

So, you stare at the closed elevator doors, he was mad.

"Can you believe—"

Rollins sighs, leaning back against her sofa, head resting against the top, "No I can't, Carisi, just like I couldn't the first twenty times," she murmurs under her breath.

He pauses, his jaw tight, “Am I annoying you?”

“No, Sonny, but—” she gestures for him to sit, “you’re stressing me out with all that pacing, can you sit down?”

Sonny collapsed into a chair, arms crossed and leg still bobbing up and down, “I always thought about what I would say when I saw—” he cuts off, “it was like no time had passed, acting like nothing had happened—”

Amanda raises an eyebrow, “What did happen between you two?” Sonny falls silent, his eyes falling to the carpeted floor, “this is what I mean, you’re telling me half of the story and expecting me to have a reaction,” she pushes his knee, “what happened?”

He said nothing, and Amanda sighs, “When I gave you the sweatshirt, you barely said anything, and now you’re not saying anything when you saw—” a cry breaks her sentence off, and they listen as the baby settles back down, “You know I always knew you had a thing for—”

“I didn’t have a thing—” he cuts off when he sees her raise an eyebrow, “okay maybe I did, but it has nothing to do with this—”

“If it doesn’t, then why are you mad?”

“I’m mad,” his voice raises, before she shushes him, and he sighs, apologizing, “I’m angry because I didn’t get a goodbye.”

You were gone.

You were gone before he woke up. You were gone from S.V.U. before he came in. You were gone from your apartment when he came knocking — moved out.

And he was only left with a note and a sweatshirt.

He continues, “I didn’t get a goodbye, but guess who recommended me for the A.D.A. position?”

It hadn’t been long enough since the last time he had thought about you. And the last time was his interview for the A.D.A. position.

“I’ll cut to the chase, son,” Jack said, making Sonny sit up straighter in his chair — he had spent the last forty-five minutes trying to impress Jack McCoy only for him to cut the chase now, “You know I’m not the type to mince my words, so I’ll ask you the question that really matters — why should we hire you over other candidates with more experience?”

This was the question he was dreading — he fought the urge to tug at his collar or wipe the palms down the front of his pants.

“Honestly, sir, I’ve thought about this question a lot, and yes, I don’t have the legal experience of some of the other candidates,” he didn’t — he had shadowing, he had done clinics, but he hadn’t practiced since being barred, “but I know S.V.U. — more than any of your candidates because I’ve seen these cases firsthand. Not only have I seen the cases, the victims, but I’ve worked with the team — I know the ins and the outs, and I’ve worked with A.D.A.s before—” he nearly flinched at the thought of you, “I know what I’m getting into — I know a lot of cases aren’t a win and I know we have to push sometimes, and I’m not afraid to do that,” he swallows, his throat dry — unable to discern the expression on Jack’s face, “You’ll have to train any candidate you have — whether they have practiced or not, especially when it comes to S.V.U., but you will have to teach one less thing, and it’s the most important one.”

And after the longest moment, he smiles, and Sonny can barely hear what he says over his blood roaring in his ears, “I think you’re right,”

“You do?”

Jack laughs, “Don’t sound so surprised, Dominick,” he tilts his head, “after hearing you talk about your work in and out of the department, I thought you would have more faith in yourself.”

And you would think that but—

“I’ll work on that,”

Jack smiles, clearing his throat, “Based on that and the recommendation I received from who you shadowed—”

He frowns, “You talked to someone I shadowed?”

When your name leaves his lips, he blinks, “Haven’t you spoken—”

Not since leaving my apartment and disappearing, “Not in a long time,” he gives a tight smile, “How are—”

“Doing great at Noble-Gordon as a defense attorney in the Bronx — giving the Bronx D.A. hell,” he smiles with pride, and he remembers how you had told him that McCoy had been one of your mentors, the man who had helped you become the attorney you are today — and now he was Sonny’s boss, “Better them than us, right?”

“Sonny—” Amanda’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

He gets to his feet again, walking towards the window, “Leaves, and then thinks to interfere in my life, doesn’t even bother to reach out, I haven’t heard a thing in years — years — but still gives me a recommendation,” he gives a bitter chuckle, “apparently our friendship meant that little.”

Apparently he had meant that little.

“I’m sorry, Sonny,”

He shakes his head, “What are you sorry for?” he asks, getting to his feet — I got kissed. I got cut out. And I didn’t even get an explanation — “Nothing happened.”

“I want jail time,” your head snaps up at the sound of Sonny’s voice, closing the door behind him, as you sat waiting in his office — the one that was next door to your old one, “at least six months.”

“What?” No greeting, no handshake, no smile — that much you half-expected, but jail time— “it’s a first time offense, and it’s not 1980, we’re not in the war on drugs—”

Sonny slides into his chair across from you his hands folded, “Counselor, your client isn’t an innocent school boy — he is an adult—”

“Barely, he just turned 18—”

“Exactly my point, he’s an adult, and—”

“And no competent attorney would ever take that deal—”

Sonny leans back in his seat, “Well a competent attorney would consider any deal in front of them, wouldn’t they?”

And your eyes narrow, “My client will not accept anything more than probation with no jail time, and hell, maybe we'll even throw in drug tests in, but anything more is a disgrace to the legal system,”

“Then I guess a jury can decide,” his jaw is set, and you see the quiet anger in his eyes — frigid as an icy lake, one that you were currently drowning in. His chair screeches as he moves to rise, and you stop him.

“We both know this isn’t about the case, Sonny,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Are you questioning my prosecutorial authority?”

“Are you trying to send a barely adult first time offender to jail when it makes absolutely no sense?” he grits his teeth, “is that justice? Is that what you’ve learned in S.V.U.?”

“I’m sorry that I’m not playing soft ball with you, counselor—”

“I’m sorry that you’re trying to take your anger at me out on my client,” you snap, rising from the table. And it snaps him into silence, his eyes falling to his notes, brow furrowed, mouth a thin line. Your anger simmers slowly, but as you speak again, your voice is even, but tempered, “The way I see it — we have three options — one, get over yourself and let us make a reasonable plea agreement; two, I get someone else from my office to handle this; or three, we work out our issues like fucking adults and move on with this agreement,”

His voice is quiet when he speaks, “So are we finally going to act like adults now?”

You waver, “Sonny—”

“After you cut me out with no explanation and left, I didn’t realize now we could act like adults,” he flips shut his leather folder, “I apologize for my behavior — maybe you’re right, someone else from your office should handle—”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off, and he doesn’t look up, “I’m so sorry, Sonny, I didn’t mean to—” you swallow, fuck, “I thought — I thought it would be easier after—”

“Easier? For you or for me?”

The truth cut deep, especially when you know it was true, “You’re right — I know, what I did,” you sigh, “It was awful — I was so embarrassed after how I treated you, after I kiss—” you break off, “I know I have a lot of things to make up for, but I want you to know that I didn’t cut you off because of anything you did — even if you know that already — it was me, I didn’t want to burden you—”

“How did you think cutting me off wasn’t going to burden me?” his words are softer, but sharper, digging into your chest with the guilt you knew was yours only to bear, “how did you think losing one of my friends wasn’t going to— you kissed me after I picked you up, and then nothing for three years. Nothing.”

“I wanted to call, I wanted to text—”

“Then why didn’t you?” and you wonder if this is how a suspect felt when they were being interrogated by him, but surely his eyes weren’t nearly this glassy with emotions then, “You promised me — you promised me you would be there for me—”

Your voice breaks, “Sonny—”

“Do you know the hell I’ve gone through?” His voice is quiet, “do you know?”

And you didn’t, “I don’t,” your words are quiet. “Because you’re right — it was easier, after what happened — not with you — with everything else, it was easier to cut ties and move on. It was easier to pretend none of it happened,” you admit, “but it wasn’t right — and I can’t change that. But I’m sorry,” you add, “and I know I have a lot of making up to do, if we ever can get to that point again, I would like to try.”

His expression is inscrutable — and you know Sonny has changed, you could read him so easily before — an open book who’s pages that you had familiarized yourself with, his emotions scrawled clearly across his brow, nose, lips, and eyes. And now you could barely make out a single word.

“Try?”

“Try to be your friend,” you bite your lip, wringing your hands in your lap, “I missed you, Sonny, and I know I don’t have a right to say that, but I did. And seeing you has only made me realize how shitty I’ve been — please?”

A frown pulls at his lips, and he wavers, before rising, tucking his folder into his briefcase, “Probation with weekly drug tests, and I want him do some community service—”

“But—”

“He’s spent years with a silver spoon in his mouth — let’s try to fix that,” and you tilt your head, hiding a smile.

“I’ll talk to him about it,” you get up too, beginning to pack up your things even as you watch him turn to the door, “Can we discuss it over lunch? My treat.”

He pauses, his back turned, “I’m a little busy these next few weeks,”

You wave him off, feeling your chest squeeze, rejection stinging — as it should, as you deserve — “Of course," nothing was that simple — trust was easy to lose, hard to get back.

“But how about I call you?” you blink, as he looks over his shoulder, there’s a hint of a sigh in his throat, a certain sort of begrudged reluctance, but still an almost undetectable smile ghosts his lips — and you’ll take it.

“You got it,” But it wasn’t impossible to earn trust back. Your heart swells with hope, your hand brushing as your hand moves to hold the door open — and you would get it back, one way or another.

“Penny for your thought, counselor?” Sonny’s head snaps up, finding you standing, suit jacket slung over your arm, a smile on your lips, “I would say a dollar, but I know you took quite a pay cut compared to your old job.”

“But I could make a buck prosecuting you for stalking,” and you scoff, looking at the table strewn with pages of briefs and yellow legal pads marked in reds, blacks and blues. It had been your fifth time running into him the last few weeks — and you had weaseled your way into conversations, though not a lunch. You were trying to earn his trust back, and you had gotten a little closer each time, but it didn’t mean it was all over and done with.

The distrust still sat squarely in his expression — but this time it was being overwritten by something else — stress.

You gape at him, affronted, “Forlini’s was mine before it was yours, thank you very much,” you gesture to the seat across from him, he grunts, nodding and you slide in, “I think I can settle for joint custody if you can.”

“I’d fight ya on it, but,” he sighs, eyes flickering back to his notes, “I got my hands full already.”

You purse your lips when you see the heaviness in his brow, “What’s wrong?”

He gives a grim smile, “You already know what’s wrong,”

Yes, you knew it well — your first tough case had the ability to unravel you to pieces, especially one from S.V.U., “Well, the facts aren’t any different when you’re the prosecutor versus the detective,”

“But the job is completely different,” he shakes his head, covering his face, before wiping his palm down it, “and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You frown, “Have you eaten?”

“Eating isn’t the problem,” he shoves his papers aside, a few wrinkling and falling under the booth, the legal pad slamming against the end of the booth. He squeezes his eyes shut, before relaxing, “sorry, I—”

“No, trust me,” you catch a glimpse of the photos of one of the victims — a bruised and battered girl no older than fifteen, “I get the frustration, but you know there’s only so much you can do in these cases.”

“I’m not doing enough,” he leans on his elbow, his fist pressed to his mouth, before resting it against his forehead, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I have my first grand jury tomorrow and I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“Sonny,” you resist the urge to reach out to him, “you can do this.”

“You would say that,” he mutters, and you tilt your head, “you recommended me for the job, McCoy told me.”

“I didn’t recommend you — Jack was already looking at you, he asked for my opinion and I gave it,” you raise an eyebrow, “do I need to tell you now?”

He shakes his head, “I—”

“Sonny,” he looks up at you, “I have not an inch of doubt in your abilities — I’ve seen you grow as a detective and as a law student, and now,” you smile softly, “I’ve seen you grow as an attorney the last few weeks. You are ready — you know why?”

He sighs, his hands folded on the table, “Because of my training?”

“No,” you say, and he frowns, “because you are sensitive and kind, but you are also tough — tough enough to make the hard calls,” your hand brushes his tentatively, hovering before settling, “weren’t you nervous before becoming a detective? When you were a cop?”

“I was, but I was confident, bordering on arrogant — I always went in, guns blazing, so to speak,” he adds, shaking his head at the implication, “now, I’m—”

“Now you’re cautious — it comes with experience, that’s normal and good — overconfidence bites you in the ass, every time,” you squeeze his hand, “you will do great — and more importantly,” he raises his gaze to meet yours, “you will do your job and do it well — and that’s all you can do.”

He purses his lips, “You really believe in me?”

You scoff at his disbelief, “Sonny, I’ll always bet on you — every single time,” his gaze softens, a smile gracing his lips and your stomach flips when he squeezes your hand back.

“Thank you,” his words are as soft as his touch, his fingers intertwined with yours for a moment, and your eyes flicker across his face — how was it you never realized just how beautiful he was?

And the moment is broken when he pulls his hand away, gathering all his materials and slipping them into his bag, “If you need any help—”

He frowns, “Y’know as well as I do that these cases are—”

“I meant with your self-esteem or advice about how to phrase questions — no specifics and no actual questions,” you cross your arms, “I know about confidentiality and professional responsibility, counselor — I have been at this longer than you have. You could afford to take my advice.”

He raises an eyebrow, teasing, “Pulling seniority? You’re not at the D.A.’s office anymore,”

“But I know your boss,” you tease right back, and he rolls his eyes, as you lean forward, “and it’s ‘counselor’ to you,”

He dares forward, “Well, counselor,” he replies, lips curled in a smile, “I’ll take it under advisement, and I’ll give my boss your best,” And he slips from the booth, pausing only to add, “do this again?”

And you can’t hide your smile, “Next week?”

He nods, slipping out of the doors from Forlini’s and you watch him, your eyes falling across the bar — and the two seats where you had sat, now reupholstered and refurbished — and then back again to the door he left from, before turning back to your booth. As you sat, his smile and the faint fluttering left in your chest, a smile you couldn’t stave off

Things really did change, didn’t they?

“Trial’s in a few weeks?” and Sonny nods, Rollins sips at her drink, “you have to testify, Amanda?”

“Unfortunately,” she jerks a thumb towards Sonny, setting her drink down on the counter of the bar, “he’s been prepping me and it’s somehow worse than Barba.”

The sting of his name hurt less, your easy smile not wavering, “I find that hard to believe,”

“Oh believe me,” Amanda turns to Sonny, who sips at his drink sheepishly, “how long did we practice yesterday?”

“Not important,” he brushes her remark off, as you and Amanda share a look and chuckle, “I just want to be ready — Hadid has been all over me about this trial. If she’s been looking for an excuse to fire me, this would be the perfect one.”

“Hey,” your hand finds his, “you’re going to do great. You have practiced your closing a thousand times — I’ve heard it half a million times — you know what the points you have to make are. I know you’re ready.”

He squeezes your hand back, smiling softly, “Thank you,” and butterflies bloom under his steady gaze, before he slips from the stool, “I’m going to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” his hand grazes your back before he finds his way to the restroom.

You sip at your drink, before you find Amanda staring at you. You frown, placing the drink down, “What?”

“What’s going on between you two?”

You wrinkle your brow, as Amanda scratches her brow, her lips pursed.“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to get involved, but,” she craned her neck to check if Sonny was gone, “I know something happened between you two before you left,” Your head snaps to your drink, biting your lip, “I may be a detective, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you two, whatever this is,” she gestures, “it’s not just a friendship,”

You blink — but wasn’t it? “But—”

“I don’t know how you feel, but I’m not blind,” she tilts her head, trying to catch your gaze, “just don’t hurt him okay?”

“Amanda—”

“I don’t need to hear specifics about what happened,” she shrugs, “I just want him to be okay ‘cause he may not be my partner now, but he is my best friend.”

You nod, “Of course, I won’t, Amanda — I care about him too.”

But it was complicated.

It was simple before — but it was different — you were in love with someone else — blinded. Sonny was your friend, one of your closest, but a friend nonetheless. Your stomach didn’t flip when you saw him, you didn’t text him so often, there weren't brief touches that you wished would last forever — like there was now.

And you couldn’t deny it forever.

Amanda chuckles, shaking her head, “I can’t believe I just said Carisi is my best friend,”

You smile, “Guess he really grew on you after he shaved the ‘stache,”

Amanda raised her eyebrows, snorting, “Like an infection,”

You grinned, sipping at your drink, “What are you two laughing at?” and both of you share a smile, “what?”

“Nothing, Sonny,” Amanda waves him off, “I gotta go — babysitter’s time is almost up, and I have to check on the girls,” Amanda nods at you, “It was nice to see you again, counselor.”

“Same here, Amanda,” and she nods at Sonny, slipping from the bar, as he takes her seat, leaning against the counter, his knee brushing yours. The low light of the bar catches in his eyes, a dark blue that makes your heart stutter a moment as his lips curl into a smile. And you remember the moment you kissed him.

“Now what?” you blink, biting your lip.

Would it be so bad to fall in love with him?

To fall in love with an A.D.A. again? Falling into old habits?

“Walk me home?”

And fall you would.

~~~

It wasn’t a walk so much as it was a subway ride away and a walk to your apartment, “Do you ever miss the D.A.’s office?” and you spare a glance at Sonny.

“Why? Want another person bossing you around the office?” he chuckles, licking his lips.

“When you put it like that,” and you laugh, “no, I just mean—”

“You mean if I ever miss being on the right side of justice?” and he opens his mouth to retort, “I’m joking, Sonny — I mean criminal defense is a different way I can do justice — I get to take on a lot of the firm’s pro bono work and I get to help people who are at the lowest points of their lives put it back together.”

“Even murderers?” he frowns.

You bite your lip, “You saw the Ortiz case on the news didn’t you?” Ortiz, a husband who murdered his wife in cold blood — or that was the story the media and prosecutors’ were selling, “Did you read his interview?”

He raises an eyebrow, “No?”

“It turns out his wife had been abusive for years — verbally, emotionally, and physically—” your shoes scrape against the pavement, “he snapped when she turned it on their son.”

“Is that an excuse—”

“Yes, by law it is — it isn’t premeditated murder, it’s manslaughter,” you slip your hands into your pockets, “but even then, do people get any better locked up in cages?”

“Do you think they should be—”

“Walking free and clear? No,” you look up at the sky, “but you know in Sweden — they have one of, if not the, lowest recidivism rates? They have less than 4,000 prisoners, compared to America’s millions. It’s because they focus on rehabilitation, not punishment. Instead of locking up people in tiny cells and inhumane conditions, they give them care in all aspects of their lives — education, psychological help, medical — everything,” Sonny opens his mouth to interject, and you hold your hands up, “I’m not saying all people are capable of reform — but a lot of them are, and don’t we owe people that chance?”

“But with S.V.U.—”

“With S.V.U., it’s more complicated — I won’t deny that, rapists are more likely to victimize again compared to other crimes,” you shake your head, “I don’t have all the answers, but I know locking people up and having them be victimized in prison isn’t the answer,” you offer a small smile, “but to answer your question, I miss the people, but I’m happy where I landed. I think it’s the right place for me.”

“How do you know? I mean, how do you know it’s the right place?”

You shrug, “You just feel it after some time—” you tilt your head, “where’s this coming from?”

Sonny sighs, “I got a big case coming up in a week,” his hands slipped into his pockets, “My first trial.”

“Hadid letting you off the leash?” he barks out a laugh.

“Barely,” he shakes his head, “not that I blame her — this job, I swear I come home more tired than I did chasing down perps.”

“That seems like a stretch, and hindsight bias,” you add, elbowing him before rubbing your shoulders, biting back a shiver — wearing only a suit coat out was a mistake, “besides I know you can handle it.”

He unwraps his scarf, as you open your mouth to protest, but the scarf is already around your neck, and you can’t help but smile — it smells like him — “Sometimes I think you have more faith in me than I do,”

“I have enough faith in you for the both of us,” you pull the scarf snug around yourself, resisting the urge to bury your nose in it. You bite your lip, “is the gallery open to the public?”

“Think so,” he nods.

“Do you want me to be there in court?” the words come out carefully — afraid to cross a line you weren’t sure was there.

“Watching the case?”

“Just the verdict,” you say, “I didn’t get to be there for you when you passed the bar or when you got hired at the D.A.’s office — we could get dinner after — guilty verdict or not.”

“Not gonna disappear on me for three years, are you?” you flinch, and he sighs, “sorry that came out wrong—”

“It’s okay,” you smile ruefully, “I kind of deserved it, but,” you add, “I’m not going anywhere — and this time I mean it.”

The quiet settled over you both for a moment, and you knew he was going to ask — you knew he was working up the courage to do so, “Why did you leave?” you cross your arms, “you don’t—”

“I want to,” you shake your head — and you could see Rafael’s smile, feel his touch, and see his heart break — “It’s just complicated.”

“So complicated that you had to leave?” he pressed, and you nodded.

“I didn’t want to — but I had to,” you glance at him, see his brows knit together, “but the one thing I regretted and I will always regret is leaving you too, and I promise, I won’t do it again,” you reach for his hand, your fingers intertwining, just as you reach the doorstep of your apartment, “you can hold me to that.”

He stares down at you, the flickering light of your apartment barely illuminating his face, but a soft smile on his lips, “I will, sweetheart,” and warmth bloomed in your stomach — no, you really couldn’t deny it anymore could you? But he squeezes your hand, stepping back, “See you in a week?”

You lick your lips, heart thumping in your ears — you nod, “Yeah,” you feel his coat around your shoulders, “oh your scar—”

He waves you off, “Keep it,” he walks down your steps, turning around, pointing a finger at you, grinning, “But make sure Rollins isn’t the one bringing it by.”

You hear the humor in his voice and smile, “No promises.”

And you spare one more glance at his returning back, before slipping inside your apartment building and into your apartment. Your fingers fisted in the soft red cotton of his scarf — your cheeks and heart warm.

Oh, what were you getting yourself into?

Sonny tried not to glance behind him — you still hadn’t arrived. His nerves were shot after this week — everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong.

Of course it did — it did little to inspire faith in himself, or in Hadid for that matter.

“All rise,” Judge Abbas said, and Sonny had to stop himself from jumping to his feet — he knew, he knew in his gut that he had given his best case, though this case was sticky to begin with, “Foreperson of the jury, what say you on the charge of rape in the second degree?”

Sonny’s heart jumped into his throat, blood roaring in his ears, and he barely caught the verdict, mouth dry — the feeling of the victims’ gazes boring into the back of his head.

“We find the defendant guilty,” and he nearly couldn’t believe it — he had done it, they had done it. The judge announces they will reconvene for sentencing in two weeks. He turns around, shaking the hands of the victims, thanking them for their testimony, sparing one glance at the defendant.

Adneradline and relief is pumping through him, his chest lighter — he had done it, he had gotten justice.

And then he sees you — through the crowd, you’re standing by the door, smiling brightly at him, mouthing congratulations, jerking your head and slipping from the courtroom. He nearly trips over himself to get to you, trying to maintain decorum as he leaves through the double doors. He slips by people he knows and those he doesn’t until finally he finds you in a discrete corner of the courthouse, away from prying eyes and reporters.

“Sonny, I’m so proud of you,” you say, your hands on his shoulders, your lips curled in a smile he hoped that was just for him, “I knew you could do it,”

And you did — you had told him he could do it time and time again when he didn’t believe in himself, you had been there for him, as you promised to be.

Everything slows for a moment.

And he couldn’t help think you were the only one he needed to believe in him, to be by his side, the one he wanted to tell good news first, the one he wanted to wake up beside in the morning. He’s breathless as he looks at you, and you seem to realize — the air between you two becoming thick, as he looms closer, a bag on your arm, slipping to your fingers now.

“Sonny,” you breathe, as you tilt your head upwards to look into his eyes.

And he knows this may be a mistake — the last time he kissed you, you disappeared, and every relationship he’s had has ended in disaster, but he can’t bring himself to care — not when he could kiss you again.

“Can I kiss you?” the words slip past his lips without much to-do, and he has to stop himself from biting his tongue or stumbling back, especially when you nod, and his lips crash to yours.

His kiss is still hesitant, and so are you, your lips parting and meeting again and again — chaste, but he tasted you — and he swore he never tasted anything like you before, nothing so sweet. And he pulls away a moment, eyes fluttering and he sees your eyes do the same. And his heart is in his throat again — what if you thought it was a mistake?

But you only smile, your warm hand cupping his cheek, the bag slipping from your fingers, as the other intertwines with his fingers, “Where do you think you’re going?”

And you kiss him again, and he doesn’t hold back this time, his arms wrapping around you, tugging you impossibly closer, smiling against your lips. And he couldn’t help but think — as warmth bloomed in his stomach, your fingers curling in his hair — how did he ever get so lucky?

#sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagines #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagines #svu #svu imagines #law and order: svu #svu fanfiction

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fuckthefireflys · 3 years

Text

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓

SUMMARY: there’s a knock at the door, you think it’s your boyfriend back from panama, but to your suprise you see your father, and he doesn’t have good news

SONG RECOMMENDATION: all i want by kodaline

CHARACTERS: mainly reader x father!sully, mentions of sam, nate and rafe.

WORD COUNT: 1370 words

WARNINGS: swearing, death, emotional, spoilers for uncharted 4.

A/N: please excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes, i am dyslexic as fuck lol. also the italic paragraphs are the letter

﹋﹋﹋﹋

You stared down at your phone, debating on whether or not to call your boyfriend for a seventh time in the past fifty minutes. He was in Panama, with his brother and Rafe, trying to find get into an old jail tower that once held Henry Avery, hoping to find something that would help navigate Averys treasure. You were in on the plan too, but seeing as it was a highly dangerous all male prison, the boys decided it was best you stay home.

Thoughts started spilling into your brain, the bad outweighing the good. You ran your hands through your hair, your leg bouncing up and down as you sat on the couch. The apartment grew darker as the sun went down, the main source of light being from your phone, which was now calling once more, only to hear Sam’s voicemail.

17 missed calls and 21 unread text messages.

You stood up, pacing around the coffee table, hugging Sam’s shirt close to your body and glancing out the window, seeing darkness filling the sky. All you wanted was to have him home.

A knock at the door startled you and dragged you out of your thoughts. You let out a sigh of relief, heading towards the door ready to either hug Sam or shout at him for worrying you so much. You took a deep breathe before opening the door, a small smile creeping on your face, ready to see your boyfriend.

However, your smile dropped when you saw your father there instead. It’s not that you weren’t happy to see him, you were always happy to see him, but right now you just wanted Sam.

“Hey, kid.”

He stood there, a sad smile on his face, which he tried to hide, but failed miserably to do. He tried to avoid eye contact with you, either looking at your face or down at the letter he held tightly in his hands. Something was wrong.

“Hi, Dad, come in. Hey, have you heard from Sam? Or even Nate? He should’ve been out ages ago but I can’t seem to get a hold of him.”

Sully sighed in defeat, dread filling him up. He knew he had to tell you and he knew he had to be the one to do it, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t want to tell his little girl that her boyfriend was dead.

“That’s, uh, that’s why I’m here. Listen Y/N...”

You watched your dad hesitate and stumble over his words, trying to find the right thing to say. As you watched him, you became more and more scared, waiting for him to say what he needed to. Deep down, you knew exactly what he was going to say, but you tried to bury that negativity down.

“Dad. Where is Sam?”

Your eyes grew watery, as sadness took over your fathers face, his emotions pretty much confirming your thoughts. You tried to suppress the tears that threatened to spill out of your eyes, but they won, slowly falling down. Your words began to stutter and stumble.

“Dad...where..where is he? Please.”

“He, uh... Sam he’s..”

“Dad, you need to tell me. You need to say it. Please. I need to hear you say it.”

He looked at the letter once again, gripping it tightly, before looking up at you. His heart broke as he watched you slowly begin to crumble.

“Sam died, Y/N. He got shot as they tried to escape the prison. I’m sorry.”

You stood there, sorrow filling your body. Your Sam was dead.

“Fuck.... How? The plan was simple, they just.. he.. Vargos was suppose to let them go.. I dont understand..”

Sully took a step closer to you, tears now falling from his eyes.

“I know, kid. Nate didn’t tell me many details, but from what I could gather, Rafe got pissed, messed the whole plan up.”

“Oh, of course. Of course it was Rafe. I swear to God when I see him I’m gonna fucking kill him!”

Your father now stood in front of you, placing his hands around your arms.

“No you won’t you-“

“He got Sam killed! He got my Sam....is he really gone?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.”

You let out a sob, falling into your dad, feeling his arms wrap around you, another stroking your hair in an effort to comfort you, though he knew no amount of comfort would calm you down. He mumbled “sorrys” and “it’s gonna be okay”, though you didn’t pay any attention.

All you could think about was Sam.

It was now around 3 AM, you sat curled up on the sofa, holding Sam’s shirt tightly to you, Sully hadn’t left your side since. Your eyes hurt from all the crying, your nose was red and your cheeks were puffy. You had calmed down slightly, mostly from exhaustion.

A yawn was heard from your dad, making you look at the time, suddenly feeling bad that you had kept your father here for so long.

“You, uh. You should go home. Get some sleep.”

“No. No way, I’m not leaving you.”

“Dad, it’s fine. You need to sleep. Besides, I kind of want to be alone right now.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, shooting him a hint of a smile, he shot one back, hesitantly getting up and walking over to you, planting a small kiss to your head.

“It’s going to be okay. Not yet, but eventually.”

He placed the letter he had been holding on the couch next to you, before grabbing his coat.

“What’s this?”

“Oh, uh, Sam gave it to me when you two first got together, said to give it to you if anything ever happened to him.”

“Oh.”, was all you could say, picking up the letter, taking a deep breathe before opening it. You heard the front door close, leaving you alone in the dimly lit apartment. Your eyes closed for a brief second as you unfolded the paper, immediately teary as you saw your boyfriends writing.

Dear Y/N,

If you’re reading this, then I’m sorry. I’m most likely dead, or maybe kidnapped by pirates, hopefully it’s the second one. It was bound to happen some day, you know what I’m like, always getting myself into shit. And I know what you’re like, always saving me from said shit. And I know you’re probably sitting at home, right now, reading this, blaming yourself. Whatever happened, it’s wasn’t your fault. Okay? None of it.

There was just a few things I wanted you to know, that I’ve never really told you. You know I’m not good at talking, but hopefully I can write it. You are the love of my life. Simple as that. From the moment we first met, I knew I was going to fall in love with you, and honestly it terrified me. But you made every single second worth it. You are literally the most amazing thing to happen to me and at times, you were the only one that kept me going. I wish I would’ve told you that more, shown you more, cause I really do love you. More than anything.

I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life mourning over me and being sad. You deserve to be happy. So I want you to know it’s okay to move on, though be warned I will come and haunt the shit out of both of you. I’m gonna miss you.

I’ll be waiting for you on the other side. I love you so fucking much.

Your Sam

P,S. look after nate, make sure he doesn’t get himself killed too

Despite the tears streaming down your cheeks, you chuckled. Sam always knew how to make you laugh, even in the worst of times, that was one of the reasons you loved him so much.

You read the letter over and over again, crying more and more each time until you couldn’t any more. You loved Sam more than anything, and now he was gone. And even with his ‘permission’ you knew you would never be able to move on.

You would never be able to love anyone more than you loved Samuel Drake.

A/N: i’m thinking of writing another imagine like this one, where the reader is in love with sam and instead of sully giving her the letter nate does, and it’s actually Sams love confession to the reader and i could do a part 2 where they reunite and talk about the letter. let me know what you think!

#samuel drake x reader #sam drake x reader #sam drake #samuel drake #x reader #imagines #uncharted 4 #uncharted #naughty dog #nathan drake #sad imagines

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cosmicbash · 3 years

Note

Would you maybe write something about a scenario where Em and Colson are hate fucking and Em never spends the night, but on a particular occasion, Colson is super sad/stressed and (while trying desperately to hide it) starts crying from the idea of Em leaving, so he stays and is really sweet? (Also, sorry if I went this twice–my computer's being really weird and I can't tell if it did it already!)

This isn't perfect but!! Everybody is on an angst kick and I wanted to join in so I'm using this ask 😤😤

They aren't dating.

Marshall's cock is drilling in and out of Colson's ass but that doesn't mean they're together.

It wasn't supposed to escalate to this. He's not supposed to be manhandling a stupidly long leg up in the air or swatting away the other man's helpful hands while he switches their position for the 3rd time. Hips never stopping their rapid punching forward to draw out more and more curses.

Paul wanted them to mend their beef. Come to a mutual ground of disdain at the minimum. Not bash heads together so many times over their short meeting they end up in bed together instead. Teeth and fists completely changing their plan of attack.

"F-fuck! Right there-" Marshall's definitely not supposed to be watching this annoying twink throw his long neck back and whine. Colorful arms stretching up above him to uselessly grapple onto the pillow behind his own head. "Please!"

This wasn't supposed to be the 10th or 12th time they did this.

"Shut up-" his voice is scratchy when it should be calm. "The whole floor is gonna hear you-" Paul thinks they're here mending bridges and discussing a feature.

"Then fuck me right-" Colson's voice is just as rough sounding. Marshall hates that he knows the difference between the twink's usual tone and this ruined one. How it will only get this way after he's forced his cock down the brat's throat one too many times in their foreplay. "L-learn- ah- where to stick it without directions dude!"

"Shut up." He's bruising Colson's thighs now. The dark red indents from his fingers are going to turn purple by the morning. Not that he's ever seen them do it in person at least, but the blonde never fails to send a picture over text every morning after. "Maybe if you tightened your pussy up we'd both have more fun."

Colson's chest is arching from his harder thrusts now. Voice climbing a little higher almost mockingly with each moan as he slams to the hilt.

Marshall wants to kiss him. Smother that annoyingly pretty mouth with his lips but it's not possible. Not in this position where the other man's unnecessarily large stature puts him so out of reach.

That's a good thing though, because they really don't need to be kissing. A few heated pecks here and there to get the blood pumping is one thing, making out while he fucks the blonde speechless almost feels too intimate to consider.

Theres no space for that in these brief hook ups from hotel room to hotel room, not when they still hate eachother too much for any of the burning heat they have between them to simmer down into a comfortable warmth.

"Stupid whore." His lips are pulling back in almost a snarl this time when he forces Colson over onto his stomach instead. Cock slipping free and almost losing the condom he's got slipped over it from just how quickly he pulls out. Like Colson's hole is challenging his accusation of looseness. "Fuck-" he just wants to smother the brats face down into the pillows. He tells himself his anger isn't from not being able to reach.

An impatient yank and the condoms tearing. Leaving Marshall all but ready to go put his clothes back on and storm out. There's a nasty swirl of emotions going on inside his stomach that he really doesn't want to risk bursting while they find and put on a replacement.

"W-what're you waiting for?" Colson's back is arching, and that pale mop he calls hair is lifting up to look back. So needy he can't even pause for one minute.

"Fucking condom broke- just, shit, just give me a minute-" Marshall doesn't even know where to look, not with all the blood pooling in his cock and his focus begging to be set on his rivals waiting body.

Colson put the thing on him, he can remember that much, one of those prissy little manicured nails probably scratching the elastic as he did it. He's sure he must have one in his wallet but that's across the room in his sweats, by the bathroom door. Where Colson's impatience about even waiting to let him finish his piss and get undressed had left him falling back into the door.

If he has to walk all the way over there to get it he might as well just go home.

"Forget it. I'm done." They shouldn't be fucking like this anyway. It's a major mistake.

"What?" Colson's fingers curling around his wrist is a new sensation. The wide look to his half hidden eyes punching something deep within Marshall's stomach. "We haven't even come yet-" there's a hint of hysteria in the blonde's tone and smile. "If it's because of what I said then- t-then I'll bite the fucking pillow or something alright? Don't be so dramatic dude-"

"I don't have another condom-" It's a weak excuse, they both know Colson evidently has some somewhere in the room of his own. But Marshall needs to take this brief chance to get out now before he loses it. The longer Colson stares at him the more nauseous that feeling bubbling up has him.

"...Forget it then-" the blonde's finally looking away, almost convincing Marshall that he's also second guessing this sex. But those long delicate fingers are still clutching onto his wrist and there's a palpable silence cutting through the air so thick he feels like he might choke before Colson's baby blues are meeting his head on once again. The shimmer of anxiety impossible to hide between long bangs. "Just do it raw. I-I'm clean and I- you- fuck," there's shame mixing in the look now, the grip the blonde has doubling down when Marshall reflexively tries to pull back. "Don't…."

Go. Don't go. Colson isn't saying it but Marshall can hear the word clear as day between them.

It's about the sex. He isn't satisifed yet. If Colson had cum already the bastard wouldn't be hesitating to kick him out. That's what Marshall's mind screams to reassure himself but there's still a hollow place in his stomach where he feels gutted by the look.

"...f-Fine." He tries to justify staying by remembering how annoying and painful blueballs can be. "But don't fucking text me tomorrow whining how my jizz is still leaking out of your ass."

His free hand settling back down on Colson's hip finally snaps whatever weird fog has blanketed the room. A forced sounding snicker muffling itself against the pillows while Colson's legs readjust to raise his ass. "If you can even get back inside without nutting old man-"

This kind of banter is more comfortable.

"Keep talking, I'm gonna fuck you until you're crying for me to finally finish."

"You wish." Colson's voice is still muffled but the slight challenging swing of his hips says more than enough.

Marshall's fingers instantly find their previous spot, each digit mirroring the small red dots on the opposite side of the younger rapper's skin.

The lubes still nearby on the bed luckily, allowing him to be quick as he reslicks his achingly hard cock and squirts an extra dollop directly on his partner's hole for good measure. As much as he loves hurting the punk doing so in this way would only cause them both more trouble.

"F-fuck-" Of course Colson's as tight as a vice when he finally tries to push inside. The tight ring of muscle rejecting his entry just as vehemently as he's sure the boy's heart would. They can't do anything pain free, like the world is punishing them for continuing their facade. "Relax-"

"Thought you said I was too loose?" Marshall can practically hear that smug little smirk Colson's sporting.

Defiantly his hips jerk forward a bit harder, until the blonde actually does cry out and his legs spread the tiniest bit wider. The tight clench Colson has evidently been giving his hole relaxing instantly to let him breach. A string of curses and clawing hands keeping Marshall from fully basking in the incomparable tight heat slowly engulfing his cock.

Even with a pillow clutched close against his face Colson is loud. Each noise climbing alongside his pace as he starts properly fucking his rival yet again. Until they're almost back up at full throttle and Colson's mesmerizing back is arching, a large hand jerking up to plant itself flat against the headboard. "Fuck, fuck, please, just like that Marsh, god- baby d-don't stop-"

The slip of a nickname doesn't escape Marshall's notice, he's just too focused on chasing down his own pleasure to properly care. Once they're done he'll mention it. Or maybe even just wait until tomorrow to text the brat a reminder, but for right now he keeps pumping his hips. Heart warming uncontrollably at the mere joke of being someone Colson can call baby.

Reflexively his palm claps down hard on the other man's ass, too sharply and sudden to do anything but sting. "Ah, f-fuck!" He's taking his anger at his own feelings out on Colson and it's not fair but he can't help himself.

The red imprint of his hand glares back in his vision long after a kinky smack should have faded and just the sight of it sticking around gets Marshall's pace growing a little erratic. He wants to tear the blonde apart, shred every bit of his being to pieces and then sew it all back together to see the taint his touch has created visualized as hundreds of scars. He wants to sully the blinding beauty he sees everytime they meet and everytime he glimpses back at the bed before he leaves. Just ruin Colson completely so that there's no other choice but him in the whole world for the blonde to turn to.

But he's not falling in love.

That would mean he's stupid enough to fall for someone who could never settle for him. That he's actively continuing to come back and push the bar with every hookup just to see when enough is enough and he'll finally be left on the otherside of the hotel room door. Or the one waking up alone in bed the morning after.

Marshall wouldn't.

"S-shit wait- I-" Colson's hips are stuttering back to meet his, the hand he's still got hugging the pillow abandoning it in favor of stuffing down between his legs. It's obvious the blonde's close. Marshall can feel it in the tight grip around his cock and hear it in that shaky voice. It's not until he doubles down to fuck the younger rapper hard enough to knock his slender body inch by inch further up the bed that Marshall realizes he's trying to hold out. "N-not yet, ah, fuck, s-slow down-"

"No-" he's close himself, chest heaving and balls tightening as it is. There's no way he's letting Colson try to change the pace now. "Save, fuck, save that edging shit for after I leave-" he's lashing out for control again but can't stop himself.

This time instead of pinching pale skin Marshall slides his fingers up into sweaty blonde hair. Yanking back until he's got the man's back arched perfectly and his mouth can seal in a bite to one pointy shoulderblade. Fingers snaking around to hold Colson up there by his throat. "Fucking take it like a good whore and come Kelly."

In this position he feels unbelievably deeper and there's nothing to block out the blonde's gasps and cries.

Nails scratch quickly along his thigh but Marshall ignores them to keep rolling his hips. The need to make Colson finish first fueling his free hand to climb up to knock away the punks own. Quickly jerking up and down over the soaked cock the other man was trying so hard to squeeze and restrict.

"N-no, no, fuck, Marshall-" a hand's curling around the back of his head to pull him close despite Colson's protests. Every atom in the other males body seeming to reach out and beg and plead for him to come closer, to fuck him harder until they split through the magnetic field and combine into one. Marshall wants to kiss him again. Hates how he can't even see the brats mouth over his shoulder from his current position. His fingers fly faster and hips roll up firmer in retaliation. "F-fuck-"

There's a wet sob breaking the moans in the air, piercing straight through his chest like a bullet while Colson's hips stutter back and hot release paints across his fingers. Sending him right over the edge himself. Body forcing them both forward so he can hump and grind his pelvis against Colson's ass down to the bone while he pumps and fills the twink up with his own release. The hands around his neck and cock turning into strong arms around the blonde's chest and waist like a hug.

It's the closest thing to a cuddle Marshall will allow himself. That he can't actually prevent his orgasming body from resisting.

There's so much comfort and begging from his body to stay like that, for Colson to never leave him in those moments that the rapper can't help but tear up a little himself.

But just as quickly as its come sensibility returns and with it the guilt and shame. Scaring his arms free and his body away from Colson's usually still trembling form.

"Wait-" fingers are grabbing his wrist again, weaker this time.

Marshall's still buried to the hilt, even though his chest has unstuck itself from Colson's museum print of a back tatt. Sorry is dancing on the tip of his tongue. Like it always does. Always too graceful to ever trip up and spit out though before he finally leaves.

"A-again." Colson's face is still buried in the pillow, eyes and nose planted firmly down while his chins pulled up.

"What?" A second round isn't completely crazy for them, sometimes when the anger is hot enough its even necessary but not tonight. Marshall shouldn't even be humoring the request, not with how fragile his emotions feel, but Colson's hand refuses to let go.

"Fuck me. Please. Just-" Now with his head clearing the rapper can finally notice how Colson's shoulders are turning inwards, how the tone of his voice carries a shake. "Do whatever. I-I dont care. Just don't- fuck, d-don't-"

Go.

Leave. He has to leave.

"Colson?" The name feels strange in Marshall's mouth from all the "kelly"'s "brats" and other derogatory words he usually uses in it's place.

Wet baby blues peering back all but pin him in place whether he wants to leave or not. Their message clear.

"Please." A single word and it's as effective as a sledgehammer around his heart.

"I-" Can't. Shouldn't. "I'm not hard anymore."

On a normal night that kind of obvious embarrassed blurt of an answer would get the kid smiling, one of those rare soft warm looks where his crows feet and gums showed, that scorched Marshall's skin from how brightly it radiated affection. Each chuckle or snort following just another stone slamming hard against his heart.

Tonight Colson doesn't smile. Instead of crinkling at the corner to flash the only hint at Colson's slow aging those lashes drop just low enough to bubble up the small collection of tears already present. His pretty but thin lips quivering up and down to fight back a frown.

A year ago this exact look was the center of so many fantasies. He had wanted nothing more than to see the blonde crumble and break apart in front of him like a pathetic mess.

Right now instead of satisfaction all Marshall's body feels is hollow. Like his heart has finally abandoned his chest and surrendered itself to the hopefully quick acting acids of his stomach. The rapper doesn't think he can possibly feel worse but then Colson's arching his body away from him. Slipping his soft cock free of that lingering tight heat and stealing away any trace of faux comfort he feels with every centimeter of separating skin.

"I'll take care of it-" Colson's voice is hoarse, like hes fighting down the threat of a sob while his body twists onto its side. The sluggish lift of a hand back towards his cock piercing through him like a killing blow.

"No." Now his throat feels tight too. Shame and guilt pouring down his spine at the thought of Colson pushing through his obvious pain and turmoil to jerk his cock back to life just so he stays a few moments longer.

"Please-" Baby blue eyes are shining at Marshall again. The fast slip of a tear down one flushed cheek only making his fingers dig harder into younger male's wrist. "Marshall-"

He can't do this.

"No-"

"Yes!" Colson's scream pierces the silence so suddenly he thinks his wars might be ringing. But the pure desperation painted in angry eyes keeps Marshall's own from flinching all the way closed. "I'll fucking find you viagra or- or suck your dick until my jaws sore-" now Colson's own fingers are cutting back, prying at the preventative grip he's got on the blonde's hand like a caged animal might. "I don't care what- just- you- you aren't- you can't-"

It hurts, and with the way Colson's legs are twitching beneath him Marshall knows a kick or knee to his gut might come next. None of it compares to how badly his throat tears when he speaks though. "I'm not fucking you!" Somehow he manages to put every ounce of finality in his voice that he intends. Freezing Colson's grappling and rambling in an instant.

The ensuing silence feels deafening.

Colson's still staring at him. Pain and anger warring across his face in small twitches and ticks. Marshall's mouth just repeats itself. Quieter this time. The heave if his lungs breaking up his words in tight exhales. "I'm not….I….I'm not going to fuck you."

There's a million more words tangling on his tongue. The order jumbling and backing them up like a traffic jam until he feels like he can't even breathe anymore.

I want to stay. I'm sorry. Dont do this to yourself. Please. Don't cry. Colson-

"I'm sorry." Colson cracks first. Expression screwing up and the floodgates behind his eyes opening as he sobs. "I'm so fucking sorry Marshall-"

This time he doesn't resist that ache to kiss the blonde.

It's messy and Colson's mouth tastes like snot and tears already but Marshall presses closer anywhere. Cradling the younger rapper's skull with his free hand so tightly he knows he has to be pulling out hair. The wrist he'd snatched pinned between their bodies in a way that makes his own ache. But he ignores all of that and kisses Colson harder. Smacking their lips and teeth against one another in hopes the words trapped in his throat might pour their way out and into Colson's. Down the blonde's own throat to reach his heart.

He kisses Colson until he can't physically do it any longer. The sharp sting of oxygen deprivation jolting through his brain and colored spots dancing behind his closed eyes before their lips finally part.

Marshall wants to press so close he sinks down into Colson's bones. Join in with his marrow and spend the rest of his life repairing every broken piece of the beautiful man's soul from the inside out.

That's not possible though so he settles for pulling Colson close. Enveloping him in his arms the same way he wishes he had a dozen times over. Stabilizing him through every shuddering sob and heartbreaking tremble.

He's not falling in love.

"I got you."

He'd already crash landed there long ago.

#emgk #asks #i love asks #im so fucking stuck with writers block #hopefully posting this helps

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mittelfrank-divas · 3 years

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Dance of the Black Heron chapter 3

In which Dorothea attempts to sort out how to teach Hubert to dance and words are exchanged.

AO3 link here!

===

"No, no, no." Dorothea dropped the spoon that she'd been using to tap out a steady rhythm on the side of an overturned crate, letting it clatter onto the sun-bleached wood. "Are you dancing, or are you attempting to recite chapter five of our tactics textbook to Professor Byleth?"

Hubert dropped his stance to fold his arms together. Twenty-five minutes into their dance lesson, and he already felt sweaty and overly warm in his uniform. The afternoon sun beat down on them despite the mid-autumn season, making him regret his preference for black. His long hair was already starting to stick to his cheek on one side, and he was pretending not to notice this. "I do not understand the question."

Dorothea advanced on him across the small room. Well… "room" was a generous term for the location of their private lesson. Hubert had spent weeks sniffing out the more abandoned corners of Garreg Mach when they first arrived at school. The monastery grounds were a maze of ruins, both above ground and below, and many of the abandoned locations appeared to never be included on the guards' regular rounds. Of course, he had always imagined that when he utilized such hidden spaces, it would be for much more nefarious purposes than practicing for a dance competition.

The size and dimensions of this particular building were reminiscent of the knights' hall, but whatever use it had seen in centuries past was long since lost. The wood roof had long ago rotted and caved in, and no door remained in the doorframe. But the tile floor, once cleared of debris, made for a smooth enough surface to dance on without risk of tripping, despite weeds pushing up between a few of the cracks, and the brick walls offered some amount of privacy while they practiced. The open door faced away from the monastery, and the path here was overgrown enough to dissuade anyone from choosing to wander in this direction, so he could be confident that none would be nearby to witness his humiliation. In essence, they had their own private courtyard in which to stage their lessons.

Dorothea took him by the shoulders and gave him a shake, even though she had to reach up to do so. "You're too stiff! You look like a waiter in one of those fancy Enbarr restaurants where they fold the napkins to look like doves."

Strictly speaking, Hubert had hardly visited any restaurant, in Enbarr or anywhere else. Restaurants existed for those who were socializing or traveling, or who did not already dine in the actual Adrestian Palace, served by the royal family's own chefs. But he had a vague impression of what she was describing. "And I am to understand that that is a bad thing."

Dorothea's hands flew to her head in a dramatic fashion. "Yes! The point of dancing is movement! You cannot move and be rigid as stone at the same time. The scowling doesn't help, either."

Hubert felt himself flush. "I was merely concentrating."

Dorothea pursed her lips sympathetically, but her voice retained some of its impatient edge. "Concentration is important, but you'll need to learn not to let that show on your face. The judges want to see a smile. Can you do that, Hubie? Do you know how to smile?"

With some effort, Hubert conjured the most pleasant smile his face could allow.

Dorothea visibly recoiled, her hands leaving Hubert's shoulders so she could step back. "Never mind. You look like you intend to flay me alive. Don't smile like that at the judges, alright?"

Hubert tried to ignore the sting that her comment induced. "I was not intending to be sinister." Not at this exact moment, anyway.

"I've never met someone who could be threatening by accident, but somehow you manage it." Dorothea threw herself back onto her seat and took up her spoon again. "Fine! Let's start from the top!" With that, she began drumming out a beat for him. With a groan, he went back to it.

It surprised Hubert how quickly the dance came back to him. He had not even thought about waltzing for years, let alone put it into practice. His feet still remembered the steps, his shoulders still remembered how to set themselves as though preparing to cradle another in his arms. The basic mechanics of it were really quite straightforward.

And yet he could feel Dorothea's eyes on him, evaluating his every movement. The steady drumming of her spoon on the crate provided a simple enough beat for him to keep time to, but it was a grating sound, one that reminded him with every strike that he was not simply one dancer among a crowd. He was alone on an empty floor, foolishly dancing along to cutlery. Could the entire school hear the noise? Would a face appear in that open doorway any moment? He felt horribly foolish and woefully exposed.

"Augh, just stop!" Dorothea suddenly snapped, the spoon slamming down on the crate. "Honestly, could you look any more miserable? You act like you don't even want to be here."

Hubert bent over to catch his breath, hands on his thighs. There was a reason that he devoted most of his energy toward magic, something that allowed him to stand perfectly still while still fighting with deadly force. "This may come as some shock, but no part of this experience delights me. I am here for my duty, nothing else."

"Really? You think I love being here, pretending to be happy about you getting chosen over me?" Something in Dorothea's voice broke. Hubert tilted his head up to look at her through the sweaty bangs hanging in his face, and realized that she was on her feet, hands clenched at her sides.

He stood upright, hands still clutching at the stitch in his side. Hellfire, was he out of shape. "Is that what you think this situation is?"

Dorothea snorted. "At least have the decency to be honest with me. You and Edie just couldn't have your class represented by a commoner, could you?"

Hubert would have laughed, if he had the breath for it. Instead he merely stared at her in confusion. "Where in Cichol's cursed name did you get that idea?"

"Come on, Hubie. We both know I'm the best dancer in our class. And you come to me with the flimsiest of excuses for why I wasn't chosen? That you need me to concentrate on learning magic? Dancing is a magic class! There is no reason I couldn't do both." Furious tears were pooling in her eyes, threatening to spill. "I'm not an idiot, Hubie. I know there are plenty of people who think I don't deserve to be here. And maybe that would be enough to sully our house's reputation, having someone like me represent us. I just thought you and Edie were above that sort of thing."

Hubert tried to work out where exactly this situation had gone horribly wrong and saw that he'd mishandled it from the start. He should have seen how this would look to her. He straightened his jacket and laced his hands behind his back, feeling that he owed her at least some proper manners. "On the contrary, the thought of watching you outmatch those pitiful nobles and inflict upon them the shame of failure that they have too rarely encountered in their wretched lives fills me with a joy that I rarely know. Yes, you are in every sense the ideal candidate for this competition, and the Black Eagles would be proud to have you represent us. Not despite your origins. Your unique experience is exactly what makes you so adept at what you do. You know what it is to hone your skill for professional use, not as some parlor trick. It was not I who argued against your candidacy, nor was it Lady Edelgard. It was the professor's preference."

Dorothea processed this quietly, her green eyes fixed on something behind him, her arms crossed defensively. "I really thought they believed in me more than that."

"They do," Hubert said flatly, not wishing to obscure the message with what might seem to be insincere reassurance. "Enough to ensure that you do not deviate from your aspirations. Dorothea, why exactly did you come to the officer's academy? Gaining admission while working full time as a Songstress could not have been an easy task."

Dorothea sniffled, giving a dismissive shrug. "Oh, you know. A school filled with Fodlan's wealthiest young noble bachelors? How could I pass up an opportunity like that?"

Hubert rested his chin on his palm, letting his gaze drift to the tall, sun-dappled grass outside the door. "If that is your goal, then it's certainly not the worst plan for going about it. In fact, I would call it downright shrewd. But of course, the fact that you would also be learning skills here that could be used in any number of positions in the future must have crossed your mind. A backup plan, as it were."

Dorothea snorted, though it came out more as a sniffle. "I mean, what gal wouldn't want to learn how to strike a guy with lightning whenever he gets a bit handsy?"

"Indeed, but you could have learned that in Enbarr. There are other schools, easier schools to access." Dorothea said nothing, impulsively reaching to fix her long hair, as if it were ever anything less than perfectly coiled about her shoulders. Hubert persisted. "I have read your application."

Her gaze snapped back to him, wide-eyed. "But that's--"

"Highly confidential, of course. I don't trust just anyone to have such free access to Lady Edelgard. I need to know just who is sitting behind her chair every day." It had not, in fact, been a remotely easy task to gain access to the academy's records. Hubert was still trying to puzzle out where the bishops hid their archives. Fortunately, Professor Byleth was not quite so paranoid about the files they were given, and so he had managed to leaf through the documentation on the Black Eagles. Would that the other two professors could give him such ready access to their own classes.

"It's also very rude," Dorothea muttered.

"I do not tend to concern myself with what is polite." Hubert felt a faint smirk tug at his lips. "Quite an impressive application, actually. Your test scores were average, but your essays were most engaging. You have a practicality that many others lack. You do not allow the big picture, as it were, to blind you to facts. You have valuable insights that our class needs."

Dorothea flushed, looking away from him. For someone who seemed to thrive on attention, she did not seem to know what to do with this sort of praise. She sighed impatiently. "Is there a point to all of this, or are you just heaping compliments on me so I'll drop it?"

"My point, Dorothea, is that you did not come to the officer's academy just to be a Songstress by a different name. The professor fears that making you a Dancer would send a signal that you are valued only for your appearance. That it would lead you to limit yourself. Frankly, I would be inclined to disagree, had I not seen you in action."

"They said that?" Her voice hitched a bit when she said it.

"That is what they told me. That they want to see you succeed as a gremory, a class that very few ever manage to achieve. Though I do not agree with our professor on every front, their instincts on our class composition have been largely accurate. Do not think I haven't noticed you studying the chapter on Meteor, a spell so complex that I doubt even Linhardt would be bothered to learn it."

She gave him a startled glance, but did not deny it.

Hubert nodded to her. "So I ask you again: why did you come to the officer's academy? If you are happy remaining as a Songstress, if you would be satisfied only to become a Dancer and nothing else, then I will gladly end this farce and accompany you to persuade Professor Byleth to change their mind. But if you came here to prove something, as I suspect you did, then I would be remiss to allow you to make such a sacrifice."

Her eyebrows arched disbelievingly. "Hubie, that almost sounded generous of you."

He chuckled. "Lest you mistake my actions for kindness, allow me to remind you that I seek only to ensure that Lady Edelgard's people are maximizing their potential."

"Right, of course. You could not possibly be trying to help your friends achieve their dreams the way you're always talking about helping Edie with hers." She was smiling now, even as she wiped at the corner of her eye with her sleeve. "To answer your question, I... I don't know if I have just one answer for you. But I do know that I have been around simpering nobles my whole life. And I would give just about anything for the chance to wipe the smile off their faces. And beating them at their own game? Learning the spells that all their fancy tutors and expensive libraries couldn't teach them? I'd like that very much."

Hubert smirked in triumph, and offered her a low bow. A proper bow, the likes of which he normally reserved only for Edelgard. "Then, Miss Arnault, I suggest a trade. I will help you reach your goal if you help me reach mine. Teach me to survive this blasted competition and I promise that all I know of magic is at your disposal."

Dorothea laughed. "Okay, okay, no need to turn this into the opening of an epic drama. Though... hmm. I think I have an idea of how we're going to present you now. You are actually quite charming in your own way, Hubie. There's no reason to try to cover it up with a fake smile."

Now it was Hubert's turn for skepticism. "Somehow I doubt there is much charm for you to find."

Dorothea waved him off. "Oh hush, you'll see what I mean soon enough. Anyway, we're focusing on your stance right now. Here, take my hand." She stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder and held out the other for him to hold.

He surveyed her in confusion. "Does the contest not require each contestant to be performing alone?"

Dorothea huffed. "Yes, despite the waltz being a couple's dance. It's a silly requirement, really. But right now you're letting your nerves get in the way of your movement. You need to stop being so embarrassed about me watching you. So let's take out the audience factor entirely. There is nobody left to watch if we're both participating, right?"

Hubert sighed as his gloved hand took hers, the other resting lightly on her waist. "Perceptive, as ever."

She grinned up at him. "That's why I'm your teacher. Now, you lead. Teach me to waltz as though it's my first time. I'm a lowly commoner who's never been allowed to join in on such a high class dance before."

Hubert chuckled at her, pulling them into a slow, steady rhythm. Dorothea followed smoothly, exposing her lie for what it was. "Does that work on the brainless nobles you seduce? Pretending to be clueless?"

"Some of them." She smirked, unapologetic. It was harder to match each other's steps without music, but Dorothea was a professional. She adjusted to Hubert's pace, reading his body language well enough to anticipate his steps. "Good. Loosen your grip on my hand a bit. You're directing me, not pulling me like a dog on a leash."

"Quite the analogy."

Her head quirked in an approximation of a shrug. "You'd be surprised how necessary that comparison is. Far too many noblemen can't tell the difference."

"Not as surprised as you might think." He complied with her instruction, letting her hand simply rest in his rather than gripping it.

"Better, but you're still too rigid. You're worrying too much about what I'm doing. Dancing with someone is about trust. Which I know is in short supply with you."

"What gave you that impression?" Hubert tried not to stare down at her feet, certain that he was about to tread on her toes.

"I can't believe I have to tell you this, but my eyes are up here." She laughed at his startled look. "Trust, Hubie! You need to trust me that I know how to keep up with you. And you need to trust yourself. You know these steps, right?"

Hubert studiously kept his eyes on hers, realized his hand had tightened around hers again, and pointedly loosened it. "Knowing and doing are not the same."

Dorothea sighed. "Alright, stop. New plan. I'm cashing in that magic lesson right now."

Hubert let his hands fall away from hers as she stepped back, and tried very hard to keep pace with Dorothea's shifting moods. "I did not realize you were in such a hurry to learn."

"I am now. The wall makes a good enough target, right?" She moved to stand beside him so that they both faced the same direction, with only a wall of bare brickwork ahead of them. "So? What's the most basic Dark magic you know? What's the spell you can cast in your sleep?"

Hubert regarded her. "You are aware that Dark magic and Black magic are quite different, I'm sure. Black magic utilizes the elements, while Dark magic draws on something more internal and primal."

Dorothea sighed impatiently. "I have read chapter one of the textbook, yes, thank you Hubert. Show me anyway."

Hubert puffed out a breath. At least this would be a respite from his stumbling around. "Alright. The simplest Dark attack is Miasma Δ. It goes like this." It was easy. So easy to gather the dark magic in his chest. To draw his hand across his body as he muttered the incantation, feeling the cold sting of power spreading its tendrils down the length of his arm. To flick his fingers outward just as the magic reached them, casually lobbing a sphere of crackling darkness at the bare wall. The impact resonated with the magic's hollow sound, leaving a blackened scorch mark on the bricks. How strange that trying to dance had felt like wading through waist-deep mud, but casting this spell felt like stepping back onto dry land, as light and easy as walking on a summer day.

"Hmm." Dorothea experimentally moved her hand across her chest. "Like this?"

"Palm inward. Arm parallel with the floor." He reached over and tilted her elbow up a few degrees. "You want to draw the magic in toward your hand before you expel it. If you allow your arm to droop, you risk casting at the floor rather than at your target."

Dorothea imitated his movements, right down to a small flourish in her wrist that, strictly speaking, was not a necessary addition to the spell, but that Hubert habitually added on principle. "And your feet? Do you step forward with your right or your left?"

"Always lead with your casting side."

"Right. Of course." She practiced the motions again. Hand across the chest, elbow out, step forward, flick of the wrist. Again and again she repeated the steps, imitating him perfectly without the actual orb of magical darkness firing from her hand. And then she tried it again using the other hand.

"Dorothea, what are you doing?"

Dorothea flicked one hand in front of herself and then another. "What's it look like?"

Hubert crossed his arms. "It looks like you are being very smug."

She grinned, but did not stop her impromptu dance routine, working in much more hip sway than the original spell called for. "Don't I have a right to be? I'm finding all your secrets, Hubie."

He could not help the amused smirk that crossed his face. "I very much doubt that."

"Well I've found one, anyway. You are a good dancer when you're not getting in the way of yourself. We just have to draw it out of you. What is spellcasting other than a very precise dance routine with a purpose?" She did a careless twirl, her hair fanning out around her. It looked so effortless.

"Ah yes, deadly magical force is naught but prancing about." Hubert watched as Dorothea spun the movements he had taught her into an intricate routine that grew with each new iteration. Here he was, betrayed by his own lesson.

She came to a standstill, grinning in triumph. Whereas Hubert felt bedraggled and exhausted by dance, she looked invigorated, her peach skin glistening radiantly. "From now on, we'll warm up our sessions with a magic lesson. It's something you're already confident in, so it'll get you into the mindset you need. Come on now, let's get back to it. We've got lots of time yet before the sun goes down."

Hubert groaned, casting his eyes up at the treacherously clear blue sky, still shining bright with the low evening sun. If only he believed in the Goddess, he might be tempted to beg her to nudge it towards the horizon just a bit faster.

#hubert von vestra #dorothea arnault #black eagles #fanfic #dance of the black heron #indigo's ferdibert got me hyped to finish this part!

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riverdale-retread · 3 years

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Riverdale S4 E12 (Spoilers)

-Jughead and Bret apparently have to report to Dupont that they’re going to engage in a fight - excuse me, Jones challenged Wallis to a duel for their honor. Dupont says, with evident approval, that Jughead has ‘invoked the arcane tradition.’ This school is in upstate NY and therefore it can’t have been founded in 1440 like Eton - none of its traditions are arcane. These people are so Jughead’s true community. But of course it’s Jughead’s fate to always be the resented, barely tolerated outsider in every single group to which he tries to belong.

The Jughead/ Bret Duels

-About honor

Jughead says “honor” is a word that gets thrown around a lot at Stonewall Prep, but the Serpents also have a fetish for that word (Jughead taunts Reggie about not having honor after becoming Serpent prince, and FP asks Jughead to bring honor to their name). But, Jughead, babe? That word - I do not think it means what you think it means.

What exactly is Jughead fighting for here? Betty’s reputation has been harmed, but it wasn’t actually harmed by Bret. Betty’s reputation has been sullied, intentionally, by Alice, who hates women in general and her daughters in particular, and wants to make sure that Betty doesn’t get to go to college. That’s why Alice got the quiz show questions from someplace and gives it to Betty with no instructions on what to do with that sheet of paper afterwards to her straight-arrow daughter.

Bret being a classist know it all in love with Betty’s boyfriend was enraged that he lost out to Betty in a question about cars of all things, so he spitefully went through her trash. Sure. That’s creepy and weird, but the reputation damage came from Alice.

I feel like going through contestants’ trash after a knowledge based competition to see how they prepped, if they were unfairly coached in fact isn’t dishonorable - it’s a bit like post-competition drug testing for athletes, in a way.

So what Jughead is doing is a combination of very Jughead impulses: 1) setting himself on fire because Betty wants him to be the weaker member of their partnership and 2) trying to fight his way into a club by playing by their rules.

- The Matches

- Jughead’s intense irritation about ‘saber’ being one of the ways of fighting is very funny, because if he’d gone to Stonewall from the start, I think fencing would totally be Jughead’s sport. You know he’d go on about what a noble sport it is. And the girls suggest a chess match as a tie breaker. Jughead chooses Donna to be his second, and I believe this comes from his recognition that she’s the talented writer of his seminar. Jughead is a meritocrat, and he expects talented people to be honest and true. He has no basis to think this except he’s an optimist.

- It rings true to me that an exclusive, exclusionary fancy school would not care about fairness in anything. Not even superficial fairness. They know Jughead has never done any sort of fencing. Of course Jughead loses, and I wish we’d seen the Jughead and Donna training montage. Both Bret and Jughead have cute butts, so that’s a plus.

- The punching match which is supposed to go into 7 rounds. I adore, with all I’ve got, the way Jughead refuses to get into a ‘proper’ fighting stance. Jughead knows how to make a macho entrance, so if he wanted to he could do what Bret is doing, this classic Victorian Gentleman boxer pose. But Jughead thinks all of this is fucking stupid, the need to pose and circle and whatever, because he’s been severely beaten up before, in ugly but effective ways, and he’s knocked someone out cold before too (RIP Kurtz). So he’s mocking Bret by mincing around like a hunchbacked praying mantis before delivering the knockout blow.

- The cost of this little act of sarcastic mockery though is to get bodychecked YET AGAIN in the hallway of a school. OH NO. I hate when this happens to Jughead. It hasn’t happened in so long (since S2 E11) that he’s genuinely really shocked and then very hurt.

- Donna Sweett, being a girl and probably not straight, thinks this whole ‘contest for a man of honor’ is bloody stupid, and explains the whole thing as pack behavior.

- Bret wants Jughead to walk away from the Baxter Bros contract and to drop out of the school. He also pronounces DuPont in the French way. What changed his mind? I think he was hurt that Jughead made fun of the boxing match even as he won it. And he really didn’t have to punch Bret that hard.

- I’m a better writer, I’m a better competitor and I’m a better man. Jughead is not used to having someone’s unabashed sexual admiration. He’s like, drunk with power. And he whispers this, after saying really mean things to Bret about him being a terrible writer (I mean the show says they are both worse than Donna by a LOT), and Bret is just so turned on. Jughead has never had this much sexual power over another person so he indulges himself by turning the tension up to 11 before saying “Can we get this started already?” and Dupont is so relieved.

Meanwhile -

The Terrible Cooper Women Are Terrible

- Betty’s punishment for cheating at the Quiz Show finals is suspension, being stripped of her EIC position at the newspaper and being banned from prom. And Bret has filed a justifiable restraining order against Betty. Alice is energetic and happy because, other than the prom, any one of those other things would make most universities that accepted a student reconsider their matriculation, and Betty has won the “We Regret To Inform You Bingo.”

Personal note: One of my college roommates had a mom who didn’t want her to go away to college, called her every night (the mom, to the roommate) weeping about how lonely she was in the house, why did she have to go away so far for school, she could just come home and teach piano to the neighborhood like she used to in high school. The roommate lasted 3 semesters and then dropped out. So I’ve seen a real Alice in real life.

- Betty decides to forgive her mother and seeks vengeance on Bret, fuck whatever happens to Jughead, and ropes in Alice who is all in, because Alice loves to encourage her daughters to destroy themselves. Yes, I know that Jughead is a sacrificial pawn in the Baxter Bros. Murder Cult and that Chipping intended for Jughead to be that, so Jughead would really have been killed if he’d stayed. However, Betty doesn’t know this, and this is not why she pursues the Chipping case. This is unconscious aggression against Jughead.

- Betty thinks Bret is the leader of the pack. It never occurs to her that Donna, a small, dark haired girl, could be the alpha, despite witnessing the great Veronica Lodge and the great Toni Topaz in action every day.

- The Cooper women visit Mrs Chipping, and Alice with her We are just here to help. Sure. A widow who says I do not believe my husband was having an affair with a teenage student is deserving of sympathy but has no credibility, but the show’s position is that a wife and widow would know 100% if her husband cheated on her or was a sexual predator, but bad girls like Donna Sweet lie about sexual abuse. And they Cooper Women go through the dead mans remains, and finds the Army recruitment pamphlets.

- One good thing: Moose is alive! But then a bad thing: He’s looking rather subdued and unhappy in his uniform, but that might be because he has to talk about the fact that his new start at Stonewall (recruited by Chipping!) got ruined, and he was terrorized by Bret about a supposed sex tape. The show leaves it carefully open as to WHO this was with, because Moose (as a reformed jock now gentleman bi king) refuses to say who the ‘classmate’ was. I expect it was a boy. Was it Jonathan?

- Betty breaks & enters into Bret’s room and is rifling through his things with the help of her mother. This is inexcusable. Not even Hiram does this. Bret really knows Betty very well, doesn’t he? He’s already sought a restraining order against her because he knows she’d do things like this. Betty is remarkably like Archie - the ends always justify the means, and they both think that if (you think that) you know a person has done one thing wrong, you can fuck them up as much as you want with impunity. Betty Cooper scares the shit out of me. I admire Bret’s self restraint. Bret also understands Jughead really well, because he (and Betty!) both know that Betty bringing fucking Alice into this dorm room to do this violation of Bret’s privacy would make Jughead very upset, so it’s a super effective way to get the awful Cooper Women out of his space.

Again I have to ask - What sort of honor and whose honor is Jughead fighting for? Betty does not give a shit about being honorable, at all, whatsoever. Betty is all about winning, exactly like Bret. Is Jughead fighting to recover his own honor, by being associated with such a dishonorable girl, by being so absolutely devoted to a girl who treats everyone badly?

- But. If someone had a sex tape of me, I would break into their house and set it on fire afterwards, so BETTY IS FULLY JUSTIFIED

Jughead Loses Heart About Stonewall like Betty always wanted

- Betty appears to be Jughead’s chess coach, and then grills him about exactly when and where the chess match will be .She does not tell Jughead about the repeat break ins to Stonewall. She could tell him about the sex tape, you know. Her worries about it. But she doesn’t because she wants to hurt him and leave him out of things, as revenge. I’m so hurt by this. Betty, at this stage, fully hates Jughead.

- If the most important person in your life does every possible thing to make their displeasure and dislike of you being a part of something very clear, it’s hard to sustain the courage and motivation to keep at it against difficulties. Betty has tried to write down a take down article that leads to Jughead getting threatened about his Holy Yale admission; she makes it blatantly unsafe for him to express happiness about anything good that happens there; she breaks into his room with her mother and rifles through his roommate's things and then breaks into a room in the school and commits trespass and theft, and then is caught red handed.

- Jughead could’ve won the chess match, but he throws it, instead, because Betty has made it very clear that the most important, stable relationship of his entire human existence is dependent on not committing to his own education, not committing to overcoming family trauma, not committing to finding his own place among his intellectual and artistic peers. Jughead wanted to win this honor duel, badly, but Betty just cut out his courage from under him. She makes Jughead’s entire life about choosing between Her and Everything Else. And he chooses Her. I no longer find this as romantic as I once did.

- If the genders of the players were reversed, Jughead would have been killed off for real.

- Jughead claims not to have any regrets about throwing the match, and he says what he’s supposed to say, that Betty is not a damsel in distress and those people don’t matter. But this is not true. He wanted to win, he wanted to belong, and while Betty was all about it when Jughead was exploring his Serpent side (JUST LIKE ALICE WITH FP) she could not bear the thought of him as a student of a prestigious school. No support there.

Archie Ruins FP Again

- I despise the fact that Uncle Fucking Frank is a mercenary. I hate mercenary storylines in general and I hate this one in particular because of Uncle Fucking Frank. He knows the dude who walks in on them is a mercenary and invites him to dinner with his nephew, into the house he’s crashing in and mooching off from. And he basically admits to committing human rights violations (I did things, I followed orders) but Archie is a Dumb and is only like, But He’s My UncleWuncle.

- Archie insists on inviting a totally strange man to sleep in his house because that man says the words Fred and son in the same sentence. He offers as an incentive, “My mom is not here.” (= I am alone here). Archie always wants to fill up his house with burly, bearded men in flannels. This is not about Fred, because Fred was not burly, he was lithe and pretty. This is genuine gay-baiting - a muscular cute boy constantly wanting to be surrounded by middle aged macho men, the more the better.

- I’ve held my own against this ultra-Marine types: FP is so very done with the Sheriff job, completely, even though at this point Hiram is too busy to mess with him much in a particular. FP only became sheriff to avoid serving another prison sentence or getting killed, and settled into for a bit because it allowed him some proximity to his college-man middle-class dreams from childhood. The thing is it only really held meaning for him because Jughead was around to be proud and look at him with that apple-cheek glow he gets whenever he mentions his dad is the sheriff. But now, Alice wants to be fucking a Serpent in her hot middle age, Jellybean is like Give Me Back My Mother and Jughead isn’t there, so he’s have some sort of empty nester syndrome a year early. So FP decides to rumble with the mercenary.

- I am trying to say as little as possible about the mercenaries but I will note that there’s some sort of honor code among the mercenary types, which Uncle Fucking Frank knows about, and if you break it, then there’s no limit on collateral damage, and he never tells Archie or FP anything about it while these two amateurs (a dumb kid and a small town crook turned small town sheriff) try to hatch a plan to save his ass. (Duckie? or whoever got murdered, for example, but his wife is around to call Uncle Fucking Frank).

- By the way, Mary Andrews is MIA because she’s been somewhere else (maybe Chicago?) ‘for a case.’ Right. But does she not take phone calls from her teenage son that she left alone with a brother-in-law that all the adults who know him think is a shifty criminal? Archie has been making all the terrible decisions about the family business all on his own and he never once thinks to call his lawyer mother.

- The mercenary attack on Archie which then becomes an attack on Kevin. The show lowkey admits that Kevin is an alpha because the mercenary knocks Kevin out one-handed and it makes him very menacing. He also throws Archie around like a rag doll and I kind of like it.

- Uncle Fucking Frank finally leaves (but not permanently, alas).

- Archie wants to be a simple man with honor, like his dad. Well you have half of that down anyway, dumbass.

Veronica and Katy Keene

- New York Is My Town, Not Yours. Veronica has an interview with Barnard College, so I guess this means she didn’t get into Columbia. I knew there was no way to tell her story to the Columbia recruiter.

- Katy Keene and Veronica Lodge look like identical twins and dress the same and have the exact same voice and intonation. So, Boyfriend Twins are a thing, but is there a gay girl equivalent? Because it really looks like Veronica hallucinated a mirror image of herself and is just talking to herself back and forth. And given this wonderful soulmate connection (it surpasses Bughead’s Hive-Mind moments) how has Veronica been able to cope with this loss?

- Veronica says Betty is her best friend to Katy and calls Jughead ‘her beau’ and they’re making long distance work (because she wants the best for people she loves, and Veronica loves Betty). But I note that Katy and Veronica go for men who are ultra masculine - big, muscular boxers, and they keep insisting that the boy they picked is ‘the best’ even though, with all due respect to KO Kelly, he was willing to box a dude that he knew was not in his weight class, so is he really... the best?

- Katy Keene has the same orientation towards her friends that Veronica does, by the way. Her mother is dying of cancer, but her beloved Veronica is in town, so they have a wonderful carefree, you’re so pretty no YOU’re so pretty date and finally, only when Veronica asks, does she unburden this huge tragedy, and says things like I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want to cry today. This is same energy as Veronica bravely climbing into the jalopy to give Archie, who cheated on her with her best friend, a beautiful goodbye, full of smiles.

- Veronica gets into Barnard! ( And Hermione claims that Hiram is sick.)

What is this mess with Toni, Fangs, Kevin and Nick St Clair?

- Fangs is just so pleased that Kevin is talking to him again and he’s so cute I can’t stand it. The two boys hand each other a giant roll of cash on school premises and the only human who notices this is Toni (of course). Fangs calls the tickleporn business a side hustle and bats his long lashes about it.

- Someone on the Riverdale writing team definitely went to Yale, because guess who got into Harvard? Nick St. Clair. And note that that the Harvard admissions counselor was completely comfortable hinting, on a phone, to Veronica, that he’d been bribed by Hiram (Thank your father for the rum). But Betty not getting into Yale is literally the end of the world.

- It’s both true and enraging that almost every girl has a terrible sexual assault experience of some stripe but Toni’s idea of doing something about it is grotesque to me. She enacts vengeance. She drugs Nick, they symbolically gang rape him, against his orientation and using the bodies of not-straight men (Kevin and Fangs), and makes revenge porn, with which she threatens Nick. I hate this. And kudos to the brilliance of the Me Too movement, for finding a way different than this.

- Shirtless Fangs is hot.

#Well Betty Cooper you finally did it.#anti-bughead #katey keene x Veronica lodge #bret weston wallis #stonewall prep #riverdale recap #riverdale episode recap

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raplinesmoon · 3 years

Text

The Library Of Our Love - Tunes from the Ground Floor Café

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x GN!Reader

Summary:

From this day forth, the rules set out by the users of the study table should be:

This table shall only be populated by one Kim Namjoon and one ___, all others must ask for permission before using the premises.

Albert L. Lehringer’s word is the supreme law of the land.

The library is for learning only, not for falling in love.

Oops.

Read the full fic here! (ty again to @papillonsgf for the beautiful fic banner, I'm still obsessed)

P.S. - this contains spoilers!

A/N: hello friends! I really missed these two and the universe I created for them, so I made them a playlist! I was inspired by my dear moot Sophie (@sunshinekims) and the playlist she made for her awesome fic "The Broken Hearts Club" (check it out here), and I wanted to do a little bit of the same thing for TLOL! Fair warning, my music taste is v strange and I'm bad at picking songs, but I tried to capture the vibes as best I could!! I hope you enjoy <3

✨ 523.66: Cosmic Impact -> kingdom come by red velvet

찰나의 순간에/ 내 안을 파고든 눈빛에/ 아무도 모르게/ 감춰둔 마음을 빼앗긴 채: In just one moment/ Your eyes dig into me/ Without anyone knowing/ My hidden heart was stolen (the ult love at first sight song, I don't make the rules)

"A steady gust of wind enters through the window, and you hear something flutter. Whether it’s the pages of your open book or the drumming of your heartbeat in your chest, you can’t begin to tell."

✨ 177.42: Ethics of friendship-> can i kick it? by logic

Can I kick it? (Yes, you can!)/ Can I kick it? (Yes, you can!)/ Can I kick it? (Yes, you can!)/Well, I'm gone, gone (lol them asking Namjoon to be library buddies)

"You blink, trying to remember the events of the past eight hours. Both of you made a brilliant team, working through the problems for the exam expertly and efficiently. Along the way, you fell deep into conversations about not only the equilibrium governing every reaction in the book but also the thin and delicate strings of matter that made up your lives thus far."

✨ 135.30: interlude_dream, Reality -> adore you by harry styles

Walk in your rainbow paradise (paradise)/ Strawberry lipstick state of mind (state of mind)/ I get so lost inside your eyes/ Would you believe it? (OC and the rose-colored filter through which they view Namjoon)

"You feel buoyant as you stand, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Exiting the library, the world seems effervescent and hazy with a new rose-colored filter, mirroring the pink of your gums as you smile brightly, ready to take on the day ahead with renewed fervor."

✨ 641.86: Just desserts -> trivia: love by rm (the man himself)

난 그냥 사람, 사람, 사람/ 넌 나의 모든 모서릴 잠식/ 나를 사랑, 사랑, 사랑/ 으로 만들어 만들어: I’m just a person, person, person/ You erode all my sharp edges/ You make me/ Into love, love, love (the inclusion is self explanatory)

"Whoever thought there should be a specific day devoted to love was the silliest person alive, in your opinion. How could they reduce a force as wonderful and as powerful, as full of tenderness and adoration, to a mere day full of hearts and flowers? Love was beyond that, it was something that could take a person and erode all their harsh lines, their straight angles, and make them soft and pliable."

✨ 165.19: Fallacies, or errors in judgment -> the only one by the black keys

You're the only one/ You're the only one/ I'm so wrapped up in a daze/ Hoping this is just a phase (OC getting shocked out of their daze by Namjoon's sudden confession)

"Not like you, who kept their heart under lock and key because how could you complain when all you’d ever loved and wanted was the man who spent every day in the wooden chair across from you?"

✨ 214.06: Theodicy -> 134340 by bts

아직 난 널 돌고 변한 건 없지만/ 사랑에 이름이 없다면/ 모든 게 변한 거야/ 넌 정말로 Eris를 찾아낸 걸까/ 말해 내가 저 달보다 못한 게 뭐야: I still revolve around you, nothing’s changed/ But if there’s no name to love/ Everything has changed/ Did you really find Eris?/ Tell me, what does the moon have that I don’t? (i just think this is a beautiful, philosophical look at regret and what went wrong)

"Theodicy. The vindication of divine goodness and providence given the existence of evil. Why bad things happen to good people. Why suffering can be justified."

✨ 616.025: Medical emergencies -> dayfly by DEAN (ft. Sulli and Rad Museum)

새빨간 핑계 뒤에 숨어/ 몇 번을 되묻고 되물어봐도/ 내가 나쁜 건지/ 아니면 내가 아픈 건지: I’m hiding behind bright red excuses/ I ask myself again and again/ Am I a bad person?/ Or am I just in pain? (the imagery in this song fits the scene beautifully)

"Rejection, you hear.

“And fucking Seolhee, she told me she was just fucking around, trying to use me to catch the attention of some other guy…”

Rejection, you hear, and your vision turns cloudy and red, like the water mixed with blood that has smeared in the sink.

“And then I was looking for you everywhere ___. I needed you, but you weren’t there. You’ve always been there.”

✨ 124.73: Teleology, or the end of things -> uhgood by RM

All I need is me/ All I need is me/ I know I know I know/ I know I know I know (OC choosing themselves and making their peace with everything)

"You turn on your heel, feeling renewed and restored, leaving him behind as the doors to the library of your love close behind you for the final time."

✨ Epilogue - 115.17: Time’s arrow -> 00:00 (Zero O'Clock) by BTS

Turn this all around/ 모든 게 새로운/ Zero O’Clock: Turn this all around/ Everything is new at/ Zero O’Clock (the epilogue is their zero o'clock)

"For the first time in many years, Namjoon doesn’t make your breath catch in your throat and your pulse begin to race, but instead fills your heart with a deep sense of fondness and contentment. Maybe this library will no longer be an archive of your longings, but an incunabulum of a fresh start."

#fic: the library of our love #bts #namjoon #rm #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #this is what happens when I avoid my real responsibilities

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micasaessakusa · 4 years

Text

My world

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x Reader Genre: Angst Word Count: 2.472 words Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy

Crippling despair.

That is the only way to describe it, you guess; the only way to describe the feeling of having to watch the love of your life throw everything away for you.

But even that is still too soft a word to convey the emotions brewing inside you, twisting your heart with a barbed vice grip and stewing within your mind whispers of contempt you know you do not deserve but are nonetheless true.

Shinsuke was your world -- is you world and forever will be, and you know that in the same way, you are his. Maybe even more. But what a cruel world you are to him if just to be in your arms, he has to pay the price of… well, everything else.

It boils down to you or everything, no in between.

A mere touch of his never fails to warm you, but his hands that rest on the now apparent swell of your stomach singes you.

Looking at him, you tear up upon seeing Kita, your Shinsuke, his hair matted to his forehead because of sweat and his eyes tired but still bright despite what was sure to have been a gruelling day. Glancing down, you spot his soft, gentle hands littered with dark marks from fixing cars at the local mechanic.

You know it’s not easy for him, not even a little bit, but every time he comes home to you, he never fails to show you nothing but pure love and adoration on his face. And you’re touched, but also so utterly confused at how he could look at you as if you hadn’t just ruined his life.

He gives you a soft smile before his slightly chapped lips plant a full kiss on yours. No matter the circumstances, his kisses never fail to serve as a reminder that there will always be one person in the world who will never leave your side, no questions asked. But this affects you differently for rather than serving as a form of comfort, it instead brews some darker thoughts in your mind, tracing back to the strained conversation you had with his family before everything fell to ruin.

Backing a little from you, his lips pull to another tender upward tilt before he excuses himself to wash up, making sure to peck your stomach one last time.

Your eyes trace his movements towards the bathroom and as soon as the door shuts, you’re once again left alone to stew in your own mind-numbing thoughts.

——

“Are you sure it’s yours, Shinsuke?”

Kita’s usually warm coffee brown eyes narrow imperceptibly, cold emanating from him at the blatant insinuation thrown at you.

“Yes, mother,” he answers evenly despite the tightening of his hold on your hand. Meanwhile, you keep your stare trained on the floor, not having the courage to look at the scrutinizing gaze of Shinsuke’s parents.

He warned you about their predisposition and prejudice, but you hadn’t anticipated just how much distaste they would actually be hiding behind a curtain of impeccable manners.

Sensing your discomfort, your boyfriend of only a year wraps an arm around you, rubbing soothing patterns on your back.

For the first time that night, his father speaks, but he doesn’t even look at you when he does.

“Get rid of it,” he says with total indifference while still commanding finality. “This kind of inconvenience will only serve to bring dishonor to our name.”

He spits venom at the ‘inconvenience’ that is your child and it takes all of your willpower to not break down right there and then. His family speaks of everything as if it’s nothing. As if you are nothing. As if your relationship with their son is nothing. As if the child inside you, despite not being planned, was not made from the love you shared with Shinsuke.

But you guess maybe it is like that. Maybe to them, you really are nothing.

After all, what’s a nobody like you even doing with the sole heir of the Kita family, renowned business tycoons in the continent, whom anyone who’s a somebody covet to form even just an acquaintance with?

Who are you to sully the name of a bloodline that has been thriving since long before your great grandparents were even born?

Nobody. That’s what you are.

You are so lost in your all-consuming thoughts that you fail to notice at first how Shinsuke is already in front of you, standing tall and facing his parents. It’s only then that you become aware of the tears streaming down your face, dropping to your hands that are pulled into tight fists.

“Mother and Father, [Y/N] and I have not been together for long, but we have known each other for years now,” he starts, voice remaining calm and collected despite how tense his whole body is. “This will not please you, but I have already made my decision the moment she informed me she’s pregnant with my child.”

His words echo repeatedly in your mind and your heart beats so rapidly from the overwhelming adoration flowing through your body… ‘my child.’ Your Shinsuke said ‘my child,’ and you could not have been happier just by hearing those words.

Chancing a look at his parents, you see them still stoic, face completely devoid of emotion nor even a sliver of shock. Perhaps, they’ve accepted his decision? But even you know that that would be wishful thinking. What you do know now, however, is that you would not be alone in this journey.

Shinsuke’s words flood you with relief from the anxiety of having to go through the pregnancy alone. Even though you never doubted him, hearing him actually say he’ll be by your side sends you an unparalleled level of comfort and reassurance.

Not waiting for his family to speak, he takes your hand and helps you to stand, aware of how shaky you currently are. He bows low to his parents to signal the end of the conversation, his torso almost parallel to the ground, and when he rises back up he gives you what might have been the most tender look you’ve seen on his face the entire time you’ve known each other.

In a low voice, he speaks, “We shall be going now,” then guides you to the exit.

Just as you’re about to pass the threshold, his father says a single sentence that would forever make you question just how much you’ve taken from the man you claim to love.

“Once you leave this house, you will be stripped of everything that has to do with the family and name you so easily turn your back on.”

Instantly, you freeze on your tracks, but Shinsuke just steers you forward with a gentle hand on your back, the words of his father not making his steps falter for even a bit.

Under his breath, he whispers his own answer, steady and with full conviction.

“Then so be it.”

——

It’s been a couple of months since then but not a day has gone by with you not thinking about it.

Kita Shinsuke is a humble man, down-to-earth and genuine. He’s never one to indulge in materialistic things but anyone with eyes can see that he’s struggling to live a less privileged life. After all, he grew up so used to having both needs and wants always there, always available most especially because of his name. He’s a hard worker, yes, but up until a few months ago, he’s never had to actually work to live.

He tries his best, you know he does just like he always has, maybe even more so now that he has other people to take care of. He never complains… and that makes it all the worse for you.

Each day that passes, you become increasingly aware of the darkening circles under his eyes, his thinning frame, and everything about him now just glaringly shouts how this is not the life fit for a man like him.

You claim to love him, but by him reciprocating what does he get? Misery.

The sound of the bathroom door opening snaps you from your stupor and in the next second, your boyfriend steps out, freshly showered and with a towel hanging from his neck. He has a small smile on his lips but it falls as soon as he sees you.

A frown appears on his face as he rushes towards you, worry etched onto his features.

“Is something wrong, love?” he says when he takes both your hands into his larger ones. He gazes at you, warm brown orbs focused solely on your face as he searches you for any pain.

“Does it hurt somewhere?”

It’s only when he brings a hand up to wipe the tears off your face do you realize you’re crying. Sniffling, you quickly wipe away all traces of your breakdown, glancing instead on the floor out of embarrassment.

“It’s nothing, Shin,” you say so quietly that he almost misses it.

He chooses not to probe, guiding you instead to sit on the worn out couch. Your tears gradually come to a slow stop with the aid of the soothing circles he rubs on your back, and once again, your heart clenches at how just naturally nurturing he is.

A few moments pass with him trying to calm you down and when you get your breathing back to normal, he speaks.

“Something has been bothering you for a while now, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Your eyes snap wide as you look at him, guilt clear on your face. Have you unintentionally been worrying him by being transparent? Or is he so in tune with your emotions that he’s able to read you so easily?

Kita’s a perceptive person and it doesn’t really surprise you that he has caught on to your distress, but how you wish that this one time, he doesn’t, for it would only pile on top of his already long list of worries.

He caresses your hands and the warmth emanating from his palms brings you a sense of ease.

“Please talk to me, love. Whatever it is, we can work on it togeth--”

“Let’s break up.”

Shock paints his face the instant you blurt the words out and that’s all it takes for hurt and confusion to fill his usually unreadable eyes.

You stare at him, surprise also clear on your face from what you said, but you don’t take it back. You love him and you’ll give him this one chance to back out. You’ll set him free if that’s what it costs to allow him to live a life of comfort once more.

He deserves all the comfort this harsh world can give him, and if he can’t have that when he’s with you then you’ll choose to let him go… even if that would break you.

Silence fills the small space of your apartment, neither of you having the courage to break the silence first.

His hold on your hand tightens, but you still don’t speak in fear of taking your words back. But if only he knew just how much you want to.

You’re scared, so scared that he would agree to break up. And you know you would fall apart without him, but you have to do this. Kita’s been selfless all this time, now’s your turn to prove to him how far you’d go if it’s for him. You’d give him his freedom if that would mean he gets to live a happier and more comfortable life.

What you didn’t expect, however, is for tears to fill his eyes and roll down his pale cheeks in thick rivulets as he looks at you in utter brokenness.

He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again. Biting his lip, he whispers words that slash through your heart.

“Is it something wrong with me?”

In an instant, you scramble to pull him in a tight embrace, your sobs breaking free along with your pleas for forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry, Shin,” you cry as you hug him even tighter, his own arms also wrapping around you in his shaky effort to hold you snug against his body.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Fuck-- I didn’t mean it, I don’t want to break up! I didn’t mean it, I’m so sorry, Shin, I’m so sorry, I don’t want to break up, not now, not ever, I’m so sorry--,” strings of apology spill profusely from your mouth and the moment Kita plants his lips against yours, you kiss him back with fervor, trying to convey just how much you don’t want to be away from him.

With one last peck, he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours, his breath still coming a bit short from his remaining tears.

“Please don’t scare me like that again. I love you, my [Y/N]. I don’t plan on leaving you and our child ever,” he says with tearful sincerity, it compels you to kiss him again followed by a firm declaration of how much you feel the same way.

Hugging him close to you, you resolve to tell him everything. You let it all out; how you thought- still think he chose to be miserable when he chose you, how you just know that you ruined his life, how you feel like you’re being selfish for taking him away from his family, from his gran, how you thought you’d give him his freedom so he could live a better life, how scared you were that he would agree when you told him you’d break up.

With each word passing through your lips, his embrace gets a little tighter as he whispers assurances to your ears, rubbing soothing circles on your back all the while.

“You didn’t ruin my life, you made it better.”

“You’re my family now.”

“I am free when I am with you. I chose you and I’ll do it over and over again.”

Amidst the tearful confessions you both lay on each other, you grip his shirt tight in a fist as you finally tell him the thing you’ve felt most frightened about when he chose you.

“I feel like I’ve taken you away from your world, Shinsuke. I feel like I hurt you.”

He stops his ministrations when he moves to hold both your shoulders in a gentle but firm grip, looking you straight in the eyes as he speaks to life the words that will forever remain in your heart and soul.

“You didn’t take me away from my world, because you are my world, always have been and always will be.”

And at that very moment, you just know deep within your heart that Kita Shinsuke has been, still is, and will always be your world.

#Gabe writes!!#Haikyuu #Kita #Kita Shinsuke #Haikyuu x Reader #Kita x Reader #Kita Shinsuke x Reader #Haikyuu Angst #Kita Angst #Kita Shinsuke Angst

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