Dreaming of gold (yumihisu): Ymir has been encouraging Historia to be more selfish for a while, tired of witnessing other people taking advantage of her. Historia, fallen victim to a failed relationship and desperate for comfort, goes to her best friend for a reminder, and she ends up showing Ymir just how bad she can be.
Series
Where it begins (mikasa x reader): work in progress
Content: friends to lovers, pining, college AU, smut, MINORS AND MEN DO NOT INTERACT
Summary: Ymir has been encouraging Historia to be more selfish for a while, tired of witnessing other people taking advantage of her. After a failed relationship and desperate for comfort, Historia turns to her best friend for a reminder, and she ends up showing her just how bad she can be.
Note: I’m Zeta, and this is the story that is going to start off my “new writing journey”, I guess. This is the first public sapphic story I write ever since coming out as a lesbian, which has helped me get back into it. I also haven’t written this much in a while, and would like some mercy from you when it comes to this first fic (lol). I know it’s not the best, but it is a way for me to start again with characters I am able to connect to on a different level, and an already existing story that is important to me in terms of representation. I understand our community (particularly the lesbian one) might not be that big, especially on here, so even if this gets read by two people, I will certainly be the happiest to have created something for them, which is what I would have wanted more for myself a few years ago. In light of this, I would appreciate it if you could leave a comment, reblog or like this (both here and on ao3). Thank you so much for reading. I apologize in advance for any mistake or repetition you might find. I hope you enjoy
The soft, blue light filtering from the window slowly brings the new day inside Ymir’s apartment, and the birds chirping play as a soundtrack to her nice dream of love. She’s had a rough week, but the gentle warmth of the summer that is approaching allows her, at least usually, a good sleep. It’s no secret that the cold weather gets to her pretty quickly, slowing her down and generally making her feel more disconnected.
The peace is unexpectedly interrupted at 5am, when her phone starts blowing up. Text after text, it keeps on vibrating insistently, while she curses herself for not deactivating the stupid setting in the first place. She groans, freeing her body from the sheets unwillingly, while stretching her arm out to reach for the source of frustration on the nightstand. The transition between her dream and the annoying noise isn’t the best one. This is not a good way to start the day, she thinks.
Slowly —and painfully— her eyes open. The phone vibrates in her hand again. Another message, then another, then one more. With no time to take in the nice melody coming from outside, she begrudgingly focuses her attention on the device, concluding that it is necessary to do so if she wants to put a stop to it.
She freezes once she manages to make out the name on the screen, a familiar one that is not new to having a certain effect on her. Historia. Eight letters that carry a much bigger weight, and a somewhat obscure history. Wondering whether she’s still dreaming, she bravely makes the difficult decision of opening those texts.
“Ymir, sorry it’s late. Are you up?”
“We broke up, idk what to do.”
“She said she’s still trying to figure things out”
“She’s seeing another girl.”
“Ymir?”
“Please text me back”
“Is it okay if I come over?”
“Ik it’s late, but i really don’t know what to do”
“Please text me”
“Ymir, I need you”
“I’m coming over rn”
Once her brain is capable of gluing the words together and organizing her thoughts in a somewhat coherent way, she gets out of bed so quickly she feels dizzy for a split second, brown hair still tangled and messy, only a bra and pajama pants to cover her. She doesn’t care, not when she can hear footsteps approaching her front door, as her mind is already picturing blonde, long hair constantly being twirled around one finger out of stress and discomfort.
Breathing heavily, she walks towards the entrance in what feels like an infinite moment, and just as she’s standing in front of it, the doorbell rings. She grabs the handle firmly, perhaps to stop her hand from shaking, and then finally opens the door to reveal the girl on the other side. Historia immediately looks up at her, big blue eyes veiled by the tears, slightly puffy and red, her long lashes still wet. She had been crying for a while, it seems, and Ymir selfishly wonders if it was purely for the break up, or for Historia’s fear of failure.
They both stay quiet when Ymir invites her in, closing the door behind her as Historia silently sits on the couch, taking her purse off of her shoulder. With a racing heart she decides to ignore, she sets off to the kitchen to get a glass of water, figuring the girl in the other room might need it. In a few minutes she’s back, placing the glass down on the small coffee table in front of the couch while blue eyes follow her movements carefully, almost anxiously. Tension makes the air in the room grow thicker by the minute, as Historia grows impatient.
These past months have been filled with complaints on her part regarding her now ex-girlfriend —who Ymir had never approved of— and although she had never opposed listening to her whenever she needed someone to escape to, the last time they saw each other didn’t go so well. Their hangout had ended with a bad fight and Ymir telling her to “pull herself together” and “have some dignity”. Historia knew exactly what she meant by that, yet she couldn’t help but feel hurt by the harshness of her friend’s words. As a result, she is afraid Ymir might not be willing to waste her time with her anymore.
“Ymir, say something.” She mutters softly, playing with her fingers, hands resting on her lap. She’s distraught by the silence, and viscerally needs her friend to comfort her. She desires her soothing voice and careful words, more than anything her thoughtful care.
Her thighs are covered by a purple, silky and flowy skirt that just barely reaches her knees. Paired with the white top she’s wearing, Ymir wonders if they had been on a date that simply went wrong the night prior. Maybe she slept over at the girl’s place for convenience. Hell, maybe they even had breakup sex a few hours ago, and she ended up putting on the same clothes from the evening.
The thought is unsettling, so she decides to corner it in the darkest part of her brain and shrug it off. Pretending comes easy to Ymir, she’s done it for a long time now.
She wets her lips before starting. “Sorry, I’m just tired.” It's not a lie, but it isn’t the full truth either, “what happened?” She asks at last, sitting down next to her, a few inches apart.
Historia seems to relax instantly at the gesture, palms smoothing down her skirt as she recollects her thoughts, “We had a fight last night, after going out for dinner. I just felt like she didn’t want to be there, you know?” Her voice sounds frail as she speaks, still shaken by the fact.
Ymir hums in response, encouraging her to go on.
“So I confronted her about it, but she kept calling me all sorts of things and—”
“What things? What’d she call you?” Ymir inquires immediately, firm but visibly worried.
Historia sighs, “Crazy, clingy, entitled. She said I was being childish.” Her eyes are fixated on the floor, hiding from Ymir’s burning gaze. “I was tired, so I apologized, and we went to bed. But then I…I couldn’t sleep. I started thinking about all the weird stuff she’s been doing for the past two months, and it got late pretty quickly.”
Ymir believes she can tell where this is going, so before Historia can continue, she reaches for the glass of water and hands it to her, prompting her to have a sip. Historia doesn’t question the action, and offers her a feeble smile as her hands wrap around the cup.
She knows Ymir really well. After all, they’ve been classmates since middle school, although they didn’t become friends right away. In fact, Ymir didn’t seem to like her at all. Up until grade eleven, she would scoff when Historia came up with an answer to the teacher’s question, roll her eyes when she’d clean after the stupid boys’ mess, and even refuse to pair up with her when she had the chance, the reason being that she didn’t enjoy people who couldn’t speak their minds.
The change in her behavior was sudden and unexpected from Historia’s perspective back then. That last day of school, in tenth grade, a guy in their class had spilled juice on the floor. It was an innocent mistake, but aware that the nice, blonde girl would have cleaned after him if he didn’t do so, he had felt brave enough to borderline order her—in a very condescending tone—to take care of it.
Ymir had been watching the whole thing unfold from her desk at the back of the room, keeping her thoughts and feelings for herself, hiding her annoyance and anger. Historia, on her part, was feeling humiliated by the “request”, but not enough to follow through. To everyone’s surprise —herself included— she refused the boy, who would then proceed to go up to her, napkin in hand, to remind her how that had always been her job. Cleaning after other people, fixing their mess, repairing their mistakes.
He was close, entitled, and kept trying to grab her wrist. That’s when she had finally snapped, her open palm landing on his cheek fiercely, leaving no room for misunderstandings. Indifferent to the physical advantage the guy clearly had over her, Historia had remained still in her place, refusing to back off in fear. Predictably, he kept standing his ground too, visibly holding himself back while calling her a bitch through gritted teeth.
Ymir could see her chest heaving from the anxiety she was concealing, and decided to step in at that moment, no longer able to disregard her own concern. Putting herself between Historia and their classmate, allowing her body to act as a shield, had been enough to get him out of the way. Nobody wanted to put up with her temper.
Historia still remembers, clear as a day, the way Ymir had giggled once they were left alone. “I didn’t know you were such a bad girl, Historia.” She had said.
They’ve been close since then, and Historia had grown to understand what Ymir wanted from her. Nonetheless, she fears she might have just disappointed her once again, even if Ymir’s actions and gaze show no judgment.
“This girl, she sent her a pic.” She continues, still holding the glass in her small hands, “I know I shouldn’t have opened it, but I did.”
Ymir notices her cheeks reddening as she makes herself smaller on the couch, but decides against interrupting her again.
“They were kissing. There was nothing else before that, so I figured she was deleting the chat. I woke her up and we…you know the rest.” She finishes, defeated, and puts the glass down.
Ymir can tell she’s shying away from her, hiding her face behind the long, golden strands of hair.
“I’m really sorry for waking you up so early,” she blurts, “I didn’t know where to go, and I didn’t want to be alone. I’ve been asking you for advice for weeks, it must be annoying. I know you told me to break up with her months ago, I honestly don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe I wanted to prove you wrong. I don’t even think I was in love, I just really wanted things to work out and maybe I’m dumb and just couldn’t accept that she—”
“Historia, I’m not mad at you.” Her tone is reassuring as she instinctively reaches for Historia’s hand, “can you look at me?”
Embarrassed, she nervously complies, without any strength left to hide the tears pooling in her eyes.
“I didn’t want to cry again, I’m sorry.” Her emotions fail her.
“I know.”
Her cry is composed, almost imperceptible if it weren’t for the visible tears and the way in which she would occasionally cover her mouth to suppress a sob. It’s irritating to Ymir, how she is still trying so hard to be collected in her vulnerability, in spite of her undeniable right to anger and frustration. She looks incredibly fragile, sitting on her couch as she fidgets with the hem of her skirt and her teeth sink down on her bottom lip.
Unable —or unwilling— to fight her selfishness, Ymir gently tilts her chin up to draw her attention again, uncaring of the effect this gesture might have on the girl and, perhaps, even on herself. By now, the sun has started peeking through the window behind them, casting its light with a sort of clemency on Historia’s soft features. She has never looked more beautiful than at this very moment, delicate and raw. Ymir’s eyes convey a new truth to the girl sitting beside her, fearlessly reflecting her adoration in its misery for the first time, as she is unable to mask her feelings.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Ymir’s hand moves away from her face as she warns her, voice low and comforting. “And I’m sorry for being so hard on you last time, I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I just — I hate seeing you like this, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
Historia’s thoughts have never been clearer. She wants proximity, craving the tender roughness and honesty of her touch. As if reached by an epiphany, she inches closer, erasing the little space between them, and coyly places her hand on Ymir’s shoulder, eyes still wet from the tears.
“Ymir, was I bad?”
It’s the first time Ymir isn’t in control of the situation, and she perceives it clearly. Taken aback by Historia’s boldness, she does everything in her power to react quickly and make sense of words only she could understand.
“Yes,” she replies, steading her breath, “you’ve always been bad, Historia.”
“Always?” her gaze is fixated, never leaving Ymir’s eyes. “Even now?”
There is a newfound and abrupt confidence exuding from Historia that is undeniably setting Ymir up for failure. Had she been too oblivious to her own display of affection? Whether her true feelings had actually become decipherable from the outside, she is now painfully aware that Historia has figured it out. Vulnerability is unfamiliar to Ymir when it comes to their relationship, it is the ultimate threat to her integrity as well as their friendship. If she succumbs to it, she knows it’s over. Nonetheless, weakness is an enemy she is unable to escape now.
“Especially now,” she says, fighting to keep her distance as Historia’s fingers trail lines on her skin, testing her resolve, “you’re the worst girl I’ve ever met.”
The smile flickering across her face as she hears the long awaited words is the last thing Ymir registers, before the smell of vanilla inebriates her senses and soft, full lips press against hers. It’s a fleeting moment, yet Ymir immediately feels robbed as Historia withdraws from her. Her hand, however, is still resting on her shoulder, grounding her, while she feels her heart all the way up to her throat, at a loss of words for a few seconds and completely powerless.
“Ymir,” Historia murmurs, her eyes alluring as she gets lost in them, “I know you’re just as bad. Show me.”
That’s all it takes to finally break Ymir’s self-control and legitimize her greed, allowing space and freedom for her hands to grab Historia’s waist almost vehemently, pulling her body towards her own. She follows Ymir’s guidance promptly, straddling her lap as the skirt rides up her thighs, leaving more bare skin visible.
One of her hands finds its way to the back of Historia’s head, fingers messing up her hair. She nuzzles her neck, taking in the scent and warmth of her skin. It is an invitation she cannot decline and one she refuses to take for granted. Her moves become slower after the initial haste, and she takes her time caressing Historia’s skin with her lips, lazily moving up to her jaw, and eventually reaching her cheek, still wet from her tears. Historia allows her to indulge, savoring the sweetness of her gestures. She wraps her arms around her neck, breath getting heavier as her instincts become harder to ignore.
Ymir reads her body language easily, she can tell what Historia wants from her with enough confidence to act on it without saying as much as a word. Even so, the uniqueness of the situation and the profound respect she has for her and their relationship make it impossible for Ymir to proceed without hearing a clear confirmation first.
“Do you really want this?” she whispers, a mere few inches away from her lips.
“Yes, I do.” Historia replies without hesitation, offering her a loving smile as her eyes take in her features. She has always liked the shape of her nose and the freckles on her face. “What about you?”
“What do you think?” Ymir chuckles at the naivety of the question, “I’ve wanted this for a long time,” she strokes her cheek affectionately, “I just needed to make sure you won’t regret it in the future.”
“Thank you for asking, then.” Historia replies, enjoying the touch she had long yearned for, “now prove it to me, please.”
Her words are like gasoline to the fire she started, and Ymir really doesn’t want to disappoint. Feeling liberated from the constriction of their friendship, and aware of Historia’s wishes, she kisses her eagerly as her hands move underneath her shirt to feel more of her. It doesn’t seem real, having her like this after years of pining and witnessing other people letting her down, while Ymir wished she could have had the chance to treat her right. Now that Historia has entrusted her with her body and her emotions, Ymir is set on granting her whatever it is she might desire, pleasure being at the top of the list.
After all, this is what she’s always done. She takes care of her, she cleans after the mess others have left. It is not Historia’s job anymore, not with Ymir by her side.
The kiss deepens as her fingers sink down on the skin of her hips. Although anxious to satiate her own hunger, Ymir makes sure to take it easy, relishing the taste of her mouth as their tongues meet. Historia runs her fingers through her hair, occasionally moving it out of her face. She doesn't hold back from humming in her mouth to show her just how much she’s needed this. It’s very different from the way she’s felt in the past with other girls, and she wonders how she was able to live without experiencing this —experiencing her— for so long, when she was so, so close.
Ymir has always provided her protection and stability, a kind of peace she wasn’t familiar with before meeting her. Historia has always known, in the back of her mind, that Ymir would have been there no matter what. Perhaps that is a selfish awareness to own, but she has never made her feel guilty for it. Now that her thoughts appear to be so transparent, she finally recognizes it for what it is, what it has always been: a quiet, selfless love. There is no necessity whatsoever to say it out loud, because it is evident in the way Ymir touches her, in the way she talks to her, in the way she looks at her. Historia wants nothing more than to give back and drown in it at the same time.
Her neediness is hard to conceal at this point, and before she can actually attempt to, she is grinding on Ymir’s lap, yearning for more. In order to accommodate her silent request, Ymir shamelessly places her hands on her ass, gripping it tightly and leading her movements, well pleased by the sight of her thighs. Historia is quick to notice her gaze, and decides to tease her further, undoing her own bra and taking it off slowly, before discarding it on the floor.
Her nipples are now perking through the white, fine material of her top, creating a see-through effect that drives Ymir insane, who can’t help but bring her lips there almost immediately, kissing her chest before biting the strap of her top with her teeth to pull it down. With her hands still busy guiding Historia on her lap to help her get the amount of friction she needs, her mouth is the only available option to give the right attention to her now naked breasts. She kisses them both, and nips at the skin all over while occasionally trailing a path of wet saliva with her tongue.
Historia jerks on her, pushing Ymir’s head even further in, demanding more as the softest of moans start filling the void room around them. Aching to have her begging on top of her, Ymir obeys promptly, taking one of her nipples between her lips. She switches from sucking on it, to flipping it with her tongue and slightly biting it, before moving to the other one and repeating.
Historia is a complete mess, her panties sticking to her skin because of how wet she is. She can’t bring herself to be quiet, nor does she want to. Nothing has ever felt this good to her, and Ymir has barely even touched her where she wants her the most.
“Ymir,” she cries out, “I need you inside me, please.”
Ymir’s attention immediately shifts to her face to take in her expression, while her hand starts moving under her skirt unhurriedly, just to torture her a little. It is only fair, after all the time she’s waited for, right? Admittedly, she herself is having a hard time restraining her actions, as the only thing occupying her mind right now is the absolute and visceral need to ruin the girl who’s looking at her with tears pooling in her eyes once again, this time from the frustration she feels because of the slow build up.
“Stop saying please.” Ymir’s hand slides beneath Historia, and stops right on her clothed cunt as she keeps impatiently grinding on her, unsatisfied. “Ask me again, c’mon.”
It takes a few minutes for the words to leave Historia’s mouth, while her cheeks redden quickly at the request and her hair falls in front of her, as though alive and ready to camouflage her embarrassment.
Ymir, however, doesn’t buy it. She grips Historia’s hip tightly, forcing her to stop her movements, and finally slips her hand inside her underwear, bringing her fingers forward to her hole to gather her cum before smearing it all over her clit. She feels warm, inviting, and Ymir knows she could reach her own climax just by doing this.
“I need you inside me,” Historia’s voice comes out decisive and desperate as she tries to keep it together, “right now.”
“‘Atta girl” Ymir praises, rubbing her thumb against Historia’s bottom lip, inviting her to open her mouth.
Her face breaks in a satisfied smirk when she complies, getting a hold of her wrist and looking right back at her as she accepts the offer, warm lips trapping her fingers before her tongue starts swirling around them. She taunts her for a while like this, doe eyes calling for attention. Once she finally lets go, Ymir holds her gaze, letting her middle finger slip between her folds and then inside her easily.
So easily, in fact, that it is quickly followed by another one, making Historia squirm on top of her. There’s just something about seeing her so passionate and eager that gets Ymir so worked up, it is impossible to hide the satisfaction she is getting from this. She bites her shoulder, groaning against her skin as Historia rides her fingers and Ymir completely caves in to her desires, letting her move in whatever way she prefers, at whatever pace.
“You’re so wet, I can’t believe how desperate you are,” she coos in her ear, “you look perfect like this.”
“Ymir I— it feels so good,” Historia whines in response, hands resting on Ymir’s shoulders to keep her steady.
The combination of her fingers inside her and the way she looks underneath her —completely at her service, abs showing and tanned skin almost glistening in the light— brings her closer and closer to the edge, resulting in a strenuous fight to last just a little longer.
Ymir is able to tell by the way she starts clenching around her while her nails start digging into her skin, leaving marks she’ll carry as a memory for a few days. She takes on the job for her, wrapping her arm around her body to hold her a little higher in order to allow her waist more space to move, before she starts pumping in and out.
Historia is a complete, whimpering mess as Ymir’s fingers curl inside her. Her hair is a disaster, she can feel the sweat sticking to her skin, her face warm and eyes watery. She has so many things she wishes she could say, but the intensity of the pure bliss she is experiencing just doesn’t give her any mercy, and her moans are the only form of expression she is able to produce.
“You’re dripping on my entire hand,” Ymir teases her, her pace getting faster by the minute, “I’m gonna cum just looking at you like this, d’you realize what you do to me?”
Overwhelmed by the pleasure and her words, Historia goes in for another kiss. Trying to convey her gratitude and appreciation, she first leaves a few, brief pecks, and then proceeds to abandon herself to Ymir’s lips completely, swallowing her groans with satisfaction, proud of the way she is making her feel. They have both been starving for a long time, and it shows in how frantic —at times even aggressive— the kiss is, while Historia’s hand tangles in Ymir’s brown hair, who keeps hitting just the right spot with insatiable precision.
“Oh my god, Ymir— I’m so close.”
Ymir could go on like this forever, but her longing to see Historia finally come undone, in every way, is stronger than her desire to have more from her, at least at this very moment. She wants to see her falling apart, unable to keep her composure.
“It’s okay, pretty girl,” her lips hover above hers as she speaks, brushing against them with anticipation, “you did a good job, let it out for me.”
Legs trembling on her sides and back arching, Historia does as told with no hesitation. Ymir guides her through her high, her fingers now completely engulfed as Historia clenches around them and fills her ears with sweet sobs that are happily welcomed. Seeing her like this, with her full, pink lips parted to give space to her voice and her long, golden hair reduced to a tangled mess —while she doesn’t even attempt to hold back or look tidy and uptight— is enough to bring Ymir to the edge as well, with no need whatsoever to do anything but keeping her eyes on the girl moaning on top of her.
If she had a feeling she would have liked witnessing Historia being bad, selfish and purely driven by her own instincts in the past, she can now say with confidence that she absolutely loves it.
Slowly, Ymir pulls out from inside her, bringing her wet fingers to her mouth. Historia watches attentively, still out of breath, heart pounding in her chest while Ymir sucks on her own fingers to get a taste of her. She visibly flushes, a reaction that is cherished by Ymir who is well aware of the kind of girl Historia is. A bad, perverted little angel.
“Don’t get shy on me now.” Ymir smiles, poking fun at her. Her clean hand reaches for her face, knuckles brushing against her jaw. “You taste good, just as I expected.”
“I’m not shy!” Historia retorts, slapping her arm jokingly. Her gesture is met with chuckles before she continues, “I just….”
Ymir waits for her, tilting her head to the side. A frown forms on her face at Historia’s hesitation.
“What is it?” she asks.
Gathering whatever courage she has left, Historia replies, “I wanna do this again. With you, I mean. I only wanna do it with you.”
Appreciative of her honesty despite the uncertainty, Ymir cups her cheek and leans in again, confessing her adoration with her lips as their foreheads touch. Silence keeps them company for a few seconds, while they memorize each other’s flavour. Historia melts under her touch once more, and her fears are finally put to rest.
“I only want you, Historia. I’ve always had.” Ymir whispers against her lips, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear “We’ll do this whenever you want, however you want. You know where to find me, don’t ya?”
