#And as the sun set while we sat and sunk and scrolled

[teknikali-mo]

[wordstro]

[5] game of thrones-inspired au + prince hongjoong + "we both know you have gone far beyond that point."

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

a/n: 5/6 - 15k, i added another part because i cannot stand how much i need to scroll on this to edit so i've split it up accordingly - i know i'm sooo sorry for the delay. this fic WILL be done by the end of this year. setting-typical violence/executions, abusive dynamics, power dynamics, cheating, implied victim blaming (from y/n :/), this part is very word/dialogue-heavy rather than action-oriented but y/n is a rookie player in the games unfortunately.

-

you wake to an empty bed. you should not have expected anything more, yet your heart stilled in your chest as your fingers brushed through the empty space.

you'd done it to keep hongjoong from straying too far. that was what you told yourself as you lied spread on the too-big bed, gaze fixed on the ceiling tiles. that's what you told yourself to calm the tightness in your chest, and the soreness of your limbs, and the racing thoughts. that was what -

"you are awake."

you'd startled at hongjoong's voice. it was rough around the edges from sleep. you sat up, eyes fixed on hongjoong. he leaned against the door to the washroom, dressed in his robes for the day.

you drew the sheets closer, and you said, "you are still here."

a furrow formed between hongjoong's brows. he said, "i am called to court, but i did not think you would appreciate waking to an empty bed."

"no, i suppose i would not have." you could not fathom that hongjoong was capable of...thoughtfulness. yeosang had said as much, but who were you to believe him.

hongjoong laughed, and the sound burrowed right in your chest. you needed a bath.

"i drew you a bath," hongjoong said, pushing himself off the wall to step closer to the bed as he gestured to the bathing chambers. "i dismissed the servants, so as not to wake you, but i wanted to see you off before my appointments. i hope..."

you watched him falter over his words. hongjoong has never faltered. seeing him this way, somehow it was more intimate than the night before. somehow, his softness clawed at your chest. he was capable of it, you now knew, but you wondered, briefly, if it would be conditional. you knew you would always be cursed to wonder such a thing.

hongjoong cleared his throat, "i hope you will join me for lunch?"

you should have said no, but you'd long abandoned the should-haves.

you said, "i will."

hongjoong's smile was a sweet thing as he nodded in sheer satisfaction.

he left, and you slipped from the bed and into the empty bathing chambers. steam billowed from the bathtub, but you saw clearly that hongjoong had hung your robes - kim black and red - in plain view. it had been many moons since you wore your house's red and orange, yet the sight of kim red and black felt...final.

you sunk into the searing bathwater, sighing at the relief to your aching muscles, and you sunk until you could barely breathe with the steam and oils wafting around you. you tucked your knees close, and the heat reminded you of summer days in sunspear. of your brothers and your home and dorne red and orange. of the warmth of the sun on your skin, and the merchants shouting on every corner, and the giggles as you and wooyoung would weave through the crowds while yunho followed quickly behind - never so reckless, so undignified, as the two of you even when he was young. the reminders, however, were as hazy as the steam around you. and when you opened your eyes, the black and red robes were clear as day.

you could not find it in you to despise the colors as you once would have.

you told yourself you laid with hongjoong so he would not stray, but your heart was the one straying. your memories were the ones turning hazy and distant. cold even, you could dare say. in the haze of memories and steam, alone in a too-big room, you could admit that you might like hongjoong. more than you should have.

the thought made your eyes water. hongjoong gave you a crumb of decency and the touch you've craved since you stepped foot off your father's boat, and now you were fond of him? were you truly so easily pliable? were you truly so lonely? would you abandon your dornish roots so easily? your resolve?

you sighed as you sunk further into the lukewarm bath, eyes fixed on the red and black robes, and you resolved that even if you were any of those things, hongjoong would never know it.

you ignored the small voice in your head that whispered that he already did know.

~.~.~.~.~

should have, should have, should have.

you entered the dining hall with your stomach in knots, nerves settling there you had never felt before. you chalked it up to hunger.

hongjoong sat at the head of the table, his white-blond hair gathered into a messy bun, his robes loosened, his sleeves rolled up, his elbow propped up against the table as he rested his chin on the palm of his hand. he was enraptured in the person next to him.

park seonghwa.

you should have known.

should have, should have, should have.

park seonghwa sat to his left, and choi jongho to his right. san sat next to jongho, yeosang across from him. mingi sat rigid next to san. the only spot left was next to yeosang, across from mingi, and in full view of hongjoong at the head of the table as he leaned close to hear seonghwa speak.

your heart clenched, in worry and spite and the slightest hint of anger, towards who you were unsure. but you decided right then you were in fact only hungry. the knots were born of hunger. not nerves, never nerves, and certainly not for a kim. never for hongjoong, no no no -

hongjoong raised his eyes as the servants announced your presence. jongho and san, yeosang and mingi, park seonghwa, they all stood as you made your way to the empty seat. it was a show respect you were still not quite used to. hongjoong, however, remained seated, his head tilted to the side like a cat as he watched you take a seat. a sly grin tugged at the corner of his lips, his fingertips thrumming on the arm of his chair.

the small gesture left a burning ache in the pit of your stomach.

you should not have expected anything more.

should have, should not have, should have, should not have.

park seonghwa was seated to hongjoong's left, and as soon as the conversation returned, hongjoong's attention seemed to return to the pretty man next to him. park seonghwa in his dark cloak, and his dark hair, and a coldness about him that reminded you of everything you were not.

you should not have paid him mind.

yet, here you were.

jongho spoke of his uneventful visit, collecting taxes on behalf of hongjoong and the crown. he mentioned that he'd spent most of his time in king's landing recovering from his long journey. you'd frowned, glancing sideways at san. san met your gaze - a surprise since he did not do so often - and his brows were furrowed, his eyes almost...pitiful.

it sparked something inside you. you did not wish to be pitied. no, no, no.

your eyes flickered to hongjoong. his grin was a wide thing, his head too close to park seonghwa's. hongjoong's chin rested on his ring-adorned fingers, and his smirk lifted at whatever seonghwa murmured his way. seonghwa's dark eyes glittered like still water under moonlight, and that spark only grew.

your gaze flit between his friends. from jongho speaking to mingi and san. to yeosang inserting commentary here and there. every now and then someone would laugh. park seonghwa would snicker. jongho would shove at mingi's shoulder, his armor clattering, frowning ever-so-often in seonghwa and hongjoong's direction. yeosang would make a pointed remark, and san would raise a brow in utter amusement. hongjoong would watch them whenever his attention was pulled away from park seonghwa, and the adoration in his eyes - you'd never seen that before. not even the night before, when he'd cupped your face in his palms.

there was a fire in the pit of your stomach that had been lit many many many moons ago. a monster that lived there that you coaxed all those sleepless nights and restless mornings. it reared its head, roared something wicked, and the heaviness in your heart only grew tenfold. here you sat, adorned in red and black, knowing you'd given hongjoong what he wanted, perhaps in desperation or perhaps for other reasons, and you'd allowed yourself to become something you never wanted to be, only to sit at the head of the table as an outsider still. always made to remain a stranger peering on.

~.~.~.~.~

in the courtyard, you found park seonghwa.

you knew you'd find him there, as he had told hongjoong as much, whispered it sweetly, his eyes glittering, and waved everyone off before striding out the dining hall. when hongjoong dismissed everyone else, you'd merely bowed at hongjoong. he smiled at you, and the smile was a soft thing, kind almost, as he touched your arm.

"i shall see you for supper."

it felt more like a demand than anything.

but he left before you could respond, a flourish of robes and blond hair, beckoning for jongho and san to join his side, yeosang and mingi in tow as they reassumed their positions as kingsguard. you were left alone once more, watching them go.

you meant to return to your chambers, or go to the library.

instead, you'd headed to the courtyard.

park seonghwa sat on the very same bench you and san had your last tearful moments, and the memory only fed the growing beast that lived within you.

even under the sweltering sun of king's landing, seonghwa remained unwavering, cold. pretty. you understood then, why hongjoong wanted such a creature. you always knew he had an affinity for the unattainable. you'd feared for seonghwa, when you first caught hongjoong's distraction. you still feared for him. despite everything. you feared for what hongjoong meant to do with someone who looked so delicate, but, you feared what would become of you more.

that fear, you knew, would make you wicked, and to think after all these years, you'd fell to that fear at long last.

you did not fear the gods, or death, or the prince of the seven kingdoms. you feared what was to become of you. you feared that you would be damned to the same fate as the mad king's queen. you feared you liked someone who cared for another, and you would be punished for it. you feared you would become worse than you already were.

you feared the power park seonghwa could one day hold over your head, like a guillotine.

"surely my liege would like to take a seat?" seonghwa voice was soft, gentle almost, but his dark eyes flit to you, unyielding unlike his demeanor.

the beast at the pit of your stomach thrashed.

you stepped away from the shadows of the flower bushes, but you did not take a seat. you merely stood an arm's length from the bench, your gaze set upon seonghwa. he tilted his head up to peer at you, pieces of his dark hair obscured his sparkling eyes. he looked at you with a curiosity you could only compare to that of a toddler catching sight of the mundane parts of the world for the first time. pretty eyes that could capture anyone.

you were not jealous, but you were the future sovereign of the seven kingdoms. you would be delegated to nothing else, and you would be damned if you allowed park seonghwa to be the one to yield any power over you. if anyone were to condemn you to your death, it would be prince hongjoong or yourself. not this pretty, naive, foolish northerner.

"'liege'?" you frowned, repeating your old title. "surely you have not forgotten your place here, lord seonghwa?"

seonghwa's brows raised. you held his gaze. where you expected amusement, as you would have received in return from the likes of hongjoong or yeosang, you received a small nod as seonghwa rose to his feet, rounding the bench.

you held your gaze, feet planted, watched as he stood in front of you.

seonghwa bowed, and it was no half-bow made to mock you, no. it was full and respectful and honorable. you'd heard of the northern honor, even back in sunspear, but to face it in such circumstances? it boiled your blood in ways you could not articulate.

you watched as seonghwa straightened, holding your gaze all the while, and said, tone steady, respectful, "forgive me, your grace."

"have you?" you said, ignoring his apology, dropping all pretext. perhaps, you meant to intimidate the man, but you could tell he would not allow it. that fed the ugly beast inside you more than you'd cared to admit.

lord seonghwa's brows furrowed, "i do not understand, your grace?"

"have you forgotten your place?"

seonghwa's frown deepened, "i have no place here."

were you someone else, or truly a product of king's landing, you may have continued in this riddled conversation. but you could not.

you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "do not insult me." you said, "i am not a fool, and i should hope that neither are you. we both know why i am here, so let's push pleasantries and riddles aside."

seonghwa stared at you, an intense look that seemed to bore straight through you.

"and here i believed you did not care much for him," seonghwa's voice was musical, despite his words.

"i don't care for anyone," you said through clenched teeth, "but my place is at hongjoong's side. you must be out of your mind if you ever believed i would not care about that."

"and i said i have no place here," seonghwa said, "winterfell is my home."

"yet you are here," you stepped towards him, lowering your voice, "you let him into your bed."

"do you think i could have denied him?" seonghwa's words were quick. he gritted his teeth, "that i could ever deny a prince?"

that brought you pause.

seonghwa's eyes held something there, something you'd seen in your own reflection after you'd met with the king that first night. something you'd seen in your own reflection in steaming bathwater just this morning. it was a look that curled under your skin, that would not leave you. it would live with you, you knew, if you did not acknowledge it, understand it.

your heart ached for him, the way it had when you'd seen hongjoong first lay eyes on seonghwa. the way it had when hongjoong told you of the first time he used his dragon's fire on a little girl who had suffered at the hands of his father.

but you played the game for too long in this godsforsakened city to let yourself falter, despite the tightness in your chest, despite every bit of your conscience clawing at you to withdraw, to hold space for empathy. you bit out, "yes, you could have. he only beds willing participants, does he not?"

you would never forget his face then as he nodded at your question.

lord seonghwa's dark eyes flashed under the midday sun. cold steel against starless night sky. "i often wondered what you were like. hongjoong spoke of you sometimes...afterwards. your fury and your beauty. your sharp tongue." he said, "he spoke highly of you."

"you don't think i deserve it?" you asked, with another roll of your eyes.

"no, i do. i think you deserve him," seonghwa spoke each syllable with the precision of a blade against flesh. "you were made for each other."

the beast inside you roared. whether it was in glee or anger you had no clue.

you crossed your arms over your chest and said, "forget your place again, and i shall have you thrown in the dragon's pit. then, " you stepped closer, until you were mere inches from seonghwa's face, "i will have your ravaged body hung from the walls of king's landing for all to see. do you understand?"

"of course," seonghwa bowed his head, though his dark eyes remained narrowed. his pause was too long, your title venomous, "your grace."

you spun on your heels, marching away.

mingi stood at the entrance to the garden, straightening when he met your gaze. his eyes softened. he looked as at you as if you hung the moon and stars, but all you did was tear it down. all you did was allow seonghwa to haunt you, despite everything. your heart slammed against your ribs.

seonghwa was right, and that was the worst part. you were made for each other, you and hongjoong, and you did not know if you'd be able to reconcile with the fact no matter how long you lived.

~.~.~.~.~

father is ill. wooyoung believes it to be poison. y/n, i think this it. i don't think he'll recover from this.

you watched the letter crumble and curl into itself in the fire, your heart in your throat.

mingi cleared his throat.

you turned, and he fiddled with his fingers for a moment, before he stepped closer. his armor clinked lightly in the quiet library.

"is it bad news?" his deep voice was quiet. too kind for what you've been doing to him.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, merely nodding. mingi reached then, and you could catch every moment of hesitation in his movements. every emotion that fought for a place in his expression. he reached out and he placed a hand on your cheek. you froze.

not out of want or fear, but because it was clear as day from the way his gaze remained so soft, and his touch softer, from the grim set of his lips, that mingi did not just have a small liking for you. he adored you. and he was willing to touch you, despite your standing, despite his friendship with hongjoong, and you'd encouraged it for your own gain, and it has accumulated into this moment, and you should have stopped him in his tracks.

but yunho's jagged writing remained etched at the forefront of your thoughts. your father was dying, yunho would no doubt take his place, the change of hand would mean instability, and you did not know how the mad king would respond. you needed this still. you needed mingi's loyalty still, despite the means. you needed mingi to remain useful to you.

you closed your eyes when he fully pressed his warm, calloused palm to your cheek, allowing yourself to melt into his touch long enough to hear his breath stutter.

mingi said, face flushed, "i am sorry, y/n."

before you could respond, someone cleared their throat.

you both jumped apart.

maester haechan stood at the foot of the first row of bookshelves, fingers clutched around his maester chains, his eyes wide. the shock quickly morphed into a mischievous glint.

"your grace," he said, voice low and steady, mocking. even his bow held a mocking flourish. maester haechan smiled wide, "i apologize for the interruption. i will return later."

mingi blinked. your heart raced.

~.~.~.~.~

"oh sweet thing," yeosang met your gaze with a cat-like curiosity. "you are quite the mess."

you'd glared at him. his eyes flit to your hands, likely to the skin around your nails you'd picked at. you dropped them to your sides, covering them with your robes.

you were sat in the practice yard, wooden sword in your lap. you had come here to clear your mind with mindless sword swinging and fresh air, but this was king's landing. fresh air never existed, and you were terrible at the sword. you ended up pacing the training grounds before your feet had grown weary and you sat with your back against the brick wall at the far side of the grounds. when hidden from the courtyard doors and windows like this, you felt less confined by the red keep. you could also hide from your septa as she had made it quite clear to you that you were not meant to practice the sword any longer, as the spouse to the heir, and you did not care to hear her nag you on top of everything else.

yeosang was your designated kingsguard today, and you were grateful, despite the way yeosang's gaze bore into you, that yeosang before you meant you would not have to see mingi. yeosang remained quiet as you smacked at the training post with uncoordinated blows before you began pacing. you'd expected a sly comment, but he only stood guard and left you in silence, though his eyes remained fixed on your every movement.

it was infinitely better than having to face mingi. you hadn't seen mingi since the incident in the library. hongjoong had spent the night elsewhere, and you'd buried away the jealous monster inside you for the night. it was subdued anyway, worried more for what maester haechan would say, and, more importantly, to whom. worried hongjoong stayed away because he knew. your mind wandered too often to the essence of nightshade you still carried. it remained in the deepest crevices of your chambers, where you knew hongjoong, the servants, no one really, would bother to look. you'd considered inviting maester haechan for a civil discussion and pouring the essence into his wine. you'd dreamt of what it would look like. maester haechan's choked sounds. his lifeless eyes. the way you'd call for the royal doctors, bewildered. you'd imagined it all, and had not slept that night because of it.

besides, maester haechan was no fool. he'd made sure to stay out of your sight ever since, busying himself in mundane tasks far from your chambers.

yeosang stood beside where you sat, leaning heavily against the brick wall you were pressed against. you glanced up at him, and he met your gaze, peering down at you over his nose, and you felt as if he could read every thought running through your head. he opened his mouth.

"shut up," you mumbled, cutting him off.

yeosang laughed, the sound a musical thing.

you scowled up at him, and you said, "do you enjoy watching me suffer, ser yeosang?"

"very much so, your grace," yeosang said.

you frowned. "why do you hate me so?"

"hate is a strong word," yeosang grinned, but it was not amused. his eyes no longer held his usual twinkle of mischief. his smile was a sharp thing, a weapon in and of itself, that left your stomach turning. "as a matter of fact, a more apt description for my opinion of you would be something just a step below hatred."

you'd blinked up at him, craning your neck, head resting on the brick wall. yeosang was framed by the cloudy skies of king's landing, an apt backdrop for such a frightfully stoic sight. the hairs at the back of your neck stood at end in the silence. the atmosphere had taken a turn for something more serious. something almost sinister. frankly, you were taken aback by his honesty.

"i warned you, did i not?" yeosang spoke suddenly, and despite his quiet musical voice, and the casual stance he took, leaned heavily against the brick wall, his words draped over your shoulders like the fur cloaks from the north, heavy. the weight of the world. "to tie up your loose ends?"

you dragged a hand over your face. "i do not wish to hear you speak in pretty riddles any longer, kang. if you have something to say, then speak your mind. i am tired of your questions."

yeosang knelt then, the sudden movement making his armor clink and clang all around you. he squatted before you, his eyes level with yours, his elbows resting on his spread knees. yeosang's expression was cold and hard. his eyes grew dark. he looked...furious. you could not pinpoint why he would be. you were fascinated by the fury though - you'd never expected kang yeosang to show you such an emotion. he'd only come close once before, when you'd mentioned his mother on your name day long, long ago. his fury was genuine. alive. it was searing summer heat, and the burn of the sun against your scalp, your skin, and it was fascinating to face such a thing once more, after so long without it. especially from the likes of kang yeosang.

his musical voice remained low, pretty still, a juxtaposition to the way he set his unwavering fury upon you.

he spoke each word with a precision only a kang was capable of, "i know what you've done to mingi."

you'd blinked at him, breaking away from his heavy gaze. you started, "i do not -"

"look at me."

you'd whipped your head to the side, stomach curling at his commanding tone, bewildered by his audacity. anger sprung to the forefront of your mind, "excuse me?"

yeosang leaned close, and his gaze flit down your face for a moment, lingering here and there, on your eyes, nose, lips, before he met your gaze once more with a more controlled fury. you hoped, for his sake, it was because he realized his mistake.

he said, "song mingi does not deserve to be used as pawn. this is something we've all agreed upon. me, hongjoong, san, even jongho. he is not a part of this, because he is kind, and he is better than the rest of us. i should have accounted for the fact that you'd spent the better part of your time bewitching mingi and playing him as you saw fit."

"i have done no such thing."

"oh," yeosang's breathy laugh was a warm whisper against your cheek, "you are a terrible liar."

the world stilled. he looked at you as if he was waiting for a denial, waiting for you to dig your grave deeper. confirm a thought that lingered in his expression, one you could not decipher. however, you knew it would not work. you knew as well as he did what you had done, and you knew you could not fool kang yeosang. you did not wish to, at the moment, for some reason.

"you said the same of me once." you whispered, "that you'd all agreed i was too sweet to be a player in your games."

before your wedding, yeosang had escorted you back to your chambers after meeting with the queen and said those exact words to you with a sly grin on his face. they held counsel and decided the fates of the wards of the red keep as they saw fit, it seemed, and the thought made your fingers curl into fists at your side.

you asked, "what changed?"

yeosang shrugged, his voice soft as velvet, yet sharp as a sword, "perhaps everyone realized they were wrong about you. you're not sweet. not with the way you've wrapped mingi around your pretty fingers."

you'd flushed at yeosang's pointed drawl. you did not deny it this time either. you said, "and you all haven't done the same?"

yeosang's eyes darkened, "we are not using him."

you held his gaze, but something inside you trembled as you said, "will you tell him, then?"

your voice sounded small, even to your own years, and you despised yourself for it. you wanted to remain nonchalant.

"mingi? or do you mean..." yeosang's eyes narrowed, "hongjoong?"

two people now, two possible culprits, possessed valuable information over your head. two people could speak to hongjoong. would he believe a lowly maester of a small library? perhaps not. but yeosang? kang yeosang? hongjoong would believe yeosang, and it was a terror-filled thought. you dread mingi knowing what you were doing to him, but somehow hongjoong discovering your plans was...worse.

yeosang let out a breathy laugh once more as he said, "i do not hate you that much, y/n."

you are reminded, once more, of how aware hongjoong's closest circle was of his temperament. yet they did nothing. they would always do nothing. they were the same as him, then, were they not?

yeosang sat fully on the ground then, no longer hovering over you, but your heart still slammed against your ribs as if he remained a looming presence. yeosang's armor clinked and scratched against the brick wall, and the sound echoed between you both.

"do you think he will...?" you trailed off, frowning. you did not know what hongjoong would do, frankly. he'd spoken so carefully to you, and held you as if you were the most delicate thing to ever grace this world, and he drew baths for you, and sometimes he pressed a hand to your elbow or your back when nerves crept up your spine at dinners with his father, sometimes he thread his fingers through yours in public appearances. sometimes, he drew baths for you before he left for his schedules. yet he still disappeared some evenings. he still ignored you at dinners. you still did not know how he would react.

you still did not know prince hongjoong.

"i am not sure," yeosang shook his head. "prince hongjoong cares deeply for mingi."

he cared deeply for everyone but you, it seemed. you pressed your palms to your eyes then, dragging your hair out of your face. you breathed, "i care for mingi too."

"oh, do you?" the sarcasm in his voice was rough.

"i never wanted to -" you met his gaze, truly meaning every word, "i don't want to hurt him."

yeosang's dark eyes flickered over your face, before he nodded to himself and stood, brushing the dirt from his pants and his armor. he sighed, "i think we both know you have gone far beyond that point, sweet thing."

~.~.~.~.~

you were shocked to see hongjoong sat on your bed, his shirt unbuttoned, and his neck craned, as he leaned back on his hands and stared up at the ceiling, his legs spread. his chest rose and fell at a slow rhythm. you could not help but watch, frozen at the entryway, as he rolled his head to the side and met your gaze, his blonde hair falling from his bun and into his eyes. his throat bobbed as his gaze fell upon you, his expression unreadable.

this was, you realized, the first time you'd both been alone with each other since that night. yes, he called his servants to draw baths for you and only left when you woke to tell you of the fact. yes, he pressed gentle touches to your back, your arm, throughout the day during royal engagements, but neither of you had truly spoken to each other.

he'd either spend the night elsewhere, or he'd enter your chambers late at night smelling of alcohol and incense and someone else as he used to, and you'd both pretend to sleep so as not to speak to the other.

"what are you doing?" you spoke, stepping fully into your chambers. your voice rang too loud between you both.

hongjoong's eyes followed you, dark and heavy and watchful, his open posture remaining a calm juxtaposition to his expression. still, you noticed his fingers clench around the sheets - your sheets.

he drawled, "relax, my love."

you flinched at the term of endearment.

hongjoong laughed, a breathy thing, as he threw his head back.

you advanced on him then, though you were unsure why. perhaps it was the circumstances - yeosang's words and knowing maester haechan could open his mouth and yunho's words lingering over your head, everything a makeshift guillotine that could come down at any moment. your footsteps bounced off the walls as you stomped towards him.

he merely craned his neck as you came closer, eyes fixed on you, relaxed facade still so, so present.

"do not," you stopped in front of his spread legs, frowning down at him, "do not tell me what to do."

he tilted his head, amusement dripping from his lopsided smile, blonde hair a soft gold in the dim candlelight. he said, "you're quite wound up, my love. i am merely wondering why."

"stop calling me that." you gritted your teeth, "and get off my bed."

hongjoong's chuckle was low. he looked up at you through fallen strands of blonde hair, "make me. my. love."

your heart pounded against your ribs, but the dread at the pit of your stomach was worse. the anger, the fact that he hadn't spoken to you candidly since that night, the way things were tumbling all around you and you had no control anymore of anything - it made throw your hands in the air. you wanted so badly to make him shut up, to wrap your fingers around his throat. maybe kill him?

the thought was blasphemous, and when you met hongjoong's gaze, you felt as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. your breath grew tight, heavy, in your chest. it was guilt and want and anger and jealousy. there was always jealousy. you could admit that here, to yourself, in the comforts of your chambers.

you dragged your hands through your hair, and under hongjoong's scrutinizing gaze you felt exposed. vulnerable.

you hated it.

warm, calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist. you realized you were shaking. hongjoong pulled you down. it was a light tug, and you could have counteracted it, but you allowed it. you allowed it.

you hated that too.

you landed on the mattress and immediately shoved him away. he let you.

you hated that the most.

you said, "why are you here? why are you - why won't you - why did you -"

why are you here? why won't you leave me alone? why did you touch me? why did i develop feelings for you? why did he return to seonghwa's bed? you could not allow yourself to say any of those words aloud because they held too much truth, too much power.

you were breathing heavily, each intake of breath a stabbing wound, and you pressed your palm to your mouth so as to muffle the sound.

he reached out once more. you smacked his hand away. your voice was a rough whisper, the words difficult to expel, as you repeated, "why are you here?"

"i was worried," he spoke softly, and his gaze held a softness in them that you do not see often.

you did not hate it as much as you should have.

"i am not yours to visit as you please when you grow bored," you said, "now leave me be."

he reached for you once more, and you scooted away from his touch.

hongjoong said, "i thought you were not afraid of me."

"i am not," you said.

you were. you were afraid that everything was crashing down around you, and hongjoong would know it soon. you were terrified of what he would do to you. or worse, if he didn't do a thing and let you live with it.

and, of course, he knew you were lying. his eyes grew so gentle then, you wondered briefly if you were asleep, dreaming this hongjoong up from the deepest recesses of your mind.

"i want to believe you so badly, y/n," he said.

"why are you here?" you repeated. you meant it in many, many ways. why did he return to your chambers? why did he look at you as if he cared for you? why was he here, in your thoughts, in your heart? how did he get there? you grit your teeth, and said, with as much venom as you could, "why are you here when you won't stay?"

it was the closest to the truth you could allow yourself to get with hongjoong. it was all you could allow yourself, without feeling absolutely powerless in his presence.

he reached out.

this time you let him.

he pressed his thumb to your cheekbone, dragging it across your thumb. it was a featherlight touch. "i am not meant to stay anywhere for too long," he said quietly, "but know that you are mine, and i am yours. do not doubt that, y/n."

"i do not want to be yours."

"but you want me to be yours?"

you didn't answer. you pressed your knees closer.

hongjoong laughed as he cupped your cheek, the rings on his fingers cold ice against your skin, "you want me to stay?"

you looked away.

his fingers remained your skin, your hair, along your jaw. his thumb brushed over your lips. he said, "you want me to hold you?"

his cold ring pressed roughly into the skin under your jaw, "you want me to kiss you and tell you i love you?"

he twirled a strand of hair around his fingers, before he tugged at it. your eyes flit to his, and hongjoong kept his dark gaze fixed on you. "you want me to make you feel safe?"

your heart slammed against your chest, the sharp painful breaths returning. hongjoong's other hand sat on your arm, his thumb brushing the burn scar there. it felt like a trap, like hongjoong was one condescending question away from telling you he knew of everything you had done, and he would make you pay for it.

you said, "i want you to be genuine with me."

"my love," hongjoong laughed, and he leaned so close you could count his eyelashes. his blonde hair tickled your cheek as he reached up and cradled your face in his hands. his eyes held a shine to them, manic in its amusement, "i have been nothing but genuine with you. i always have been."

the thought was harrowing. it broke something in you.

tears sprung to your eyes then, and you hated yourself for it. you hated it when hongjoong cooed and pulled you closer, pressing your face to the crook of his neck. you struggled against his grip for a moment, until he murmured, "i've got you, darling."

you hated that you wrapped your arms around him and let him hold you. that you clung to him, and you were reminded of how you could count on one hand how often you were held this way since you came to the red keep.

you hated that you allowed yourself to relax as he stroked your back. his touch dragged down your spine, and he held you as if you were a fragile as the flowers in the courtyards, as if you were not harboring a monster inside of you. his fingers gathered in your hair, and his rings were cold against your skin, but when you looked up at him, he smiled down at you, his expression a harmonious mixture of soft and sweet and dark. a chill ran down your spine, even as your heart skipped. hongjoong whispered, "come here."

he held his arms out as he scooted back to the head of the bed, your fingers entangled in his. you listened.

you wiped at your eyes with the heels of your hands, and he merely hummed don't as he pulled you towards him, as you fell back into his chest.

~.~.~.~.~

"i drew you a bath," hongjoong murmured.

you wanted to say more to him. you wanted him to know that your moment of vulnerability did not stem from him. it was not for him. it would not happen again.

you wanted to say more.

but you merely rolled out of bed, leaving him still sprawled in your sheets, and you entered the bathroom.

kim black and red draped over the hook as you entered. the bath steam made the room a blur. you slipped off your clothes, and entered the bath. all you could see was kim black and red, and this distinct feeling that you'd failed. you'd done something. everything was crumbling.

a light knock had you jolt in the tub. you looked over, sinking into the bathwater when you saw hongjoong leaning against the entryway to the bath, his blond hair pulled pack into a tight bun.

he said, "the king has called for a feast. he seems in a good mood."

that explained the kim robes.

the sound of the dripping faucet, and the heat of the steam, filled the silence. you settled lower into the water, until heat engulfed you up to your neck. hongjoong merely watched you through the steam. your stomach flipped at the feeling of his eyes on you.

finally, he said, "i will stay."

you wanted to say, no you will not.

instead, you said, "okay."

~.~.~.~.~

yeosang's brows were furrowed when you stepped into the hall. mingi stood by his side, his mouth pressed into a frown. it seemed as if they've stopped speaking as soon as you arrived. the beat of silence was broken when hongjoong pushed himself from his position leaning against the wall, extending a ring-adorned hand to you. his black and red robes were quite extravagant, his blonde hair pulled into a neat bun. he looked the opposite of how he did the night before. it reminded you of how undignified you had been.

you took his hand.

the walk to the feasting hall was quiet, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. the king often called upon the red keep to attend extravagant feasts whenever he was in a good mood. often those good moods were followed by jousting tourneys or a public execution by dragonfire in the courtyard. it often depended on the king's mad whims.

the king rose when you were both announced, raising his wine glass. his nails were claw-like, the queen was nowhere in sight, and the nobles lining the tables looked wary.

"alas, my beloved son is here with his lovely spouse. come, come, take a seat. today is a day of celebration!"

he raised his wine to the nobles of the red keep. the king's counsel - lord kang, lord choi, and lord song - stood to the king's right side as hongjoong took a stand at the king's left and you next to hongjoong.

the king pat hongjoong's back as he called, "here is a toast to new and better beginnings for not only the kingdom of dorne, but to the seven kingdoms."

you'd blinked at that, surprised. you felt hongjoong's fingers tighten around yours. you looked to him, and his eyes seemed stern, careful. he shook his head slightly.

"come now, raise your glasses!" the king turned his wine glass to lord kang, and they clinked glasses, drinking together. lord kang smiled brightly. it reminded you of yeosang's smiles.

"hongjoong, my son!"

hongjoong raised his glass.

the king turned to you. your heart dropped at the way his eyes fixed upon you. he said, "come now, my child. a toast to your father is in order."

your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach, yunho's words of poison and sickness jumping to the forefront of your mind. no, you thought.

no, no, no -

"let us toast to our dear lord jeong. at long last, he's had the forethought to die." the king called to the crowd, "in his sleep, they say. a rather pathetic death, if i may so myself, but it seems with the dornish lord now at rest, we may move forward in negotiating peace with the new young lord jeong."

you could feel the eyes on you, gauging your reaction, and all you could manage to do was stand there and watch as the red keep toasted, as they celebrated the death of your father. you thought of yunho and wooyoung and your mother, and how you should have been there mourning with them. yet here you were, celebrating his death instead. you did not belong to dorne, not any longer, not like this.

"did you know?"

you looked at hongjoong long and hard, as you both sat at the head table, watching everyone eat and drink.

hongjoong still held your hand as he said, "i found out this morning."

you let him hold your hand still. you were terrified that if he let go, you'd drift away and you would not be able to return.

~.~.~.~.~

a tourney. the king decided to hold a celebratory tourney that afternoon. the chois offered to host, of course.

you needed to meet yeonjun, see if your brothers had sent you any letters. you needed to expel the heavy weight on your chest. you needed to get away.

yet, here you were, attending a tourney, watching as hongjoong defeated opponent, as his father hooted and cheered, and the people seemed to enjoy that their king was in good spirits for once.

your father is dead.

hongjoong knocked a man from his horse so hard, the man's helmet flew across the field. the kingsguard lined the back of the king's stands - he barely made public appearances anymore so it was quite apt that he'd have so many kingsguard around him - and mingi looked at you with worry in his eyes that you could not stand.

your father is dead.

the mountain stood next to mingi, a beast of man that brought fear down your spine. his stringy hair peaked through his helmet. you could swear he met your gaze then. you looked away quickly.

your father is dead, your father is dead, your father is dead.

hongjoong waved his jousting sword in victory, his final opponent slumped over in the corner. dead, you knew.

hongjoong galloped back and forth through the tourney field, taking in the cheers. he stopped, then, not in front of you, but in front of park seonghwa.

the crowd grew hushed as hongjoong laid a crown of winter roses, blue with frost, on seonghwa's lap. it slid from his jousting sword onto seonghwa's lap with a soft rustle that was heard throughout the silent tourney field. your septa had spoken of a tradition in tourneys, one that holds that the victor in a tournament may select anyone present and name them the regent of love and beauty, crowning them with a wreath of flowers and dedicating the their victory to them. never once had hongjoong done such a thing before. until now. until today. until the king called for a tournament to celebrate your father's death.

you sat frozen, even as the king cackled and hooted. even as your gaze flickered to familiar faces. a flicker of fury curled over jongho's face, and you knew then that this was not just a slight to you. hongjoong's actions would hold consequences, and you would suffer for it. it was clear from the way hongjoong grinned, the way he walked so easily, that he did not care what his actions entailed for you. he did not care. your father was dead, and he did not care, and you were not of king's landing, of westeros, either. you belonged nowhere, with no one.

choi san met your gaze, over the crowd, and his smile was a sad, careful thing. it was the first time he'd truly acknowledged you in a long, long time. it was a smile that reminded you of chaste kisses in a hidden courtyard, and hope, and then hope lost.

your father was dead, and you worried that soon you would be too.

~.~.~.~.~

you shoved hongjoong as soon as the door to your chambers clambered shut behind you both.

hongjoong grabbed your wrists - his grip was not tight or painful, but it was firm. a reminder of who you were and who he was to you.

"you're a fool," you bit out. you shook his hands off your wrists and gestured beyond him, to the red keep. "why did you do it?"

hongjoong stepped closer to you, but you stood your ground, eyes locked upon his.

he matched your tone, his eyes dark, his jaw tight, and he said, "mingi, y/n? of all the people at the red keep, you chose mingi?"

you froze then, in horror and guilt, and it felt as though the beast in your stomach was clawing its way to your heart, out your chest, and you let out a staggered breath as you searched his gaze. you wondered how much he knew. you wondered what he would do to you. you would have your answer.

you tried to push him away then, but he crowded your space, until your back hit a wall, your breath leaving you.

"mingi is my brother. he is...he is kind, y/n," hongjoong's eyes held a dark fury he never directed towards you. he clasped his fingers around your jaw, forcing you to look at him. his grip was not painful yet, but it was angry. "you could have ruined him."

"so you care about him?" you scowled, "you come pleading the case for a man who is not even your brother by blood, but what of me? you have made vows to me before the gods? what becomes of me? what of my ruination?"

your voice was shrill as you raised your voice, your shout echoing all around you. hongjoong's grip under your jaw tightened, his rings digging into your skin. it pinched at your skin. this time it hurt.

"i do not care what you do behind closed doors, as i've told you time and time again, but the tourney? park seonghwa?" you spat his name. his fingers squeezed tighter, and your breath caught in your throat, fear and something else, something akin to grief, curling under your skin. "you've condemned me in front of everyone, hongjoong. and even before all this you knew. you knew my father was dead, but you let me face that news on my own."

"i do not owe you anything. not my love nor my sympathies," hongjoong leaned so close, you could feel his breath against your cheek, his dark eyes blown out in madness, in anger, and in the very same guilt you'd seen in him that night. he said, "i am a kim. i owe you nothing."

"kims are not gods," you spat. "without your dragons, you are just like the rest of us. you will bleed red like the rest of us."

he yanked you closer by his grip on your jaw.

"is that a threat?"

"will you kill me if i say yes?"

his gaze flicked over your expression, your defiance, your anger, your fear, and his brows furrowed. he shoved you up against the wall. for a moment, you thought he'd kill you then and there. then he released you, retreating back. you blinked after him.

"leave mingi alone." his voice was controlled and quiet, his simmering anger barely detectable if you hadn't known what to listen for. "remove him from your schemes immediately. i know you have him do your bidding, y/n."

you remained with your back to the wall, your fingers curling around your jaw. you wondered, briefly, if he had left bruises. the thought that hongjoong was so close to knowing of yeonjun and your letters to your brother - it made your heart race harder.

"and if i do not?" you asked, teeth clenched. your other hand brushed over the old burn scar on your arm, squeezing it to find some semblance of control in this situation. hongjoong's eyes tracked the movement, his jaw tightening at your words.

hongjoong's eyes darkened when he met your gaze once more, "then i will do it for you, y/n. you will not like my methods. believe me."

you grit your teeth, but before you could answer, hongjoong turned away with a flurry of royal red and black robes and blond hair.

he left, slamming the door behind him. you slid down the wall holding you up, fingers curling around your jaw.

"fuck," you breathed.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

~.~.~.~.~

you were no stranger to grief. it was an old friend, really, but this time it crept up on you like a predator crept upon prey.

the mad king's trials had become weekly affairs, despite his occasional refusal to appear in public himself. that morning was cold and dreary, and the king sent a messenger in his place.

you sat beside hongjoong in the courtyard, front and center, in place of the king and queen. the whispers prior to the tourney had been quiet ever since hongjoong burned lord lim on your behalf, but it seemed the whispers had returned tenfold since the tourney. you did not expect any less. you doubted hongjoong would burn another important noble alive to preserve your honor when his attention was elsewhere anyway, and you figured everyone else at court believed the same. san, choi jongho, and park seonghwa had left for their homes at daybreak, and you had not heard from irene's little birds as to why they'd all left so quickly. the nobles whispered of your inability to keep the prince happy, of the slight against you at the tourney. they whispered aloud of what would happen next - an affair and your uselessness.

you sat beside hongjoong, ignoring the whispers, watching as guards dragged in a struggling figure. the king's messenger unfurled his scroll, rising to his feet.

the guards tied the struggling figure to the scorched execution post. the messenger called out his crimes, decreed by the king - a traitor to the crown and to westeros - and then the guard pulled the sack from the person's head.

your heart fell, then, to the pit of your stomach at the familiar face.

yeonjun.

it was yeonjun.

in that moment, you heard nothing, your ears ringing as yeonjun's twisted, defiant expression filled your vision. one of the executioners took the stand, green fire jars in his hand, and you could not close your eyes.

yeonjun's defiant eyes, usually so playful and amused, met yours through the crowd. he smiled.

fingers slipped through yours. your ears still rang, and the cheering of the crowd sounded far away as green fire filled your blurred vision.

you pulled away from the scene before you long enough to recognize that hongjoong was holding your hand. he did not look at you, his eyes fixed on the execution, green flames illuminating his dark features.

yeonjun was dead. your sole method of communication with your brothers was dead.

your father was dead.

what would become of you now?

~.~.~.~.~

you gnawed at your bottom lip as you both approached your chambers. the courtyard and yeonjun's burnt flesh was long behind you, but you could not shake it from your head. you knew it was your fault.

it had to be.

all of this - somehow it felt as if you were failing, as if you'd lost the high you were on earlier and everything was crashing around you and you were to blame for it all.

you were no stranger to grief, but as you and hongjoong walked through the empty halls in silence, the smell of burnt flesh still lingering on in your nose, on your clothes, your hair, yeosang leading the way, and mingi walking behind you - hongjoong only allowed mingi to guard you if he was with you, and you hadn't had a moment alone with him since the night maester haechan had walked in on you both - a wave of nausea and dread washed over you.

"he was only a barkeep," your voice was quiet, even to your own ears.

hongjoong glanced briefly in your direction. he said, "a barkeep who committed treason."

he kept walking as you came to a halt.

"a dornish barkeep," your voice bounced off the walls. hongjoong spun to face you, his black robes fluttering around him like tendrils of smoke. yeosang met your gaze over hongjoong's shoulder and shook his head at you. you ignored him. "my father is dead, and now you people are persecuting a dornish barkeep? do you think i am an idiot, hongjoong? when will i end up on that post?"

hongjoong glowered, "was he your lover?"

you blinked, "is that all that matters to you?"

"i know you've gone to visit him and his bar, y/n," hongjoong snapped, his fists clenched at his sides. "i knew for a while, but i thought perhaps your reasons were innocent. then i learned what you've been doing with mingi, and i thought it was mingi. it's hard for me to be angry with mingi. you must have known that though. but then. then i learned you'd started going to that bar alone."

you'd frozen at the mention of mingi, hyperaware that he stood behind you. mingi did not deserve this, you knew. however, the implications in hongjoong's voice, the fact that he could ever dare voice such a thing to you, let alone in front of yeosang and mingi - it fueled the fire that always burned in your chest.

"not too long ago, you burned a lord alive for saying the exact thing you are implicating me of right now, hongjoong."

"because i knew it was not true then. now i am not so sure."

the fire burned at your insides. you wished to scream at him, to tear the look from his face, and douse that in green fire the same way he had allowed his father to murder yeonjun.

"what of your lovers?" you shouted, your voice dragging through the silence. you hadn't raised your voice in so long, your voice grew gravely, harsh, at the volume. your skin crawled as you advanced on him, "what of all the people you've slept with after you swore yourself to me? shall we burn them alive as well, your grace?"

"y/n, lower your voice." hongjoong's voice was so much quieter than yours, but you did not care. the fire had burst from your stomach, and you no longer wished to quiet yourself. you no longer cared.

"fuck you," you spat. "you are a hypocrite, and you cannot stand to see me happy. that is the truth, hongjoong. my father is dead, by your father's hand for all i know, and the very next day you not only humiliated me in front of the the red keep, but you took away the only protection i have had the misfortune to have in this gods-damned place. your kim protection that you forced upon me when you married me. and now - and now you dare accuse me of adultery when you come to our chambers smelling of another more often than not? you were right, hongjoong. you are not like your father. you are much, much worse."

your chest rose and fell, your breathing unsteady. the silence that followed your shouts felt like a heavy fur blanket, warm and suffocating.

you broke the silence first as you said, "you made me believe i could trust you. perhaps i am a fool for ever thinking such a thing, or for willingly letting you into my bed. but now," you gestured around you, your voice barely louder than a whisper, "but now a war is looming, and you do not fucking care what that means for anyone else, do you?"

hongjoong was a collector of sorts, who liked to have the moon and sun and stars, but he did not think of anything beyond that. that was how gods were, were they not? watching from above, collecting, but never quite caring. they only lived to be worshipped. they believed they could not be touched. the kims were closer to gods than they were to men. you were a fool for ever believing his touches and his drawn baths and his late night talks meant anything. his sweet nothings were just that: nothing.

"the war will not touch you," hongjoong said.

he did not deny that it was looming, he did not address anything else you had said. you wondered briefly what your brothers have decided since your father passed. you felt, once more, in the dark.

"is that all you have to say?" you grit out instead.

"you are mine, y/n, and war will never touch what is mine," hongjoong said, his voice quiet, softer than you expected. as he meant to be comforting. a part of you did feel comforted, while a larger part of you felt everything but. "i understand your treasonous words are born of grief. it's made you unreasonable, and i will let that slide tonight."

frustration clawed at your insides. you said, "i hate you."

"i know," hongjoong's eyes flickered away from your face for a moment as he waved his hand. "yeosang, take y/n to my chambers. they need rest. guard the door. mingi, come with me."

hongjoong stepped around you, and you turned to watch him go. mingi met your eyes with something of an apology in his eyes, brows furrowed in worry, shoulders hunched. hongjoong walked on ahead of him, robes trailing behind him.

you felt a hand on your shoulder. you jumped.

"sorry," yeosang apologized withdrawing his touch. you shook your head. your frustration had clawed its way out of you in the form of tears, and you brushed them away angrily.

"do you still believe he is not a bad person?" your voice shook too much. you despised it.

yeosang did not answer, looking away as if to preserve your dignity. for once, you were grateful for it.

after a beat, you composed yourself enough to straighten yourself out, and you asked, "will he hurt mingi?"

"no," yeosang's response was instantaneous.

you nodded, an inkling of relief settling over you at that reassurance. you knew, deep down, he would not, but you could never be too sure with what you knew of hongjoong. you would not live with yourself if mingi ended up on a post because of you. yeosang trailed along beside you as you both headed to your chambers in silence.

your fingers stilled against the door when yeosang said your name. not your grace. not sweet thing. simply, "y/n."

"yes?"

he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. yeosang's brows furrowed with his internal struggle. you watched for only a moment, but after another moment of silence, you merely pushed your door open and shut it in his face.

~.~.~.~.~

shortly after yeonjun's execution, lord kang resigned as hand of the king.

before drawing your morning bath, you overheard the maids whispering that the mad king had laughed himself into a coughing fit when lord kang had announced his resignation in the throne room early that morning. by some miracle, the mad king had not decided the resignation was call for another execution.

hongjoong had not returned after he asked yeosang to escort you back to your chambers. you hadn't slept until early morning anyway, only to awake to the sound of the maids entering your chambers. your servants hadn't drawn a bath for you in a while, you realized then, as you listened to their hushed whispers. hongjoong was always the one to do it, no matter how late he returned. the thought made you want to crawl out of your skin in both anger and a residual type of grief that grew the more you thought of hongjoong or your father or your brothers or your mother or yeonjun or mingi.

in fact, the maids had left mid-morning, and you'd opened your door to find yeosang still standing guard outside of your room.

you'd blinked at yeosang in confusion.

yeosang blinked back at you, expression unreadable.

"you stayed?"

"i am simply following orders, your grace," his voice curled around your title with a hint of amusement you hadn't heard in quite a while. the familiarity was comforting.

you nodded, rolling your eyes at his tone. you meant to shut the door on him then, but the maid's whispers made you pause, turning to yeosang once more, "i heard lord kang resigned?"

"yes, this morning," yeosang said with a nod, his armor clinking loudly.

"why?"

"there are many reasons he is upset," yeosang shrugged, "one of which being that i am no longer eligible to take his place as lord of casterly rock as i have sworn myself to the kingsguard. he is without an heir now."

"but you'd joined the kingsguard a long while back. why bring the matter up now?"

"it seems my father's sights have changed."

"huh," you laughed at his nonchalance, "would you care to share those new sights with me?"

"lord kang is leaving for casterly rock in the evening." a small smile stretched across his pretty features, genuine in a way you have never seen. "that is all i know, your grace."

you doubted that was all he knew, but you'd nodded anyway. yeosang bowed his head, and you shut the door.

~.~.~.~.~

you are confined to your chambers. hongjoong does not say it aloud, even on the nights he returned to your chambers to clamber into his side of the bed, but you were no longer invited to the throne room or to meals with hongjoong. the servants brought you your meals. the kingsguard assigned to your room would block your way out when you tried to go for a walk or to the library, and they'd say, the prince said you must rest. none of them seemed all too apologetic. you would not recognize them most of the time. whenever you'd see the mountain standing guard, looming and heavily-built, terrifying in his presence, you'd merely shut the door without speaking to him. no one truly scared you at the red keep, but the mountain? he brought chills down your spine. why he had not gone with lord kang was beyond you, but perhaps the king did not mind such a terror in his kingsguard.

sometimes your keeper was yeosang, and on those days you'd open your chamber doors and have a short conversation with him.

oftentimes, it was merely you asking what was going on.

yeosang would shrug in response, or give you a cheeky smile and say, the usual without elaboration.

the days were slow and dull, and you spent more time than not leaning against the barred windows and watching the tiny specks of people go about their day, the bustling of king's landing trickling up to your barred window or sprawled on your bed staring at the high ceilings.

you started counting the days. you hadn't counted much in a while - you used to count your name days, but that was a thing of the past.

~.~.~.~.~

"do you plan to keep me here forever?"

you sat in the middle of your bed, watching as hongjoong stepped into the chambers. the mountain was guarding the door today, his large form darkening the doorway, so you'd spent your day ignoring the goosebumps trickling up your spine whenever you looked towards your chamber doors.

hongjoong kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his robes before he turned to you.

he said, "if that is what you need, then yes."

"what does that mean?"

"it does not concern you."

you scowled, "hongjoong."

hongjoong turned then, to really look at you, and there was a softness there in his expression you did not expect as his eyes flickered over your expression. he always did revel in your anger.

"my father has gone past madness, and your presence will only drive him further into the darkness," hongjoong said, finally. "i am keeping you safe."

you had not known this, and the information made your stomach churn. in your chambers, you did not even have access to irene and her little birds, though you did not wish to alert that network to any watching eyes anyway.

you asked, "by locking me away in your chambers?"

"yes."

he responded so quickly. he was so full of righteousness. you buried the urge to grow angrier. instead, you spoke into the quiet silence, trying for softness.

"you could just send me away, you know," you said, "instead of locking me away like this."

hongjoong stiffened, his fingers curling around the back of his chair.

slowly, you pushed yourself from your bed and stepped closer to him, until you were an arms-length from him. you knew he would not agree, yet somehow you felt you could convince him, somehow. or at least ensure that you would not remain imprisoned here, delegated to the same fate as his mother, to yet another cage. you wished he would set you free, for once.

you pressed your hand to the one he had clenched around the back of his chair, his rings cold against your palms. he did not flinch away, and hope flickered in your heart. for a moment, he leaned into your touch, his gaze settling over your eyes, your nose, your lips.

"send me to -" you swallowed, suddenly nervous, "send me away from king's landing. to sunspear, even?"

hongjoong pressed his other hand over your fingers, wrapping his hands around yours. his eyes remained fixed on your interlocked hands.

you spoke hurriedly, your voice quiet so as not to disturb the tension between you both, "it's safe there. my brothers won't hurt me. you can trust them."

hongjoong let go of your hand then, turning to fully face you. his fingers fell entirely from your grasp. the hope you felt was long gone, kindling for the fire in your heart.

he reached up and pressed his fingertips to your cheeks, a gentle, feather-like touch. he brushes his thumb along your jaw as his eyes flickered between yours once more. eyes, nose, lips, dark eyes like scorched earth.

he said, "how do i know that?"

"hongjoong-"

hongjoong cut your off with a shake of his head, "you are not dornish, y/n. not anymore. you are a kim. you are safest here. with me and my dragons."

he left then, shutting the bath door behind him.

~.~.~.~.~

a fortnight passed when you opened the door to check who was your keeper today. the sun had set and your dinner was already delivered by the servants. they'd entered your chambers while you'd been pacing, and you knew they'd whisper you'd gone mad when they left.

yeosang stood at attention by your door.

you asked, "will you be here tomorrow?"

yeosang usually would not answer your bolder questions, but tonight he seemed to take pity on you. an infuriating thought, really, but you'd gone too long alone to care much that people only ever interacted with you due to pity these days. the furrow between yeosang's brows, you've noticed, had become a permanent fixture on his expression. it did not quite suit him. you missed the mischief in his eyes from your younger days.

"not tomorrow." yeosang said, "but the day after."

"i'd love some ale," you said, with a grin you hoped was enticing.

he frowned at you. you dropped your smile.

you said, matching his frown "it's dreadfully boring in here, ser yeosang. i would not ask you otherwise"

"i'm sure it is, sweet thing," yeosang eyed your chambers , his expression growing apprehensive. "fine, i'll bring some."

"really?"

"you are much too excited for something as simple as ale, your grace."

you'd rolled your eyes in response, shutting the door behind in his face.

~.~.~.~.~

you were never meant for passivity. even when you'd first stepped onto the shores of king's landing, you'd been quite proactive in your distaste of westerosi traditions, of hongjoong's comments, of yeosang's prodding, of your septa's nagging.

to think that you were now relegated to such a passive lifestyle, escorted to the godswoods by your septa and your kingsguard keeper once a day just to leave the confines of your chambers, your meals brought to you by the servants, left to rot in your too-big bed, in your too-big chambers, while the madness churned throughout the seven kingdoms - it had you standing at the barred windows wondering if you could pry open the bars and toss yourself to your death just to have something to do. sometimes, you saw wisps of greenfire from the courtyards, and you were glad at least the mad king maintained a routine throughout all this. even when the essence of nightshade hidden in the deepest folds of your drawers called to you, you remained passive. too cowardly to die, and too cowardly to want to live, merely withering under the same fate you were so adamantly trying to escape.

hongjoong was kind to you sometimes - he brought you books from the library some nights, or he drew you your baths - but he was the reason for this. he knew it, and you knew it, and he knew you knew it.

you hadn't seen or heard from mingi. you did not ask hongjoong or yeosang about him.

so when you opened your door one night, and yeosang stood at attention, you let the fire in your stomach, in your veins, in your heart, burn so bright, so hot, it felt the way dragonfire had on your skin that night so long ago.

yeosang pulled out two metal flasks from his pack.

you peered at the large containers, grimacing at the strong acidic smell as you opened one of the flasks. the smell burned your nostrils and still had it at arms-length. "that's not ale."

"it's stronger," he said, with a shrug. "i thought you'd need it."

you grinned as you took a swig of the flask. the alcohol burned as you swallowed and you grimaced at the taste. you had not had liquor in a long time, not since you'd left your chambers and joined yeosang, mingi, and hongjoong in post-tourney festivities. that had been so, so long ago. yeosang chuckled at your grimace, before he gestured to your chambers.

"glad you like it," yeosang said, "now leave me to my duties."

you frowned, "it is bad manners to let someone drink alone, you know."

yeosang's brows furrowed in confusion, "i'd have thought i would be your last choice for a drinking partner."

"fortunately for you, your company is better than no company."

"ouch, your grace," yeosang pressed a hand to his heart, his eyes twinkling as it used to. "your tongue has gotten sharper."

"you could tell hongjoong to let me free. i find without practice, my social skills have become quite unsightly."

yeosang snorted before he shook his head. you took another swig of the flask, your throat burning as you swallowed, your cheeks warming already, and yeosang's eyes followed the movement, his brows furrowing once more. he said, "i was told to stand guard here. not drink."

you frowned at him, "fine, then i'll join you."

yeosang shook his head, "you are to remain in your chambers."

"i thought orders were merely suggestions to you."

yeosang rolled his eyes, "sometimes. but not these."

"fine," you dragged one of the stools in the sitting room of your chambers to the door, propping the heavy wooden door open. then you took a seat at the threshold, the doorway dividing the two of you. you looked up at yeosang, "i can drink like this, and you can have some if you'd like. i'll remain in my chambers, and you at the door."

yeosang peered down at you for a long, long moment. it was reminiscent of the time you both discussed what you had done to mingi. however, this time, he was not as furious. his eyes twinkled in amusement, but there was something else there - something you saw often in hongjoong's eyes these days, in the eyes of your septa as well when she'd take you to the godswood to 'pray as a proper king's spouse should'. you thought it melancholic.

after a moment, he bent to take a seat beside the door, facing the hall, his back pressed to the door hinge. the metal of his armor clinked loudly against the stone floors. it reminded you of mingi.

yeosang was not quite facing you, and it was strange to find it fitting of him, as if you knew him in some way. you did, did you not? you knew him as long as you knew hongjoong and mingi. very soon, you would know him, and hongjoong, and mingi, the red keep and king's landing, longer than you have known your brothers and parents and dorne. soon you would no longer be dornish, as hongjoong had said.

you took a bigger swig from the flask at that thought, wrinkling your nose at the taste.

"was this difficult to get?" you asked.

"no."

"what is the red keep like these days?"

"the same as it always is."

"you're quite entertaining, ser yeosang." you drawled, injecting all the sarcasm you could into your tone.

yeosang gave you a sidelong glance, "you talk too much, your grace."

so you asked more questions, and yeosang provided more vague answers.

whenever he was stationed outside your door, he brought you ale, liquor, or even sweets from the kitchen. you propped open your chambers doors. you asked questions. yeosang barely answered.

it became the highlight of your long, drawn out days.

~.~.~.~.~

hongjoong entered your chambers, servants scurrying all about in his wake. they were packing.

you frowned, "what is going on?"

"i am going north," he said, distractedly, "to winterfell."

you blinked, once, twice, three times. you whispered, "just you?"

and you did not mean for that curl of anguish at the pit of your stomach to drip into your voice. you did not mean to live in limbo for so long, only to feel as if you've been doused in ice water. hongjoong hadn't touched you, hadn't truly spoken to you, for a long, long, long time.

yet, this time your heart stilled.

hongjoong looked up at you, his fingers wrapped in his warmest cloak, black and red spilling from his fingers like blood and dragonscales.

your chest felt constricted as you stared down at him. you said, "you're leaving me here?"

"i am keeping you safe," hongjoong said, voice low. the servants continued to dash throughout the chambers, their footsteps echoing all around you, ringing in your ears, "the rebellion draws closer to king's landing by each day and i must head north to secure allies."

the rebellion. the rebellion, the rebellion, the rebellion, the rebellion. those words rang loud as the bells of a bell tower. there was a war, and no one told you. you were in danger, and no one told you. hongjoong told you nothing. no one told you, and you were going to remain here. like a bird in a gilded cage, you would remain in an empty castle while hongjoong secured his other possessions.

"the rebellion?" your voice cracked. you felt horror and relief and anger and terror and so many other emotions. hongjoong's gaze softened when he looked at you, strangely enough. he stood, pushing his blond hair from his eyes as he waved his hands.

"jongho's rebellion," hongjoong said, with a questioning frown. "you did not know?"

something flipped in you then, something that always flipped when you were in the presence of hongjoong's nonchalance. you seethed, "how would i know? how would i know when you've locked me away all this time?!"

your exclamation echoed off the walls. the movement in the room stilled. hongjoong waved his hands and the servants scurried from the room.

your chambers were too quiet.

jongho's rebellion rang in your ears. suddenly, the brothel visits made sense. why, you did not know, as they were brothers by all but blood, the chois and hongjoong, yet here you stood seething as hongjoong closed his eyes and pushed his hair from his eyes. "the details do not matter. jongho and san are traitors who must be dealt with, and this decision will keep you safe. i am keeping you safe. you are a target, y/n."

"then take me with you."

"no."

"why? because of seonghwa?"

"you are safest in the red keep."

"you told me i am safest with you."

"y/n, you are staying here."

you knew then, that there was no changing his mind. so you stepped closer, your anger turning to a sort of desperation you never meant to show kim hongjoong. you said, "then let me go return to yunho. to sunspear."

"so dorne can join the jongho's rebellion? so you can join san?" hongjoong snapped, venom lacing his tone, the same kind of venom the mad king held when he spoke of dorne. his eyes darkened, "absolutely not."

"fine!" you grit your teeth, "do the kims not have their own stronghold? from the old days? what of dragonstone? let me go there, at the very least."

you'd seen it on maps and read of it in an old, tattered book in the library. dragonstone was a castle situated on an island of the same name, and it was the stronghold for house kim before house targaryen moved to the red keep. the castle was used on occasion, and last you heard the queen was sent there by the mad king. the mad king remained at king's landing. the rebellion was headed this way.

"you will stay here, y/n," hongjoong reached out and cupped your cheek, his dark eyes flickering between yours. he spoke with a finality that made you want to scream.

desperation clawed under your skin, up your throat, lived inside you. you knew he would keep you in this gilded cage next to his father, open to danger from every which way, and you were reacting as a caged animal would. he did not care, you realized, as he watched you struggle with picking your next words. he did not care. he did not think.

you bit out, "with your mad father?"

hongjoong shook his head, brushing his thumb along your hairline, "he will not hurt you. i will keep a guard posted."

hongjoong was fleeing. the realization sent a chill down your spine. hongjoong was fleeing without you.

you'd never, not once, begged him of anything, even when he touched you. but as you stood there, desperation clawing at your skin. this decision would damn you to a terrible fate, and the way hongjoong looked at you, as if he did not understand the desperation clawing its way through you, made you want to shake him by the shoulders. jongho was rebelling, lord kang left king's landing, the queen was sent to dragonstone, and hongjoong was fleeing north. only the mad king remained. there was no hope left here.

you were being left for dead. or worse.

"hongjoong, please help me," you pleaded, fingers curling around the sleeve of his black and red robes. "just this once. please let me go anywhere but here."

you could have sworn that hongjoong’s eyes lit up, even as he stroked your cheek to comfort you. your grip on his sleeve tightened in hope. maybe he would listen?

his eyes fell to your fist, and he reached with his other hand to curl it around your wrist. his thumb grazed along your burn scar, and he observed it for a long moment before he returned his gaze to you.

your heart sank to the pit of your stomach when he murmured, "i’ve helped you time and time again already, y/n. this time you will stay and that is final."

you clutched at his sleeve once more. he peered down at your tight grip.

"then stay by my side," you forced restraint, if only to maintain some sort of dignity. you leaned close, blinking away the sting of tears, and said as softly as you could, "i want you to stay with me."

hongjoong smiled. he shook your hand from his sleeve. he circled both hands around your wrist, his thumb pressing into the burn scar there. there was a twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes, but there was no regret. he said, "i will return to you soon, my love. believe me."

you had no other choice, you both knew.

and so, you stayed.

~.~.~.~.~

[plsimsuchasimp]

cheating pt. 2

part 1 here

Ft: Suna Rintarou x !gn reader, a little bit of atsumu miya x !gn reader

Genre/warnings: hurt/comfort, brief mention of fighting, panic attack, angst to fluff

Wc: 2.6k

NOT PROOFREAD!

The morning after you broke up with Suna, you wake up with a sour taste in your mouth, hugging a pillow. Momentarily disoriented, you look around your room until you spot your phone, and it all comes crashing down.

Oh no. Your chest tightens when you see 41 missed calls from Suna and 118 unread text messages over the course of the night. You'd fallen asleep with your phone set to silent, crying into your pillow at the immense betrayal.

Slowly, you unlock your phone to see increasingly frantic messages from Suna, begging you to forgive him and take him back. Ten new voicemails. You shouldn't press it, shouldn't listen to his voice. But you do.

"Y/N," immediately, your heart cracks at the sound of his voice. He sounds so desperate, so frantic, tears clinging to the words. "I'm so, so, sorry. You have every right to be mad at me, every right to hate me. I hate myself too, and I'll never forgive myself for doing that. I-I just wanted you to know that I-" the recording becomes quieter, only the faint sniffles picked up on it. "I love you."

It ends there, and you freeze. He'd never told you he loved you before, skipping over it whenever you jokingly mentioned the future. You knew he was scared of commitment, but it still hurt whenever he ignored it. A particular memory from two weeks ago floods your mind, no matter how hard you try to push it away.

You were lying on Suna's bed, resting your head against his chest as he scrolled through the videos he wanted to upload to Worldstar. His arm was slung around you, his lips pulled up in a smirk, his green eyes flicking from the phone to you and back again. It was comfortable, a lazy Sunday with the sun just beginning to set behind his curtains. You nestled further into his chest, his heartbeat regular and reassuring. You let your eyes drift closed, basking in the warmth of his affection.

Almost too soft for him to hear, half hoping he wasn't listening, you whisper "I love you." He stiffens, and you know you messed up. His heart skips a beat, and he pretends like he didn't hear you. You swallow, embarrassed that he didn't say it back, but neither of you moves until Suna gets up, saying he has to use the restroom. He doesn't come back for a while, and when he does, he mutters something about it getting late (it was barely 6 pm) and how he'd forgotten that he had to do something today. Taking the cue, you took your stuff and left, silently cursing yourself for saying it before he was ready. Things had been awkward the next few days, with him responding less and less frequently and seeming more distant and cold.

Come to think of it, it was right before he started acting strange.

oh.

Pressing a shaking hand to your mouth, you squeezed your eyes shut. Was that why?

Before you could sink deeper into your thoughts, you heard a knock at the door of your bedroom. The door opens to reveal Atsumu, standing awkwardly in your door frame. Yelping, you bring the bedcovers up to cover yourself, forgetting that you’re still wearing your clothes from last night. “How did you get in here?!”

He blushes, eyes flickering around your room and refusing to land on you. “Yer mom told me where the spare key was.”

You sighed, and he came over and sat on your bed, looking at his feet placed on the floor. “Ya okay?” he asked, voice low. That wasn’t what you’d expected. It was rare for Atsumu to be serious, rare for his brow to be furrowed so severely.

“Well, that’s debatable,” you said, scoffing a little. He nodded, eyes still fixed on the floor.

“I saw Suna last night,” he blurted out.

“You did?” Your eyebrows lift, surprised at his uncharacteristic behavior.

“I punched him,” he admits, lifting his head. “I was just too angry at him for hurting ya.”

Then it was your turn to look at the floor, not responding to this statement. What were you supposed to say, anyway? You sit in awkward silence, waiting for Atsumu to gather his thoughts and speak again.

“He’s in love with ya, ya know,” he says quietly. “That’s why it doesn’t make sense.”

“Why would he cheat on me if he loves me?” you ask, lip quivering slightly. You noticed the tense of the word; is. Not was. He sighs in frustration, shoulders slumping.

“I don’t know.” Seemingly debating on whether to say something, he decided to anyways, “He just let me hit him.”

“What?”

“He just stood there when I punched him, didn’t even punch back or anything. He just looked so sad, ya know?”

“Sad?” you scoff. “He was the one who decided to do it.” He nodded, knowing you’re right.

“I don’t really know why I came here,” he admitted. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Aren’t ya missing class right now?”

“I’m not going today,” you mutter. He understood. Silently, he got up and left the room, and you heard the door shut short afterward, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It wasn’t raining anymore, but the clouds still clung dark and heavy, low to the mountains and shrouding the distant buildings. Puddles shone on the ground, the leaves outside your window glistening with raindrops.

It hurt. It hurt so badly, the confusion and anger and sadness all combined. The truth was, you still loved Suna, and apparently, he loved you. Falling back onto your pillow, you felt like crying, but the tears wouldn’t come. Your eyes were dry, the pain finally internalized. The good memories of your time with Suna came then, flooding your mind and squeezing your heart.

The first time you two kissed, in a parking lot of a 7/11  at two in the morning. His lips tasted like soda, the sweet fizz almost intoxicating. It was a quick kiss, feeling him smile against your lips and seeing the smirk on his face when he pulled away.

Watching the stars together from the roof of a building on a moonless night, offering you his jacket when he noticed you were cold. You fell asleep in his arms that night, the cool winter air brushing your cheeks and inciting him to hold you just a little bit closer.

The playful insults exchanged, the banter slowly turning into backhanded compliments, and then sweet nothings whispered in your ear.

The warm, enveloping hugs, although somewhat rare- he would hold you, one arm on the small of your back and the other caressing the back of your neck.

The skeptical look on his face when you took him to the grocery store, fully intending to make a new dish you’d seen on TV with him. Not noticing the softness in his eyes as he watched you, your excitement contagious in his smile.

The teasing he endured because of you. The day you walked into the gym, bringing him a homemade bento, the boys had teased him relentlessly. He didn’t mind, because it made you happy.

All of that was gone now, and the miserable aching in your heart was a constant reminder of it. You let sleep take you away again, the pain in your expression being smoothed away by the gentle lull. When Suna slipped into your room using the same key Atsumu had failed to properly hide, he saw you curled up, hugging a pillow in your sleep, a small crease marking your forehead. He always said you looked angelic in your sleep.

“Suna…” you murmured, shifting slightly, and his eyes grew sad at how you grimaced slightly at his name.

He made his way to your desk chair, sitting down silently and grabbing a piece of paper from the desk along with a pencil, beginning to write.

When you awoke to the sound of a pencil scratching paper, it took you a second to register that there was someone else in your room. You screamed, clutching your pillow until you recognized Suna.

His eyes found yours, and the guilt and shame in them were almost overwhelming. You looked away, clenching your jaw. The pencil fell from his hand, seeming to fall in slow motion until it hit and bounced off of the floor, clattering once, twice, and then three times before rolling away from his foot.

“Get out,” you whisper.

“Can we just talk about this-” he rushes, standing up and impulsively moving closer to you.

“I said get out!” You yell, flinching away from his touch as if it’s some sort of deadly disease. His face falls, and he withdraws his hand, swallowing hard. “What is there to talk about? You cheated. It’s not a mistake. It’s a choice, and you chose to break my heart!” You look at him, anger and pain mixing in your eyes, and he finally gets it. You’re not coming back. He ruined it with an impulse decision, a reckless choice in the face of his fear of commitment and the overwhelming feelings that he didn’t know how to deal with.

The day you told him you loved him, he froze only because he didn’t know what to do. He’d gotten up, gone to the bathroom, and sunk down the door, back straight and head tilted towards his knees. This had never happened to him before- every time he’d been with a girl, he’d never felt like this. Was it love? He already knew he messed up by not saying it back, but his emotions were confusing, distracting, almost frightening. He’s taken his mind off of it by falling into a stranger’s arms that night, reassuring himself that he was still the same old Suna, the one who didn’t need anyone.

God, how he hated himself for that. Tears welled up in his eyes against his will, and he stared down at the floor.

“Why are you still here?” You spoke, back turned to him, “I thought I told you I didn’t want to talk to you.” Your words stung, you knew they did, but you didn’t really care. The paper in his hand fluttered to the floor, almost inaudibly brushing across the wood. His bottom lip quivered, and the tear that clung to his eyelash slipped silently down his face, making his green eyes appear even brighter than normal.

Thunder crashed outside your window, and Suna froze, his sharp intake of breath making you turn. He looked petrified- his entire body seemed to be shrinking into itself, his hands trembling and clenched, his eyes wide with unmistakable fear in them.

“Suna?” You got up from your place on the bed, curious as to what was happening, then remembered. Suna had a crippling fear of thunderstorms. “Suna. Suna, hey, look at me.” You waved a hand in front of his face, but he just started shaking harder, his breathing getting faster. Gripping him by the shoulders, you gently pushed him towards your bed and helped him sit down, your brow furrowing. “Can I touch you?” you asked gently, receiving the smallest of nods in return. You sat beside him and started rubbing his back, gently holding him closer to you. Thunder triggering a panic attack had only happened twice before, but you were familiar with how to help him through it. “I’m going to go close the curtains now.” Almost methodically talking him through your movements in an attempt to distract him from the thunder growing louder outside, you went to close the curtains and turned on your bedside lamp. “Tell me how I can help.”

He struggled to speak, his breath turning into short hyperventilations until you sat down next to him and started breathing loudly and evenly, hoping he would hear you and try to match his breathing. To your surprise, he turned to you and hugged you, burying his face in your chest and huddling close to your body. Stiff at first, you slowly wrapped your arms around him and rocked back and forth, whispering into his ear that it was almost over and he would get through it. You could feel his back shuddering, trying to maintain control of his breathing and failing. Out of instinct, you rested your cheek on his shoulder, staring at the picture of you two that still rested on your nightstand, and you felt his breathing gradually slow. Soon, he stopped shaking, but he still clung to you as if you were his life raft in a tumultuous storm.

It wasn’t until you felt wetness on your shirt that you pulled back, concerned, only to see tears dripping down Suna’s face. He instantly missed your warmth, your smell, the feeling of you holding him, but he knew it would be selfish of him to try to pull you back in.

You didn’t speak, eyes flickering from him down to the blanket underneath you. Your anger was gone now, and as hard as you tried to hate him, looking at the vulnerability displayed on his face melted the resolve you had.

“You look terrible,” you say, eyes wandering over his disheveled hair and puffy eyes.

“I didn’t sleep last night,” he responds, and you instantly feel awkward.

“I-I’m sorry,” you mumble, unsure of what to say. He just shrugs, gazing downwards.

“About what I said in the voicemail.” At these words, you freeze. “I meant it, and I’m so sorry for not saying it earlier.”

You turn away from him, eyes burning, as you feel a lump in your throat. “If you love me, why did you do it?”

His words die in his throat because that’s what he’s been wondering this whole time. If he loved you, why did he do it? “I-I did it because I was scared.”

“Scared?” you spit, pain lacing your words, “Scared? Do you know how terrified I was to tell you? I know that you’re scared of commitment, I know that it’s hard for you to express your feelings, but do you have any idea how many hours I spent wondering if you even liked me anymore? If you even cared at all?” Hot tears spill down your face, your lips quivering as you tip your head back and stare at the ceiling. Quieter, you say, “Do you know how many times I cried myself to sleep because of you? No, you don’t. But I still believed in us, I really thought it could work, and you threw it all away because you were scared?”

You shook your head, and he stared at you, hating that he made you feel like this. “I had no idea,” he rasps, voice husky from the breath caught in his throat. “When you told me you loved me, I realized I loved you too. I’d never felt like that before, and I was scared of my own feelings, so I wanted-” He stopped, unsure of how to continue. “I needed to distract myself.”

Each word stings, a knife stabbing into your back, as the tears fall harder and faster. You look up at him and see there are tears streaming down his face too, the shame too much for him to bear.

“I would do anything for you to come back.” His voice breaks, becoming breathier as his shoulders begin to shake again. “Please.”

In one swift movement, you pulled him close to you, and it was your turn to huddle into his chest as you sobbed. Just for a second, just for a moment, just to feel his touch again, but he wrapped his arms around you tightly and didn’t let you go. Clinging to each other, you shared the pain.

“If we can move past this,” you mumbled, face pressed against his shirt, breathing in his scent, “you can’t ever do something like that again.”

“No, no, of course not,” he assured you, voice thick with emotion, “I promise I’ll be so much better. I’ll try to give you everything you deserve.” 

He pulls away and looks at you, drinking in your face, before pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to your lips. When you reciprocate, he kisses you harder, with more passion, holding you as if he can’t let you go. “Thank you,” he mumbles against your lips, and you feel the pain and anger and worry seep out of him.

It was going to be okay. a/n: i’m not really sure about this one, but i hope you guys enjoyed! sorry for the major angst, lmao also tiny reminder my requests are open even tho i kinda suck at them

[butternuggets-blog]

FOR WANT OF A NAIL

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @wheresthesunshineblog @adowbaldwin @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont

Part Twenty-Two

Summary: Baldwin Montclair had a string of ex girlfriends, a single child, and a lifetime longer than most people could dream of to make all kinds of mistakes. His family knew one which kept coming out of the woodwork to irritate him every other century.

Also on Ao3

They resumed their journey with new vigor now that both Philippe and Godfrey had a pressing reason to reach Ḥimṣ al-Andalus as quickly as possible. Martin and Baldwin would have been content to meander along, but kept up so as not to drag the whole party down.

Martin's respect for Baldwin increased slightly as they travelled. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that Baldwin had an excellent singing voice, a rich baritone, and a command over pitch changes that had been self-taught. He was also fluent in Gaulish.

They were within a few days ride of Ḥimṣ al-Andalus and despite pushing the horses to their limits all morning, Philippe was insistent that they go an extra mile before the sun started to set.

'Come now, you and the chargers may rest when we reach the next road marker'

Martin glowered at Phillipe's back.

'Gegrannā-moro'

'I know an insult when I hear one' said Philipe, without turning back.

'Blīno-nīs tū magon magjo glāw-ato-bergo' Baldwin said, evenly.

Philippe looked over his shoulder and nodded gratefully at his son. It took every shred of self-restraint Martin had not to burst out laughing.

________________________________________________________________

'Is that..' Godfrey sat forward in his saddle, squinting intently at someone in the distance.

'I believe it is' Philippe rode slowly through the crowd mingling around the city gates and came to a halt in front of a young man with golden-brown hair and hazel eyes.

...fir...mulberries..

'Jason'

'Sieur Phillipe' the young man bowed respectfully, then straightened. 'Père asked that I to show you to our house when you arrived; Madame Merula sent word that you would be leaving after only a day or two?'

'A day' Philippe allowed the young man to take the reins of his horse and lead them, single file, through the city streets. 'We have business to conclude elsewhere as soon as possible.'

Martin looked about eagerly as they made their way to the artisan quarter. He had never visited Ḥimṣ al-Andalus before; the city was a riot of colour, yellow and red brick buildings clashing in a distinctive mix of Moorish and Roman architecture. There were carts and covered stalls on every street; vendors hawking their wares at the top of their lungs- spices from India and the Levant, parchment scrolls and leatherbound books, pottery and fish and spun wool and silk- while children ran about underfoot , shrieking and laughing.

They crossed into Triana by boat; the quarter was cut off from the rest of the city by the Guadalquivir river, so they took turns rowing each other and the horses across. They didn’t remount, simply grabbing the reins of their horses and following behind Jason.

Curious faces peered around corners and stared down at them from windows in the buildings above. Martin wrinkled his nose at the scent of glaze eminating from the rows and rows of ceramic tile workshops that lined the streets.

They passed through a gated archway and into a courtyard tastefully decorated with fruit trees. There was a large pool sunk into the centre; when Martin stuck a hand in to test its depth, the water only came up to his elbow.

A wrinkled walnut of a woman came briskly towards them, followed by a handful of small boys. She smiled at them as the stable hands led the horses away.

'Don Phillipe! Señor Baldwin, Señor Godfrey'

'A pleasure as always, Deepa' Phillipe bowed his head and kissed the back of her hand. 'You are as radiant as your name.'

'Oh, you make an old woman blush!' Deepa flapped her hands at him, and turned towards Martin.

'Don Martin Bouchard of Beaune?'

'Yes' Martin nodded.

Deepa clapped her hands together happily, and bowed.

'Welcome to our home.'

________________________________________________________________

Deepa took Martin on a tour while Jason entertained the others. The house was a pleasant mix of sentimental relics and practical beauty. Martin had never met Bertrand, Jason's sire, before, but from the modest comeliness around him he gathered that he was a humble man

As they wandered back to join the others, they passed by an open door into a long room with several wide windows and a high, vaulted ceiling. Martin glanced inside; thick wooden benches covered in glass apparatus, mortars and pestles, and neatly-stacked books next to ink wells and quills were set up along the wall. Next to them, set in the corner, was a glass apparatus set on top of a rotund brick oven.

‘I am afraid I cannot allow you to enter that room, Don Martin’ Deepa shuffled round so that she was partially blocking the doorway. ‘That is the doña’s private laboratory.’

Martin felt his world tilt on its axis.

Swallowing, he tried to settle the sudden plummeting feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It cannot be...please...

Martin had not invented the bain-marie. However, he had created the early prototypes. When all of the kinks had been worked from the initial design, and everything worked correctly, he had gifted the final product to its creator.

He had run out of yellow glass, so he had had to use green.

‘Would your mistress’s name..be Miriam Sheppard?’

Deepa smirked.

Martin tried to melt into the floor.

Author's Notes

Baldwin's less worried for Hugh's safety now that he knows where he is. Martin was never particularly bothered to begin with.

I used this list of Proto-Celtic words to create the Gaulish in this chapter. Again, I'm not a linguist, so I was mostly winging it. I couldn't find the words for "are" or "of", so I compressed the sentence a little.

'Nightmare barnacle goose'*

'We are tired you great big heap of dried cow dung'

*I just really wanted to use the phrase 😂😂

I’m still not entirely certain that I got it right, but I believe that Triana was the artisan quarter in Seville. Please correct me if I’m wrong. Triana is known for tile making, bull fighting, and flamenco dancing.

The Levant was a stretch of land bordering the Mediterranean in southwestern Asia, and encompassed  parts of Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Israel, Palestine and most of Turkey southwest of the middle Euphrates. Jewish and Arab traders monopolised the region, sending goods from the Levant all over Europe.

Deepa means lamp.

Surnames were not universal, and have been introduced at different points in history in different cultures. They're bulls**t and I'm not willing to try to figure them out better any more because they're complicated and I've wasted enough time on them already.

The bain-marie (water bath, or double boiler) was  alledgedly designed by Mary the Jewess. It is still in use today!

Is Martin happy for Miriam? Absolutely! Is he thrilled that her mate is intimately connected with the Clermonts? What do you think 😅😂

[wavyhairedbabyy]

Idiots - Part 1

Karl Jacobs x gn!reader

tldr: They’ve both got a crush. Sucks, since they’re the only ones oblivious to it. (Slow Burn!)

CW: some swearing(not at each other), fluffy as a teddy bear.

a/n: I got a random influx of followers ;-; Tysm for enjoying my works and sharing them. I haven’t written in 6 years, in case it wasn’t obvious lmao, so even one is super meaningful to me :) this ended up being way longer than I intended it to be so I’m splitting it into 2 parts. 

edited yet: yes - let me know if I missed anything!

Part 1 - Part 2

Y/n and Karl met when Karl was still going to college in New York before dropping things to move to North Carolina. They met the fall of their sophomore year at the campus café when Karl was trying to shoot a piece of paper into a trash can. The problem was he couldn’t aim and it landed right in y/n’s mug of coffee, quickly dissolving into a paper coffee soup. For anyone else it would’ve been okay but being that coffee was y/n’s life line, especially during finals, it most definitely was not.

“You’re buying me another, right?” they asked, “I would highly recommend it or you might see a side of me you don’t want to see.”

Being the good guy he was, and the slight fear of their bad side, he did with no questions.

“So, since there’s a side of you I don’t want to see, and I bought you a new coffee, do I get to see the side of you that I do want to see?”

“Find me next semester and you might.”

And he did.

***

“Karl, if you don’t give me that sword, I’m going to hurt you!” Y/n screamed as they lunged toward him. It was y/n, Karl, and Chris hanging out at Karl’s place until it was time to leave for a Mr. Beast project. They sat in his living room, Karl with a foam sword that y/n was desperate to take from him.

“That’s the problem! If I give it to you, you will hurt me with it!” He yelled back, jumping out of their reach.

“Okay children, why don’t I just take the sword so we can end all of this?” Chris intervened in an attempt to stop the ruckus.

Both of them paused, looking at him in disbelief. They shook their head and in unison scoffed, “No!”

The two continued their play fighting, one holding on to the sword for a short period of time before the other pulled it from their grasp. This went on until it was time to leave the house.

While this was all going down, Chris watched Karl’s behavior. He noticed how he let y/n hold on to the sword a little longer, even when he could’ve easily reached out to grab it from their hands. He noticed how he was much more careful with his movements, almost scared to be too rough with them.

With anyone else, Chris knew Karl’s pride would have taken over in this situation. He thought back to any other time he had any of his SMP friends over. With Nick or Alex, he would have hogged the sword and brutally whacked either of them with it as much as he could. He would happily tacked them and pinned them to the ground. With y/n though... there was a gentleness with them, and Chris did not fail on picking that up.

“Okay lame-os, let’s get on over to the warehouse. Y/n, you coming?” Chris asked.

Y/n shook their head, “Nah. I’m gonna unpack my stuff and relax from the flight. Plus, word on the street says that tomorrow is when the cool stuff is happening so I’ll come then.” they replied.

“Well the street is right, but they’re still a dummy,” Chris looked at Karl for reference.

“Hey...” Karl faked a sad look before staring at y/n for defense.

Y/n giggle and just shrugged, waving goodbye to the both of them, “If you don’t bring me back Burger King fries, don’t bother coming back at all!”

***

Chris and Karl sat in the car, Chris driving and Karl in the passenger seat. With some music on in the background, the two were discussing the plan of action for what was going to be filmed for the day.

“Do you know how long it’s going to take?” Karl asked, “I feel bad leaving y/n by themselves so I want to try to get out as early as humanly possible.”

“I’m not really sure. I’m sure Jimmy wouldn’t mind you scootin’ out a little early,” Chris replied. He took the opportunity and leaned over to his friend, “Speakin’ of y/n, anything going on there? Y’know, anything special?”

“Uhh- whaddya mean special?” Karl haphazardly, “We’re best friends. I think that’s pretty special.”

“No, idiot. I mean is there anything there besides just being best friends,” Chris paused for a second, “I dunno. I just noticed you’re different with them, man. You know you would never treat Nick or Alex the way you treated them.”

Karl paused, trying to think of a response but failing. He sighed, “Yeah, there’s definitely something there on my end. I mean, I’ve been attracted to them since we first met. I just don’t think they reciprocate it.”

“You never know if you don’t try. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I’d rather not think about it,” Karl sunk into his seat, thinking of all the bad endings that could happen if he told y/n his feelings.

***

Meanwhile this was happening, y/n was making themselves comfortable in Karl’s guest room. They planned on staying for a week and a half which meant packing a month’s worth of clothes. Before starting to unpack their things into the dresser, they FaceTimed their other best friend that was back in New York to keep them company.

“You’re calling me now? Your flight landed 4 hours ago! I was sure you crashed in the middle of the ocean - gone like that Malaysia flight,” y/bff answered.

“Hi to you too,” y/n responded as they started to place their clothes in the closet, “ You are so dramatic. My flight didn’t even go over the ocean. And don’t act like you weren’t tracking my flight. You knew damn well I was fine.”

“All this worrying and caring, and this is how I’m being treated?” Y/bff shook their head as the wiped their fake tears away “The disrespect.”

“Pft, the only disrespect I’m seeing here is the lack of questions about my day,” y/n said, “I had a great flight. I got those yummy blue chips and had a nice drive from the airport in a Tesla.”

Y/bff gasped, “What kind of Uber driver is driving around a Tesla? We need more of those people up here.”

“Dude, it was Karl,” y/n replied, “I was shocked. Last time I saw this kid he was driving a hunk of junk. One year down here and he’s driving around like he’s Elon Musk.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this now. If you don’t cuff him, I will!” Their laugh echoed through the phone

Y/n rolled their eyes, “Oh please, if he doesn’t like me like that then you’re in no good luck.”

“So you told him then?”

“No, not yet,” y/n paused, “I dunno. We’ve been friends for 3, almost 4, years now. If he liked me, he would’ve said something by now. Plus we live so far away from each other now. I just don’t wanna ruin a good thing, y’know?”

“Well, I still say do it. You can tell him and spend your life in peace knowing his answer, or keep it to you yourself and spend the rest of your life wondering ‘what if?’ And I’ll tell you now, the latter always ends with regret. With the first answer, you’ll at least have a chance of a happy ending.”

Y/n shrugged, putting away the last piece of clothing from their luggage, “I know, I know. I’ll think about it. Thanks for the chat, but I’m gonna go relax now before he gets back. I love and miss you already.”

They exchanged their goodbyes and hung up. Y/n flattened their luggage and slid it under the bed. Moving back to the dresser, they found some comfortable clothes to change into after a shower.

Y/n knew y/bff was right. They just couldn’t bring themselves to share their feelings. What if Karl didn’t feel the same way? Would it ruin their friendship? Would this be the last time they ever saw each other? No, y/n knew it wouldn’t end their friendship, but it would make it awkward for a little while. They moved to the bathroom. Maybe a shower would help them compose their thoughts.

***

“I’m back!” Karl shouted as he kicked the door shut behind him. The project took a few hours so the sun had set and nighttime was settling itself in North Carolina. There was no response. Karl continued, “And I have Burger King fries!”

“You should’ve started out with that! Coming!” Y/n yelled from down the hall. Karl rolled his eyes and walked over to the living room table. He started making room for the food when he heard fast footsteps coming toward him.

“Incoming!” Y/n yelled, tackling him to the floor with a hug. They were giggling as if they just pulled the best prank in the world.

“Hi to you too,” he groaned from his body hitting the floor. Y/n continued to chuckle as they got up, grabbing Karl’s hand to help him up too. They sat on the couch, looking at the food in front of them.

“A whole whopper meal? What did I do to get the honors, Mr. Jacobs?” Y/n remarked in a posh accent, popping a fry into their mouth.

“You existed,” Karl giggled out. Y/n smiled, but the butterflies in their stomach couldn’t feign their excitement. It was small shit like that that made y/n fall for Karl. He continued, “Plus I didn’t know if you ate or not so I thought better safer than sorry.”

“Aw, you’re the sweetest,” they gave him a tight hug before returning to the spot they were in on the couch, “So, what’s the plan, Stan?”

“I’m kind of tired from filming, I hope you don’t mind-”

“Actually, I completely mind” y/n replied sarcastically. Karl shook his head at them.

“So, I was thinking we could just watch a movie or watch a show,”

“Ah yes, head empty activities. I’m down. Can we watch a movie though? Not in the mood for a show right now,” y/n replied.

“Sure let’s scroll through and find something,” Karl switched on the TV and the two munched on their food while they decided what they were going to watch. After 20 minutes of scrolling, which really was 20 minutes of fighting over who had better taste in movies, they finally agreed on Wall-E.

Before the movie started, y/n looked over to Karl. Their hands were in the shape of finger guns, pointed to each other and the tips of their index fingers touching. They had a pout on their face when they asked, “Can we cuddle while we watch?”

“No,” Karl shook his head quickly, keeping a stoic, straight face. Y/n’s pout got bigger. He continued, “I absolutely hate physical touch.”

They both immediately broke out into giggles, y/n grabbing the nearest pillow and smacking him with it, “You are so lame.”

Karl continued with his fit of giggle, “The day I say that and mean it is the day hell freezes over.”

As the intro to the movie played, the two came closer, y/n’s legs tangling up with Karl’s. When they finished up their food, they moved closer with Karl’s arm around y/n’s shoulders and their head laying on his chest.

Y/n gave a playful scoff, reminiscing on their past memories together, “This reminds me of the time we had a Disney movie marathon before spring break.”

Karl laughed, “Yeah, and you made my old roommate cry beforehand because he wasn’t doing his dishes all semester.”

“In my defense, I gave him warnings. He didn’t wanna listen and there’s no way I was letting you live in a house with a sink full of fruit flies.”

“I’m not sure if you did that for me or because you practically lived with us.”

“Don’t get it mixed up, pretty boy. That was for you.” Karl smiled at those words, looking down at the person laying on their chest. He wanted to believe there was more than friendship behind those words. The warm feeling he would always get with them filled his chest as he turned his focus back to the movie.

“I really missed you.” He whispered.

“I really missed you too.”

***

Part 2

[plaidbooks]

Cabin Life - First Date

A/N: I seriously fell in love with this AU so hard. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in a cabin with Sonny. Once again, thanks to @berniesilvas for fueling this AU and letting me scream at her about woodsman!Sonny.

Tags: injured birds, otherwise none

Words: 1529

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba  @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy  @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl  @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas​  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

After that meeting, Sonny called you, asking you on a date. You weren’t quite sure what to expect; you were still new in coming back to the woods, and you weren’t sure what a date really entailed. But, your parents were quick to mention, if it was a date with Sonny Carisi, then it would be fine.

“Everyone loves Sonny; he’s the nicest guy around, and a breath of fresh air in the community,” your mom said.

He showed up at your place that afternoon; he lived in a cabin about a mile away. Within walking distance, but not something you would particularly do on your own. He didn’t seem to mind, though; he wasn’t even out of breath.

“Hey doll. I was thinking we could go for a stroll in the woods? There’s a meadow in between our cabins that’s just breathtakin’ in the setting sunlight,” he said, smiling.

You agreed, grabbing your coat; the autumn air was starting to get a little chilly. Your parents greeted him, and he waved back, telling them he’d bring you home at a decent hour. You stifled a chuckle; you were both in your late 20s.

Your shoes crunched over the leaves covering the ground, Sonny crunching along right beside you. He was telling you about his family, about how they wanted him to visit for Thanksgiving, so he’d have to go back to Staten. As he talked, your hands brushed, and you gently took his hand in yours. He tripped over his words for a moment, then smiled and interlaced his fingers with yours before continuing on.

It had barely seemed like you had been with him before you were coming out of a copse of trees into a meadow. Soft grass to your knees swayed in the gentle breeze, and bees buzzed from flower to flower. The sunlight was dimming as the sun sunk beneath the trees.

“Wow,” you breathed, and Sonny squeezed your hand.

He took a step into the meadow, then stopped and turned to look at you. “Just wait; it gets better,” he promised. Eyes wide with awe, you let him guide you forward into the meadow, your eyes trying to take it all in. It was simply beautiful.

Rabbits hopped through the grass on the other side of the meadow, and you caught a family of deer standing just beyond the trees, watching you.

“Ohh! Lavender!” you announced, your eyes finding the purple flower swaying just to the right of you.

Sonny turned and found it. “I love lavender; it smells so good.”

“It’s a natural stress reliever! I infuse it with my oils and lotions,” you replied, smiling at him.

His eyes widened slightly. “Ya do? Do ya make lots of oils and lotions?”

“I’m trying to make more, actually, as well as soap; I only just started researching natural, herbal remedies. Now, if only I could keep my lavender alive,” you said sheepishly.

He gave you a grin. “Ya know, I grow lavender, too, fer the bees. Maybe I could take a look at yours? See if I can help?”

“Oh, would you please? I’d be so grateful!”

“Absolutely, doll. And maybe once ya have some oils, I can buy some off ya.”

You gave him a look. “You’re not giving me a cent; you didn’t charge me for that slice of apple pie, and I’m not charging you for oils. Besides, here.” You took a lavender flower between your thumb and forefinger, crushing it, then held your fingers to his nose. “Smell.”

He did as you asked, the intake of air tickling your skin. “That smells amazing,” he sighed.

“You can do that for a quick rush of stress relief; it’s for a quick fix, not long term. But it helps,” you explained.

He grinned widely at you. “Well, I’m certainly not stressed right now.”

You opened your mouth to slip out a retort when you heard a little chirping by your feet. You glanced down and Sonny must’ve heard it, too, because he also looked. He gently parted a patch of grass and uncovered a baby bird there. It looked barely old enough to leave its nest, so why was it there?

Sonny quickly ripped his plaid jacket off his shoulders—exposing the tight, white shirt and his strong arms—then swooped down. Carefully, he picked up the bird, who was chirping incessantly now.

“Poor little thing; probably didn’t succeed in his first flight,” he cooed, his expression soft as he looked at the creature. Then, he glanced up at you. “I’m sorry, doll. Do ya mind terribly if we cut our date a little short? I wanna take this little birdy home, make sure it’s okay before releasin’ him.”

You felt your respect for him grow. “Not at all. Mind if I tag along?”

“I’d love that,” he replied, smiling. 

************************

You followed Sonny to his cabin, the bird chirping constantly. He brought it inside, placing it on his kitchen table and taking a seat in front of it. You sat down next to him and watched the bird while he scrolled through article after article on his phone pertaining to nursing birds back to health.

“Okay, so, this here says that the bird may just be in shock, and to put it in a cardboard box with a slightly ajar lid or towel. Then wait ta see if it flies away,” Sonny explained.

You nodded. “Should we take it back to the meadow, then?”

“Yeah; it’s a lil’ far, and I don’t think he’ll know how ta get back….”

You stood, smiling, “then let’s take it back.”

Sonny found a small box, and he put the bird—still nestled in his jacket—inside. Then he gingerly picked up the box, and you both headed back the way you came.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he said after a few steps. “I’m just draggin’ ya all over the place, and fer no real reason, and we missed the sun settin’ in the meadow.” He looked to the darkening sky, and picked up the pace of his steps.

You placed your hand on his shoulder. “Sonny, you have nothing to be sorry for; you were trying to help an animal in need. If anything, that makes you more attractive.”

A pink tint appeared on his ears and the spots on his cheek that his beard didn’t cover. “You really think I’m attractive?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “One of the most attractive people I’ve met.” That dopey smile of his grew twice as wide.

**********************

You both waited in the meadow until the baby bird finally regained its senses and flew from the box. Then Sonny figured it was time to take you home. You linked your arm with his as you walked, and he walked closer to you, your body heat colliding.Once at your cabin, you searched for something to say, to keep him there; you weren’t ready to say goodnight yet.

“Oh! The lavender!” you announced, and Sonny smiled, as if he knew you were delaying. You tugged him back to your herb garden, and he took a close look at your slowly dying lavender with the light of his phone’s flashlight. He touched the crumbling leaves, then the soil, his brow furrowed.

“What kinda soil are ya usin’?” he asked, his voice serious.

You rose an eyebrow. “Just…regular, I guess?”

He nodded before looking up at the black sky covered in stars, judging what, you didn’t know. “Ya may need ta replant it elsewhere,” he finally said. “Ya need soil with good drainage; this soil is a little compacted. If ya separated it from the others, put it in soil mixed with grit, it should do wonders here.”

“Ugh, you’re a godsend, Sonny. I’ll dig it up and replant it tomorrow. Thank you so much,” you replied, giving him a hug.

He chuckled into your ear. “Don’t thank me yet; wait ta see if that fixes the problem first.”

You leaned back, nodding and smiling at him. He grinned back, and then you were kissing, his beard tickling your chin. You both still had your arms around the other, holding each other close as your lips moved against one another. He licked your lips, and you sighed, letting his tongue explore your mouth, rubbing and dancing with your own.

Slowly, he pulled his lips from yours, then snuck another small kiss, then another, and another. Finally, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing in the other’s air.

“Best. First date. Ever,” you murmured, and he huffed out a laugh against your lips.

“Even with the bird?” he asked, making you laugh this time.

“Especially with the bird,” you replied, and he smirked before kissing you again. You could never tire of his lips against yours, his beard tickling your chin, leaving a slight rash. Your hands when to his soft hair, and you grabbed a handful, giving him a soft tug. Everywhere he touched sent fire through you, and with his body pressed up against yours, it felt like you were an inferno. And you knew that from this moment on, you didn’t want to be put out.

[kashi-prompts]

Flowers For A Shinobi

Chapter 12: A Sprig of Lavender

Word Count: 3,097

Pairing: Kakashi x OFC

Previous Chapter ❀  Archive of Our Own Link  ❀  

A/N: As I said, the fluff was coming. Original art at the end.

6 Months Later

The relentless heat of the mid-day sun coupled with the heavily induced exercise regiment assigned to her that day seemed to be responsible for the halo of sweat around Ayame's body. Her chest heaved to catch her breath as she leaned against the sturdy body of an oak tree. 

"C'mon, Ayame-chan! Let's go!" Might Guy encouraged her, his steady jog lapping around the tree she leaned against. "Two more miles!"

"I can't do it," she breathed, clutching the collar of her soaked shirt. 

"14 miles is my morning routine!" Guy's smile glistened as he beamed at her, sweat dripping down his temple like rainwater. "Let's go! Before Kakashi assigns you 100 push-ups as well!" 

Ayame sighed heavily, the curve of her back weighing her down as she leaned against the tree. Her stomach churned with nausea from the constant stream of blood pumping at high volume through her body. 

"Ayame-chan!" Guy called from down the hill, his legs pumping with such a velocity, Ayame could have sworn he was floating over the summer grass. Inhaling slowly, she continued down the mountain to follow the bobbing head of black hair through the field. 

Upon reaching the training grounds, Ayame was surprised to see Kakashi missing from the scenery. The white-haired jonin was always there upon her arrival. Generally, on Tuesdays, a different sensei would train her, cycling through the other jonin in the village so that she could get a better feel of how others utilize their strengths. The chaos of training with Might Guy always left her exhausted but earned her the confidence that she had pushed herself. 

As the calendar had flipped all the way from spring to late summer, Ayame had worked nearly every day with Kakashi. His prior questionably smitten behavior was exchanged with a stern, pressing instructor. It was almost as though the seemingly mutual tiny flame formed between the two of them had dissipated. Almost. 

Kakashi made it very clear from the beginning that he would not be taking it easy on his new student. From the first day she had arrived on the bridge, he had provided her with a rather large box of scrolls and books to read as her first assignment. Then he made her carry them to the training grounds to read them every day.

It certainly wasn't enough to just read the material provided to her, so instead, while Kakashi was on a rather long mission, he appointed a man named Irkua to tutor her for two weeks personally. As the early spring rain had fallen relentlessly outside a dark and dreary classroom, she learned a significantly accelerated version of the very basics of what the children at the academy were learning. 

Handseals, weaponry, and types of jutsu had been next. Surprisingly, even herself, she had found that she was considerably skilled at the crafts she was learning. Might Guy had taught her taijutsu, while Kakashi specialized in ninjutsu and a rather pretty jonin named Kurenai explained genjutsu to her. 

Again, learning things was never enough for Kakashi. He insisted she experience things as well, moving on to confining her in a genjutsu for twelve hours until she successfully released herself. And even then, he made her do it again to prove she was capable. 

When the subject of an academy examination was brought up, Ayame was eager to complete it. In early spring, the assessment was administered to her and a dozen small children, who fit more comfortably in the desks provided than she did. When Iruka had informed her privately the following day that she had passed, her enthusiasm for succeeding could barely be contained. 

She had hugged Iruka and thanked him, running through the streets to the bridge where she would meet Kakashi every morning for training. Upon his arrival, the hug she had given him had barely been enough to thank him for the new Konoha headband she wore, realizing that she now had a rank in the shinobi system. A child's rank, but a rank. 

"Great job - but this is just the beginning," his crescent eye smiled at her, patting her on the shoulder once she had released his neck from a tight hug. If she hadn't looked right away, she would have missed the blush that crept up his cheekbones from under his mask. The realization had caused her own cheeks to flush. 

Despite the moments where their mutual pining arose, she tried not to resent him for the times he made her do things over until it was just right as the recent months had passed. He continuously pushed her to the point of exhaustion on more than one occasion, only to remind her that she would experience this on missions as well. Even so, he would always ensure she made it back home safely. 

Now, as she jogged into the grassy plain, she looked around for the turf of silver hair that usually sat perched in a tree, a book in hand, waiting for her. A frown creased her lips as she tried to catch her breath. Perhaps he had been called on a mission, she thought. 

A forceful hand slapped her between her shoulder blades, startling her as she was pushed forward a step. 

"Great job today," Guy praised, his meaty chest breathing heavily, "we made better time than last month!" 

"Thank you, Guy-sensei," Ayame smiled wearily, giving a thankful nod. 

"I'll be going now!" He told her quickly, waving as he ran off. Ayame stood in the field, puzzled by his sudden departure. Usually, he would stick around, telling stories of missions and tips that she didn't always ask for, but appreciated nonetheless. 

The muffled sound of a sandaled foot-shaped creating an imprint in the grass near her perked her ears. She listened carefully, walking towards the edge of the clearing and lifting her fingers in a cross formation. Coarse, short breaths uttered from her mouth as she then reached for a kunai in her side bag, the act still foreign to her yet oddly comforting. Could someone have known she would be here? Was someone here to ambush her? 

The sweeping, bracing sound of two metal weapons clashing against each other filled the field as Ayame spun her body around to meet two mismatched eyes. Surprised by his sudden appearance, she blinked at Kakashi in wonder before realizing what was happening. He purposely was ambushing her. 

He swept his leg under her, her lungs breathing in the heady fragrance of adrenaline while she dodged his continuous maneuvers. Her chest felt tight, and her body exhausted from the run, but she still managed to block his attacks. 

"You could have at least given me a few minutes to catch my breath," she managed, ducking as his arm punched the air above her head. 

"Enemies wouldn't allow you to catch your breath," Kakashi told her sternly, his eye glowing brightly through the shadows of the trees around them. She had only seen his Sharingan twice before. The first being on their mission together, and the second was when she had merely asked him. 

"What's under there?" She had asked one afternoon, peering over the academy scrolls she was required to read. He had lifted his head from his book, surprised by her abrupt question. 

"It's called a Sharingan," he had explained to her. "I'll teach you about it some other day." 

She had waited a few moments, watching his profile as he turned his head back into his book. The perfect curve of his nose that twitched nervously when she was near seemed to draw her in. 

"Need something?" He had asked, not looking up. She blushed, realizing he had caught her staring. 

"Can I see what it looks like?" 

Annoyed or surprised, he turned his head to look at her, hesitating before lifting a thumb to push his forehead protector up. The sight of the glowing red eye was just as jarring then as it was now. 

"Push harder," he urged her, pushing the kunai against hers. She launched forward, the unnerving sound of scraping metal on metal permeated her ears. She gritted her teeth in determination. 

Behind him, her shadow clone entered from the edge of the field where she had left her, her hands forming different signs in her memory bank to produce four sharp petals from the ground. Each spun through the air to catch Kakashi's shirt, tearing it at his shoulder as he avoided the three others. While he jumped through the air to evade her petaled blades, the real Ayame sunk to the ground with her hands splayed across the grass. In seconds, the grass beneath him turned to moss. 

As his sandaled foot slipped on the silky moss, he quickly attempted to steady himself as she launched her body forward, pushing him back onto the ground with a loud thump. With her legs on each side of his chest, she quickly placed her blade under his neck. She smiled as her chest rose and fell, smirking at the famed copy ninja that laid below her with his hands next to his head. Two strings of ivy erupted from the ground to seal him to the earth. 

"Ok, you win," he said breathlessly, a chuckle rising from his throat. Ayame smiled, sweat dripping from her temple as she tipped the blade to his chin. Her legs quivered against his ribs from the adrenaline and exertion. She could feel the heat of his body beneath her, the sheer warmth exuding from his skin that penetrated her bare thighs. His eyebrows lessened, lowering down his forehead as his gaze grew quiet. Her hand dropped to his rising chest, exhausted, still clutching the kunai. 

Behind her, she felt the cool touch of a blade on the side of her neck, and her body went rigid. Turning, she looked up to see Kakashi's soft smile above her. Under her legs, his solid figure disappeared with a puff of smoke, her eyes blinking at him in exasperation. 

"You almost had me," Kakashi smiled at her, setting the blade down to his side. Ayame sighed, sinking her bottom further to the ground between her bent legs.

"Don't be too quick to celebrate," he reminded her, sitting on the ground beside her. "One of the first things you should already know is always to be aware of your surroundings, whether you think the battle is finished or not. You did good with that shadow clone, but you should have also seen mine." 

"I understand," she nodded, twiddling her fingers over the blade of her weapon. As her heart rate finally began to steady at an average pace, she sighed heavily and leaned back into the grassy plain. Carefully, her sensei did the same, reaching in his back pocket for his book as she closed her eyes, rethinking what she could have done differently—perhaps having two shadow clones? One to serve as a lookout and one to tap in during battle? 

Her stomach constricted, angry with herself for being distracted at the last moment. She had him there, tied up. If it weren't for his shadow clone - and the way he had looked at her - then maybe she would have heard the real Kakashi behind her. Such a simple move, really. She should have been more aware. 

"Just be more aware next time," she heard him say beside her as if reading her thoughts. Her head turned, looking over at him as the golden hour sun cast a halo of yellow around them—a triangle of light under his eye and little dips of dark gray in his hair. She hated how attracted she was to him. She had pushed it down, determined to see him as her teacher and nothing more. If possible, they could be friends, but that was the extent she was willing to go for him. The thought of something more stirred a fire in her belly.

"I know," she agreed, nodding her head as she turned to look up at the sky. Puffs of clouds traveled quickly through the orange and purple sky, like an oil painting, but more refined. She thought again of the sparring match as she observed his slender fingers dance restlessly over the cover of the book he held. 

"How many times have you read that book?" she asked abruptly, catching a glimpse of the tattered spine and bent pages. His thumb held his page as his eyes continued to skim the words. She noticed that he hadn't turned the page in some time. 

"A few," he responded casually, his other arm bent behind his head for comfort. 

"Is it good?" Ayame laughed, realizing it was certainly more than "a few" times. 

"I would say so," Kakashi shrugged, smirking at her laughter. 

"Could I read it?" 

Kakashi chuckled quietly, his smile beneath his mask evident from the shadows the sun created behind him. "If you want, I could let you borrow it. But only briefly." 

"I would like that," she smiled, "I know it can be pretty raunchy." 

Kakashi closed his book quickly and looked over at her, seemingly taken aback by her response while his index finger held his page. 

Ayame felt a giggle rise in her throat at his expression and apparent loss of words. "I mean, it's not like I've never read a romance book before."  

"It's more than romance," he commented quickly, waving the tabbed book at her. Her eyes caught sight of how tattered it truly was. She wondered fleetingly why he was so invested in reading this book. Perhaps it was a method of distraction. 

"You don't use bookmarks, do you?" she questioned, her eyes still on the book that now laid on his chest. 

"I just rely on folding the pages," he said, watching her as she clasped her hands together in a familiar jutsu. Beside her, a small lavender sprig rose from the earth, its purple petals off-color in the setting sun. Carefully, she picked it from the ground and twirled it between her thumb and index finger. 

"Here," she smiled softly at him, "as a bookmark. It smells nice too. Lavender helps keep you calm." 

Kakashi looked over at her, his eyes dancing between the sprig of lavender and the affectionate gaze she offered him. She didn't mean to look at him the way she did, but something twisted within her that she couldn't stop. Everything he had done for her whirled in her mind. The last seven months that they had known each other and all of their interactions. She simply felt grateful for him.

He reached over and delicately took the sprig from her hand, brushing his fingers against hers, whether on accident or purposely, she wasn't sure. She was certain, however, of the beam of sunlight that hit his neck, illuminating a pulse that seemed to be beating rather quickly. 

"Thank you," Kakashi responded quietly. She looked at him, and he looked at her. Both unsure of what to do, but both quite certain of what they wanted to do. Ayame could feel the blood pumping in her ears, a wave of heat ricocheting off her spine to every nerve ending in her body. Her skin tingled where he had grazed it, the feeling of a calloused fingertip touching hers, wondering what it would be like to feel more of them. 

Suddenly the distance between them wasn't so far. The tickle of the grass on her cheek barely noticeable as she leaned closer. His single black eye stared directly into hers, flickering down to her lips in a way that made her stomach somersault. 

She had been the one to lean forward, to press her lips against his and soak in his intoxicating scent of sweat and cedar. The electric shock that twisted through her body as she felt him exhale in relief against her lips, the fabric between them muting the heat his breath gave off. All she could hear was their blended heavy sighs.

Her bones rattled with satisfaction, feeling the months of yearning peel away from her. She lifted her hand, gently clutching his jacket as his hand came to rest on her jawbone. Her whole body tingled at the heat of his palm. She felt his fingertips curl into her braid, pulling her against him over the grassy field. She felt delirious as he tenderly moved his lips against hers. 

She could have stayed there for days. To feel the mingling satisfaction of his body near hers and the exhilarating sensation of that damned mask against her mouth. He was near her for only seconds, not nearly long enough, and yet - 

"Ayame-san?" a feminine voice called out from the outskirts of the training ground. Without hesitation, they both pulled away, furiously blushing. Her ears rung from the interaction, and her body shook from the thrill. 

"Ayame-san?" It was that pink-haired kunoichi nurse that had helped her in the hospital. 

"Hello, Sakura," Kakashi greeted, delicately placing the sprig of lavender in his book. His face was purposely shielded from the kunoichi's sight, yet when Ayame peeked over, she could see the very tops of his cheeks were tinged rose. 

"Oh, Kakashi-sensei," Sakura smiled, waving happily at him. She looked between the two, both clearly flustered but trying desperately to hide it. Ayame looked up at the girl, realizing this must have been one of his previous students that now trains under Lady Tsunade to be a medic. He had spoken of them a few times, all fondly. But she had wondered fleetingly if it bothered him that they had moved on to other training endeavors. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but-" 

"You're not interrupting anything," The pinkette's sensei quickly responded, standing to his feet. Ayame followed suit, casually brushing the dirt from her clothing. 

Sakura nodded, pursing her lips to hide a smile, "Right. Well, I am here for Ayame-san. If you don't mind, Lady Tsunade would like to speak with her. It's rather urgent, or else it could have waited." 

"The Hokage would like to speak with me?" Ayame reiterated, surprised. 

"Yes," Sakura nodded, "I'll explain more on the way there. But we have to hurry." 

"Right," Ayame nodded, her eyebrows focused again as she tried to sweep away the interaction that had just happened. 

She began to follow Sakura, her pink hair bobbing as she ran back towards the village. Ayame turned, lifting her hand to wave goodbye only to find him facing away from her, nervously scratching his head as he looked out towards the setting sun. 

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A/N: Original art by the talented Caro on Twitter! It was originally a different flower but I changed it

I hope you stuck this far and I hope you like it so far! Feedback is always appreciated <3 Thank you so much for reading! 

[theyalldeserveddbetter]

Apologies

(Chris Evans x teen! daughter reader)

Request: Can I request a Chris Evans x teen! reader where her and her best friend get into a fight and he gives her advice?? I hope this makes sense! 😊

A/N: I hope this is what you wanted! This is my first request so sorry if it isn’t that good. Enjoy!

Words: 1710

It was a chilly morning. You were lucky that it was a Saturday or else you would’ve had to walk to school. You sat at the kitchen table, clutching a mug of hot chocolate. As you looked out of the window, you saw the sun just barely peeking through the thick wall of clouds. Your dad, Chris, had left to go film about an hour ago so you were left alone in the house. The new series your dad was filming was set in Boston so you were extremely lucky that he didn’t have to go to an entirely different state.

You sighed as you finished your mug of hot chocolate, slumping down into your seat. Stretching your arms out, you stood up and grabbed your phone, checking the time. 

8:45 am 

You had woken up ‘earlier’ than usual to get a school assignment done. Usually, on a Saturday, you would still be asleep or in bed but too lazy to get up. You groaned to yourself and started to make your way to your bedroom. You better get an A on this assignment or else nothing was worth it anymore. 

-

“No, that's not how you're supposed to do it.” You were on a call with one of your best friends, trying to explain the assignment to them. You knew that maths wasn’t their strong suit so you tried to keep as calm as possible. It was, however, yours so your patience was wearing a bit thin.

“Then explain it properly to me then!” Your friend exclaimed. 

You groaned loudly and put your head in your hands, slightly losing your sanity.

“I said,” You started, trying to keep your cool, despite wanting to rip your hair out, “if you subtract the two answers together then you should get an answer that’s close to 78.35.” 

“Then how come I got 59.25?” Your friend asked, annoyed. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Because you didn’t multiply anything first,” You told her, irritated that she wasn’t listening to anything you had said earlier.

“You could’ve said that earlier! I wouldn’t of had to listen to your stupid help then!” 

That’s when you snapped. How dare they say that! You were trying to help them but they were the one that wasn’t listening in the first place.

“My stupid help? You're the one that wasn’t listening to anything I said!” You yelled, thumping the desk.

“Cause’ nothing you said was important!” Your best friend snapped back.

“Well I wouldn’t have had to help you in the first place if you weren’t so stupid!”

As soon as those words came out of your mouth, instant regret filled you. You shouldn’t have said anything.

“(YF/N) I-“ You started to apologise but she cut you off.

“Goodbye (Y/N).”

You heard the sound of the beep as the call ended. You sunk back into your seat and stared at your phone for a while, processing what had just happened. You ran over the events in your head. Oh, it was all your fault! What were you going to do? You couldn’t just sit there and do nothing, that’s for sure. You leaned forward in your seat and snatched your phone. Flopping back into the seat, you called (YF/N). 

One ring, two rings.

They didn’t seem to pick up. You ended the call after a few rings and tried again. The same thing happened. Your friend definitely wasn’t going to pick up. You decided that the best thing you could do at that point was to get out of your room and grab something to eat before you starved. You also needed to feed Dodger.

-

You fell back into the couch. You munched on your muesli bar as thought to yourself. It wasn’t a lot but it was enough to keep you going for a few more hours until Chris got back home from set. You had also remembered to feed Dodger something so that he wouldn’t starve either. When you had finished the bar, you grabbed a hold of the TV remote and started to pick a show from Netflix. You settled on Brooklyn Nine Nine. Every few episodes or so you would try to call (YF/N) but they never picked up once. You had also sent a million texts. 

Time went by and soon enough, you fell asleep. You didn’t remember how long you were out for but it had to be for quite a while seems as the next time you awoke it was getting dark. 

CLICK

The door creaked open and Dodger started to bark happily. You felt Dodger leave your side and you grumbled. Opening your eyes to see when the commotion was about, you saw your dad greeting Dodger by the door.

“Hey sweetie,” You heard your dad call out from the front door.You mumbled a ‘hey’ back in return. 

Chris walked over to you and put his keys in the basket nearby. He sat down as you felt the couch dip beside you.

“How did the assignment go?” He asked, putting an arm around you.

The assignment? Oh, the assignment! Memories of the day filled back into your head as you mentally rewind. You still hadn’t been able to grab a hold of (YF/N).

“Good, it went good,” You said, answering Chris’ question. You leaned into him.

“Are you sure?” He questioned, “You don’t sound so sure.” 

“Yeah, i’m pretty sure. It went fine, dad.” You told him.

Chris’ face scrunched up in thought for a second but then relaxed, believing you. 

“You should take a shower, you stink.” You say laughing, changing the subject. You shoved the arm that your dad had around you off and poked him in the side. 

He laughed too, “I don’t stink!”

“Yeah you do!” You shoved him farther, trying to get him to stand up. He eventually did.

“Nuh uh.”

“Yeah huh.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Uh huh.”

Chris threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, i’ll go take a shower. I do kinda stink.” He admitted.

When Chris had left the room to go take a shower, you called Dodger over.

“Come on Dodger. Come here boy,” You patted the side of the couch and sat up straighter. Dodger immediately obeyed happily and climbed beside you. 

“What am I going to do about (YF/N) huh?” You asked the dog while patting him. “I should probably ask dad for advice, shouldn’t I?”

Dodger barked, almost as if he understood you. You laughed and continued to pat him, waiting for Chris.

“I’m going to ask him after dinner.”

-

You sat at the dinner table as Chris put away the dishes from dinner. Resting your head on your hand, you built up the courage to ask your dad for advice about your problem. 

You took a deep breath.

“Hey dad?” You called out to Chris. 

He looked up from wiping a dish dry and looked over at you. 

“Yes sweetheart?”

You took another deep breath, getting ready to ask the question. You didn’t know why you were so worked up with asking for advice. You’d done it many times before so what was so different now?

“Can I ask you for advice?”

Chris stopped what he was doing and immediately walked over to you. He grabbed the seat from beside you and sat down, looking at you.

“Of course! What do you need to ask me?” He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table in front. 

“I-“ You started, beginning to regret your idea, “It’s about (YF/N).” 

Chris nodded and kept his calm gaze on you, telling you to keep going.

“We got into a disagreement and I can’t call them to apologise.” You finally admitted.

Chris’ gaze softened. “Oh (Y/N), that’s perfectly fine. Even if they aren’t answering your calls, they’re bound to be reading your texts. I say you try to arrange a meeting at the local coffee shop.” Chris suggested.

“But what if they won’t go.” You panicked.

“They’re your best friend. They will go.” Chris said, “Trust me. It’ll work out in the end.” 

Your dad gave you a side hug.

“Thanks dad. I really appreciate it.” You told him.

“Of course! Anything for my girl.” Chris smiled at you, “Is that all you need?”

You nodded.

“Good, don’t stress too much. It’ll work out in the end.”

-

You lay in bed, thinking about the text you had sent your friend earlier. You trusted your dad’s advice and arranged a meetup at the local coffee shop at 10 am the next morning. You had finished the maths assignment before you sent the text. You decided to get some sleep before tomorrow’s event. You definitely needed it. You shut your eyes, feeling the darkness and sleep come to you.

The next morning you woke up and ate breakfast as usual. You then proceeded to leave the house at 9:45 go to the local coffee shop. Getting to the shop, you picked the booth in the far corner and sat down to wait for (YF/N). While you waited for them, you scrolled through Instagram on your phone. 

Looking at the time, you saw that it was 10:05. You looked around the place and at the entrance. You saw a familiar face walk in. They started to head in your direction, finally sitting down in front of you. Before they could utter anything you jumped in.

“Look, (YF/N) I shouldn’t have called you stupid. You are an amazing person and a great friend. Anything I could ask for. I am sincerely sorry.” You apologised, hoping that it was enough for your friend to forgive you. “I understand if you don’t-“

“(Y/N) stop.” Your friend cut you off, looking at you. “I was going to say that I am sorry for not listening to your help and I probably am pretty stupid.”

“No, don't say that! You’re not stupid.” You told your best friend. 

“I guess we both came to apologise to each other huh?”

“I mean that was the point wasn’t it?” (YF/N) chuckled.

“Yeah I guess it was,” You laughed with (YF/N). 

“I’m sorry,”

“I accept your apology. I’m sorry too.”

“And I accept your’s.” 

Taglist

@ssebstann​ @lozzypoz321 @hera-the-writer

[lexartsstuff]

You'll Always Have Me

Word Count: 3,925

    “So, Ari, excited for your big day off tomorrow?” Anna plopped her tray on the table, the red plastic rattling as she threw her leg over the bench.

    Catalina looked up from her sushi, raising a playful brow at the two meat lovers’ pizzas on Anna’s tray. Returning to her food, the woman said, “Yes, I am actually.”

    “No, you’ve only been raving about it for a week!” Lina shot a glare at Anne, who gave her a smug grin in response. She wasn’t wrong, though. Lina had been hyping herself up for this all week. It would be a day to have all to herself. No work, no house cleaning, nothing. She was free for the whole day.

    Cathy rested her chin on her palm, a knowing smirk on her face as she said, “She’s gonna spend it all day sleeping, you know that right?”

    A collective nod went around the table. Even Lina couldn’t deny that she’d sleep until noon. “I’ll sleep until one and then I’ll spend the rest of the day watching movies,” Lina said. “Me-time is all I need.” A small moment of silence fell over the group, before a tray was set down on Lina’s left. Rose scent drifted lightly into her nose and Lina’s chest warmed.

    “Sorry, the line was long,” Jane apologized, sliding in to sit beside Lina.

    “For yogurt?” Anne asked, looking up from Kat’s phone.

    “They don’t just have yogurt, Anne.” 

    As the group tucked into their food, Catalina began rethinking her previous statement. While, yes, she did want to spend some time to herself, there was a certain someone she really wanted to spend the day with. Casting a look to her left, Catalina noticed Jane sweep her blonde hair back over one shoulder, lifting her spoon and savoring her parfait. It was undeniably cute, to which it had no right to be.

    Lina was a woman of her word, and denying a crush was far beneath her. If she were in any other situation, she’d have asked Jane out by now. Problem is; Jane isn’t open. She’s been dating some guy named Henry for four years now. It sunk Catalina’s heart to see the sweet blonde around the pompous jerk.

    “So, we all know what Cath’s gonna be up to,” Kitty began, “anyone else have any fun plans?”

    “I finished my project for Monday,” Anna said nonchalantly. “I’m just gonna work on my wall tomorrow.” Kat brightened upon hearing that, leaning over to Anna with her classic kitty eyes. Anna chuckled and booped the younger woman’s nose. “Yes, you can come over and help.”

    After shoveling a forkful of salad into her mouth, Anne said, “I will be working out tomorrow. So, Lina, if you wanna join-”

    “Don’t call me Lina,” Catalina enforced, tightening her grip on her chopsticks and fixing a glare on the shorter woman. Anne raised her hands defensively, swallowing her mouthful.

    “Just know the offer’s out there.” Anne returned to eating, occasionally eyeing Lina suspiciously. Cathy chuckled, sending her cousin a knowing look.

    “Oh, yes! Lina, what are your plans for tomorrow?” Jane asked, placing a hand on Catalina’s arm.

    “Wait, how come she-”

    “Sleep and watch movies.” Lina interjected, ignoring Anne’s declaration. Turning to Jane with a soft smile, she continued. “It won’t be exciting, but it’ll be relaxing.”

    Jane nodded, a sweet smile on her face. It amazed Catalina how interested Jane could seem about anything. It wasn’t fake interest either. Lina could sit and describe paint drying and Jane would look at her with interest dancing in her wide, azure eyes.

    “What’re you gonna be up to, Janey?” Kit questioned, leaning on the table. “I’m sure Ari doesn’t wanna be alone all day.” The way she glanced at Lina was far too teasing to be accidental. The worst part about her crush was how apparently obvious it was. Anna and Cathy were the denser of the group, and they figured it out first.

    Jane’s smile faltered, and it turned anxious. She prodded her yogurt, nudging a blueberry around silently. Dread befell Lina as a tense silence fell over the table.

    “You’re kidding, right?” Cathy’s eyes were firm as she asked this, fixed on Jane solemnly. Anne did her best to hide her disappointment, hiding her face behind her curtain of hair. “I thought you were gonna drop him!”

    “I was.” Jane pushed her blueberry under the yogurt, refusing to meet her friends’ eyes. “I told him Tuesday, and he asked for another chance-”

    “And you gave him one?” Anna demanded, causing Jane to flinch. The red clad woman frowned and sat back down, folding her arms. Lina could understand her friend’s frustration. Jane had come to Anne’s on Monday night, sobbing about how she’d caught Henry sending texts to another woman, asking ‘what to bring’ and ‘Jane won’t know’. The group had had a talk that night, and Jane promised to stick it to Henry the next day.

    However, as per usual, Henry squirreled his way out of a break-up by promising to “make it up” with a date.

    “Look, he seemed really genuine,” Jane reasoned. No one missed how soft her voice had gone when Anna had raised her own. “If he gets too drunk tonight or makes an excuse to cancel, I’m dropping him. He hasn’t forgotten all week.”

    Lina’s heart clenched at Jane’s broken tone. She was convincing herself that Henry would show, rather than her friends. She hated hearing Jane’s attempts to salvage the tiny pieces of her relationship with Henry, but she hated putting Jane down even more.

    Placing a hand on the blonde’s, Catalina said, “Just be safe, okay? If anything happens, call us.” She fixed her gaze on Jane, trying to steady her breathing. As much as she hated it, the date was going to happen. She just had to be ready to catch Jane when it fell out.

    Jane widened her fingers. Not by much, but just enough for Lina’s fingers to brush in between. The action sparked warmth in the taller woman’s chest, and she watched Jane nod slowly. “Thank you, Lina,” Jane whispered. She looked up, azure eyes void. “May I excuse myself?”

    “Of course, querida,” Lina replied, shifting to allow Jane room to leave the table. The blonde gave her friend a tiny smile, before retreating to the restrooms.

    Upon looking back at the table, Lina noticed all her friends staring at her, dismay in their eyes. Cathy’s expression said it all, and Lina let her defeated sigh slip. There was no point in trying to fix the problem anymore. There had been a time when Lina would purposefully make plans ahead of Henry, or ask Jane to things first, which kept Henry at a safe distance. Her attempts had declined over the years upon seeing no improvement in their relationship.

    Anna laid a hand on Lina’s shoulder, to which the curly-haired woman simply nodded.

    Tomorrow felt much less exciting now.

    Lina had been right. She’d slept in until one on Saturday, and only got out of bed when her stomach growled at her for food.

    She slumped around her house in a hoodie and sweatpants. She had ordered take out for lunch, which she then had delivered to her flat. She’d never done that before, which made her realize why Anne loved lazy weekends.

    Lunch was followed by a short yoga session. Lina had picked up yoga in her second year of college. Sitting all day was awful on her back and joints, and she definitely didn’t get enough exercise from just walking to and from campus. Kat had suggested yoga, and Lina was rather impressed with the results it had. Her posture had improved and she no longer felt the need to fidget in her seat.

    “How’s the wall coming along?” Lina asked, face buried in her arms as she reached for her toes.

    Anna’s voice came through the phone. “It’s halfway done,” she answered. “There’s paint all over me, though, and Kat’s not helping.”

    “Excuse me!” Kit’s voice came from somewhere else in the room, making Lina chuckle. “It’s not my fault you put so much stuff where I can’t reach.”

    “Anyways,” Anna continued, “how’re you holding up? Being lazy must be so hard.”

    Lina sat up, letting out a breath of air. “I don’t know how Anne does it,” Lina replied, feigning exhaustion, before reaching down to her other foot.

    Anna laughed, disappearing from the screen as she continued painting.

    That call had lasted the hour Lina did her yoga. Anna had hung up when she and Kat ran out for food, waving bye. Lina rolled her mat up and tucked it away in the corner of her living room. With a final stretch to loosen herself up, she changed back into a hoodie and sweats.

    The next couple hours were spent napping and scrolling through her phone. A gentle rain had begun to fall, pattering on the windows. Lina checked her phone. 9:43. I should eat something.

    She headed for the kitchen and began rummaging for something to heat up. She pulled out a container of mac n’ cheese, shrugged, and popped it into the microwave.

    Wine goes with that, right?

    Looking back in the fridge, Lina took notice of the wine bottle. It wasn’t until she pulled it out that she realized something.

    This was the bottle Jane had given her for her birthday. It was a Spanish red wine, similar to what her abuela used to drink. Lina had tugged Jane into the tightest hug, thanking her over and over.

    As one memory of Jane took hold, more and more began to flood Lina’s mind. Memories of school musicals, dances, mall outings, amusement park trips. Every moment with Jane was held close to Lina’s heart, which was breaking with each memory remembered. The thought of her being held by that pig of man was worse than someone ripping Lina’s heart out.

    “I should check up on her.” She had gone to reach for her phone, before thinking better of it. No. I don’t wanna piss Henry off by texting during their date. While the thought of Jane on a date with Henry was far from pleasing, it was better than thinking about all the times Jane had looked at Lina as if she were the sun. Lina knew if her mind strayed to Jane, she’d be tense the rest of the night.

    Shaking her anxieties off, Catalina poured a glass of wine and waited for her food to finish heating up. She watched the rain drops race down her windows, the rain picking up outside.

    The microwave dinged and she pulled the mac n’ cheese out, hissing as the bowl burned her hands. Setting it down, Lina retreated to the living room to search Disney+ for a movie. She settled on Lady and the Tramp, placing the remote back on the coffee table.

    And no, not because it was Jane’s favorite.

    Lina ran back for her dinner, tucking her phone into her sweat pockets before carrying her bowl and wine out the living room. She reclined back on the arm of the couch, wine glass on the end table and bowl cradled in her lap.

    It was halfway through the movie when Lina felt something vibrate against her stomach. She groaned and dug around for her phone. She had just gotten into the perfect position where everything was stretched just right.

    She pulled her phone out, took one look at the contact, and her adrenaline shot up. She slid the green button and quickly held the phone to her ear.

    “Jane, what’s wrong?”

    There was silence on the other end, aside from rain and the faint sound of breathing.

    “Lina…”

    Catalina was already pulling her coat on with that one word. Jane had sounded shattered on the other end, her sniffles coming through the rain.

    “Stay right there, bebé,” Lina ordered. “I’m coming to get you. Where are you?”

    “Lina, I-I’m so sorry. H-He-”

    “Hush, querida, don’t speak,” Lina interrupted, grabbing her keys and hurrying out the door, forgoing the slides that sat at the door. “Are you home?”

    A choked sob echoed in the phone before Jane whispered, “Yes.”

    “Alright, hun, I’m on my way,” she assured. “Just stay on the phone, please.”

    A whimpered ‘ok’ was all she got to confirm Jane had heard. Catalina watched the rain smack off her window, and she gripped the steering wheel tighter. She could only assume two things, neither of which she wanted to dwell on. Jane’s broken tone was already enough for Lina to rip the steering wheel right off the dashboard.

    “Don’t worry, Jane, I’m almost there,” Lina murmured, taking the turn at the intersection.

    It was a fight to not go over the speed limit, to which she was already surpassing. All the while she spoke words of comfort into the phone, Jane’s sobs echoing in her ear.

    She pulled to a stop in front of Jane’s apartment complex, and through the heavy downpour, she took notice of a petite blonde. Lina leapt from her car, hurrying to Jane’s side. She was seated under the small overhang of the building, but she was absolutely drenched.

    Mascara ran down Jane’s cheeks in rivers, the rain water spreading it over her face. Her blonde hair, which Catalina could only assume had once been wavy and conditioned, was soaked and mattered. Blonde strands plastered to Jane’s face, and her chin quivered as she forced back tears.

    “Oh, cariño,” Lina gasped, taking notice of Jane’s dress. “Usaste el nuevo.”

    A sob broke through Jane’s lips and she buried her face in her hands. Lina knelt down, gently pulling the blonde to the ground, and tucked the sobbing woman into her chest. Jane’s hands fisted into Lina’s coat instantly, and she cried into her friend’s neck.

    “Oh, Lina, I-I’m such an idiot!” Jane cried, knuckles jabbing into Catalina’s chest. “I should’ve listened to you! You were right; you were all right! I’m so stupid!”

    “No, no, querida,” Lina soothed, pressing Jane closer to her body. “You’re not stupid, never say that.”

    Jane shook with another sob. “B-But if I had just listened to you-” Jane paused to sniff, another sob choking out. “I-If I had just dropped h-him like you said, then you wouldn’t have to be h-here in the rain with me.”

    “Jane, no.” Lina sat back, holding Jane back to look her in the eyes. “It doesn’t matter what day it is, nor the weather. I’d come to you in a blizzard on foot if you needed me.” Shrugging out of her coat, Lina pulled the garment over Jane’s shoulders and pulled her in. “Now, how about you come with me? I have wine.”

    Another sniffle followed by a nod against her chest was all the confirmation Lina needed. She took Jane’s hands in her own, helping her to her feet. Catalina pulled the coat over Jane’s head while she opened the car door.

    Holding the door open, Lina helped Jane duck into the car. Once she was situated, Lina ran to the driver’s side and quickly dove in. The rain was pounding the roof of the car, the window being splattered with drops faster than the wipers could clean them.

    Jane was shivering in the seat, clutching Catalina’s coat tight to her body. Lina’s heart sank and she offered her hand to the woman. The blonde took it immediately, silent tears still flowing down her cheeks. The drive home was silent, golden eyes fixed ahead while azure focused down, hands intertwined.

    Lina scooped Jane out of the passenger seat, carrying her to the door and setting her down only to open the door. Jane kept her face tucked into Lina’s neck until they reached the bathroom.

    “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Lina whispered, cupping Jane’s sticky cheeks. Jane nodded weakly and Lina began searching for the make-up wipes.

    She pulled the wipes out and gently swiped it over Jane’s cheek. The blonde tensed, but slowly relaxed into the movements. Lina tossed the now-black wipe and pulled another out. This time, when she wiped Jane’s cheek, Lina felt her press into her touch. Her cheeks warmed with a pink dust, and she was thankful for Jane’s shut eyes.

    “Do you want to get a shower?” Lina gently brushed Jane’s arm, noting the goosebumps trailing up her skin. Jane nodded again, and Lina pulled a white towel out from under the sink. “You’re favorite color.”

    A tiny, watery smile tugged at Jane’s lips, and Lina mentally patted herself on the back. “I have an extra loofa in there, it’s the black one, and you can use my body wash and stuff.”

    She moved to leave the bathroom, when Jane let a small noise escape. Lina looked back and her heart melted at the sight of Jane brushing through her wet hair. “C-Can you wait outside? I don’t want to be alone…” Her voice drifted off towards the end, and Lina returned to her friend’s side.

    Taking Jane’s small, shivering hand in her warm ones, Lina looked sincerely into Jane’s eyes. “I’ll be just beyond the door, alright? You can shout to check.”

    Jane’s eyes softened, and a new emotion flickered in them. Lina slowly released the blonde’s hand and retreated from the bathroom.

    She stood outside of the bathroom for the entirety of Jane’s shower.

    Not once did Jane check if Lina had stayed.

    The bathroom door creaked open, and Lina stood up from the wall. Jane stepped close to her, wrapped in the towel. Her hand brushed Lina’s, and the taller woman took it gently. “I have a fresh load of laundry in my room,” she said, leading Jane to her bedroom. “I’ll get you something warm.”

    Lina found a sweater and pair of sweats that would hopefully tie tight enough for Jane. She left the blonde to change, and her jaw nearly hit the floor when she came back in.

    The sweater fell down to Jane’s mid-thigh, hanging off one shoulder. Lina’s face flushed and she coughed into her hand, attempting to hide her gay panic. Stop it. Jane needs you. Swallowing, Lina stepped into the room. “How’re you feeling?”

    Jane looked down, bringing her hands up to clutch her forearms. “Better, I guess,” she mumbled. Her drying blonde hair fell over her face in a curtain.

    Lina made her way towards the blonde. She placed a gentle hand on the small of Jane’s back. Suddenly, arms looped around Lina’s neck and tugged her in. Jane’s nose brushed the column of her throat, causing a blush to spread up the taller woman’s cheeks.

    “Thank you, Lina,” Jane whispered, voice tight. Lina smiled, wrapping her arms around Jane’s waist and setting her chin on her head.

    “Anytime, mi querida,” Lina murmured.

    They ended up on the couch, Lina reclined against the armrest once more with Jane cuddled into her side. Both nursed a glass of Spanish wine, eyes fixed on the TV. Lina threw occasional looks towards Jane, checking to make sure the blonde was okay.

    In truth, Lina wanted to ask her exactly what had happened. Jane was always down after dates with Henry, but never was she so upset to the point of crying. Taking a sip of her wine, Lina turned her gaze on Jane. “Do you want to talk about it?”

    Jane took a long sip of wine, lips remaining pressed to the glass. Lina bit her lip and set her glass down. “You don’t have to,” she added. “I just think it’d be best if I knew a little.”

    “No, you’re right,” Jane said, clutching the neck of her glass. “You deserve to know.”

    Lina set her hand on Jane’s shoulder, pulling her a bit closer. “Jane, I’m always gonna be here for you, alright?” She fixed her eyes on the blonde. “If you’re not ready to talk, that’s perfectly okay. I just want to know at some point.”

    Jane nodded, taking a small sip from her wine. Silence followed, to which Lina picked up her own glass and returned to watching the movie. If Jane didn’t want to share, that was fine with her. She’d wait for years if that’s what Jane needed.

    “He left me there.”

    She nearly choked on her wine, spitting it back into the glass. Jane looked at her with worried eyes, placing a hand on her side. Lina set her glass down and sharply turned to face Jane. “He what?”

    Jane bit her lip, averting her eyes from Lina’s. “He said he’d pick me up at nine,” Jane said. Her voice was tight with sadness and underlying anger. “He promised me. He kept telling me all week that it’d be great.” She faltered, staring down at her drink.

    Lina’s dread was replaced by rage. Jane had sounded so sure that Henry would make it up to her. She sounded far from excited, but she was hopeful. Even Lina had a tiny spark of hope that Henry would make an effort for Jane. But he hadn’t even bothered to show up!

    “I should have listened to you.” Jane sounded defeated, her fingers tapping the glass. “I guess that’s one thing he was honest about. I really am an idiot.”

    Lina slid off the couch and took Jane’s hands, holding them to her chest. “Jane Seymour, you listen to me.” She waited until Jane’s azure eyes met her golden ones. “You are a wonderful woman. You’ve been my dearest friend all my life, and I would rather freeze hell over than listen to you speak horrible things about yourself. You are such a kind woman, with a heart undeserving of the cruelty in this world.

    “You are not an idiot, and I will keep telling you this until you realize it’s true.” Lina moved her hands to cup Jane’s face, brushing her cheek lightly. “So please, all I ask of you, is to remember how truly remarkable you are; both inside and out.”

    Jane’s eyes glittered with tears, small streams glistening down her cheeks. She cupped one of the hands on her cheeks, pressing into it as she nodded. Lina smiled softly, stretching forward onto her knees to touch her forehead to Jane’s.

    “You’re so kind to me,” Jane murmured, a watery smile appearing on her face. Lina chuckled and kissed the blonde’s forehead.

    “Only ever for you.”

    The soft look of trust that flushed over Jane’s eyes, along with the tiny giggle, was enough to melt Lina’s heart. She pulled herself back onto the couch, and giggled as Jane snuggled back into her. As Jane’s head settled beneath Catalina’s chin, the blonde whispered, “Thank you, again, Lina. For everything you’ve done.”

    Lina pulled the blanket over the two and held Jane close. “I’ll always be here for you, querida.”

    The two stayed close, cocooned in the blanket as the Disney movie carried on quietly. Lina melted into Jane’s presence, burying her nose in soft blonde hair. She felt Jane smile against her neck and Lina placed another kiss on the crown of Jane’s head.

    “I love you, Lina.”

    Jane’s breath tickled Lina’s neck as she spoke. Her words sent goosebumps up Lina’s skin, but she replied without hesitation. “I love you, too, Jane.”

    And though she knew they both meant different things, one of platonic origin and the other romantic, Lina knew that Jane meant it. That she loved Lina as much as she loved Jane. And that was enough to make her forget about destroying Henry.

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 16

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~6,100

Warnings: Smut

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

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Lilah woke unwillingly. Rolling over, she scrubbed at her eyes, still swollen from crying herself to sleep. Brasa had held her closely as they drove away from a home Lilah wasn’t sure she would ever return to. She’d managed to hold her tears for about ten minutes, and then her will had given out.

In her state, Lilah could be forgiven for how long it had taken her to notice that they weren’t on course for Brasa’s bar. When she’d asked where they were going, Brasa had simply said, ‘home’.

‘Home’ was quite literally carved into solid stone. Accessible through an elevator hidden cleverly in a low rock formation. It opened into a completely dark corridor. Lilah let Brasa lead her by the hand into the darkness, looking back only once to catch Javier reaching down to close the doors to the elevator carriage, shutting out the only light.

Blind, Lilah’s step had faltered. Brasa took it in stride, wrapping an arm around her and acting as her guide. They reached a door, which opened to… ‘home’. It was, she supposed, average in size, though she hadn’t paid much attention to the architecture. Brasa had cosetted her in yet another deliciously comfortable bed and she had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening putting off Brasa’s questions regarding her well being.

To be fair, Lilah hadn’t known how she felt the night previous. She still wasn’t sure how she felt. Her emotions wavered between indignation and deep depression, both of which made her head ache. She pushed the covers back and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

Padding quietly to the bathroom by the illumination of a small nightlight shining near the door of the bedroom, Lilah went through the motions of cleaning herself up. No stranger to a rough night, she was unsurprised to find shadows beneath her eyes and her hair in disarray. A quick look in the vanity drawers found a comb that the used to gingerly comb out the tangles.

After washing her face, Lilah made her way to the bedroom door, peering out into the hallway. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she tip toed towards the living room. In the few moments that she’d spent standing at the threshold, waiting for Brasa to shrug off his coat and hang it up, she’d noticed how sumptuous the furniture was—an overstuffed couch, soft carpets, dark and heavy woods. Everything was all rich fabric and soft textures. And yet, it was strangely bare. No pictures, no art, no...personality.

As she made her way deeper into the house, Lilah came upon Brasa sitting in the plush chair, a book in his hand. Head bent over the pages, he looked...so completely normal that she had to blink a few times to make sure that it was, indeed, him.

Sensing her approach, he looked up, eyes assessing, “How did you sleep?”

Lilah watched as he closed the book, setting it aside, She watched as he stood and approached. She watched as he became more concerned as she failed to respond. He grasped her above the elbows, head dipping to catch her eyes. Lilah couldn’t hold the gaze, and felt ridiculous for it.

“You should eat,” he pronounced, turning her and leading her gently through a set of double doors to a small, intimate dining room.

He bade her to sit, moving past the room and through to the kitchen. Lilah leaned her elbows on the table, resting her head in her palms as she waited. Drowsy from too much sleep, she blinked lazily into the middle distance, until movement in her periphery caught her attention.

Brasa approached, a plate in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He placed both before her, nudging the plate when she hesitated. Lilah looked down at what he made, a small chuckle sounding from low in her throat. Eggs in a basket. Toads in a hole. He’d remembered.

Charmed, and more than a little grateful, Lilah picked up the fork and cut into the edge of the toast, nicking the egg yolk. As she chewed,  she glanced over at Brasa, who was watching her. Though his posture was relaxed, there was a sharp light in his eyes that signaled he was studying her carefully.

“He will change his mind,” he said casually, gesturing smoothly with one hand.

Lilah paused, swallowing, “What?”

Brasa smiled, “Seth. He will change his mind.”

Eyes falling to her plate, Lilah busied herself with cutting into the second piece of toast, “You know that?”

“I do,” he answered.

“How?”

He shrugged, “I’m old.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

With a smile, he countered, “Old enough to know how men like Seth think. He’ll be mad for a while, but if he cares for you—and I think he does—he will come around.”

Lilah sighed and leaned back into her chair, “I’m so mad at him.”

Brasa nodded, saying nothing, waiting for her to continue. She looked to the ceiling, trying to gather her thoughts, to sort her emotions in a way that made any kind of sense.

“I know he’s struggling to accept…” she gestured broadly, “All of this. I mean, I’m still trying to accept it. But...the way he treated me, like a…”

Lilah stopped, ‘kid sister’ sitting like lead on her tongue. Her eyes closed as the implications of her own thoughts sunk in. He’d treated her just like a kid sister, an annoying kid sister that didn’t know what they were doing. And, somehow, that made her feel worse.

Sensing her unease, Brasa leaned forward and touched her hand, brushing his fingers over the back, “As I said. He will get over it.”

Casting him a sorrowful look, she murmured, “I hope so. We’re friends, you know?”

“I know.”

“And,” she continued, turning her hand over to thread her fingers through his, “I still want to be friends.”

He nodded, giving her hand a squeeze before picking up her plate and taking it to the kitchen. Lilah fiddled with her glass in a kind of soft resignation. This would have to play out however it was going to. Pushing the issue wasn’t going to make things better. Neither was dwelling on it. Still, she gave herself permission to feel sad for a while. That seemed fair.

Brasa returned and held out a hand to her, which she took. They walked amiably back to the living room where he sat her down on the couch and handed her the remote.

“I have some work to do,” he explained, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of her head, “It’ll take a few hours. Then, we’ll decide what to do for the evening.”

Lilah spent maybe half an hour scrolling through the many streaming services that were on the top menu of the TV, amazed that Brasa had gotten so fully up to speed on modern entertainment. Furtively, she glanced through some of his watch history, smiling when she noted that he’d made it all the way through every season of House and, oddly enough, had recently watched The Princess Bride.

Eventually, she settled on restarting Drunk History from the beginning. Prior to signing on with the Gecko brothers, she’d watched a few episodes a month in her down time. There were always TVs on in the bar, so she’d never thought to purchase one for her room. Now seemed a good time for some comfort.

Brasa had been right when he’d said that his work would take a few hours. Lunchtime came and went, Lilah making her way to the kitchen and finding that he’d stocked it with some basic staples. They were going to have to take a shopping trip, though. The man had eggs, bread, a bag of various fruits, and a jug of milk. Her guess was that he’d googled basic foodstuffs and had run with it.

After eating her meal perched over the sink, Lilah washed her dishes and returned to the couch to start the next season. That was where Brasa found her, half asleep, stretched out over the cushions. He smiled as he approached, reaching down to lift her legs and sit, draping her feet over his lap.

“Done for the day?”

He shrugged, “In one manner of speaking.”

“What does that mean?”

Another shrug, “Benny’s following has grown again. We think he’s turning a few humans a week.”

Her brows came together, “What does that mean for you?”

Brasa took a few seconds to think about it, his fingers drawing little circles over the sensitive skin of her ankle, “It means that he is likely going to resort to violence, and soon.”

Lilah felt her muscles tense, a kind of latent anxiety rolling along her body, “How do we prevent it?”

Looking at her, his expression was soft, but sure, “I don’t think we can.”

She sat up, disbelieving, “Why not?”

Turning a little bit so that he could prop his arm up on the back of the couch, Brasa explained, “Men like this…there is only one thing that checks them, and I promised you that I would look at other options. He wants blood, will be satisfied by nothing else.”

Lilah pulled her legs up and under her body, folding her hands in her lap, “We can talk to him, right?”

“We tried that.”

“For like two seconds,” she countered, her anxiety melting into frustration, “There has to be a way. Nobody has to die for this.”

Head tilting to the side, he said, “When has, essentially, a coup, ever not resulted in bloodshed?”

Lilah rolled her eyes, “This isn’t a coup. Its...an administrative change.”

Brasa shot her a look that very clearly said that she was bullshitting, “In their eyes, I have taken away their way of life. You know this.”

She shook her head, “You’re giving them a better life. A life where they’re not hiding in the dark, picking off humans, and running from local hunters.”

“Some don’t see it that way.”

There was a kind of finality in his tone, a tension borne of having had this argument over and over with different people. Lilah sighed and wriggled deeper into the couch, feeling not a little bit petulant.

Brasa reached over and took her hand in a loose grasp, “This is not the first time I’ve brokered peace—did so just recently with the most stubborn people I’ve ever met, if you’ll recall.”

She laughed, “Yeah. There were a couple times I almost threw something at one or all of you during those meetings.”

One side of his mouth quirked up, “I could tell. You do not hide your feelings well.”

“Um, excuse me, I think I do,” Lilah shot back.

The little quirk in his mouth widened to a smile, “You do not. At least, not from me.”

Again, she rolled her eyes, “That’s because of the bond.”

He hummed in the negative, “You have a very expressive face.”

Lilah scoffed, “I have an excellent poker face.”

This earn her a low chuckle, “You do not.”

“I was able to keep the bond a secret for months.”

Brasa leaned into her space, his hand running up the length of her arm to settle behind her neck, “Richie knew within seconds of seeing you the night we met. And Seth’s powers of perception are mediocre, at best.”

Lilah was not too proud to admit that she was a little dazed at how close they were, coffee and caramel filling her senses. He’d given her a lot of space over the last twenty four hours—she wasn’t even sure where he’d slept. She found herself yearning to crawl right into his lap and stay there for the rest of the night, and some part of her figured that he’d probably let her.

But, while he’d been working, she’d been thinking. And, the first order of business was to get some food that would make more than one kind of meal in the house.

“We need to go shopping,” she said, smiling when he tilted his head to the side in confusion, “Groceries. We need them—well, I need them.”

Brasa gave a curt nod, rising and pulling her to standing, “Do you want to go now?”

Knowing that she looked pretty fucking bad, Lilah shook her head, “Let me get cleaned up. I’ll be out in about forty minutes.”

She took her time with getting ready, making sure that she washed every inch of skin, shampooed and conditioned her hair, covered her dark circles, and put on some fresh, clean clothes. As she dug into her bag for socks, her phone and the case for her comm fell out. She touched them gingerly, noting that there was no service and that the comm was redundant, given that she didn’t have anyone to connect with. She tucked both away.

In the end, it took a little longer than forty minutes, but Brasa didn’t seem to mind. When she emerged from the bedroom, he was lounging on the couch, CSPAN playing on the TV.

Lilah’s eyes narrowed, “Why are you watching this?”

His eyes scanned her lazily, taking her in, “You didn’t think my entire business was in medical supplies, did you?”

She shrugged, “We never discussed it in detail.”

Reaching for the remote, he turned off the TV and stood, “I like a diverse portfolio. Keeps things stable  across the board.”

Lilah knew nothing about stocks, and even less about portfolios, “I’m sure that’s a good strategy.”

“It can be, though some people prefer a more adventurous technique.”

She moved towards the door, looking over her shoulder at him, “But, not you.”

He followed, “No.”

That tracked. Every decision Lilah had ever seen him make was calculated with brutal efficiency. Brasa did nothing by halves, nor did he make impulsive decisions. It was one of the things that Lilah liked most about him.

The hall was dark as it had been the day before, a chilling lack of light—except for a small triangle in the distance, the illumination so dull that it almost didn’t look real. As before, Brasa took her hand, leading her. As before, she went willingly. Unlike before, Lilah was alert enough to ask questions.

“What is this place?”

Brasa’s voice sounded next to her, “I’ve already told you.”

“Yeah, but what is it?”

They neared the light, and it was cast in shadow for a moment as Brasa pressed the button, “I needed a more secure place, a place to allow myself true rest. A place where I could keep you safe, when the time came.”

Leaning into his side, she asked, “Because of Benny?”

Though she couldn’t see him, Lilah felt him shake his head, “I have lived a life of nearly total violence. That comes with a cost.”

And, here they were, back to the same conversation they’d had at least twice before. Her safety. Her weakness. Her humanity—though, not her mortality.

“You think I’m safer underground?”

The doors opened and Brasa ushered her inside, “Only Javier and I—and now, you—know about it. It is secret.”

She smirked at him, “I’ve always wanted a secret hideout.”

He returned her mirth, “I live to serve.”

They held hands all the way to the surface and up until Brasa helped her up and into an SUV that was hidden in what basically amounted to a hollowed out rock. Lilah had to hand it to them. If she hadn’t known that this was here, she would have never guessed. There was literally no indication that the formations were anything but rocks, once all the entrances were closed.

She looked up a local store and they headed out, guided by the navigation in the dash. As they drove, Lilah drew up a list on her phone, having memorized her standard grocery order long ago. To it, she added a few items that she might not otherwise pick up, telling herself that she deserved a treat or two after the emotional fallout of her confrontation with Seth. She also decided that she was going to pick up a few bottles of wine.

Lilah had to admit that she never once thought about what it would be like to see Brasa in such a mundane setting. She doubted that he did his own shopping, what with Javier taking care of most menial tasks. Now, she was watching him step through the automatic doors of a local supermarket, his head turning to glance at her for direction.

It was surreal. Truly surreal. Lilah had the insane urge to laugh as she looked from him to the milling crowd that parted around him. She caught a few curious glances from them, even further amused that Brasa seemed to take no notice.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Lilah took his arm and led him to the shopping carts, pulling one from the long line and taking a moment to study the layout of the store. Tall shelves were lined one after another, stocked full with wares.  Veering to the left, she headed for the bins of fresh fruits and vegetables.

Lilah was intimately aware of the way Brasa observed her going from bin to bin, picking out one or two and setting in the cart. He gave her space, but paid attention to how she chose her wares. Lilah mostly ignored him, focusing on trying to get enough to last her at least a few days.

As they passed the dairy aisle, Brasa finally said, “Things have moved...so quickly in the last few hundred years.”

She was leaning down to pick up an extra carton of eggs when he spoke, her head turning awkwardly to look at him, “What does that mean?”

He pushed his hands into his pockets, giving a shrug, “Advancements that would have taken a millennia several thousand years ago now happen in a hundred.”

Putting the eggs in the cart, Lilah thought about it for a moment, moving slowly towards the canned food, “I suppose you’re right.”

“I am,” he pronounced, smug.

She scoffed, pulling cans off the shelf to stock the small pantry behind the kitchen. Her voice, when it came, was tinged with a tease, “I’m an ancient vampire, I’m so smart, and I’ve seen everything.”

His laugh was soft, but genuinely amused, his chin dipping down towards his chest in a movement that was nothing short of demure. If Lilah were just some anonymous person in this store, if she were looking at him for the first time in that moment, her breath would have caught—as it was now—and she would have scurried away feeling so completely embarrassed at finding a total stranger so endearing.

As it was, she wasn’t anonymous. He very much knew her, a thought that would have been no less than frightening a year ago. Lilah felt no such fear now, only warmth that unfurled comfortably in her chest.

Brasa steered her down an aisle, gesturing at a shelf full of Gatorade, “Javier has sent me four texts reminding me that you will need this.”

Mouth open, Lilah stared at him in confusion for several seconds, “I will?”

He nodded, “Javier is adamant that I keep this in stock. He says you prefer the red color.”

Agog, Lilah asked, “How the fuck does he know that?”

Brasa cast her a look that said she should know the answer to that question. Javier might be quiet and unassuming, but he was better than the FBI at finding out the minutiae of people’s lives.

“Okay,” Lilah relented, “He’s right, but I don’t know why you would need to keep it on hand. Its not like I’ll need to constantly replenish my—oh.”

Without another word, Lilah leaned down and picked up two packs, setting them in the cart. She lost her battle to keep the nervous laugh at bay when she glanced at Brasa’s smirking face. He wasn’t even trying to hide the satisfaction in his expression. To give herself something to do other than smile stupidly, she turned her attention to navigating to the check out.

Brasa was quietly helpful in loading the groceries onto the conveyor, and Lilah didn’t miss how he maneuvered around her to pay before she could get her card out of her pocket. Casting him a knowing smile, Lilah moved past him, hands briefly touching his hips so that she could slide out from between the partitions to load the cart.

A few minutes later, she was pushing it out into the warm, humid night, and towards where he’d parked the SUV. A few more minutes, and they were making their way back to what she was going to continually call the ‘secret hideout’. The title brought a small, ‘secret smile’ to her lips.

As they pulled to a stop, that small smile turned into a grin. She looked to Brasa, “You’re about to be witness to an ancient human custom, going back at least a century.”

Head cocked to the side, Brasa looked at her in confusion, “I believe I am aware of most human customs, ancient or otherwise.”

Rolling her eyes, Lilah hopped out of the car and made her away around to the trunk, pushing the button to initiate the automatic open. She’d only picked out enough food to last for the week she promised him when he’d been negotiating her stay. Lilah was not going to think about how she likely would have to extend her stay indefinitely.

Lilah reached down and looped a few bags over her arm, “So it goes like this: No matter how much you buy, you never, ever, take more than one trip to get it in the house.”

Brasa looked at her arm, laden with bags, and back to the rest, his brow rising, “I...was not aware of this custom.”

She fixed him with a serious look, “Its a very important tradition.”

A little crease formed between his brows as he studied the bags they had left. Lilah swallowed the laugh that threatened to break the whole act apart, and hefted a few more onto her free arm. Brasa looked at what she carried, then leaned in and snagged the rest, hoisting them effortlessly in one arm.

She stared at him, chastising herself for forgetting how powerful he really was. She chastised herself further when she stayed right where she was as he reached up, closed the trunk, and tugged one of her arms free of the bags. It wasn’t until she was looking at his back as he opened the door to the elevator that she was able to make her feet move.

As they made the descent, Brasa shifted the bags to one arm and took her hand, turning it over to see how the bags had made little creases in her skin in the short time before he’d taken the load.

“I don’t understand this tradition,” he muttered, thumb rubbing at her palm.

Lilah smirked, “You don’t have to understand it to be a part of it.”

His eyes lifted from where they were studying her skin, “You are right. Some things just are.”

She had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t talking about defeating the grocery bag challenge. The weight behind his gaze made that place in the back of her mind flare up, the bond almost stinging her. Reflexively, her fingers curled, wrapping around his thumb.

There was a clinical ‘ding’ and the doors opened. Adjusting his grip, Brasa led her into the hall and to the door. A few taps, and the door opened. They carried the bags into the kitchen and Lilah took her time figuring out where to put everything.

As she was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a small bag of potatoes, Brasa’s phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, held up a finger, and stepped from the room. She looked at the place where he’d been for a few seconds before shaking herself to attention. The potatoes could stay on the counter.

It was then that her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten in several hours. With new food to choose from, she found herself a little bit at a loss as to what to make. In his kitchen, bare save for the food and the tools she needed to cook it with, she again longed for comfort. Broccoli cheese soup, it was.

With renewed purpose, Lilah began assembling the ingredients and putting a pot on the burner. She hadn’t made this particular recipe since high school, when she was still living with a family that she hadn’t talked to in years. Her hand on the knife paused as she took that in.

When she was running dangerous jobs for shady people, she had deliberately cut them off in fear for their safety. Now, she knew she could definitely never rekindle that relationship. What would happen in ten years, twenty, fifty, when she didn’t age, when she didn’t die?

Sniffing, she set her mind to cutting the broccoli florets into one inch pieces. There was no need to deepen the emotional anguish she’d experienced this week. She could do that at another time. Just to be safe, she opened a bottle of wine and left it and the glass on the counter to breathe.

As she was preparing to stir in the cheese to thicken the broth, Brasa returned. He leaned against the counter to watch her cook, arms crossed.

“Work?” she questioned lightly.

He gave a nod, “Javier worries.”

She hummed, glancing over her shoulder at him, “And?”

Pushing from the counter, he touched the small of her back. His hand traveled around her waist to rest just below her belly button. Lilah leaned into him, her head tilting to the side so that he could lay his chin on her shoulder. She relaxed into his hold, stirring slowly, in no hurry to move. Eventually, the soup thickened up as it was supposed to, and she reached up to turn the burner off.

Brasa already had a bowl ready for her, a spoon in his other hand. Lilah took it with a grateful nod and ladled a serving for herself. Rather than sit at the dining room table, Lilah hopped up onto the counter and spooned some into her mouth.

“You going to answer my question?”

His eyes dropped, though his mouth quirked in amusement, “He thinks we should be more aggressive with Benny.”

Lilah waved her spoon at him, indicating that he should continue.

“I find myself wondering if I should follow that advice.”

“Why?”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping, “His numbers grow along with the recklessness of his actions. He attacked a hotel last night, slaughtered the guests and staff. The police are investigating.”

Swinging one leg, Lilah asked, “You can’t buy them, bribe them to close the investigation?”

“We are working on that. The police chief is...remarkably stubborn about policy. Javier wants to eat him.”

She should not have laughed, but the thought of the prim and dapper Javier ripping the throat out of a police officer did not mesh together. He’d be too worried that he’d get blood on his suit.

When she finished, Lilah slipped down from the counter and rinsed out the bowl, setting it in the sink to clean later, “You want to watch a movie?”

“I could do that.”

“Cool,” she replied, already heading for the living room, grabbing the bottle of wine she’d opened along with the glass, “Where do you keep your extra blankets?”

She picked the softest, fluffiest one of the bunch and threw it over them both as they sat next to each other on the couch. Wine glass in hand, Lilah flicked through the streaming channels, already knowing which selection she was going to make.

His hand on her thigh, Brasa settled deeper into the cushion, letting out a light chuckle as she hit play, “I like this one.”

“Me, too,” she said, shifting so that she could lay her head on his shoulder.

Warm, full, and comfortable, Lilah found herself drifting even as Princess Buttercup argued with the Dread Pirate Roberts. The familiarity of Brasa’s scent wrapped around her and the story on the screen made everything inside her loosen for the first time since she’d left behind an angry Seth—well, that and two glasses of excellent wine.

By the time the credits rolled, Brasa had leaned back into the arm of the couch, pulling Lilah down to lay atop him. Her body pressed against his, Lilah soaked up his unnatural warmth. His arms held her loosely, but his hands were firm on her back and hip.

Lilah pushed up on her hands, looking down at him, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

“Of course,” he said, a little too quickly, “Of course.”

She smiled, dropping to an elbow and kissing him. Intending it to be a sort of ‘thank you’, Lilah started to pull away only to feel Brasa cup the back of her neck and hold her in place as he twined his tongue with hers. He warmed beneath her, burning hot, body arching. Lilah pulled her knees up underneath her, balancing on one hand so that she could run the other down the front of his shirt to pull it from where he had it tucked into his slacks.

He lifted his hips when she moved around to the back, his own hands roaming over her jean clad legs, pulling on each so that she sat astride him. And then, in a move she could have never accomplished on her own, he swung his legs over the edge of the couch and stood. Her ankles crossed to anchor her body on his hips, her hands grasping frantically to clasp the back of his neck. Lilah laughed as he kissed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, all the while moving towards the bedroom.

He laid her carefully on the bed and systematically undressed her. Shoes, socks, jeans, underwear, shirt, bra—everything was peeled off without ceremony, without patience. Lilah was stripped bare before her brain caught up to the fact that this was actually going to happen. And then he was crawling over her, his mouth sealing over hers.

He kissed her like he was starved, as if he might never kiss her again. Deep, unrelenting kisses that left her gasping beneath him. She reached up to to get at the buttons of his shirt, managing to get one or two free before he was moving down her body, nuzzling the skin between her breasts. Thumbs circling her nipples, he drew one into his mouth, releasing it with a wet sound. He licked at her biting down gently, and laving the spot with his tongue.

Shifting a little to the side, Brasa pulled her knee up and around his waist, fingers drifting so that he could run them up the length of her slit. She keened, spine arching up so far that her shoulders lifted off the mattress. Her skin was seared where they touched, sizzling with sensation that only seemed to grow. He massaged her in wide circles, the pad of his forefinger brushing over her opening.

Rubbing his cheek against her, Brasa moved steadily downwards, kissing and sucking and nipping until he rested between her spread thighs. If Lilah had any thought that he would ease into it, those thoughts were shattered by one long, enthusiastic lick. Sighing into the motion, he sucked at her folds, emitting a contented growl when her legs tightened around his shoulders.

He held her open, wedging his massive body into her hips until her inner thighs ached with the strain. Lilah was beyond caring, her fingers digging into the pillow beneath her as she rose higher and higher towards orgasm. There was no teasing, no drawing this out. Brasa worked with a singular purpose, tongue swirling around her clit, hands holding her up to his mouth.

She grit her teeth, the need so vast and deep that it became a vibrant pain, soothed only by his touch. It tunneled down deep into her bones, sticking in her throat when she cried out, the spasms raking over her voice so that it came out hoarse and rasping.

Lilah breathed forcefully, eyes squeezed shut as he worked her through it, easing up when she shook, too sensitive. When she was able to look down at him, he was rolling his tongue over his lips, eyes focused on where she was still fluttering sporadically. Her mouth went dry at the sight, the hunger that he wasn’t even attempting to veil.

The hand on her hip rotated, and she felt him push two fingers inside her, the motion sending little frissons of electricity over the nerve endings. She shivered. He smiled, fangs peeking out. Then, he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, black gaze watching her reaction. Lilah bit her lip, giving up totally on controlling her breathing.

He kissed his way up her body, settling atop her. Lilah pulled him even closer, yanking at the buttons of his shirt. It was nearly impossible to focus when he was kissing her, hands turning her head so that he could nuzzle against her neck, inhaling. She gave herself some credit. She got his shirt unbuttoned and halfway down his arms before she got distracted by a particularly hard nip just above her collarbone.

Hissing, she pulled him up, trying to gain a little leverage to push him over onto his back. Lilah was not successful. He held her down, smirking when she made a small sound of frustration.

“I want,” she started, a whine cutting off the rest of the words.

Brasa caught her hands, holding them down onto the mattress with almost his full weight, “What is it?”  

Oh, now he wants to tease, she thought.

“Is this what you want?” His hips swiveled in a slow, firm grind, “I’ll give it to you, if its what you want, querida.”

Lilah moaned, writhing beneath him, desperate to get the friction she needed. She was close, close enough that she was willing to forgo any sense of pride to get there.

“Yes, yes,” she breathed, head thrown back as he rolled his hips against her.

He let go of one of her wrists, and she felt him reach down and open the fly of his slacks. Lifting off just enough to kick off the offending material, Brasa laid back down, gathering her to him. The next kiss was venom soaked, sweet and hot. Lilah groaned, pushing her hips into him, needing to feel him inside her.

Brasa slid in to the hilt in one strong, fluid motion that filled the emptiness inside Lilah completely. Her breath stuttered in her lungs, her legs lifting to accommodate him. He was so fucking hot—his mouth, his body, his cock. Sweat pooled in the hollows and bend of her limbs, darkening the hair at her temple. She gripped his shoulders, pulled on the shirt he still wore, caught by the buttons on his cuffs.

And then he was moving. The sound of his cock pushing into her wet body, the feeling of him both easing and stirring the blooming ache of her arousal, the way he ground out a helpless sound against her neck. It all meshed together, overwhelming her until she could do nothing but hold on as he fucked her.

The pleasure grew inside her, reaching into every inch of her body. She wailed, head thrown back, fingers fisted in his hair. Spurred on, his pace picked up, breath punching out of him when she raked her nails up his back. It took very little to push her the rest of the way over the edge, the feeling spiraling through her.

Brasa’s grip on her tightened as he thrust into her one last time, his spine arched, lips pulled back from his fangs. She could feel him pulsing, could feel every reflexive spasm as he came.

When his strength returned, Brasa rolled gingerly off her, his large hand tracing down the center of her body to rest heavily on her belly. She grasped it, holding him by the wrist as she caught her breath. Lilah looked over at him, smiling at the fact that he was still wearing that shirt, though she’d torn the collar and it was wrinkled beyond nearly all recognition.

Her fingers touched the tear, “That’s going to be a difficult one to explain to the dry cleaner.”

Brasa smirked as he unbuttoned the cuffs around each wrist, “I may keep it like this.”

Lilah’s brows lifted, “Like a memento?”

He hummed in confirmation.

“I didn’t realize you were so sentimental.”

Throwing the shirt off the side of the bed, Brasa laid on his side, observing her from where he’d perched his head on his palm, “I am not, generally. But, with you…” He trailed off as he leaned down and kissed her softly.

[diavolodigitale]

L’appel Du Vide: 01 What a Way to Start

Not that anybody is really reading it here, but I decided to follow through with this story no matter what.

All chapters: 00 - 01 - All stories in PDF

Rhys is the CEO of Atlas and Jack’s AI is back, surprise, surprise! Now Rhys is dismayed, Jack doesn’t care much, and the events of Borderlands 3 are just beginning to unravel. Is there any way to fix the plot of this game? Would it be any better if Rhys had to cooperate with Jack this whole time? Well, this is your chance to find out!

Spoiler: yes, dammit, it would. Everything’s better with a bit of Handsome Jack in it.

Genres: Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Alternate Canon, POV Third Person, Humor, Drama, Plot-driven (kind of? well, it has plot)

Pairing: Handsome Jack’s AI/Rhys (they’re still just talking, dammit)

Characters: Handsome Jack’s AI, Rhys

Rating: M for Mature but not in this chapter lol

Size: around 3000 words (chapter 2/11)

Sun set and rose, another day began. Rhys shaved off his moustache.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” said Jack, who was sitting in Rhys’ chair when the latter one entered his office wearing only red bathrobe and home slippers.

“Morning,” replied Rhys, eying Jack wearily. Jack almost expected him to be surprised by his presence all over again, but it seemed like Rhys did not, after all, convince himself that the events of the previous day were just a dream, which, depending on how one looks at it, might even be considered personal growth. “Let me say how much I appreciate you not stalking me while I sleep. Just so you knew,” he said, painfully aware of Jack’s realness and determination to stay.

“Actually,” began Jack, idly following Rhys’s movements around the room with his gaze, “I watched you for some time, but your face looked so stupid that I started having these fits of hysterical laughter, so I left not to wake you up accidentally. I care for you so much, after all, and… Hey!”–he suddenly sat upright in the chair and pointed at Rhys’s hunched miserable figure–“that thing from your face disappeared! I could’ve sworn I saw it yesterday...”

“And now it’s gone,” concluded Rhys with a sigh.

“Phew, great job, pal. It was so awful, I cannot even begin to describe.”

“What? I thought you liked it,” said Rhys, nonplussed.

“Yeah, about that… I lied. Didn’t want to tell you this, but with that moustache, I wouldn’t let my kids anywhere near you,” said Jack and cackled.

Rhys scowled. He got rid of his moustache precisely because Jack told him he liked it, even despite the fact that it was particularly hard for him, considering the meaning it supposedly held. Since the day before he had this strange desire to do everything in opposition to Jack. Perhaps, it was deeply rooted in his former traumatic experience with the AI. Or in the fact that he had always been kind of mischievous, either one of those two.

“I see you’re in a good mood today,” said Rhys, making himself a morning coffee. He couldn’t say the same thing about himself – half of the night he spent persuading himself not to bang his head on the wall until Jack left for good. As a temporary means, it was as good as anything, but certainly wouldn’t be a reliable way to get rid of the AI forever. In any case, it seems not to have worked for Rhys previously, so he had to come up with something else. Changing the prosthetics took time, and he didn’t have that precious resource at his disposal in the needed amount.

In the end, when he finally managed to fall asleep, it was at the thought that he was actually a little sorry for what happened with Jack’s hologram during their last confrontation. Despite all the evil Jack had done, he used to be a significant part of Rhys’s life and helped shape him into what he was now. Most importantly, he taught him not to trust anybody and to always swing for the fences. Now, being the CEO of Atlas, Rhys could clearly see that this strategy worked perfectly.

“Oh, by the by, I took some time to look through your files and check out this Kawatagi guy we talked about yesterday. Must say, he’s a very promising candidate. Maybe, I should’ve chosen him as my successor instead of you-know-who,” said Jack in a conspiratorial tone, stroking his chin and narrowing his eyes. “Instead of you, I’m talking about you,” he added in a normal voice.

Rhys sighed, gently lowering two sugar cubes into his coffee. Here we go again.

“First, why the heck did you rummage in my computers without my permission? Second, his name’s Katagawa, more precisely – Katagawa Junior. And a candidate for what? Wait, don’t say anything, I don’t even want to know. Now get out of my chair,” said Rhys and proceeded to try and shoo Jack away with a few careless waves of his hand.

“It’s not like you can’t sit here. I’m just a hologram, you know.”

Jack was grinning, of course. Rhys looked down at him with his tired sleepless eyes and sighed the fortieth time this morning.

“Remember when we first met, you called me weird? Now you’re the one being weird, congratulations.”

“Oh, come o-o-on, don’t be so bo-o-oring.” Jack disappeared from the chair and reappeared on the sofa, lying on his side with his head resting on his hand. “You know, I think I’ve now seen enough of you to bet with confidence that you don’t have any friends. I bet I was your closest friend (and don’t forget that I was your imaginary closest friend), ‘cause I don’t see how someone can tolerate that attitude for long.”

Don’t worry, Rhys, he won’t get to you, you’re thick-skinned now, you know that, thought Rhys and put his mug on the table. He sunk into his chair and turned on the ECHO device to check for any new messages.

“Actually, I do have friends,” he said in his best I-am-not-offended tone.

“Yeah? Anybody in particular?”

“Zer0, for example. I am proud to call him my friend and I’m sure he’s proud to be called mine.”

“Zer0, yeah… wait, who’s that again?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. Some things just never changed.

“One of the vault hunters who… took part in your elimination, so to put it,” he answered carefully.

“Oh, yeah, that filthy bandit, I remember him! Well, not him killing me, of course, but I think I saw him somewhere. Didn’t he have that mental condition? I remember him saying some gibberish instead of speaking like normal people do. Yeah, right,”–Jack laughed–“I can see you two dorks being friends.”

“How could I have survived this long without you trying to offend me all the time? Unbelievable.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking! Or was that still your thought? I always forget I’m in your head. Anyway, to summarize our conversation so far, we’ve established that you’re a pathetic loner with only one creature in the whole world you can call a friend of sorts. You never seize to amaze me, Rhys.”

“There’s also Vaughn,” said Rhys through his teeth, beginning to lose his patience.

“And that is…?”

“You remember Vaughn, don’t you?”

“If I’m asking who that is, then, apparently, I don’t,” answered Jack, making the irritation in his voice sound as blatant as possible. “Why do you carry around that thing people call a head, huh?”

“He used to work for Hyperion with me.” Rhys threw a quick glance at Jack, looking for any sign of recognition on his face, but there was none. “Is short, wears glasses?” Still no signs. “Has a six-pack?” he said in his last desperate attempt to make Jack’s memory serve its purpose.

To his surprise, it actually worked. Jack snapped his fingers and rolled over on the sofa.

“Oh, that ne-erd, yeah, I remember him. Where’s he now?” he asked, not even trying to pretend that he really cared about the answer.

“He’s on Pandora, doing some bandit stuff. Guess he is working for the…” Rhys suddenly stopped, hastily thinking about what he had almost let out.

“For whom?” asked Jack indifferently. The answer still didn’t matter much to him, but he just couldn’t bear the thought of Rhys keeping something hidden from him.

“For the… err… for, well, you know… coughmson coughders,” replied Rhys, sounding like he was choking on something, and started loudly typing on the table, pretending that he was incredibly busy with his emails.

“What? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Rimzon raide-ez,” indistinctly said Rhys into his fist and cleared his throat.”

“God dammit, Rhys, what the fuck are you saying there?” shouted Jack with annoyance and jerked up from the sofa. “Should I stand right behind you all the time to know what comes out of your mouth? Even your thoughts are more distinct than that.”

Perhaps, scared by the prospect of Jack constantly following him closely, even closer than he already did, Rhys gave in.

“It’s the Crimson Raiders, for god’s sake!” he yelled and landed his fist heavily on the table. He then took a deep breath to calm down and added, “He works for the Crimson Raiders. I just didn’t want to tell you.”

“O-oh. O-o-o-oh, I see how it is. He’s with team idiots now, isn’t he? Well, good to know. Now we’ve proven that all your friends are either stupid or nonexistent. Great.”

Rhys’s left eye was glowing as he was interfacing with the devices in his office. He took a sip of his coffee, scrolled down the list of new casualties reports and tried not to take what he had heard close to his heart.

“Now that I got my daily dose of humiliating you, let’s talk business,” said Jack and laced his fingers together as if he had a very profitable offer for his interlocutor. “I think we can squeeze something out of this Katamaga,” he began, and Rhys immediately exerted himself. He did not like the sound of that. “I think there’s more to him than you see. He doesn’t just want Atlas, you see, he very obviously wants you to work with him. What a fool! That’s a perfect opportunity for us to rob him of everything he has, including his pathetic corporation. I mean, I never liked Maliwan, but if it’s a gift horse… Who am I not to take it on your behalf, right?”

“I appreciate the thought you put into it, but I already have another plan, and it definitely isn’t allying with Katagawa Jr. He’s an obsessed psychopath and I don’t want anything to do with him,” replied Rhys confidently. He shivered even at the possibility of having another Jack-like associate.

“Enlighten me then. What genius idea has your corporate mind produced?”

“First, you have to promise not to yell at me. My head aches and I won’t endure any more than you already being here and talking to me,” said Rhys patiently, already predicting Jack’s reaction to what he intended to share. There was no way to keep it a secret, so he wanted to at least soften the blow.

“Yeah, whatever,” said Jack and yawned.

Rhys braced himself. Discussing this would surely be no easy matter.

“I want to make a deal with Lilith. She helps me defeat maliwans, and I give her something she wants in return.”

There was silence. Then there was a snarl and a nondescript squeal.

“WHAT. THE FUCK. ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! MM, RHYSIE, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN?” Jack appeared standing on Rhys’s table right before him. The sight made Rhys spit out a bunch of his coffee. “You’re joking, right?” Jack squatted down to see Rhys’s face when he spoke. “Out of a-a-all people in these 6 goddamn galaxies you choose her? I see you’ve been a very bad boy in daddy’s absence, completely out of your mind!”

Rhys raised his index finger and burbled, “You told me you won’t yell. I specifically asked you not to yell, Jack.”

“What am I supposed to do then, huh?!” Jack disappeared and in the next second was already standing at the window with his arms crossed, thoughtfully observing the Atlas soldiers running around outside. “I thought you can’t disappoint me more than you already have, but it seems like you always manage to conquer new heights.”

“Look, there’s really no point in talking about this. I’m my own boss now and this is my decision. I was the one to rebuild Atlas from ruins, so I’m sure I’ll be able to take care of it. Please, Jack, I’m tired and sick and I don’t want all this.” Rhys sighed wearily and rubbed a coffee stain on the table with the sleeve of his bathrobe.

“Okay. Okay-okay-okay-okay, hear me out. Just this one time, just once, let me tell you something.” Jack turned to Rhys and Rhys gave him a little nod after considering for a few seconds. It’s not like he really had a choice, he just liked to think he had a firm grip on the situation. “Tell me, do you remember Lilith doing something, anything for the sake of somebody else?”

“Um, yeah, she killed you, actually,” replied Rhys confidently.

“No-no-no, honey, she didn’t do it for somebody, she just wanted to have her revenge on me,” said Jack, stressing what he viewed as essential pieces of information to make sure Rhys REALLY got what he wanted to say. Were he not a hologram, he would probably be shaking with rage as he did it. “She wanted to destroy me, because I destroyed her boyfriend who just wouldn’t let me wipe those bandit asses, which, by the way, included his, off my planet. She couldn’t care less about all those people that died, about Crimson Raiders, about her other “friends”. She is a murderer, just like you, me, like any other person on that goddamn planet. The only difference is that she, unlike us, didn’t have ANY good will.”

Jack’s intense stare made Rhys turn away. AI’s words made him consider what he knew of Lilith, but he felt almost wrong when doing so. He shook his head, trying to scare the thoughts away.

“You just hate her, that’s all. She may not be the best option, but when choosing between her and Maliwan, I believe, the choice is obvious.

“Is it? Is it, though?” asked Jack furiously with his eyes almost bulging out. “Let me tell you one thing. Two things, actually. Despite how surprising it might sound to you, I’m actually happy that she killed me. You know why? Of course, you don’t, otherwise we wouldn’t have this conversation now, dummy. So, I’ll be kind enough to explain. Even after her betrayal, I didn’t finish her off, which means I am better than her. “What is the second thing, Jack?” you might ask. Well, here goes: she is a stinking bandit. A bandit, and the only thing you should do with bandits is kill them, but I’m sure this much you should know by now.” After finishing his rant, Jack exhaled loudly and adjusted his unmoving hair with a swift motion of his hand. To top his speech off, he asked, “Still better than Katagawa?”

Rhys, however, still remained unimpressed.

“Jack, he killed his entire family to become the CEO of Maliwan. I imagine you would think it’s a reasonable thing to do when you want to run the corporation so bad, but I’m sure you know I disagree with that.”

“And what do YOU know about his family?” asked Jack, clearly upset by the lack of expected reaction. “Do you even know anything about the way he runs Maliwan? The only thing I know is that now they are more successful than ever (even though I hate to say it). Use your brains, kid, and you’ll go further than you could’ve hoped. One of these two alliances will bestow endless opportunities upon you while the other one will almost certainly get you stabbed in the back.”

“I hear you. I hear you and I disagree. I’m sorry, Jack,” said Rhys and shook his head apologetically. He was already imagining what would such a start of his day lead to.

“Oh my god, how can you not see that you have more in common with him than a skag and a grinder! He sees something in you, and that something makes him crave for your favor with such persistence. Just imagine how much you can squeeze out of him if you give him the tiniest thing in return. It’s simply a gold mine!”

“He wants us to merge, that’s enough of a reason for me to refuse him,” said Rhys with utter disgust.  

“So what? Don’t worry about that, cupcake, you’ve got me, and I’m here to help. Who says we’re gonna merge?” Noticing how Rhys was shaking his head again, Jack leaned closer, trying to make the atmosphere more… companionable, and continued in a calmer voice.  “Believe me, I know that Atlas is your child and you would never sacrifice it. We’re gonna… adjust the conditions a little, little tiny bit. No merge, only the alliance. How does that sound?”

Rhys thought that Jack was once again confirming what a masterful negotiator he was. No matter what objections Rhys had, he always did his homework and learned his weaknesses. The long-forgotten feeling of a threat sitting right at his side returned to Rhys as he caught himself thinking over the possibility of allying with Maliwan. Don’t budge, Rhys, don’t let him see that you have second thoughts, he’ll eat you alive.

“Completely unachievable,” he was only able to utter.

“Come on, stop screwing around, will you? You’re wasting time with your fidelity to stupid principles. Have I ever given you any bad advice?”

Rhys chose not to say anything. It was as good an answer as any other. The leftover coffee in his mug already went cold and he frowned in disgust when sipping on it.

“Okay then, I’m beginning to grow real tired of this, so you better listen here, you little dipshit, and listen carefully…” Jack’s tone was once again peremptory and his eyes were drilling into Rhys’s soul. “I’m tryna help here, so stop pretending you’re a princess who lives in a tower filled with her little cute ponies and chooses to believe there’s no filth around her. Just do what I say and you’ll be on your road trip to success. And you’ll thank me later, believe me. If you choose not to do this, however, I’ll follow you around all the time, saying what a sore loser you are. All day, all night, Rhysie. You know me, I’m restless, and I can come up with millions of ways to make you hate your life. You won’t sleep, you won’t talk to anybody, you won’t eat your fucking lunch without me standing one centimeter away from your ear, whispering how much you suck. Now let that sink in. Once it has, give me your final answer.”

Jack’s eyes were glowing. His whole body was glowing because he was a hologram, that’s just what holograms do. Yet even though it was his permanent state, an unchangeable condition, his eyes looked different.

He really is serious, thought Rhys to himself. Well then, guess I’m going to die of starvation, sleep deprivation, and lack of human contact.

“Fuck you, Jack. Fuck. You.”

“Is that a yes?”

[maybedefinitely404]

Forgotten

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Pairing: romantic Logicality, familial DRLAMP

World: canon

Content: some strong language, forgotten birthday, food mentions/eating/appetite loss, overworking mention, sympathetic dark sides, self deprecation, lying, crying, fluffy sweetness, first kiss. 

Word Count: 4.7k

Comments: In my head, I pictured this as a 1k oneshot kinda deal. And then this happened. It’s still a oneshot, but like?? A big one?? Is there a size limit to a oneshot??

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have expected much. After all, he was always the one to remind everyone of their fellow side’s birthdays. He was the dad, the heart, and he loved the others with everything that he was, so it wasn’t a huge surprise that he was the one to wake up before the sun had even properly risen to set up the whole downstairs. In past years, it had been Logan who had taken charge of Patton’s birthday; it was clear by their traditional birthday banner hung in a perfectly straight line, the streamers exactly one foot apart with no wiggle room, and the balloons all blown up to the exact same size. The cake in the evening was meticulously decorated with some printed picture of the baby animal Patton was obsessed with at the time and light blue frosting flowers on the side, and whatever activity Logan had planned in The Imagination (with Roman’s help, of course) always went off flawlessly. And I mean, what could you expect? Logan always had things planned weeks in advance, the multiple calendars above his bed and desk made sure of it. 

But knowing that Logan was always in charge of Patton’s birthdays and the fact that Thomas had a huge video deadline just around the corner still didn’t properly connect in his mind as he almost sprinted down the stairs, still in his pajamas. He screeched to a halt on the last step, his giddiness fading to sad confusion at the complete lack of… well, anything. Virgil was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone, ignoring Roman who was dramatically reenacting his latest adventure. They both turned as he entered, giving a two finger salute and a loud “good morning” respectively. 

“Slept in much, pops? I was worried you weren’t going to make breakfast, and I am starving!” 

“You’re always starving, Princey.”

“Well, duh, have you seen the adventures I go on? Wait, were you not even paying attention?!” The two continued to bicker as Patton mutely walked into the kitchen, ignoring the way his heart felt like it had sunk to his stomach. Of course, of course, they wouldn’t have remembered. Virgil with his constant barrage of anxious, worst-case-scenario thoughts and Roman, head filled to overflowing with creative ideas.

Patton threw together some pancakes, almost in shock. The smell must have attracted Janus, because he trotted downstairs, tongue flicking out between his teeth unwillingly. 

“It smells awful. Pancakes?” 

“Mmhm,” the hum came out a bit more strangled than he would have liked, but no one seemed to notice, “I made extra. Dig in.”

They did just that, and Patton nibbled at his slowly, watching their faces. Was this just a ploy? Surely, they hadn’t forgotten. Birthdays were always the same tradition every time, maybe they just wanted to switch it up a bit? Lure him into a false sense of sadness, and then when he came back downstairs, the whole party would be set up? That had to be it. Surely. So he should probably leave them to it, right? Didn’t want to make their plan too difficult!

He quickly excused himself to go upstairs, suddenly alive with excitement again. His usually quick routine took him double as long as he kept reminding himself to slow down, give them time to set it up! It wouldn’t be much fun if he walked in half way through. He couldn’t help smiling to himself in his reflection, toothpaste covering his lips. It was gonna be a good day.

But when he came back downstairs, now fully dressed, he was surprised to see the state of the room hadn’t changed. Well, except for the fact that Janus was now standing next to the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I think it’s ridiculous that even though poor Thomas got barely four hours of sleep, you’re still pushing him to finish this video today.”

“For the love of- we’ve been over this. He’s already past schedule, and he promised that it would be out this week! Do you want to be the reason that he disappoints over three million people? Do you really, Jan?”

“He will be able to work on it better if he at least takes a nap! The quality of his work is diminishing, and I’m quite sure his fans would rather see an amazing video two days late than whatever he’s making now, on time!”

“We have a schedule! Thomas can take a break when it’s done, and won’t it be more rewarding then?”

“He at least needs a nap!”

The two sides stopped their argument, breathing heavily as Patton took a ginger step down. “So what’s going on, guys?”

“Janus is insisting Thomas completely ignore his posting schedule!”

“Virgil isn’t letting Thomas rest, and god knows he needs it!”

“Okay, you know what?”

“What?!”

“I’m going out there, and I’m convincing Thomas to take a nap!”

“Not without me, you’re not!”

They both sunk out quickly, leaving Roman and Patton standing alone in the living room. Okay, so no surprise party after a let down. But… that’s okay, right? It’s not like he should have expected it. It’s wrong to expect something so big and then be upset when it doesn’t happen. And poor Logan, exhausted, having to keep Thomas going since he refused to rest. How dare Patton put himself first? That was wrong.

Maybe he could still have some quality time with Roman, at least.

“Hey kiddo, do you want to watch a movie with me? Your choice!”

“I would, but… shit, what time is it?” Patton checked his phone, scrunching his eyebrows together.

“Language. And just before eleven, why?”

“I need to go to the Imagination, I’m almost late!”

The moral side couldn’t help the jolt of excitement that flowed through him at the words. “Oh really? Why?” Maybe they had planned something!

“Now that Remus and I are… getting along,” he made a disgusted face, “Or trying to, at least, we figured we should try to have an adventure again. Like old times, you know?”

“Yeah…” Patton forced a smile on his face, pushing down the disappointment, “That’s great for you guys! Proud of you, ki-”

“No time, Pat! He’s probably already waiting, and I don’t want to know what he’ll do if I’m late!”

And he sunk out. 

Patton stood in the silence, his breathing seeming almost deafening in the empty room. He let the smile drop from his face but kept the rest of his bad feelings down, reprimanding himself for letting his own desire to be appreciated coming before the other’s happiness. They probably wouldn’t have wanted to be bogged down by some birthday celebrations. Helping Thomas and bonding with your brother were more important, right?

“Right,” he murmured to himself, sitting himself into the corner of the couch. It felt so big, so bare without anyone sitting with him, and he curled his legs into his torso to take up as little space as possible. Pulling the blanket down from over the top and wrapping it tightly around his shoulders, he flipped on the TV and put on the first show that was displayed, not even bothering to read the title. 

If he pulled the blanket around him tightly enough and closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was someone’s arms. 

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

When Thomas was tired, it reflected on all the sides. And he must have been exhausted, because the next thing Patton knew, he was waking up. The blanket was still wrapped around him and the TV was still playing the same show as before, yet the light had begun to fade outside the window. Had he really just slept through his entire birthday? Not that it mattered anyways, it’s not like anyone had any plans.

Stop that. He reprimanded, slowly standing up and stretching his aching back. And no more falling asleep on the couch. 

He hummed quietly to himself as he got a glass of water, downing the whole thing before refilling it. What was it about naps that always made you so thirsty when you woke up? In response, his stomach growled loudly, making Patton chuckle. Guess I should eat, too.

A look in the fridge revealed no leftovers from the week, and he really wasn’t in the mood to cook right now. His eyes settled on the Crofters jar, front and center on the top shelf, and he took it without thinking twice. His tune took on a more lighthearted melody as he waited for the toaster to pop, fiddling with a butter knife. 

He kept hoping, and hoping, and hoping, that Virgil would pop into the living room with Janus in tow, or the twins would start yelling upstairs to symbolize their return. Just for someone to remember him, to just give him a hug, shoot him a smile that wasn’t in exchange for pancakes. No, he reminded himself. They’re having a good day. Let them be. You don’t matter. 

He sat down at the table with his toast, glancing at the five empty seats around him. Even though he knew they had better things to do, and it was useless to dream, he couldn’t help but imagine all of them gathered together. The twins would fight and Janus would hit his head against the table and Logan would roll his eyes and Virgil would sulk in fake annoyance even while their pinkies were intertwined under the tablecloth. Remus would throw cake at Roman who would probably draw his sword in retaliation, Janus would yell at them to chill out, and Logan would excuse himself. They’d hear him scream in the distance before coming back, unruffled as always, and rejoin them at his usual seat. It would be chaotic and painful and long and exhausting but it would be his family. They’d all be together and it… it would be good. For once, they’d all be together.

Not like now, with everyone off doing their own things, and Patton staring numbly at his now cold toast, legs swinging slightly under his chair. With the jam covered knife, he poked the plate, drawing circles and stars around the perimeter. He wasn’t really hungry anymore. 

“Breakfast food for dinner? And stealing my Crofters? This is highly unusual, Patton.” Patton jumped, dropping the knife on the table with a loud clang. Logan continued, unaffected by the noise, “However, I suppose it can be excused today, what with it being your birthday.”

Patton froze, slowly turning to meet Logan’s stoic expression with a look of pure shock. “You… you remembered?”

“Of course. You always remember our birthdays, somehow, even without a calendar or any marker to indicate the day. I am able to leave that to you, and all we have to do is remember yours. It is actually quite a load off of my shoul-” He was cut off by a pair of arms wrapping firmly around his middle as Patton flung himself off the chair. He burrowed his nose into Logan’s shoulder, mumbling a quiet “Thank you” into the material. Hands slowly found their way around his shoulders, settling on the grey cardigan hesitantly.  

“Well,” Logan began, and Patton pulled away from him, a small smile etched into his face, “I apologize for not being available to partake in the festivities I’m sure the others planned. As you know, Thomas needed my assistance in researching and experimenting with a new editing technique. But now that is done with, so I’m free to join you.”

Patton tilted his head. “Join me?”

“Yes, for your oddly timed meal. Unless you don’t want me to, of course! I’d understand if you-” 

“No, Logan,” He said quietly, reaching down to take the other’s hand, “Please. I’d love if you joined me.”

Patton grinned at the way Logan’s cheeks flushed lightly, barely hesitating before replying with a choked out, “Wonderful.” They sat, and Patton gladly gave Logan one of his slices, his appetite hardly returned. 

“So,” Logan said around a mouthful of toast, “How was the party?”

“Oh! Uhm…” Should he tell the truth? Telling Logan that the others hadn’t planned anything, that they hadn’t even remembered… what would that do besides making Logan feel bad for not being there? But lying was… well, he could sort of understand where Janus was coming from now. “It was great!”

“What did you all do?”

“We… uhm… well, they set up the banner and everything, and it was super cool! And, uh, Roman made breakfast, so we ate that, and then… we went into the Imagination?” He hadn’t meant to make it sound like a question. 

“Where is everyone now? I would think now would be the ideal time to eat dinner and cake.”

“They… Virgil and Janus knew they were going to be after Thomas for a while, and Roman and Remus… something went wrong in the Imagination that they had to… had to fix. So we did a birthday lunch instead.” It wasn’t a total lie, right? 

“Something wrong with the imagination? Are they alright?”

“YUP!” Patton yelped all too quickly, “Yup, they’re all good! They just had to… ya know. Ya know how they are!”

“I…” Logan narrowed his eyes a bit, giving Patton a look that told him he wasn’t fooling anyone. Whether Logan understood what his frantic bumbling was trying to cover or not, he didn’t show. “Alright. And did you open presents already? I was hoping to give you mine at the same time.”

Patton couldn’t help the butterflies that exploded in his stomach, almost making him feel sick from pure elation. “You got me a present?”

“Yes, isn’t that customary for one’s birthday?” The slight twinkle in his eye made Patton smile. He fumbled around in his pocket, pulling out a thin box wrapped in blue wrapping paper that just fit in the palm of his hand. “I’m not sure if you’ll like it-”

He cut himself off, letting Patton take the small box in almost a state of wonder. The wrapping paper was quickly thrown to the side and he pulled off the lid, letting out a small gasp involuntarily. Logan explained quickly.

“I saw a similar product online, and I tried to copy it to the best of my ability. Unfortunately my conjuring skills are not as precise as Roman’s, so it is not as detailed as the ones I attempted to imitate. But…” He took Patton’s phone from where it had been sitting on the table and turned on the flashlight, lifting the necklace from the box to shine the light through the transparent center, “I kept trying and trying, until I got this part exactly right, even if the exterior is flawed,” The necklace worked like a projector, and it took Patton a second to realize that the dots now showing on the opposite wall were stars. “It’s as accurate to the night sky as I could make it. And right there,” he gestured vaguely with his chin to a section in the middle, where a clump of stars stood brighter than the rest, “Is the Hercules constellation.”

“Logan… I…” Patton couldn’t help the tears that filled his eyes as he looked between Logan and the stars on the wall. The logical side saw the tears and immediately tensed up, placing the necklace and phone back down.

“I apologize, did I do something wrong? I can-”

“No,” He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands, laughing slightly, “No, it’s amazing. Thank you, Logan. Really.”

Patton picked up the necklace almost reverently. Logan was right, the outside was messy. The circle outline was wonky and crooked, and he couldn’t tell if the little scratches around the rim were intentional (numbers, maybe?) or accidental. But to him, it was perfect. 

“Could you put it on me?” He held it out to the man in front of him, letting the pendant dangle between his fingers. And goodness, seeing Logan give a flustered nod and take the necklace with shaking fingers was an image he never wanted out of his mind. 

Patton turned around in his chair, tilting his head down as Logan stood up behind him. The moment seemed to last forever and ended all too quickly; the ghost of Logan’s fingers against his neck that sent a shiver down his spine, the cool pendant against his collarbone, the way the taller man rested his hand on Patton’s shoulder blade when it was securely fastened. Patton swore to himself never to tell Logan about the hundreds of times he’d put on his own necklaces before. 

He took his phone, the flashlight still on, and shone it through the necklace, admiring the night sky before him.

“What did you say the constellation was, Lo?”

Logan cleared his throat roughly, now standing beside him, the very tips of his ears on fire. “Hercules.”

Patton giggled lightly. “Why that one?” 

For a moment, the other man was completely silent, and Patton feared he’d said something wrong. He looked up at Lo only to find him staring back with intensity that could challenge Remus. The taller man let out a heavy sigh before resting on the back of Patton’s chair, moving his attention to the projection. He could either say something meaningful or make eye contact; both was too much. 

“Patton, I know the way you think about yourself. That you’re not worth caring for, or that everyone around you is more important, and I know you figuratively beat yourself up when you need to put yourself first. And I’m not good with emotions, I’m frankly quite terrible with them, and I am unsure how to comfort you when these thoughts enter your head. I just want you to know that… you’re stronger than you think, Patton. You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for.”

Pat nearly dropped the phone, turning up to face Logan again. And he just couldn’t help but notice how close they were… so close their noses were almost touching, so close he could see every detail in Logan’s eyes, so close that he could feel Logan’s breath on his lips and more suddenly then he could process, he realized he wanted to kiss Logan. He wanted to kiss him so bad.

He didn’t have a second to ponder this new thought before Logan closed the space between them, connecting their lips softly and Patton’s heart exploded. How had he gone this long without realizing he had a crush on the huge space nerd he lived with? Was he that obliviously gay? The necklace slipped from his fingers as he reached up, hands tangling in Logan’s hair as a silent sign that this is okay oh god it is so much more than okay.

When they finally pulled apart, panting, Patton couldn’t help the tiny laugh that bubbled out of his chest.

“I wasn’t expecting that.”

“My apologies. I should have asked beforehand.”

“No, don’t be! You’re so adorable, Logie.” Patton giggled at the way Logan’s face turned even redder, finally standing up from his chair. “Do you want to watch a movie? If you don’t have to help Thomas, that is.”

That’s the way birthdays usually ended in the mindscape. After tearing through presents and doing a sad excuse for clean up, they’d all watch a movie of the birthday-side’s choice. It usually ended with a few, if not all of them, fast asleep on the couch. If Logan was still awake, he’d usher them all into bed, preaching about proper sleeping habits. If he’d also conked out, however, no one complained to a huge sleepover all over the living room. The cuddles were something Patton looked forward to more than any gift. 

Only now it was just him and Logan, which definitely was not a bad thing, but his little squeak of joy when Logan nodded mutely was not as bright as it usually was. The logic side didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he was just distracted by the way Patton cuddled into his side as soon as the movie started. He couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him as the title sequence for Hercules ran across the TV, and Patton almost leapt at the sound, delighted. 

His joy didn’t last, though. Watching the gods argue only reminded him of his own family in a way that made him want to slap himself. Couldn’t he enjoy anything anymore? But goodness, Hades just had Virgil’s essence down to a tee, and Zeus was too similar to Roman to just let it slide… He wondered what they were doing right now. He had to admit, though foolish as it was, that even while he was preparing his make-shift toast dinner and eating with Logan and turning on the movie, that maybe this was all an elaborate ploy. That any second, they’d all rise up with decorations and cake and shout “Happy Birthday!” and that they hadn’t really forgotten him.

Maybe that’s why he got so incredibly excited when Janus and Virgil popped in out of nowhere, now much more relaxed then when they’d left earlier. But that stupid stupid hope was vanquished as Virgil collapsed next to him on the couch, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Fine, you were right. Thomas needed the stupid nap. Are you happy?”

“Not at all,” Janus smirked, turning to the TV, “What are we watching? Oh, Hercules? I despise this movie.” He dropped onto the floor in a satisfied heap, leaning against Virgil’s legs. Neither of them acknowledged the tiny affectionate gesture, so Patton decided to ignore it too.

Like they ignored you.

Just as Hercules met Meg for the first time, there was a loud shriek upstairs and loud thumping as a blur of red and white tumbled down the stairs, cursing all the way. 

“You son of a bitch!”

Janus glanced at the lump of prince at the bottom of the stairs, pleased. “Ah, he took my suggestion.” 

Remus followed after him, giggling to himself. He stepped over Roman giddily, making his way over to the group and splaying himself across Janus’ lap. “You proud o’ me, Snakey?”

“Never.” 

Roman brushed himself off, joining the group with an angry grumble about “wasted bonding time”. And Patton wanted to be happy, he wanted to so badly, because he was finally in a group with his family, and that’s all he wanted, right? Then why did it feel tainted? On a normal night, watching a movie as a group wasn’t unusual, so he could just pretend that it was that. A normal, non-birthday night. That’s all it was. 

Because if it was a birthday night, he’d be in the middle of the weird cuddle pile that Virgil, Janus, and Remus had formed. Roman would be running his fingers through his hair, not Virgil’s, and they would give up their stupid bickering for one evening so they could focus on him, but no, that’s just selfish and he can’t ask for that. He didn’t even notice he was crying until Logan’s arms tightened around him and he looked up, meeting his confused eyes, and giving his head a small shake to show not now. And he really didn’t want to be held right now, he realized in shock, and gently untangled himself from Logan’s arms to sit alone, untouched, against the couch that suddenly felt it was filled with rocks instead of fluff. Logan complied with a sigh, turning his attention back to the fight at Olympus. 

Patton had never once in his life been happy that a movie night was over until now. As the credits began to roll, Logan stood stiffly, popping his back. The other sides were in varying states of sleep, exhausted from the day. 

“It’s not healthy for you all to sleep on the floor. At least try to get yourselves to your beds,” Logan bent down and gave Patton a chaste kiss on the head, letting his hand linger on his cheek for a moment. And then he uttered the words Patton hadn’t even realized he was dreading. 

“Happy birthday again, Patton. Goodnight, everyone.”

Never had Patton seen anyone wake up as fast as the other sides did as Logan froze on the steps, not expecting the commotion. Roman was the first to break the silence that followed.

“Is it-”

“Fuck.” Virgil dropped his face into his hands.

“It is. It definitely is.”

“Fuck!”

“Oh god, we’re such idiots.”

“No!” Patton interrupted, quickly putting on the biggest smile he could muster, “It’s okay, you guys! Really!”

Janus stood up slowly, as if scared moving too quickly would spook him, “Patton, why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because…” Whether the sounds that were ripped from his throat were laughs or  sobs, or some weird mix in between, he’d never know, “Because you guys had other stuff to worry about! You-” He pointed to Janus and Virgil, “Had to help Thomas, and you-” To the twins, “Had that whole bonding thing planned! I wasn’t about to remind you of something you didn’t even care about in the first place!”

He slapped his hand to his mouth as soon as the words slipped out, the laugh disappearing into a horrified gasp. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” It was barely a whisper. Patton didn’t wait to see the looks on the other’s faces. He pushed past Logan and bolted up the stairs, finally letting the tears he’d held at bay the entire day stream down his cheeks. 

Usually, his “no lock on the door” invitation was meant to remind the others that he was always there for them, and they’d never meet a locked door if they needed him. However, now as he curled up facing the wall, crying freely for the first time in who knows how long, he wished there was a lock to stop whoever had just walked into his room. The side was quiet, standing in his doorway, and Patton just wished whoever it was would walk away. He didn’t want to deal with this right now, he didn’t want to look in their guilt filled eyes and listen to them apologize, because how well would that even go? He’d insist it’s okay when on the inside he feels shattered, and he wouldn’t drop it until they agreed with him, and then everyone would feel better except him and maybe a tiny, tiny, part of him was sickeningly pleased that they were upset. That realization made him want to throw up. He let out another unmuffled sob as the nausea churned in his stomach.

Patton felt the bed dip as the person sat just behind him, placing a hand hesitantly on his shoulder.

“I wish you would have told me, Patton.”

Logan.

“Th-they forgot ab-about me,” he choked out, struggling to no avail to push down the hiccupy sobs. Logan sighed. There was nothing he could say that could make the situation better. The facts were there. The sides had forgotten about Patton’s birthday, a day that Patton cherished greatly. Patton never forgot anyone, and that had not been reciprocated. 

“The whole d-day, I thou-thought that it was just… just a bi-big surprise. Or that they’d rem-remember later. But they didn’t.”

Another sigh. “Patton, can you look at me?” 

He rolled over slowly, letting go of the pillow he was curled around. Even in the dim light, Logan could make out the tear tracks curving down his cheeks, the redness of eyes, the look of complete and utter heartbreak. As gently as he could, he pulled on Patton’s hands until he got the message to sit up.  

“I’m sorry. I truly am.” 

Logan wasn’t one for emotions, or feelings, or anything of the sort. It went against all logic, afterall. But he would be lying if he said the way Patton threw himself around him and clung to him like the world was ending didn’t somehow fill in a piece of his heart that he didn’t know was missing. He’d gotten a lot of hugs from the moral side, yet this one was different. It wasn’t brought on by joy or a ‘goodnight’ or a simple need for human contact. This was so much more. It was pain and anger and raw emotion that of course Patton felt, as the heart, but never showed. Whether all of that was aimed at the others or Patton himself would be a conversation for when he wasn’t sobbing brokenly into his shoulder, in the morning when they had to face the reactions of the group. 

For now, they both relished in the feeling of whatever they had, something more than friendship but again, that was a topic for tomorrow. Tonight it was just them, Patton’s twinkling fairy lights, and the star necklace trapped between their beating hearts.

[notyetneedcoffee]

No Secrets, Part 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader (???)

Warnings: None in this section

You sat in the car staring at the house. Your beautiful new prison.  

“Miss Y/L/N, you have an incoming call from Miss Maximoff.” The car’s AI announce.  

“Hi Wanda, so who called you?”

“Steve. He sent me the file and thought I might be able to help.” She was on the other side of the planet at the moment. It had to be the dark hours of the morning where she was. Still, she sounded alert and concerned. “How are you holding up?”

“At the moment?” You sighed, gripping the steering wheel hard. “I’m frustrated.”

“That’s it?” Wanda laughed. “I’d be pissed.”

“Yeah, that too.” You admitted.

“Try not to be too angry, though. They just feel like every weird, inane, and inappropriate thing that pops into their head is some how on blazing display now. They conveniently forget that I can pick up on all that, too. I’m just better at not responding.”

You tried to put yourself in Tony’s shoes. As much as you hated it, you understood his reaction. You may not agree with his solution, but you understood. Picturing the crazy stuff that probably popped into the team’s minds, and having to deal with it all at once might be a bit much to deal with, it kind of made you smile. “I suppose being around everyone would get kind of maddening.”

Wanda laughed. “It’s why I don’t do parties. I know you’re still likely to see some of them before this wears off. Please keep one very important thing in mind. People are not what they think. What matters is the way they choose to act.”

“Okay.” You considered her words.  

“Much of what people think are caused by outside influences, or old tapes in their head. Still, they choose to do different. Just like someone may be racked with fear, but behave more bravely than anyone else. There are some people who’s thoughts are plagued with darkness, but they choose to be kind.”

Sitting quietly in your car, in front of the big modern house next to the lake, you knew things could be so much worse. The reality that Tony really was trying to be as good to you as he could right now sunk in. “You’re wiser than your years, my friend.”

“Don’t give me too much credit.” She laughed. “There is one other thing, Padawan. Don’t fight it. It’s like saying ‘hey don’t think about a blue monkey in a pink tu-tu’. You brain immediately conjures the monkey.”

“Okay.” You laughed despite yourself.  

“I don’t know how available I’ll be, but call me if you need to. Whenever, night or day.” Wanda encouraged.

“I will. Listen, thanks.”

“Don’t sound so down. You’re probably going to get tons of sleep, be able to catch up on all the great shows, work out all you want, and not have to listen to Sam and Bucky fight over who gets to pick the music in the gym. Time will fly by.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”  

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Thanks, Wanda.” You cut off the call as you popped the trunk to grabbed your bags.  

The house looked like a team from Architectural Digest picked the décor. It had all the conveniences of Tony’s smart homes. The refrigerator looked to be stocked by one of the compound’s chefs. A neat row of your favorite bottled juice was lined up beside your favorite soda and a stack of your favorite yogurts. On the giant bed you found a set of expensive silk pajamas and a plush robe under a copy of Anna Karenina. In the en-suite bathroom you found a tub big enough for four, and beside it a basket full of spa goodies.  

The cell phone in your pocket buzzed. Steve’s name scrolled across the screen.

“Hey.”

“You made it okay.”  

“Yeah. Tony must be feeling guilty. The house it loaded up with all kinds of gifts.” 

“I hope they’re nice.”

“I suppose.” You sighed. “I’d rather be home.”

“I know.” His voice was quiet.  

“Wanda called.” You sat down on the edge of the tub, running your hand over the fluffy towel.

“Good.” Steve took a deep breath. “I think we have, ah, some stuff to talk about but… God, I can’t do this over the phone. I’m sorry. I just… It feels wrong to do this over the phone.”

One of the generational leaps Steve never managed to make was his attitude towards the phone. It was a utilitarian tool. If you had something important to say, he felt you should do it face to face. You smiled, “I know. It’s okay, Steve.”

“Really?”

“We can talk later.” You gave a humorless laugh. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry, Honey. I really am.” Again his voice dropped low, quiet.

The little endearment warmed your cheeks. He so rarely used it. “No reason to be sorry, Steve.”

“Well, you get settled in and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay. Steve,” You sighed. “Thank you for checking on me. You be safe.”  

“Will do.”

Strains of what you thought might be Verdi tickled the back of your mind. You stopped chopping the cucumber and put the knife down. The clock showed 12:35. It was still a half an hour until Bruce was supposed to be at the house.

‘Got to stay focused. This is so going to suck. What if she starts asking me questions? You’re going stumble around like a dumbass. Some genius you are. No. No. It’s going to be fine. It’s a short visit. I’ll be fine.’

Yep. Definitely Bruce.  

You munched on your salad as you split your attention between the British Bake Off on the television and Banner’s constant internal rambling. It swung from running down a check list for his visit to trying to remember the Band Aid’s commercial jingle.  

When the knock came at the door you looked at the clock. Only two minutes had passed. Bruce must have been at the street, or just coming down the long drive, when you heard him. Interesting.

“Hi Bruce.” You opened the door, popping a piece of cucumber in your mouth. “Hungry?”

“Ah, no.” He came in. “Thanks. I don’t want to be rude, but I’d like to just get to it. If you don’t mind, that is?”

“Why not?” You dropped into the chair at the table. “You’re just the first person I’ve seen in a week.”

‘Shit. Shit. Way to be a jerk.’

“It’s okay, Bruce.” You smiled. “I don’t mind, really. What do I do?”

“Ah, bring your chair out here. Then, ah, just let me run the scans.”

You pulled your chair out where he could walk around you. “Do I need to stay still?”

“No, I mean don’t dance around or anything.” He began pulling out equipment. He was internally humming the Verdi piece.  

“How’s the team?” You knew it would be kinder to just be quiet, but you were dying for some interaction.

“Okay. Staying busy.” Came out of his mouth, but a barrage of things hit you. ‘Cap won’t stop moping. Tony needs to cut back on the caffeine. I’m gonna go green on Bucky soon.’

“I heard you just got back. Some mission with Nat and Clint.”

‘What a dress.’  

“Ah, damn it. This sucks.” Bruce looked away from the device in his hands and deep in your eyes. “I’m really sorry, but I’m just afraid to talk about anything okay.”

You frown, nodding. “I’m sorry. I’ll stay quiet.”

‘Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.’

“You know what? Fuck it.” He sighed. “Things are tense. They’re kind of awful. Tony and I stick to the lab. Cap is walking around on auto-pilot. Bucky is fucking impossible. Sam is trying to play peacemaker but failing spectacularly. Clint came up with the mission just because Natasha and Bucky nearly killed each other sparring.”

‘I hate it. Hate it.’

“I’m sorry.” You twisted you hands together. “I don’t want everyone miserable over what happened to me.”

‘No. No. No. Fuck. Don’t cry. I’m going rip Tony’s arms off if she cries.’

“Not your fault.” Bruce sighed.  

“Bruce.” You lifted you jaw. “I know it’s not my fault, but at least if I were there Tony wouldn’t feel guilty, I could tell Steve snap out of it, and I could smack Buck up side the head. You tell them to knock that crap off.”

He chuckled. “I’ll tell them you said so.”

Bruce asked you some medical questions and took a blood sample after finishing the scan. He calmed down quite a bit, but still left as soon as he could. Later that evening he called you to say that the reading were consistent with your time in the lab. The anomaly would go away, it would just take time.  

You made yourself a hot chocolate and curled up on one of the deck chairs to listen to sounds of the evening forest when you got off the phone. It would be a long while alone. The sun wouldn’t set for a while yet, and you were reading a new book. Reading outside lessened the feeling of being trapped.  

‘Don’t care. Got to do this.’

You head came up at the same time you heard the motorcycle pull down the drive. By the time Steve parked his bike, you stood at the edge of the deck just a few feet away. He looked up, seeing you clutch a throw blanket around your shoulders, wearing jeans and an old tee. Steve looked you over from bare feet to big eyes.

‘Beautiful.’

“I missed you.” He said, voice low.

“Missed you, too.”

Steve stepped closer. “I’ve been thinking, a lot. There’s something I don’t think I can, I don’t want, to wait to tell you.”

“Okay.” You swallowed, fighting to hold still. So much, so strong, hit you at once. 

He took a deep breath, his large hand touched your hair, cupped your face. “I’m not sure when my feelings changed, but for a long time now all I can think about is how much I want you, want you to be with me.”

‘Those lips. So pretty.’

You felt a smile curl at the corner of your mouth. His mouth covered yours, lips gentle and soft. When your hands slid along his waist. His tongue swept lightly along your lip and was met by your own. He moan, pulling you close, kiss deepening.

‘God, yes, honey.’

BLEEEP! CRASH!

You both jerked away from each other in shock.    

‘No! Not now!’

It took a second for the realization to hit you that you heard a car crash. Somewhere close by.  

‘No. No. No. Dammit. Not now.’  

Steve looked at you, “I should see what happened.”

“Yeah,” You breathed.

‘No. We should go inside, forget we heard anything. Want to feel you again.’

“It’s okay.” He covered your hand with his own when you touched his chest. “I’ll be here when you get back.” You gave him a warm smile.

‘No. I don’t want to go anywhere. Not missing out again.’

“Okay.” Steve nodded, stepping away from you. “I’ll be back soon.”

TAGS

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[crazycephalopoda]

Grief

My father died February 11th, 2021. That, in and of itself, is a weird sentence for me to write. To acknowledge. To me, the reality of this situation that I find myself in has not quite sunk in. I feel it in waves, rocking me like a boat beating against a storm. There are times when the boat has a leak and I scramble on deck to patch it together, desperately holding my hands over the holes while water rushes in. There are times where other boats come near to try and salvage my wreckage, but the captain goes down with their own ship and whatnot. I have always been one for bad metaphors. Amidst all of this, there are times of calm and quiet waters as well, where the ocean seems endless and empty. My father is dead. He is gone. He will not come back.

I check my Facebook messenger and look at his icon to see if he is there or not. He is not. He will not be ever again. I feel a lump forming in my throat. I scroll through the messages we have shared for the past several years and question every conversation. Did I contact him enough? Why didn’t I respond to that one message he sent? Was I too short with him? Did he know that I loved him? I look back and analyze every photo he was in. Why did I make that face? Why didn’t I take more photos with him? Did he know that I loved him? Why didn’t I show that I loved him more? Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I?

Attempting to live my life normally is a joke, and a bad one at that. Everything reminds me of him and the memories we made while growing up. I had malt o meal for breakfast. I cried. He loved malt o meal, with a large amount of sugar and a small amount of milk. Just enough that it was “liquid but not runny” like he said. I remember just two weeks ago when he had eaten only one bite of malt o meal and turned it away due to being nauseous. I thoughtlessly plopped the spoon in my mouth. We all laughed at the realization that he had just had chemo and we were not supposed to swap bodily fluids due to the poisonous chemicals. It was not funny. It was. God, I hate malt o meal. Why did he like this stuff?

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

When my eyes are closed, I see the same scenes playing out in my head that have resided there for the past several weeks. They plague my sleep and leave me restless. He had always had a cheery and rounded face, but those final weeks his eyes sunk in between mountains of cheekbones and gaunt skin. His mouth hangs open like he cannot get enough oxygen for all the air in the room. Maybe he wants to speak. But he doesn’t. He is silent at the end, except when in pain. His eyes are also open, halfway and drooping. His eyes are open, and he is searching but he is not seeing me. At one point, when he could still speak, he mutters about bugs crawling on the walls and a girl on the ceiling. We joke about how scary that sounds to make it less uncomfortable. Could he see us there, beside him?  

Curly hair was his best feature, he always said. People from all over complimented him on his natural hair all the time. We had a hairdresser once who fawned over it. He acted embarrassed but I think he liked the attention. Those same locks of hair now lay disheveled and unkempt around him like a halo. My mother sprays them with water and tries to keep them clean. I was glad, at least, the one chemo treatment had not stolen that from him. We cut a lock of hair to keep. It is the only thing of his person that will not face or be burned when he is cremated. What would he think of that?

My mother and I are caregiver to him, and we drain fluid from his chest as it builds up to an unbearable amount. At first it is an alien procedure to me, with a series of steps and protocols and cleaning routines. Put on two sets of gloves, touching only the wrist. Clean the cap with an alcohol swab. Make sure the clamp is fastened before you attach the bag below. Don’t drain too much or his blood pressure will drop, and you will kill him even faster than the cancer. After a few times, it is normal and just another thing we do to help him. Towards the end, it is tinged red. So is his urine. So is everything else. He stirs at one point in his confusion and tells me “I’ve leaked, I see red everywhere”.  There was none, he was hallucinating. At least that time. Is he in pain?

Our fingers intertwine periodically when I sit beside him. When he was still conscious, he would occasionally reach out for whoever was closest. This was the smallest of comforts we could offer him. He always liked to sleep with his arms above his head, but the atrophied muscles would not allow this for him. We moved him into position like a broken marionette throughout the day. His hands are placed on his chest after he passed. They were so yellow, cold, and frail. There was no strength left in his ragged fingers. I held one of his hands in mine and I took a photo. The yellow skin glares at me like the sun and I squint, suddenly nauseous. I change the photo to black and white. As I stare at that photo now, it seems morbid to me but at the time gave me something to keep of him. What will it be like to never touch him again?

The sounds amplify the hell I experience. After his first round of chemo, he was awake and aware of us for two days. During that time, we made mostly small talk. He was quiet and introspective. At one point, I sat across from him and worked on readings assigned from my graduate school classes. He broke the silence to say he was proud of me. I told him that I was sad he would not see me graduate. He was the reason, after all, I had pursued this path. This is the only time I saw him cry in front of me. We held each other and I listened to his heartbeat in his chest while he told me that regardless of his death, he would be there for me. I realize now that I never asked him things like what his favorite color was, which tv shows he liked now, what hobbies he wished he had done when he had the time. As he is in and out of sleep, my mother and sister tell him “it’s okay, you don’t have to fight, let go”. I cannot speak these words. I do not want to. On his last day, I had exhausted myself to the point I needed to rest. My head had barely hit the pillow before I hear a sound across the vast distance of the house that raised the hairs on my arm. It’s someone in pain. I rush back to his bedside as his head turns this way and that. His mouth now opens only to say “help” in a strangled, garbled voice. He is soothed with morphine until his whimpering subsides. That was the last thing he spoke to us. I never really said “goodbye” to him. Was there more I should have said?

For weeks I sat beside his bed at night and watched over him while the hum of his breathing machine aligned with the nervous fluttering of my heart. His gasping breaths... In for a few seconds, quickly out, then held for an eternity, then in again. Every pause between his breathing caused me to hold my air in my throat. Every pause could have been the last one, but it wasn’t. Until it was. My mother calls out to us, after he expressed pain, and we gather around his bedside. My sister, my mother, my grandmother, and me. My mother holds his hands and weeps. His breathing is different, not the beat I have grown accustomed to. It is quick, jagged, and quiet. At some point, it stops. There is an eerie silence, followed by the sounds a body releases shortly after death. It startles me, and an undeniable signal of the horrible event that has just unfolded in front of us. I can’t believe it. I reach over to his throat to feel a pulse. There isn’t one. I dry heave into the trash can nearby before I break the silence with a loud scream. As I browse Facebook now, I wonder how I can hear him again. Are there videos of him speaking? Why didn’t I record any videos of him speaking? Is his voicemail still on his phone? I am scared to call it. Why am I scared to call it?

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

Reliving these events, the weight now completely crushes my chest. It caves in my ribcage, plows through my heart, and drops me somewhere against the cold of the floor below. I am paralyzed in this position, barely breathing. I am scared. If I am too loud, if I cry, if I talk, I am acknowledging this new reality I am forced to live in. I don’t want to live it. I don’t want to be a part of it. I reject this world, body and soul. I am scared. Frantically, my mind races to those who are still present. I have not spent enough time with them. I have not said all the things I wanted, asked them what their favorite color is, or recorded enough photos and videos. When will I lose someone else? How will I lose them? I am scared. My breath begins to catch in my chest, and I feel the room shrink around me. I will never hear him again. I will never see him again. I will never touch him again. I will never play Fallout (which he loved) with him or watch Alien Covenant (which he hated) with him again. I will never be able to fall into his arms and cry about something stressing me out again. I will never hear him tell me he is proud of me again. I will never see him smile after he tells a bad joke again. My father is dead. How do I grieve this loss?

[cozykhaos]

A New Sun Part 14

I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long! I had to wait for inspiration to strike and it did! And to apologize there is some sexy bits! 

Sebastian

It was too early in the morning to be awake, I had been up most of the night working on my latest project I was hired for. At ass o’clock in the morning I heard a knock at the door, which I promptly ignored. It didn’t stop my door from creaking open and my mom asking me for help. I groaned and pulled a pillow over my head.

“Please Sebby,” she sat down on the edge of my bed. “I just need help with loading and unloading, I’ll have help once we get to the beach.”

I sighed. The Luau my least favorite holiday.

“I know you were up late last night but Maru and Demetrius are working in the lab, I could really use an extra set of hands.”

The sentence caused me to grinned my teeth together. OF COURSE THEY COULDN’T HELP. Why should they have to help while they worked? I just stayed up all night working my ass off but no one cared about that.

“Sebby?”

Bash.

My eyes popped open, of course she would be the one to get me motivated. I grumbled and sat up.

“Thank you Seb,” my mom smiled and gave me a quick hug before leaving. I dressed in gray shorts, purple tank top and my work boots then headed out. Mom handed me my to go mug, already filled with coffee. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

We loaded the truck in record time and drove down to the beach. The planning committee was already there. Mayor Lewis, Haley, Evelyn, Marnie, Gus the towns over achievers. A wildfire of curls caught my attention, her once alabaster skin had lost the angry sunburn and had now tanned into a golden honey, a constellation of freckles were sprinkled over her arms and face. I hadn’t seen her since last week when we went on our scavenger hunt. Once she had the items in hand she had thanked me and all but ran away. Since then neither myself, Abigail or Sam had seen her.

I turned away from Kit and started to unload the truck of the buffet tables and stage for the cauldron of soup.

“We can just put them right here, the others will figure out where they need to go,” mom said, starting the line up.

I grunted a response as I lifted a table. I glanced back over at Kit, she was listening intently to Lewis and nodding.

Mom and I unloaded the tables in record time, I was ready to go home and take a shower then find my way back to bed. I slammed the bed of the truck closed just as mom said. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to talk to Lewis.” I rolled my eyes as she turned her back and leaned against the closed door. My fingers tapped against the side of my leg. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted -

My thoughts were cut off, I could feel her eyes on me. I looked up and even though she was across the beach I could see the look of concern on her face. The corners of her mouth pulled into a frown, her eye brows knitted together. The look vanished when I raised my hand in a small greeting. She beamed, her smile reaching her green eyes.

Fuck. What did I do to deserve that smile?

I looked at the ground.

Then turned.

And left.

I didn’t deserve her smile. Or the gaze of her bright green eyes, the color of the new summer advances. I didn’t deserve to gaze upon her face, where all I wanted to do was to trace the new constellations of stars that were sprinkled across her soft skin.

Love is hard, fucking is easy.

I dragged my hand down my face and scrolled through the meaningless names on my phone. There had to be someone in here to distract me from Kit. I flicked through the names, most of the girls I had met at a club in Zuzu called Fantasia. It was a BDSM club that I had started to frequent a couple years ago.

Like I said.

Fucking was easy.

No string attached.

No emotions.

Was that something that I could accomplish with Kit? Could I kiss her and feel nothing? I looked at the name on my phone, it was the girl from the electronic store in Zuzu. What was her name again?

Morgan.

That was it.

I remember the way she had fished my phone out of my pocket, typing her number in before sliding it back into my jeans. Hesitating I scrolled up to Kit’s name. There was a picture of the two of us as her icon picture. Her red curls flared around her, unable to be tamed that day. Clover green eyes clear and that smile reached upwards and filled them. Then… then there was me. I didn’t deserve her.

I scrolled back to Morgan’s name and sent a text.

Kit’s P.O.V.

Abbie and I watched, wine coolers in hand as Sam and Vincent built a sandcastle. The day was warm with a vibrant blue and cloudless sky. The luau was one of the few celebrations that I was apart of growing up and the nostalgia was comforting. I looked back at mayor Lewis who was speaking to the Governor, for a moment I expected to see my grandfather standing next to them.

“I don’t understand, where is Seb?” Abbie said checking her phone again.

“You know he hates these things,” Sam spoke over his shoulder. “He will probably skip the luau and show up for the bonfire tonight.”

“Bonfire?” I asked.

“Yeah, we have it every year,” Abbie finished tapping out a message then looked turned to me. “Did you not come before?”

I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Really?” Abbie paused, her eyebrows knitted together. “For some reason I remember you being there.”

“That’s just how strong our love is,” I bumped our hips together.

“You know it boo,” Abbie slung her arm over my shoulder.

“You guys are cute together,” Sam said.

“Can I have everyone join me around the cauldron please!” Lewis shouted from the middle of the beach. “Well folks, it’s time once again for the potluck ceremony. I trust that you all put high-quality ?ingredients in the post this year. We don’t want the governor to regret his visit to the valley! Well… Governor? Would you do us the honor of tasting the soup?”

“Of course! I’ve been looking forward to this all year!” The Governor clapped his hands together and rubbed them together. Abbie, Sam and I exchanged looks, Sam opened his mouth with what had to be a sarcastic comment when the Governor jumped in surprised.

“Oh my!” He belted out. “That’s the best soup I’ve ever tasted!” He didn’t hesitate to grab and bowl and fill it and slurped it down.

Lewis filled his own bowl and took a hesitant taste. “You’re right! It is delicious! Wonderful job everyone! Now, who else wants a taste?”

They were right, the soup was amazing. It was sweet from the tomatoes I brought, spicy from the jalapenos. The macaroni had absorbed the flavor of the bone broth. Even in the afternoon warmth the soup was delicious and comforting.  

That comfort lasted all day and into the evening. The sun melted behind the mountains casting the golden glow of honey onto the water. The girls and I passed a bottle of blueberry wine between us, a bottle that never touched a corporate shelf. It was sweet and cooled the sting of summer that had kissed my nose and shoulders.

“What games do we have planned for tonight?” Leah asked.

“Thought we would spice things up tonight with Kiss or Strip,” Haley wiggled her eyebrows.

Abbie perked up. “Speaking of, has anyone talked to Sebastian?”

I choked on a sip of wine, coughing I passed the bottle to Emily.

“Thinking of kissing Sebastian under the stars are we?” Leah teased.

“Someone is, but it isn’t me,” Abbie dug her elbow into my ribs. I slapped her arm away and turned towards the beach where Sam, Shane and Alex were tossing a football between them. Harvey and Alex stood back with there own glasses of wine.

Robin hadn’t seemed worried, she hadn’t even mentioned his absence when I briefly spoke to her earlier.

Maru pipped up from her spot next to Penny (who hadn’t touched the bottle of wine). “He left yesterday,” she shrugged. “Didn’t really say anything just that he’d be back sometime today.”

Abbie frowned, I reached for the bottle of wine and drank deeply.

“Come on, lets get this night started,” Haley bounced to her feet, with a twirl she sashayed down the boardwalk.

“That girl has more grace in her tiny toe than I do in my whole body,” Leah said.

“I really hate it,” Abbie sighed.

“Same,” Emily frowned looking after her sister.

I stood, my knees popping and I groaned.

“That’s more like it!” Maru clapped, her own knees popping when she stood.

Haley had confiscated the football from the guys and had taken a seat around the fire, the guys were sitting, Shane and Alex pouting that their game was interrupted.

“Since we have a new face I’ll explain the rules, granted the are stupid simple,” Haley flicked her golden hair over her shoulder. “You spin the bottle, you either choose to kiss the person it lands on, or strip. Easy, right Farmer?”

“Stupid simple,” I muttered.

She took out a square of plywood and grabbed an empty wine bottle, starting to pass it to Alex she reached over his head and handed it Harvey. There was a noticeable frown on Harvey’s face, even in the firelight, but he spun any ways.

I grabbed for a wine cooler and drank.

The bottle landed on Penny, Maru demeanor visibly sunk. Harvey shrugged and moved to kiss Penny, giving her a small peck.

Next to Abbie Sam cringed.

Elliot was next, landing on Abbie.

“By the way, if you want more privacy, feel free to walk to the other side of the beach,” Haley pointed.

“That doesn’t seem nes-” Abbie was cut off by Elliot’s lips pressing against her, his fingers curling through her purple hair. Elliot pulled away, his thumb brushing across Abbie’s bottom lip. Her mouth dropping.

“Want me to get your jaw for you?” I asked, pretending to pick it out of the sand. She slapped my hand away and stared at Elliot.

“At least close your mouth,” Sam shut her mouth.

The game continued, with Sam taking off his shoes when the bottle landed on Abbie. I followed suite when the bottle landed on Shane, next to me Emily squeezed my hand in thanks. Then when she spun and it landed on Shane, she practically lept across the circle and kissed him. There was an audible gasp from Shane before he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her back. Haley cleared her throat loudly.

Twice.

Three times.

Before Emily finally stopped kissing Shane, then kissed his cheek with a loud smooch. Emily plopped back down in the sand next to me, a giant smile on her face, the blush on Shane’s cheeks could of replaced the glow of the fire.

Alex spun next, the bottle pointing towards me. My heart rate quickened in fear, in case he did choose to kiss me. I could already feel Haley’s wrath and a shutter ran down my spine. For both of our safety and because Alex was fiercely loyal, he stripped off his shirt, revealing his toned abs, he was the first to show actual skin.

“Good boy,” Haley purred, running her fingers through his hair.

The game continued, I ended up kissing Sam on my next turn, a simple peck that tasted like Joja Cola.

I thankfully did not puke on him.

It was back to Elliott, who on this spin landed on me.

“My my, it looks like the bottle favors that side of the fire.” It was true, on his last turn he landed on Sam, whom Elliott had kissed, loudly and dramatically on the mouth.

Ellis moved towards me, Abbie shifted away from me, I turned to look at her when Elliot’s hand touched my cheek. I turned back to him, his lips grazed over mine, lightly pressing against mine in a chaste kiss. He returned to seat and I looked back at Abbie, still blinking at strobe light speeds.

“Right?” She mouthed at me.

“Seb!” Sam shouted as a shadowy figure sat next to him. “I knew you’d show your face eventually!”

Fuck.

“Sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to be here,” sitting criss crossed, Sebastian propped his elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his palm.

“Well thank you for gracing us with your negative energy,” Haley sneered, Sebastian flicked her off.

“Since you are late you’ll have to wait until we go around the circle again,” Haley said. Sebastian didn’t respond. I suddenly couldn’t remember how to breath and every second seemed to drag by.

Had he seen the kiss between Elliot and I? Why did it even matter? Why did I care? It wasn’t like he was interested in me. Unless Abbie spilled the beans and told him how I felt. She wouldn’t do that, would she?

What was I even doing here?

The Farm.

You’re a failure.

You’re letting your grandfather down.

Again.

Again.

AGAIN.

He doesn’t like you.

“Kit?” Sebastian was leaning in front of me, the fire light blocked by his frame. My eyes darted back and forth, no one seemed to notice my panic attack or the fact I was now clutching the front of my shirt. “Kit, you okay?” He asked softly, I shook my head no. He held out his hand to me, I took it and he helped me up.

“Kit?” Haley asked.

“We will be right back, give her a minute,” Sebastian said pulling me along after him.

“Want me to come?” Abbie asked. I just shook my head, wither she saw me or not I don’t know, I just trailed after Sebastian, anchoring myself to the warmth of his hand in mine.

We crossed a small bridge, past some tide pools and to the rock face. I pushed my back against the cool rock surface and closed my eyes.

“Deep breaths, you’re okay,” Sebastian spoke quietly, he ran his thumb over the back of my hand, rubbing slow circles into my knuckles. “Hey Kit?”

I looked up into his dark eyes.

“Can I talk to you?” He asked.

I shook my head again.

“No?” His eyebrows knitted together.

“Now…. Is …. not… the best… time,” I said between gasp of breaths.

“I’m just bad at this,” Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck. “And if I don’t do it now, then I might not be brave enough to do it again.”

My eyes flicked downward.

Rejection

Rejection

Rejection

Sebastian caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced me to look up at him.

“Bash -”

My words were taken from me as his lips crashed against mine. He pulled me close, one arm snaking around my waist, the other planted against the rock wall behind me. I suddenly couldn’t figure out how to think, or what to do with my hands. Sebastian backed away and the ole’ hamster started running on its wheel again. I grabbed at the front of his hoodie and pulled him back towards me.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since we were kids-”

“Kids? Really?” He smirked.

“Teenagers, whatever. We are not done!” I snapped and pushed my lips against his. He placed both hands on the rock face behind us, trapping me. My hands slid down his toned chest, until I found his belt loops, hooking my fingers around them and pulled him against me. Feeling his hardness I let out a moan.

“Fuck, lets get out of here,” Sebastian groaned against my lips. He began to trail kisses down to my neck, sucking on the skin at the base of my ear, I let out a gasp.

It took me a moment to put a thought together to answer him. “What about the others?”

“I mean I’m really not into orgies,” he nipped at my ear lobe.

Fuck.

His knee found its way in between my legs.

“My shoes are still over there,” I wiggled my bare toes in the sand.

“Say the word and I can get Sam to grab them,” Sebastian whispered into my ear, pulling his phone out of his pocket. I couldn’t think properly with him so close. “Kit, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want too,” Sebastian moved to where he was looking down into my eyes. “Understand? We can go back to the fire right now. We can pretend this never happened, or talk about it later.”

I chewed on my bottom lip, staring up into his eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

“Wither I want you to cum on my face or dick first,” Sebastian shrugged.

First?

“Lets get out of here.” I grabbed his hand.

“Follow me."

[boldly-ho]

Another Life - Chapter 21

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows 

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Series Rating: E

Word Count: 1408 (It’s a shortie.)

Chapter Summary: Vladislav asks reader on a date, and in an almost appropriate way.

A/N: Yes it took us over 40k words to get to him asking her out. Idk why I’m like this, either. As always, this is cross-posted to AO3. (And when I inevitably find typos, I’ll fix them over there.)

A strangled sort of hissing noise pulled your focus from your endlessly scrolling on your phone. You snapped your head up and saw dark robes disappear around a corner. You sat, watching, as Petyr poked his head back around the corner and hissed angrily at you.

“It’s not my fault!” you shot back, leaping off the couch to draw the curtains in the lounge and block out the light from the setting sun, surely the source of his distress. “What are you even doing up so early?”

He shrugged as he entered the now-dark lounge, moving so smoothly you couldn’t be sure he wasn’t gliding.

“Are you ok?”

He nodded once. Thankfully. You shuddered to think what could have happened if he’d come in when the curtains were open.

“Please make sure the sun has set before you start wandering around,” you warned him. “I’m a human. I need the sunlight sometimes.”

~

More women continued to disappear. They disappeared quickly, at a rate of one to two a week. If they were dead, and it was in fact just one killer, that would make this most prolific serial killer New Zealand had ever seen. Maybe even the whole world.

All of the missing women looked like you.

It wouldn’t happen to you though. You didn’t go out to bars anymore. You never went out at night alone. Even after all this had happened, how were these women dumb enough to keep going out?

Victim-blaming.

You knew that’s what you were doing and you knew you were wrong. These women had been taken, probably killed. And you blamed them so that you didn’t have to feel so scared that you could be next.

And so that you didn’t feel guilty.

Not that you had anything to do with the disappearing women.

At least, you were pretty sure you didn’t.

But, being pretty sure wasn’t the same as being entirely sure.

And that difference was enough to make you choke on your guilt.

~

“Y/N?”

You sat up higher in the bathtub, startled by the intrusion. Not that it was an intrusion, really. Whoever it was was still in your bedroom. You couldn’t see them through the small crack in the door, and if you couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see you.

“Hello?” you called back.

“Can I come in?” You recognized the voice as Vladislav’s.

“Um, no?” You sunk back down into the bathtub, causing a bit of water to slosh over the edge of the antiquated claw-foot. There were no bubbles, though, so submerging yourself did little for your modesty.

“Ah.”

‘Ah?’ What did he expect here? You were taking a bath.

You told him as much. “I’m in the bathtub right now.”

“I know.”

“Okay…?”

“May I come in, please?”

A small part of you wanted to tell him to fuck off, but the fact he’d said please took up the larger part of your mind. You’d never heard him say please before. At least, not that you could remember. He might have said it once. He must have. But you certainly couldn’t recall it.

You sighed. “Okay, just hang on a second.”

You leaned forward, water sloshing at the disturbance, and grabbed the end of the shower curtain with your wet fingertips, pulling it around the tub to leave only your head exposed.

You chewed your lower lip nervously. This was dumb; you were overthinking it. After all, Dawn had come into the bathroom to talk while you’d bathed or showered, back when you’d still lived together. Still, this felt different somehow.

Vladislav cleared his throat from behind the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yes!” you replied, before you could change your mind.

He opened the door just wide enough for him to squeeze through, then closed it behind him, keeping the warm air inside and preventing you from freezing. He walked up to the side of the tub, resting his booted foot on the toilet, and leaning forward to rest his forearm on his thigh. In this position, he towered directly over you, and you had to lay back in the tub, looking toward the cracked ceiling, in order to see his face.

With a quick glance down on Vladislav’s part, you felt prompted to tug the shower curtain partially into the tub in order to keep yourself covered. It was both to hide your naked body, and to prevent any more heat from escaping the warm tub. You shivered as chills ran through your body. With Vladislav towering over you, fully clothed, and separated from you only by a shower curtain, you felt exposed.

“What’s up?” It took all your willpower not to visibly cringe. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong with ‘what’s up,’ but you regretted saying it nonetheless.

He seemed to suppress a smile.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You blinked in surprise. “Nothing?” you asked rather than told him.

The corners of his mouth twitched and you felt butterflies in your stomach. You made sure you maintained a firm grip on the shower curtain.

“Incorrect,” he said.

“Oh?” you asked, fighting back a smile of your own.

“Mhmm,” he nodded.

“Then what is it that I’m doing tomorrow night?” You felt your heart beating faster. Blushing and looking away felt almost appropriate, but you were caught up in his piercing gaze. You didn’t hate it.

“Well, you have two choices,” he told you, now actively smiling. Looking down at you, fangs bared, he looked almost predatory.

You sunk a little lower in the tub, smiling in return. You found yourself quite fond of whatever game the two of you were suddenly playing. “What are my options, then?” Your voice sounded breathier than you were expecting. If you were misreading this situation, you might just drown yourself.

“You could stay home, reading whatever book you’ve recently pilfered from Viago’s bookshelf, all alone, while I go out into town with the guys.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun for me,” you said, feigning disappointment.

“No?”

You shook your head.

“Good thing you have a second option, then.”

“Which is…?”

“You and I go out and watch the fireworks display over the harbor before going bush walking to a secluded spot I know of to look at the stars.”

Fireworks and stargazing? That sounded incredibly romantic, actually. You wondered just how heightened his vampire hearing was. Could he hear how fast your heart was racing right now?

“That sounds more fun,” you said.

“So what are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked you again.

Fireworks, stargazing, that much was clear. But what was this, really? He’d made a point of saying the first option included his going out with the other guys. So his omission of them from the fireworks and stargazing plan seemed pretty deliberate.

It sounded like a date.

But, hadn’t you overheard him telling Viago and Deacon just the other day that he wasn’t interested in you?

And yet… Fireworks and stargazing… just the two of you…

It had to be a date.

You couldn’t go into this uncertain, though. You had to know for sure. The stress of the next 24 hours would flat out kill you, otherwise.

What are you doing tomorrow night? He was still staring you down, not at all threateningly, but still very seriously, waiting for an answer.

“I’m going on a date,” you told him, trying your best to sound confident. You held your smile, though inside you felt as though you might combust.

Oh, god, if you were wrong…

Thankfully, he grinned and said, “Correct.”

Your smile widened, if that was even possible, and you nearly lost your grip on the shower curtain in your excitement.

“I’ll let you get back to it,” he said, glancing meaningfully to the curtain. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Good night.”

As he stood to leave, you stopped him. “Vladislav?” You almost, almost, hated that your voice still sounded so breathy.

“Yes?” He looked so damn pleased with himself.

“Couldn’t this have waited until I was dressed?”

You weren’t sure whether he was just too excited to ask you, or whether he was trying to corner you naked and at your most vulnerable. Surprisingly, neither option really bothered you.

“No. It couldn’t. Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Vladislav.”

As he closed the door behind him, you dunked your head below the water to let out an elated laugh you hadn’t even known was building up inside you.