#completely resigned to the idea that belly would never choose to be with him

[rynliadon]

the thing that’s truly amazing about the summer i turned pretty is that either of those boys are even willing to speak to belly, let alone be in a relationship with her.

[celestial-fucking-weeb]

NAGĀ!SERO

Hey y’all! This is a part of the Citrus Server Hybrid!AU Collab! The masterlist is HERE, please please please go check everyone’s pieces out!

A/N: I am fully aware that this is all over the place, ya girl is off her meds and will edit later. Please don’t tell me it sucks, I already know and I hate it, too.

SERO HANTA X F!READER

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, angst, smut, double penetration, aphrodisiac, interspecies miscommunication, size kink, breeding kink, mating, idk tell me if i missed anything

You had always heard stories about creatures in the forest; ones that eat humans, ones kidnap children, ones that would hurt you if you ever ran off by yourself. You didn’t believe them… Or maybe you did, but either way, the creatures could never be as scary as the life you already lived.

You had been taken prisoner when your coastal village was raided by pirates. Your clan’s viking warriors were off on a journey, leaving all of you oh so vulnerable with depleted numbers. They were going to kill you, like they did most of the others, but the pirate setting fire to everything in his path halted when he found you trembling under the rubble.

“Tomura, come see the new toy I found. Don’t you wanna keep her?”

“You sadistic bastard, how you get off to them crying like that never fails to make me sick. I don’t care what you do with her, Dabi, but I’m not cleaning up after you this time.”

They hauled you back to their ship, stripped you of everything and chained you in the hull. People came in and out, always different but always vile. You never spoke, you knew they wanted your screams. Overhaul, the captain, was the worst. You never knew when he was coming, and once he was there, you wondered what he wanted from you at all. Chained up, never touching you with anything but knives and his boots, not looking for your reactions… You wondered if he’d even notice if you stopped breathing. You dissociated for most of it, choosing instead to safeguard your mind, plan an escape.

About a year later, you found an opportunity in the carelessness of one of your captors. You docked someplace warm, someplace humid, maybe tropical? Toga had left your chains too loose after your last “date”, and had tossed the keys just a bit too close. As soon as she left, you had slipped your wrists out of the restraints, strained for the keys, and unlocked the shackles around your ankles. Not taking a moment to revel in the surreal feeling of being unchained, you listened until the heavy footsteps above you all faded into nothing, leaving the ship and most importantly: leaving you alone.

You ran. You ran so steadily, somehow comforted by the sounds of destruction getting further and further away. You found yourself blindly sprinting into a forest that looked nothing like your own, so damp and bright and warm. You kept running until you heard shuffling behind you, causing you to find the first thick vine hanging in your vicinity and clung to it as you climbed. Looking back, you see a simple boar grazing the forest floor. Sighing in relief, you relaxed a bit too soon, as the vine you had wrapped yourself around began to move.

Before you could react, you were wrapped up tightly in bands of muscle and brought towards the head of the- wait…- man? You had heard of nagā before, but the ones from your village’s stories were never described as so… tan, muscular, handsome. He didn’t look all that mean from the waist up, just the black, orange, and yellow scales trailing down his massive, strong tail seemed intimidating. He looked confused, concerned even, by your nakedness and panic stricken silence. Forked tongue flicking out to taste the air, smelling the blood and the abuse on your skin, seeing your quickly defeated body give up, and your mind resign itself to the comfort that at least you died free of your captors.

“Are you… okay?” The giant snake rumbles, human hand reaching towards your face and recoiling when you flinch.

You haven't spoken in months, your silence having been a security blanket, and you’re not ready to give that up. You do nothing, just look into his eyes and search for any sort of indication as to what he’s going to do. He loosens his grip a bit, just enough to slip down from his tree and head towards his hide- an old cave covered in ivy, moss, and little orange blossoms. He brings you in, and places you down on the ground before turning away to rummage through his things. He brings out water and bandages, along with some kind of salve that looks like a mixture of plants. You don’t reach for the water when he sets it near you, so he resorts to using the tip of his tail to bring it to your lips while his hands are busy tending to your wounds and gently rubbing the salve over your poorly healed scars. He offers you food, very confused when you don't seem to know what to do with the forest rodent he’s brought you, and decides on fruits he’s found. You don’t seem to want to do anything, not even going to sunbathe even though you’re obviously shivering.

THAT’S IT!!! SHE’S COLD! He thinks to himself, before wrapping his tail around you once more and bringing you outside to the rock where he typically warms himself. He gently places you down, uncoils you from his grasp, and gives you enough space to move as you please. You blink a few times, slowly realizing you’re free. He helped you? For no reason? He doesn’t know you…

“H-Hi… Thank… Thank you.” You mutter, looking away and blushing.

Cute… He thinks. “YOU TALK!!! What’s your name? I’m Sero, but you can call me Hanta! I was worried about you! Who are you? Why are you here? How did you get here?”

The line of questioning makes your head spin, and you try your best to answer before looking down and realizing you never found clothes. Blushing once again, you meekly gesture to your body and ask, “C-Clothes. I need clothes.” Hanta looks confused, but retreats to the cave and returns, bringing you a large piece of cloth that somewhat resembles a hemp blanket. It smells like oranges and spice, and you unconsciously snuggle into its comfort. Sero notices your calmed reaction to his scent and approaches you, gingerly grasps your ankle and picks up your leg, never having been so close to a human, and explores the strange angles your appendages bend.

“What are you doing?” You seem embarrassed, despite the number of people who've touched you before. This is too familiar, too intimate, almost too gentle.

“Tiny… Humans are… Small…”

You let him bend your limbs and play with your squish, strangely calm and trusting in his presence. He seems so enthralled by your body and how you move, so intrigued. That is, until he makes his way to massaging your plush thighs, causing a rush of arousal you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. He prys opens your legs to continue his ministrations, not knowing the smell of your lust would have him flicking his tongue out and his eyes turning to hyper-focused slits. He suddenly releases your legs, slithers around your back, and presses against you. He taps the top of your head with his chin and waits for your response. Not knowing what this means, but wanting him to continue his exploration, you lean back into him and whine quietly.

You have no idea what you’ve started.

Hanta leans down, pressing sweet kisses down the column of your throat and leaving scathing bites in all the right places. Aphrodisiac venom coursing through your veins, you don’t even register his muscular arms wrapping around your body and lifting you, carrying you back into his cave and up into his hammock. He wraps his strong tail completely around your torso and takes his time kissing and groping your soft body, mumbling “mate, mate, mate” into your heated flesh. He finally makes his way down to your mound, prying your thighs apart and diving straight in before you could question his reverent gaze.

“HANTAAA~” You practically screamed as his long tongue slipped between your folds, running along your clit and down to your clenching hole, his saliva increasing the heat coursing through your core. “M-More, please… More~”

“More, what?” He smirks against your heat. “Say it. Tell me I’m your mate and I’ll make sure you’re fucked dumb, yeah? My pretty little mate.”

You stutter for a moment, getting more desperate the longer his fingers drag along your wetness. “Mate… Please! I need you… I’m yours!”

“Good mate~” His tongue wriggles back into your cunt, and his fingers slowly move further down to stretch your tight ass, making you squeal in surprise. Your orgasm takes you by surprise, all thoughts abandoning your mind as you ride out your high on his face and fingers.

“Are you ready, little one?” He growls lowly, lining up two long, thick cocks with each hole. Your eyes widen in surprise, head clearing for a moment after your climax.

“T-two?! Wait wait wait, I’ve never… I can’t! Two?!”

“Oh, little mate, but you can and you will!” He punctuates his statement by spitting down onto your cunt, thick venom slipping down to your tight rim. You moan and grind against his cocks, aphrodisiac leading your body into a blissed out state of submission. “Gonna fill you up so good. I promise you’ll be so full, feel so good, little mate. Trust me?”

“Y-yes! Wanna be full, want my mate!” You beg and plead for him to push into you, hips bucking against him, trying to get him to satiate the burning want he’d created. It isn’t until you thread your fingers through his hair and wrap your legs around his waist that he thrusts into you completely.

“That’s it, wrap around me like that. So tight, so warm… Fuuuck!~” Sero pants, chest pressed tightly to yours and face tucked into the crook of your neck, licking and sucking deep marks over your pulse point.

You’ve never felt so full, your body strangely welcoming the pleasurable stretch of your holes, pulling him deeper and deeper until you can feel him in your belly with every roll of his powerful hips. Your whimpers and tears only seem to spur him on, drawing orgasm after orgasm from your body.

“S-Shit, keep squeezing around me like that. Come on, little one, I know you have one more for me. Cum with me, I wanna feel you cum one more time. Gonna breed you, gonna fill you so good. Come on, pretty mate- fuck- cum for me~” He reaches down and pinches your overstimulated clit between two fingers and bites down on your neck one last time, sending you over the edge with a cry of “breed me, breed me, breed me!” and nails digging into his back.

“Mine! My mate, pretty little mate. Breed mate, all mine!! Gonna- gonna… Ah~” Hanta’s words steadily fell from his lips as he released deep inside your holes, belly bulging from the sheer amount of seed he spilled into you.

Utterly exhausted and dreamily floating off, you cling to him. Sero wraps you up in his tail and lays back into his hammock, keeping you as close as he can. When you snuggle into him, he whispers little praises into your hairline, a constant stream of “so good, pretty mate, all mine, i love you, so perfect, did so well, took me so well, such a good mate”.

The next day, you wake up surrounded by soft cloth, feathers, fruits, fluffy furs, a dozen shiny objects and pretty dried flowers. You sit up, looking around frantically for your mate before your eyes settle on a sheepish-looking Sero, wiggling nervously around the cave.

“Um… Do you… like it? I made it for you… I just- please tell me you like it!” He shrinks himself a bit, arm coming up to palm the back of his neck.

“Oh, is this a… nest? It’s- It’s very nice. Thank you, Hanta!” You smile softly at him, curling up into your nest and reaching out for him.

“MATE!!! I’m so happy you like it, I was so nervous!!! My mate. You can stay here all the time, so I can protect you, forever! My pretty little mate.~” He climbs into the nest and coils himself around you, content to guard you.

Maybe this time, being kept isn’t so bad.

[weirdochick56]

The Bodyguard 2- Bucky Barnes AU

Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, insults, snark, and sassy!Buckster sexy times (ok, so maybe only slightly sexy)

Disclaimers: I don’t own any MCU plots or Characters mentioned

Word Count: 5, 173 words

Summary: The Reader and Bucky’s hate for eachother is at an all time high; she can’t seem to rid herself of him and he, well he can’t seem to get her to cooperate with him. But as their frustrations grow, a late-night outing might just be what they both need to see other parts of eachother. 

A/n: This has been a long time in the making, but I finally felt inspired enough to continue the story. Hope you enjoy it!

~The Bodyguard 1~

***

“You can stop following me now,” you grumble with thorny irritation, rolling your eyes at the tall persistent shadow staying hot on your tail. 

It was in vain to ask him to leave, you knew. Agent Brainless was ridiculously adamant about following you around the moment you stepped foot outside of the palace and he was -infuriatingly so- a stubborn man.

How he knew that you were leaving even when you had concocted what you considered a genius plan to evade those infuriatingly pretty grey irises was beyond you.

He sighs at your words, and you can see the annoyance bubbling to the surface of his cold professional exterior, though he tries his hardest to keep a straight face. 

“Your highness, I think we both know I won’t do that,” he responds simply. “Now if you would please stop being so stubborn and simply do as I ask and come with me to the car so that this is easier for us both...” 

You can tell his patience is wearing thin because, in the past few weeks of having him follow you everywhere you went, you had made it a point to figure out his exact breaking point. 

And as you continue making your escape to town like he isn’t even there, you know that so is yours. If there’s anything that can give you that deep burning satisfaction you sought with everything you did, it was pissing Agent Barnes off.

He had patiently asked you to retreat back the way you came so he could “safely” transport you in a castle-owned car, but you refused redundantly because your friend was already waiting for you, but maybe also because you loved the little twitch of his eye every time you refused to listen to his directions.

If you were being completely honest, he really should’ve been asking you to come back to the castle and not go to a club in town at all- as per your father’s orders. But you weren’t fond of said orders and you definitely didn’t want some dark and mysterious shadow following you around during a night of fun with friends. 

“No,” is all you say because in the few minutes you’ve spent talking to him you’ve noticed he’s the most infuriated when your responses are curt and nonchalant. 

You want to see him snap oh so bad...seeing those steely grays lose their cool? Gold. 

“Princess...” he growls in warning, daring you to cut that little thread of control he had left in him with your sharp tongue. 

You don’t look back at him even once enjoying the thrill that travels up your spine at his low-timbre words and the way his voice travels straight to your core, tugging at your short black dress lightly. 

You wanted to see what he would do should he be pushed over the edge. It was fun.

“I already told you, I’m not listening to you. My friend is already waiting for me. And I’m sorry if you have an issue with- Ahh!” Your words choke back into your throat and morph into a shocked yelp when big rough hands grip your hips, spinning you around and without much of a warning, lifting you with incredible ease.

Before you know it, you’re being carelessly thrown over a broad, strong shoulder.

You let out a small ‘oomph’ when the wind gets knocked out of you and all you see is a firm ass, the blood rushing to your head. 

“What the hell do your think you’re doing you absolute buffoon?!” You screech hysterically, wriggling aggressively against his hold on your thighs. 

He barely flinches, only wrapping his muscular arm tighter around your legs and adjusting you on his shoulder like it was a mere midnight stroll for him and you weighed no more than what a feather did. 

“I’m taking you to the car,” he informs as if it’s obvious, voice full with obnoxious satisfaction. 

“Get your filthy hands off me this instant you utter and complete idiot!” You growl, twisting harshly but he doesn’t let go so you start pounding on his firm back with your fists, fighting to free yourself of him. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!”

He just laughs at what seems to be your weak attempts to break away. He laughs.

You gasp at the absolute and complete audacity he has of laughing when he’s treating you, the single heir to the Androvian throne, like a sack of potatoes. 

“You ass!” You wriggle around some more, tugging at his hands to try to pry them off your legs but all he does is smack them away as if they were mere pesky flies. 

“I may be,” he chokes back a small snort but only barely. “But at least I’m the only ass trying to keep your reckless self in check, princess.”

Indignation, humiliation, and utter vexation all burn deep inside you like a thrumming fire ready to ravage everything in its way when it got the chance to escape your body as you slowly fall limp against him. 

Resignation comes hand in hand with the deep desire for revenge and you fist your hands in deep ache to somehow exercise it. 

He carries you all the way to the garage of cars in the back part of the castle, walks over to a black SUV out of all the expensive cars to choose from, opens it and all but throws you into the back leather seats like you’re not a fucking human, much less the princess of the land he’s currently stepping in. 

You land flat on your back in the smooth leather interior of the luxury SUV with a small thud and instantly sit up to glare at him heatedly. “Do you have any idea who I am? Be gentle, you brute!” 

Annoyingly enough, he simply ignores you and leans over your body. His heat floods through your bare skin and feels good for a second and you subtly inhale his musky scent as he tugs on the seatbelt, roughly pulling it over you. 

You forget about your hatred for him for a split second and that only makes you angrier when it comes back full force. 

You fucking idiot, Y/n. 

In a last and desperate attempt of defiance, you try to push his hands away to which he responds by firmly pressing you back by your shoulder into your seat and staring you dead in the eye with blazing grey eyes. 

The fire that swirls in them is...something. Not necessarily scary, but intimidating and...something else.

Something that makes your skin flush and your nerves throb to life. 

You stare right back, tilting your chin up to show him you weren’t backing down or scared of him and his brute force. He got too under your skin and you knew you got under his which only offered you only a limited amount of comfort. 

He clenches his jaw as he clicks the seatbelt into place, never looking away from your challenging gaze. As if to stick another dagger into your burning insides. As if to reassert his power here. 

Your labored breaths are all that can be heard for miles to come in the calm night air and he leans close for a second, your heaving chests gently brushing.

Not meaning for it to happen, you feel your nipples harden beneath the flimsy fabric of your black party dress and you wonder if you imagine his hands clenching around your shoulder -his fingers digging into your flesh with suppression- or the sly flick of his eyes from your eyes to your lips. 

You wonder if you imagine the look of heat that passes over his eyes when your breaths mix the second time seems to stop and an overwhelming emotion washes over you. 

But then it’s gone as soon as it came and hatred burns deep in your belly once more. So deep that it hurts and brings painful tears to your eyes, your nose burning so hard you can’t focus through your blurry vision.

You lean in closer, so close your nose is brushing just barely against his and pause for a second. A second of torture for him, a second of uncertainty, a second where his breath catches and his pupils dilate. 

Then you speak, voice trembling with overwhelming anger. 

“I have never,” you whisper, licking your lips. “Been treated with such disrespect.” You swallow hard, cheeks red with humiliation. 

You see a flash of guilt in his eyes but it’s quickly replaced by his usual look of cool professionalism- not even anger anymore. Not even that.

And he leans right back into you, a wave of heat passing over both of you. “Then learn to listen next time. It’s for your safety.” 

And just like that he’s drawing back, slamming the passenger door closed and climbing into the driver’s seat- leaving you cold and angry beyond reason.

A moment of tense silence passes before he releases a tiny sigh and breaks it by turning on the ignition. 

“Where are we going?”

*

BUCKY’S POV

I watch her laugh at something one of her friends says from a dark corner of the club and it’s hard not to stare for reasons other than my duty being just that...to look after her. 

The club was a luxurious one, with high ceilings, intricate designs and a VIP section where we were immediately escorted to.

Her Highness’s friends, a blonde guy and girl who had nodded at me in polite acknowledgment were already waiting for her there and I assumed that the few seconds when she had stopped her sulking and taken out her phone from her clutch were the seconds she was texting her friends to meet her there instead. 

I would never admit it, but I enjoyed watching her cave. It was like taming a wild horse, even if momentarily. 

Princess Y/n was a brat, plain and simple. Selfish, childish, and feisty as hell, I had never met anyone as completely and utterly vexing as her and to say these past few weeks had been hell would be an understatement. 

If I wasn’t so good at my job, I would’ve lost her already. She threw me for a loop any chance she got, cutting corners and doing everything she could to avoid my protection. 

As I stared at her with that pretty ass smile on her annoyingly beautiful face, it’s hard to imagine that that was the same person pushing every single one of my buttons just a few minutes before. 

She actually looked relaxed and...nice?

God, she infuriated me in ways I had no idea I could be infuriated, discovered buttons I didn’t know I had and pushed them to the point I had to throw her over my damn shoulder like a sack of flour.

I was a professional, for God’s sake. Had always been one with every single one of the cases I was assigned, so why was she the one to get under my skin?

...And why did I enjoy having her perfectly round ass so close to my face? Why did I keep thinking about the defiance in those stupidly big eyes over and over like I....craved it?

I wondered to myself as I watched her take down a shot by the bar. She glanced at me over her shoulder, still smiling, but it quickly melted away when our gazes clashed and my own mood soured instantly. 

I grimaced when she looked away as if I had burnt her with my eyes and quickly pulled my head out of the gutter. 

The fact that she was utterly gorgeous didn’t change how annoying she was. Not to mention I was here on a job. 

One I fully intended to complete, no matter how fucking difficult the client was.

*

The night moves on at a slow pace for me. The princess parties and I watch her like a hawk, making sure not to let her get too wild. 

So far I had pried off five guys who were trying their luck with her. From what I’d read on her file and the extensive research I’d done online, her face wasn’t really well known. 

She was always kept  secret and would be until she was crowned queen of Androvia- some weird old belief or something- so not many people knew what she looked like. 

Meaning, these guys probably didn’t know who they were trying to get all handsy with on the dance floor and would only assume was some rich daddy’s girl once my towering form appeared and nicely escorted them away. 

For the most part nicely, anyway. Some I had to get a little rougher with. 

I make sure to keep my eyes glued on her form, ignoring the way she moved her hips in that tiny black dress. It hugged her alluring curves like a glove and I swallowed hard as she grinded on her female friend, head thrown back and a free smile on her face. 

“She is...beautiful, isn’t she?” 

I calmly turn towards the voice as it hums out from beside me, turning to see the guy she came with. He takes a sip of his drink, smirking as his eyes remain on the way the princess waves her hands in the air to the beat of the song, sensually shaking her hips as if she was one with the sexy R&B song I had no idea the name of. 

I clear my throat, remaining stock still in my bodyguard pose. “Sir, I”m only here to protect her Highness. I really don’t-”

“Oh don’t even try to hide it. She’s easily the most beautiful woman in this whole club.”

He takes my silence as confirmation, it seems, because he proceeds to speak on as if I’ve agreed.

“But it’s not just her physical appearance is it? It’s something else. Something...inside,” he whispers. 

When I don’t respond, he continues bitterly. “I’m warning you; don’t fall for her. It’ll only bring you a world of pain, trust me.”

I catch the pain in his voice and stiffen. “I would never fall for one of my subjects, sir,” I assure him.

He laughs sourly. “Sure bud. You keep telling yourself that.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I insist, swallowing thickly as she laughs, beautiful smile wide and her laughter too melodious to be coming out of such a wretched little urchin. 

“Well,” he coughs suddenly, clapping me in the shoulder. “I think I need another drink. Want one?”

I eye his hand which he slowly pries off and shake my head with a slightly clenched jaw.

“I’m on the job, sir,” I remain calm and professional despite the fact that all I wanted to do was break that hand for putting stupid thoughts in my head. 

Because for a second there, as the bright club lights shun down on her, I could see what he talked about when he said there was something inside. In that smile, those eyes, that laugh...

But then she made eye contact with me and the feeling turned bitter so quick it’s a miracle I didn’t get whiplash. 

She was a brat. Nothing more.

*

YOUR POV

Sometime late into the night, you had found myself fairly buzzed. Not enough to fall on your face, but enough that walking- well, stumbling over to Agent Asshole only seemed more and more attractive an action.

He glances at you with those eyes and you can’t help the anger the bubbles within you. “Do you plan on staring me down the entire night?”

“It’s my job,” is all he says. 

You scowl fiercely at him. “I hate you,” you seethe.

He raises a dark brow but otherwise keeps that stoic expression on his face. “Do you want to leave, your Highness?”

His neutral tone and complete lack of reaction only angers you more and you shake your head furiously. “No, I don’t want to leave. I want you to leave though.”

He presses his lips firmly together. “I’m sorry-“

“No, you’re not.”

“Huh?” He cocks his side slightly to the side and you lean closer to him, craning your neck to look him in the eye.

“I said; you’re not sorry. If you were sorry, you WOULD LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” You feel your drunken emotions deep in your chest and without much effort, your voice quickly escalates.

He sighs heavily. “Okay, your highness, I think it’s time I take you back to the castle. C’mon,” he waves a hand toward the door.

You laugh at him coldly, shaking your head. “Who do you think you are, ordering me around? Know your place asshole, you are below me- never forget,” you growl snarkily, leaning right into his face.

You feel his breathing quicken against your cheeks the longer you defiantly smirk up at him, his calm eyes darkening.

You realized you enjoyed pushing him to the edge, that you craved this look on his face...

He smirks mockingly down at you, staring you down. “You can come willingly, your highness, or I can throw you over my shoulder like last time.” He leans straight into your ear, whispering hotly. “I’m sure you would rather not go through the embarrassment.”

You swallow thickly, your heart hammering against your chest and you’re not sure it’s from anger anymore. With disgust, you jerk away from him, glaring holes into his head.

“Let’s go.”

*

“You can go, Agent Obnoxious,” you mumble drunkenly, waving a dismissive hand at him as you stumble into your warm room, practically ripping off your heels.

You throw them somewhere in the corner of the large room, sighing with relief when you feel your bare feet touching the soft carpeted floor. 

Your knees shake slightly and buckle and you end up tripping forward.

You land on the ground with a soft grunt and for some reason, laughter bubbles deep in your chest.

“Your Highness!”

A few seconds later, you feel strong warm hands wrapping around your body to heave you up. You place your hands on his strong arms for support and look up at Agent Barnes.

The laughter immediately dies on your lips when you see a beautiful concerned frown of engraved deep in his face. It looks so sincere and his arms are so strong...

Before you know what you’re doing, a small mumble is leaving your lips. “You...” you cut yourself off abruptly when his eyes meet yours.

His hands now rest lightly on your waist, and you’re so close you can smell him. His scent is deep and rich and manly, so unlike the scent of those rich assholes you were forced to mingle with on a daily basis.

And his hands, are strong and resilient. The callouses on them tells you that he’s worked his entire life. Those hands, the ones holding you right now, They’ve probably handled a gun, they’ve probably saved so many lives...

You bite your lip, thinking about the way those hands felt on the skin of your arm and how heavenly it would feel if it traveled all over.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as you crane up your neck to stare up at him.

He stares down at you, and even when your room is dark, the light of the moonlight that filters in from the huge window highlights the heavy tension in his gaze.

You’re both unmoving and you wonder if he enjoys touching you as much as you enjoy his touch.

He inhaled deeply, his eyes flickering to your lips and eyes and then back.

You want to ask him what he’s thinking. You want to tell him to just do it -to just kiss you because you wouldn’t dare push him away- not in this state, not when the alcohol and his scent and eyes were clogging every single sense and reason you had, but you’re afraid to break the spell of whatever this was. 

So instead, you wait on abated breath, feeling like you’re both on the verge of something utterly earth-shattering, for him to move.

Finally, he speaks a few seconds later and it’s a quiet murmur. “Let’s get you to bed, princess.”

You ignore the sharp sting of his rejection when you were so clearly begging him to kiss you and step away from his touch as if he’s burnt you.

You turn around so he can’t see the hurt in your eyes. “You can go now Agent Brainless,” you say coldly over your shoulder, but you know it’s a lot softer than the other time.

Another second passes. “Princess..” he whispers.

You ignore his barely audible whisper and angrily begin undressing, tugging at the straps of your dress.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” He growls lowly as you begin to pull your dress down to your waist.

With a sarcastic smile, your turn towards him, your top half completely naked aside from your black lacy bra.

His gaze immediately falls on your half-naked chest, but aside from the small flicker in his eyes and gulp he takes, he gives no other indication of shock.

You raise a brow. “Are you going to watch me undress now too, Agent Barnes?” You ask mockingly.

His eyes find yours again and they’re darker than you’ve ever seen them. They send shivers through your whole body and you almost give into the urge to look away, but the anger and frustration within you don’t allow your gaze to waver.

“I’m not leaving until you’re safely in bed,” he husks, clearly trying his best to remain professional and cold as his icy stare bores into your eyes- purposefully looking away from your naked form.

You tilt your head up at him innocently, slowly sauntering closer to him. “Oh? Well in that case, do you mind helping me with the zipper of my dress? It’s stuck.”

You turn your back on him and a smirk blossoms in your face as you hear his breathing strain, your ass slightly brushing against his crotch area. 

He blows out a shaky exhale and it blows against your naked back, all hot and angry. 

When he makes no move to help you, you look at him over your shoulder. “Well?” 

His grave expression doesn’t budge. “I can’t do that,” he says lowly. 

But even as he resentfully spits this, he doesn’t budge and his eyes are still tracing over your body, their electric desire leaving goosebumps over wherever they ran over.

You roll your eyes at him. “Then turn around, you idiot.” 

He growls, fisting his hands and clenching his jaw tightly but doesn’t try to fight you on it and turns his broad back to you.

You’re intoxicated, so it’s probably because you’re not thinking straight, but as you quickly slip on a silk night gown and stare at his back, you can’t help the deep heavy sadness that sinks into your chest. 

Why hadn’t he kissed you just now? You could’ve sworn he wanted to and you sure as hell did...it was there, the moment, the split second when you were willing to risk it all, to overlook any and all boundaries, cross all imposing lines- but you lost it. 

Pushing your hair to the side, you convince yourself it was for the best. 

“I’m done,” you say softly, climbing into bed. 

Agent Barnes nods at you stiffly, turning on his heels to leave as you get under the covers. Blaming this on your intoxication, you suddenly find yourself exclaiming. 

“Wait!” 

He pauses right before his foot moves outside the doorframe and turns toward you, eyebrows raised. “You need something, Your Highness?”

You stare at him seriously, pressing your head against your pillow. “Don’t...leave, please,” you whisper softly, curling into a ball at the tenderness of your voice.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you admit quietly. 

He freezes, staring at you as if he’d never seen you before and you avert your gaze, afraid maybe you let on too much. 

“Sorry,” you quickly apologize, but that only flusters you more. “I-I mean not sorry, you asshole. Just- whatever. I’m in bed now, you can go.” 

Feeling embarrassed, you quickly flip over and turn your back to him.  

Seconds later, you hear the door click close and then nothing. A heavy sigh escapes you and you try to suppress the feeling of disappointment that envelops your whole body. 

You didn’t know if it was the drinks or the cold distant dinners you’d been having with your family...but you had never felt more alone. All the clubbing and trying to escape your destiny by trying to pave a life of your own couldn’t fill in that emptiness you couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard you tried.  

You didn’t want to feel like that anymore. Not tonight. 

So even if it was your bodyguard who you hated with everything in you, you needed someone just to be there. Even if it was just to sit in silence with.  

Suddenly, you hear a gentle swish noise and gasp lightly, flipping over. Agent Barnes has thrown his jacket over the chair beside your bed and is loosening his tie and he stares at you. His beautiful gaze sucks you in as you blink up at him in surprise. 

He shrugs. “I can’t just....leave you here alone.” 

Your chest clenches painfully and warmth travels all over your body like warm gooey honey. The feeling of having someone there for you when you need them most is almost overwhelmingly strong. 

“Thank you,” you whisper so quietly, you’re shocked he even hears it. 

He tilts his head at you, frowning with that handsome face of his. “For what? It’s my job.” 

There he goes detaching himself. With a gentle shrug, you nod and curl into a ball under your covers, trying to covet sleep. 

You try this for a few minutes and you’re tired, but you can’t help thinking about Agent Barnes sitting in a hard chair all night. After a while of tossing and turning, you sit up. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you breathe with irritation. 

“What? What happened?” he sits up instantly, and though you could tell he was on the verge of dozing off, his sharp senses are impressive as he reaches for the gun on his ankle frantically. 

You sigh, hating the way your cheeks grow hot and you look away timidly. “Just get into bed,” you say roughly. 

“What?”

You bite your lip, looking at him in the eyes. “I said; get into bed with me. That chair is uncomfortable.” 

He laughs lightly. “Princess, I was trained by the world’s best assassins. I was taught to sleep on a cold concrete ground if need be.” He gives the chair a firm pat. “This chair is a luxury for a guy like me.”

You stare at him for a few seconds more, wondering more about his past before lightly shaking your head. 

“I don’t care. I still feel bad that I made you sleep here on a chair. Just get in already, will you?” You growl at his stubbornness. “The bed is huge, there’ll be enough space for the both of us, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” you add on, softly. 

After a few seconds of intense eye contact, he finally relents with a small sigh. “Fine.” 

Hesitantly, he cuffs his sleeves and perches himself on the edge of the bed- all stiff and tight. “Good?” He asks, glancing at you with raised brows.

You frown. “You’re kidding.”

“What?”

“You’re not actually planning to sleep like that are you?” You snort. 

“I told you-”

“That you were trained by dangerous assassins, yeah yeah. But you’re still a human and a ridiculous one at that,” you scoff before suddenly smirking.  “You’re not afraid of lil old me, are you? I’m tiny- I couldn’t possibly hurt you...too much,” you offer him a faux innocent smile, batting your lashes. 

He stares at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh trust me, I’ve met girls like you before. You definitely don’t bite.” 

You raise a brow amusedly. “Girls like me?”

His sexy smirk widens. “Yeah. You’re all bark but no bite,” he replies vaguely.

Feeling partially indignant and partially curious, you decide to probe him for answers. “Oh yeah?”

He can’t resist your subtle challenge and continue speaking. “You’re always in power, constantly being chased after because you’re beautiful and rich and you act like it’s what you want in a guy, but it isn’t, is it?”

Deeply intrigued by his generally accurate analysis, you can’t help but laugh. “Oh?”

“No.” He stares deeply into your eyes and the smile slips off your lips as he says his next words with the intensity of a thousand suns. “You bark out orders and you take on responsibilities like a boss, but what you really want is a man. Not a pushover boy that’ll listen to your every command and constantly try to please you, fall at your feet...But a man that’ll choke slam you on the bed, that’ll make you his, that’ll torture you with the deepest pits of hellish pleasure until he ruins every other man for you. You want to be controlled, brought over the edge so far you won’t ever be able to go there by yourself and then at the last moment get that taken away from you. You want to be used.” 

You openly gape at him but he ignores you and slightly scoots closer, still at a safe distance, but close enough where you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“Sleep, Princess,” he whispers. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

At first, you’re too shocked to react. Your heart is positively hammering against your ribcage and your cheeks are uncharacteristically red. You were flushed. How had he managed to...’you know what?’ You think. ‘No.’ 

You breathe in deeply. ‘ I’m not going to think about it anymore.’

Because doing so would mean letting him win. And also, never mind the fact that he’s in your bed right now...

Decidedly, you squeeze your eyes shut, begging sleep to come amidst all your stupid, surely drunken thoughts about your stupid bodyguard and kissing him, or simply straddling him right now...

Despite how much you disliked him, you felt safe and protected, like you could let your guard down. And yet...not enough. 

Soon, lulled by the steady beating of his heart and the warmth of his body, you curl into a ball and slowly let your heavy lids close, relaxing completely.

“Oh, and Agent Brainless?” you murmur, on the very verge of sleep. 

“Yes, princess?” He looks at you. 

You manage to send him one last cold smirk before answering.  

“Don’t misinterpret this, right now. I’m merely asking you to do your job.” 

And then darkness takes over.

Before fully giving into the softness of the darkness of slumber, though, you think you hear him laugh softly and say something like “wouldn’t dream of it, brat.” 

****

They’re honestly growing on me. Should I continue?

ALSO YALL SEE TFATWS????  SEBASTIAN LOOKS SO DARN GOOD PLEASEEEEEE

A special thanks to:

@lilypalmer1987

@jessikared97

@sammykb1994

@mogaruke

@mo-onstarrs

@loveofmychips @juliesland​

[shingia]

❝𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫 - 𝐛𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞

FINALLY a bokuto fic ! i've rarely had this much fun writing so i hope you’ll like it !

summary : bokuto would’ve never imagined that his new neighbor would be so hot. and he would have never imagined he’d be her type. actually, there are many more things bokuto would have never imagined…

⤷ bokuto x fem!reader | slight nsfw, fluff? | word count : 3.1K

bokuto would’ve never imagined that his new neighbor would be so hot. and he would have never imagined he’d be her type. actually, there are many more things bokuto would have never imagined…

bokuto had long ago given up on the idea of ever living out his « mysterious hot neighbor » fantasy ; he had resigned. yet there you were, your back turned to his front door, struggling with your keys while carrying two big cardboard boxes. maybe today was finally his lucky day ?

« hi… um, do you need help ? » he asked before closing his door and taking a step towards you. too focused on your keys, you hadn’t even noticed that someone was behind you and almost dropped a box when you heard his voice. with the warmest smile he had ever seen, you accepted his proposition. and honestly, even if you had not wanted his help, it would have been hard to pretend you weren’t struggling.

he quickly wrapped an arm around the biggest box, holding it from below with his other hand before taking a step back to let you open the door. it took you about a second to stop staring at his arms and focus on the doorknob instead. today sure seemed like your lucky day too…

« nobody told me i’d have a new neighbor » he said as he entered your apartment right after you. a huge effort from his part had been required not to change « new » to « hot » at the last minute. and he mentally thanked himself for having a decent amount of tact.

« yeah, the moving was pretty rushed. and it also explains the obvious lack of decoration » you responded while pointing to your gloomy living room, completely empty except for your cat sleeping in a corner.

bokuto put the box he was holding on your kitchen table before giving a quick look around. « yeah, i can’t say it’s very welcoming for now » he stated, « need more help ? i can carry more stuff if you want »

i’m sure you can, you thought, still having trouble looking away from his arms that his t-shirt revealed right under his shoulder. « actually, there are still three boxes on the landing… » you started, fiddling with the cloth of your jacket.

he raised a hand, not needing to hear more to go fetch the said boxes and bring them back in an impressively short amount of time.

you would have loved to offer him something to drink as a thank you, but you had not been grocery shopping yet and the only thing you could have given him was a glass of plain water.

and bokuto would have loved to stay more, but he had left his apartment for a reason, which was a team meeting that took place in about ten minutes now. reluctantly, he left you alone to deal with your boxes but promised himself that he would see you later during the day. « i’ll be back in two hours, feel free to knock on my door if you need anything » he exclaimed from the stairs, looking up at you who was still on the doorframe.

when you went back inside, your noticed that the faint scent of his perfume was still lingering in your kitchen, bringing your mind back to the charming figure of your new neighbor. and you spent the next two hours thinking about an excuse to knock on his door before the end of the day.

it turned out that bokuto had been a substantial help in your moving. especially for the first two weeks, where he had gladly helped you out with ingredients you didn’t have or just helped you build a few shelves. so obviously, you had to invite him over for a drink when you were finally settled in.

but little did you know that, if he never left your mind, you certainly didn’t leave his either. even his teammates noticed that he was more glowing than usual, and he did not even bother to deny it. « yeah, maybe it’s true love… » he’d say dramatically, earning countless teases from his team.

when bokuto knocked on your front door, you almost ran to open him before immediately putting your hand on his eyes. he had not yet seen the decorated interior, but he was more than proud to be the first you were showing it to. you grabbed his arm to lead him to the living room, (un)intentionally making him bump in a few furnitures before taking your hand off. 

« no way, are you kidding me ?! » he exclaimed as you spun gracefully to point out your surroundings. « you’ve done all that in two weeks ?! it took me six months to just choose a carpet ! ». with a chuckle, you thanked him and told him to go sit on the couch as you headed to the kitchen to get two glasses. 

but as you opened the drawer, you heard him let out a cry of surprise and immediately turned around. « i swear to god your cat wants me dead, y/n ! » he exclaimed, looking defiantly at your cat who was hissing at him from the other side of the couch.

« no he doesn’t ! look at him, he’s so cute ! besides, it’s your fault if he doesn’t like you, you shouldn’t have walked on his tail the second time you met him… »

bokuto let out a grumble as he dropped on the couch, telling you for the hundredth time that it was just an « unfortunate accident ».

the truth was that, the day of the « accident », he had been too busy looking at you cleaning the shelf that you had just built together to notice your cat’s tail in front of him. but he would never admit it.

« look, he scratched me ! » he insisted, showing you the tiniest scratch on his palm when you got back from the kitchen.

with a scoff, you put the glasses down and grabbed his hand to inspect it. as usual when your skin touched his, an electric shock ran up your spine. but for some reason, the shock did not stop at your spine today, it went straight up to your brain, causing you to mechanically bring his hand to your lips and gently kiss the scratch. you had trouble believing what you had just done, but managed to play it cool as you took a seat on the couch.

« i should get scratches more often » he mumbled to himself, his eyes still wide as he kept staring at his palm.

your lips parted in surprise, not quite sure you had heard him right. but if you had, then this might’ve been the little push you needed to finally ease the tension between the two of you.

« what did you say ? » you asked, feeling your body temperature increasing when his eyes darted to yours. for the first time since you knew him, bokuto seemed to have lost the confidence that usually radiated from him as he muttered « me ? oh, nothing… ».

well, if he wasn’t decided to make the first move, you were certainly not going to let this chance slip. « actually… i’m 99% sure i heard you right. and if i have, then… » you spoke before leaning in to kiss his cheek softly. as you parted, the temperature went up another notch. « …and if i haven’t, well this is probably very awkward for you. sorry » you let out with a nervous laugh.

you could almost hear the cogs turning in bokuto’s head while he intensely thought about what he was supposed to do now. well, he knew what he wanted to do, but he didn’t know if it was appropriate enough. his familiar grin spread on his lips again, but there was a light in his eyes that you had never seen yet.

« does that mean i can kiss you ? » he asked, his heart pounding in his chest just at the thought of you saying no. you let out a lighthearted laugh that was like music to his ears and he looked at you like the eighth wonder of the world before carefully capturing your lips with his. 

in the bliss of the moment, your flesh against his mouth felt like porcelain and he tried to hold back, too scared that he might damage you if he let go. but there was something about the way you deepened the kiss with every movement that made him forget about holding back as he pushed you down onto the couch, ignoring the hiss from your cat and just smiling at the sight of you so close to his body.

« you’ve been on my mind more than allowed » he breathed out, cupping your cheek with his large hand. he pulled his face away a few inches more just to get a better view of yours and chuckled when he noticed you were already out of breath. « seems like i’ve been on yours too » he smiled before giving a quick peck at the corner of your lips.

he was right. way too much. and that’s why you avidly pushed his head back down to crash his mouth onto yours again ; his chest tensed with pride at the thought that you already couldn’t get enough of him. slowly but surely, he put all his weigh on one of his arms as the other one glided down your chest until his fingers met with your skin, sending shivers down your whole body.

bokuto felt like he needed to have more of you under his touch and let his fingers wander on every inch of your belly, like his hand had finally found its purpose. his mouth started to trail kisses on your cheek, sweet and loving until it reached your jaw. and by the time his lips were against your neck, the kisses got rougher, impatient to get a taste of the different textures of your body.

you were absolutely helpless, weighed down by his body and unable to form coherent thoughts as he began to suck on your neck amorously. you could feel he relished every point of contact between your body and his, making you feel more wanted than you ever did.

once he was satisfied with the mark he left on your neck, he lifted his head to look at his work. proud of himself, he then looked into your eyes and whispered as if you guys were in public : « is this really happening right now ? ». there was an endearing contrast between the innocence and the sweetness of his tone and his firm grip around your waist that you suspected might leave a mark.

« it is », you answered as you started to stroke his back that seemed way too large for you to wrap your arms around. as much as you loved to look at him, you already missed the taste of his lips and stretched your neck to reach for them. but just as they were about to touch, you were interrupted by the familiar sound of your phone, ringing on the coffee table.

the two of you froze and, with a groan, you tried to reach for it without moving : unsuccessfully. bokuto got off of you and you were finally able to grab your phone and look at the screen to discover who had the audacity to interrupt such a long-awaited moment.

but all your frustration immediately left place to panic when you read the name on the screen. « oh fuck ! i forgot that I told my cousin he could come by today. ughh… I love him but right now he’s not the one I wanna see » you whined before picking up.

the phone call brought bokuto down to earth in an instant. still sat on the couch, his eyes were wide by just thinking about what had happened between the two of you. amazed, he stared at his hands like they’d had the privilege to touch some kind of protected work of art.

« alright, see you in a minute ! » you ended the call before throwing your phone on the couch and heaving a heavy sigh : « he’ll be here in five minutes ».

bokuto tilted his head to the side and shrugged before putting his hands back on your waist and leaning in. « then let’s hurry » he grinned before smashing his lips onto yours again. reluctantly, you put a hand on his chest to push him back. but your hands were not blind to the burning desire in your heart and instead, gripped his t-shirt to pull him closer. he let out a gasp of surprise, which turned into a wide smile as he leaned against the backrest, letting you straddle his lap.

« just two more minutes, then you’re out of here » you whispered against his lower lip. « deal » he chuckled, letting his hands find their way back to your bare skin.

the feeling of his body against yours already felt like home, and the two minutes passed at the speed of light. you were internally debating whether you could afford to let yourselves one more minute, but something else made it obvious that you couldn’t. indeed, it was now his phone’s turn to ring.

« really ? but no one ever calls me ! » he sighed as you got off of his lap with an amused smile. he grabbed his phone before raising an eyebrow when he saw the name on the screen. « hey, what’s up ? » he asked, putting the phone to his ear.

you could only hear a muffled voice coming from the device, but it was enough to pique your curiosity and pay attention to what the person was saying. because that voice sounded horribly familiar…

« i sound out of breath ? » bokuto repeated, giving you a knowing wink. you leaned in closer to hear the answer from his friend : « no way… are you with someone right now ? that’s my boy ! osaka’s really working out for you, huh ? ». with a proud shrug, bokuto was forced to admit that yes, it was. his friend spoke again, and you were still eavesdropping. « anyways, i called you because i’m actually seconds away from your apartment. turns out my cousin lives in the same building ! i thought we could catch up, but i certainly don’t want to disturb you right now ».

both bokuto and you were left speechless. he quickly covered his phone’s speaker with his hand and scream-whispered : « WHAT THE FUCK ?! YOU’RE KUROO’S COUSIN ? ».

your were still gawking at the news, but bokuto’s terrified eyes pulled you out of your daze pretty fast. he jumped a foot away from you, almost like he was scared of being so close. « HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW YOU WERE FRIENDS ? » you whispered back, panic settling in your belly. « WELL HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW YOU WERE HIS COUSIN ?! ».

on the other side of the line, kuroo called bokuto’s name, probably confused by what was going on. you guys agreed that the best thing to do was to hang up as quickly as possible and to send bokuto back to his apartment before kuroo had time to go up the stairs.

« oh my fucking god, i almost hooked up with kuroo’s cousin… » bokuto kept repeating after hanging up, this close to hyperventilating. you stood up from the couch and grabbed him by the arm to get him off the couch ; the clock was ticking. « THE FUCKING CAT WAS A CLUE ! » he yelled, pointing accusingly at your cat who was looking at him from the chair he was curled up on.

bokuto seemed incapable of thinking coherently so you had to bring him his shoes yourself before hurrying him out, covering his mouth to make sure he wasn’t going to keep yelling on the landing.

« we’ll sort this out later, just go home now ! » you whispered as you opened the door.

still shaking his head no frantically like he had committed a crime, he got out of your apartment and pulled his keys out. but after making the first step towards his door, he turned around and got back to you just to give a quick peck on your lips. « it doesn’t mean we won’t finish what we started, though » he said before finally walking to his door.

you felt your cheeks turn red instantly. but just as you grabbed your doorknob, the dreaded voice of your cousin resounded in the staircase.

it felt like everything around you was in suddenly in slow motion. kuroo climbing up the stairs, bokuto too panicked to get his keys into the lock : you were basically counting down the seconds before the disaster.

kuroo only had five steps left to your floor. but he stopped right where he was when his eyes laid on the familiar silhouette of his friend, who was quietly cursing himself and his keys.

then his eyes moved to you. your lips were red and swollen, your hair was messier than usual and most importantly, your neck was bruised.

kuroo let out the most offended gasp, putting his hand where his heart was as his eyes went back and forth between you and bokuto.

« no… NO ! PLEASE NO ! » he implored you, seconds away from begging on his knees. bokuto turned around and made eye contact with his friend ; obviously embarrassed, he tried to give him a nice smile to calm him down. but it had the opposite effect on kuroo : « you. are. dead. » he let out before suddenly running after his friend.

bokuto immediately let out a high-pitched scream, but luckily, he managed to open his door and close it right at kuroo’s nose. you were still on your doorframe, awkwardly standing there and waiting for your turn to get scolded. but kuroo didn’t seem done with his friend. « you can’t hide forever ! » he screamed before starting to pound at his door.

yeah, that day definitely didn’t go as planned. in more than one way.

[kurtstinypurse]

Also: a taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips

have some skank kurt <3

“ways you said I love you” prompt: as a taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips

-

Kurt Hummel was completely and utterly infuriating, and Blaine had always thought so.

In fact, he couldn’t really remember a time when he didn’t. Kurt had always been around, at least since Blaine’s family moved to Lima when he was nine, and Kurt had been infuriating in every minute since.

At first, it was because Kurt wouldn’t talk to him. 

Blaine walked into his fourth grade class at his new school, fresh-faced and wide-eyed and nervous, knowing he was inserting himself into a classroom of kids that had known each other for years. He wasn’t expecting to make friends, really, or to even be acknowledged, and he wasn’t.

But he saw one boy sitting at his desk in the corner, teeth worrying his bottom lip while he worked out a math problem, quiet, not acknowledged either.

Until Blaine tried.

He just- he looked like someone Blaine wanted to know, and so he walked over, and he introduced himself, and the boy barely looked up.

In fact, he flinched, and his pencil stilled in his hand for a moment, and then he kept writing, as if Blaine weren’t even there.

And though he was dejected, Blaine was also the type that just couldn’t handle not making a friend with someone he wanted to be friends with - and so he kept trying, learning Kurt’s name from their teacher and trying to smile at him every morning.

It didn’t work. 

It never worked.

Kurt stayed quiet, and he stayed away, and Blaine just didn’t understand why.

He had always thought he was pretty friendly, pretty easy to talk to. He was always happy to go along with what his friends wanted to do, and he got excited about a lot of different things, from sports to musicals and Disney.

Blaine had always thought he was a pretty good friend to have.

Apparently Kurt disagreed, and that- that was something that settled uncomfortably inside of Blaine’s chest and stuck with him for years.

It faded, of course, into a dull ache that only showed itself when they passed each other in the hallways or got stuck in the same class. Blaine wasn’t crazy, and he wasn’t a stalker - he quickly learned to stop trying and just leave it, but he always just wondered.

And then, at the start of their junior year, Kurt showed up with a shock of bright pink hair streaking through his bangs and a ring in his eyebrow and eyeliner around his eyes, and he went from quiet to being abrasive, and Blaine started wondering all over again.

He wanted to know what happened to Kurt, if it had been something over the summer, or if maybe the bullying from the jocks and the locker slams and slushies had just gotten to be too much, and maybe he was trying out a form of armor.  

Blaine could understand that - he’d gotten enough of it himself, but that was another thing about it all, too.

Why couldn’t they have just been allies this entire time?

Apparently Kurt just wasn’t interested, would rather toughen up and roughen up and trade in the sense of style Blaine had always admired in favor of leather jackets and torn jeans, making himself effectively untouchable.

Blaine was over it, the idea of winning Kurt over or becoming friends or even making eye contact, but he still wanted to know why.

Of course, Blaine had only just resigned himself to never finding out when the two of them were paired up together for a science project.

It was one of those ones, too, where they’d have to work outside of class, developing a unique experiment of their choosing to prove proper use of the scientific method. They’d have to work together on it for two weeks, and then they’d present it, and the project was a pretty big chunk of their grade.

Blaine had no idea what kind of student Kurt was - he used to keep his head down and do his work, sure, but he was so different now, missing from class as often as he bothered to show up, leaning back in his chair and fidgeting with his eyebrow ring instead of taking notes.

Regardless, they needed to get a good grade. Junior year was the most important year for getting into a good college, and Blaine had plans, music and New York and, primarily, getting out of Ohio, and there was no way he could let Kurt get under his skin and get in the way of-

“Hey, B.”

And there Kurt was, perching himself right on the edge of Blaine’s desk, looking at him with a sort of put-on disinterest that didn’t quite fit the piercing blue of his eyes, the bold pink of his hair. 

Blaine was startled - by a number of things, really, unsure of what to focus on first. It was Kurt’s closeness, Kurt’s acknowledgement at all, and the nickname, sounding strangely foreign and oddly comfortable coming off his tongue all at once.

He blinked, pulling his focus back in, and he looked up at Kurt, forcing a polite smile.

“Um, hi.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes at Blaine, as if suspicious of him, folding his arms over his chest. 

They stayed that way for a long moment, just looking at each other, Blaine wondering what to do, what to say, if he should even bother or just offer to take care of the whole thing on his own. He actually hadn’t expected for Kurt to come over to him or acknowledge him at all, hadn’t had enough time regardless to properly consider the right path to take. 

He felt shaken, startled, far too affected still by the boy who had infuriated him for so many years. 

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Kurt said finally, reaching up to flick at the ring threaded through his eyebrow. “Sorry about that. Somebody’s gotta do it, though.”

Blaine huffed out a short laugh despite himself, torn between refusing the apology and accepting it. 

From the decent level of chatter in the room, it was obvious that everyone else had already started arranging their plans with their partners, and he knew their teacher was a stickler for setting pairs and keeping them that way, regardless of whether everyone got along or not.

For all intents and purposes, they were stuck together.

But surprisingly, the longer Kurt sat on his desk, kicking his legs out and back without a care in the world, waiting for Blaine to wrap his head around it all, the less Blaine really minded.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” he said, and he meant it.

There were several interesting things about Kurt. 

It was like the longer they spent together, the more interesting things Blaine discovered - unexplainable things, mostly. 

Like the way Kurt didn’t argue when Blaine set their project schedule, two afternoons a week at Blaine’s house, where it was quiet. There was the way, too, that Blaine would look up from his notes or his textbook sometimes to find Kurt just looking at him, an entirely unreadable expression on his face. 

And then there was the way that Kurt would laugh at Blaine’s dumb jokes, or he’d just smile at Blaine like he was actually happy to be there, only to catch himself in it and near visibly flinch and close himself off, quiet for the rest of the afternoon. 

It made Blaine feel nervous and insecure and a little flustered and giddy all at once, and he wasn’t sure what to do with the feelings, didn’t know what any of it meant. 

At least, he didn’t know what it meant until he reminded himself that it didn’t mean anything - this was Kurt, after all, who had purposefully ignored him for the better part of their schooling careers. 

They just needed to figure out their project, get it done, present it, and move on - and moving on meant Kurt going back to ignoring him, and Blaine going back to wondering.

And that was fine.

But the most interesting thing of all came around one Friday afternoon, when both of them were tired from their long weeks and less than productive, project more or less at a standstill. They were making decent progress - Blaine was pleasantly surprised with it, actually - and so he wasn’t too concerned about their timeline, wasn’t too worried if the day was more of a waste than anything else.

He was more concerned about the fact that Kurt was still there and seemed to have no interest in leaving.

In fact, Kurt was splayed out on Blaine’s bedroom floor, legs stretched out and head pillow atop his arms as he stared at the ceiling, feet twisting from side to side in a botched sort of rhythm, as content and settled as Blaine had ever seen him.

“I’m bored,” Kurt announced, aiming a heavy puff of a sigh up to fluff up the pink bangs flopping over his forehead. “This is going nowhere. We should play Truth or Dare or something.”

Blaine frowned, pushing himself up from where he was laying on his stomach on his bed to sit cross-legged instead, suddenly feeling far too vulnerable to continue letting himself relax.

Kurt was up to something

He was up to something, and Blaine didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t know what was about to happen, and he didn’t like not knowing.

That had been the problem with Kurt all along, after all - not knowing.

But then Kurt was pulling himself up off of the floor, standing up and running his fingers through his hair and looking so big all of the sudden, looming larger than life right in front of Blaine in his power, in his mystery, and Blaine-

He forgot how to say no.

“I-I guess we can play a couple rounds,” he conceded, nerves swirling low in his belly. He wasn’t sure what Kurt was going to ask, what Kurt was going to make him do, if it would be safer to take a truth or a dare or to just take it back entirely and send Kurt home.

And then Kurt flashed a grin, a glint in his eye as he moved to he leaned back against Blaine’s desk, much like that first day in their classroom, facing him now, and before Blaine could change his mind, Kurt dealt his cards.

“Pick, then,” Kurt said evenly, though the smile still played at the corners of his lips, as if he were holding back. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Blaine said instantly, though he had no idea why, felt like he had no control over the word escaping his lips.

He had no idea why he didn’t think it through for even a moment, why he didn’t accept the option of answering an inevitably embarrassing question instead, but something about Kurt, about all of those interesting things about him that were adding up and the way Kurt was still there even though he didn’t really need to be - 

Something about all of it was making Blaine feel reckless.

And he continued feeling that way, too, even as Kurt’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, even as Kurt watched him carefully as he clearly considered what he might make Blaine do.

Blaine expected something ridiculous like climbing onto the roof or even streaking down the street, or maybe Kurt would make him smoke a cigarette or- or something.

But absolutely, absolutely not this:

“I dare you to kiss me.”

The words sounded foreign to his ears at first.

Kurt was looking at him so neutrally, as if he’d dared Blaine to try licking his elbow, as if it were completely mundane and ordinary and just- something they did.

But it wasn’t.

It completely was not, and it was so out of left field that Blaine felt like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but sputter and say, “N-No. No.”

But Kurt didn’t waver.

Instead, he sat up a little straighter, narrowed his eyes a little further, a challenge in every way.

“Oh, come on, B. Do it. You know you want to.”

And of course, that was the sticking point of it all.

The idea of kissing Kurt - it felt like winning, like finally finding what Blaine had always been searching for, like finally getting an answer to the impossible questions he’d always held, like finally connecting in the way he’d always craved, even if it wasn’t quite the same as when they were children, even if Blaine had never quite understood that yes, this was what he had been searching for.

Kissing him.

Kissing him, knowing him, holding him, understanding him.

But it felt like a trap, not the right way to go about it or any way to go about it, because there wasn’t supposed to be any way, especially not spoken into possibility by the very boy who had avoided him for so long, who had stopped any of it from happening.

It felt like a trap, and it didn’t make sense, and he couldn’t.

“No. I’m not- No,” Blaine stammered, completely flustered and caught off guard and wanting, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. But why? “Why would-”

“What if I told you I looove you?” Kurt asked tauntingly, sing-song and teasing, his eyebrow quirked and arms folded over his chest. He was biting his lip, too, clearly trying to hold back an equally taunting grin that was threatening to peek through.

Blaine scoffed, ignoring the swirl of warmth and possibility in his stomach and the strike of mixed fear and adrenaline in his heart at the words, shaking his head.

“You don’t.”

It was just a way of getting Blaine to give in, and he knew it - he wasn’t stupid. But it wasn’t going to work. He’d had enough of this, of Kurt being so hot and cold and standoffish and alluring and- and infuriating all the time, and he just wanted to scream with the frustration of it all.

But then Kurt cocked his head a little, and he softened, eyes suddenly looking more like the blue of a clear sky instead of a stormy ocean, smile spreading into something gentler, more real.

Softer than Blaine had ever seen him before.

“I could,” Kurt murmured, so softly that Blaine almost wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all.

But Blaine heard it, and he knew he heard it, and it shook him to his core, making him gape at Kurt first, making anger bubble up in his chest second. 

Making his heart flutter third, but- no.

Kurt didn’t get to do this.

He didn’t get to march into Blaine’s life after years of forcibly avoiding it. He didn’t get to sweep Blaine up into this whirlwind of- of smiles and laughs and looks and time spent together and the blue of his eyes and the pink of his hair and the glimmer of his eyebrow ring when it caught the light, and it was all too much, all too unfair, all exactly what Blaine wanted but never thought he could have, all dangled right in front of him like a test, like it was about to be snatched away the moment they looked away from each other.

Blaine exploded.

“So, what- You’re telling me you’ve ignored me all these years because you’re afraid you’d love me?” he shouted, standing up with his hands balled into fists at his sides, white-knuckled and trembling, somehow gravitating closer to Kurt against his inclination to run. “What kind of fucked up logic is that, Kurt? Don’t you see how ridiculous that is, I mean-”

“I was scared, alright?” Kurt snapped, and he was so close, somehow magnified in a technicolor that scared Blaine, too, Kurt’s face red now along with the rest of his colors, vibrant and alive and real, finally a person or just more than the untouchable being Blaine had always wondered about.

When Blaine spoke again, it was like a whimper, all of his anger dying out at the idea of Kurt being afraid- afraid of him.

“What were you scared of?” he wanted to know, pleading, begging, tell me.

Kurt inhaled a sharp, stuttered breath, turning his head just enough to look past Blaine instead, looking but not seeing anything at all, at least not anything physical, not anything tangible, and Blaine was desperate for him to speak, desperate to know, but he waited.

He’d waited for something, for anything, for so long, that giving Kurt a few more seconds, especially when it felt like whatever he would say was going to be big and important and life changing-

A few more seconds was nothing.

And so Blaine waited, and he unclenched his fists, and he reminded himself how to breathe, reminded himself that his feet were flat on the ground and that he was here, that he was capable of handling the mix of feelings inside of him and the mystery beyond him.

Kurt inhaled again, and he exhaled slowly, and he spoke.

“I… I haven’t ever had many people in my life,” he began carefully, still avoiding Blaine’s eyes but speaking from his heart all the same. “I wasn’t an easy child, and I was different. I’ve always been someone you had to work to get to know before you could really care about them. And most people just...didn’t want to.”

Blaine nearly opened his mouth to speak, to say I wanted to, I always wanted to, I still want to- but he stopped himself, swallowing it down instead, waiting, listening.

“I don’t mean that as a complaint or a pity party,” Kurt clarified quickly, a tremble in his voice. “It never mattered to me because the people that did care about me, my parents- I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”

Another pause, another deep breath, and finally, Kurt’s eyes flickered back to Blaine’s, rimmed red with the slightest hint of tears that hadn’t shed, that wouldn’t fall.

When Kurt spoke again, it felt like a bomb had been dropped and like everything began to come together all at once, like Blaine’s world was shaken and like it all made sense at the same time.

“My mom died the summer before fourth grade.” 

It would have been a mere couple of months before Blaine had introduced himself, likely few enough weeks to count on two hands. It would have been too soon for Kurt to be anywhere near okay.

It would have been Kurt struggling with returning back to a normal life that didn’t feel normal at all, trying to hold himself together in a way no child should ever have to, and Blaine just hadn’t gotten it, had taken it all personally and taken offense to it and been infuriated by it when it wasn’t even about him, not at all.

And he had held onto it for years.

“Kurt, I had no idea, I-”

“Just- Let me talk?” Kurt broke in, voice soft and pleading and effectively quieting Blaine right away, reminding him to stop, to listen. “I just remember you being so nice to me right away, and I didn’t understand why. And you kept trying, and even after you stopped, I could tell you still noticed me, and I had never felt noticed before, and the older we got, the more it scared me, because the more afraid I’ve gotten of losing the people I care about, and then my dad had his heart attack this summer, and I couldn’t take myself anymore, so I-I made myself look like this even though he was fine, as if it would help, and I-”

When Kurt cut himself off with a choked, broken sob, it was enough - in fact, it was too much, and Blaine couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t just listen, couldn’t stand still.

He stepped forward, and he reached up to cup Kurt’s face in his hands, and he leaned their foreheads together, allowing his eyes to flutter closed as he came to stand still again, an unmistakable pillar of support now, unfailingly there and unmoving.

It was the first time they had touched purposefully, the first time Blaine had been so close to someone else this way, period, but instead of feeling nervous or worried or bashful about any of it, Blaine just felt certain, sure, needed.

He didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure if Kurt wanted him to, and he wasn’t sure he needed to, anyways - he could show Kurt that he was there, that he wasn’t moving, that he cared, that he wanted to be there and needed to be there and wanted to stay.

And Blaine did stay, as long as it took for Kurt to be able to breathe again, as long as it took for him to stop trembling, to come back to himself.

Finally, when Kurt brought his shaky hands up to cup Blaine’s face in return, Blaine could finally breathe again, too.

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” Kurt murmured quietly, close enough for Blaine to feel the gentle warmth of his voice as he spoke.

It felt like a cue, like finally the door was opening, and Blaine didn’t want to close it, didn’t know if he could.

“I dare you not to be,” he whispered instead of making any promises or saying anything else, instead closing the remaining millimeters of distance between them to press his lips to Kurt’s in a soft, slow kiss without much movement at all, just staying, always staying. 

After all, maybe if Blaine made good on his own dare, Kurt would, too.

[alittlextrathatway]

Dialogue no. 40!

A/N: So I went wayyyyy far into established Brettsey land for this one. All thanks to @dopemixtape btw who helped me with nearly all the details in this prompt response. (the names, the scenario, all of it). She’s a blessing to my life (and also the person who introduced me to Brettsey in the first place.) Anyway, hope you like it!

40. “I never stood a chance, did I?”

—————————————-

Casey focuses on repairing the railing on the back porch stairs. A few years ago, he probably would have let this particular repair sit while he took care of the paying jobs for people other than himself, but these days repairs to his own home are fairly pressing – For a few reasons.

One of which is bounding out the back door and running toward the stairs without a single glance up.

“Careful!” he scolds, reaching out a hand that lands on a tiny chubby stomach. “Not a good place to be running right now, munchkin.”

He sets aside the hammer, setting it down as far out of the way as possible, and scoops up the four year old with perfect shimmering ringlets currently doing her best to give Casey a mild heart palpitation.

“I told you the back stairs were off limits, didn’t I?”

Her tiny teeth sink into her bottom lip and she shrugs with unconvincing innocence. “Maybe.”

‘Maybe’ is her answer for everything these days. He’d like to have a talk with the child who taught her that word. A four year old doesn’t need to know loophole words like that. Especially not his four year old. His is a devious little risk taker who looks deceptively like a small innocent angel.

“Morgan!” comes a tired yell through the open back door. A second later, Sylvie’s worried face comes into view. Though, that worry becomes an affectionate eye roll when she spots their daughter in his arms. “You just can’t stay away from him can you?” she asks their daughter with a chuckle.

Morgan ignores Sylvie’s observation and turns in his arms to focus on Matt. She fiddles with buttons on his henley as she speaks. “Daddy, I made you something. Wanna see?”

“If I come see, will you stay inside while I finish up out here?” He asks her with a skeptical stare.

She nods, curls bouncing and blue eyes shining excitedly. “Promise! Let’s go, daddy! Go!” She orders as she points through the open back door and into the house.

“Okay, where are we going?” He asks as he passes Sylvie with a shared amused glance.

“Drew’s room! I wanted him to see too!”

He puts her down once they cross the threshold and she takes off down the hall to the nursery. Sylvie tugs his hand to get him to hang back.

“Brace yourself,” she warns him. “She’s about to pull out her pout and her big eyes and we both know how you get around those. Let me just remind you, she has you wrapped around her tiny chubby little finger. Do not give in.”

He chuckles and shakes his head dismissively. “I’m not that bad,” he argues.

Sylvie’s eyes widen and she looks as though she wants to say something else, but ultimately she simply smiles at him and waves him on ahead of her. “Whatever you say, Matt.” She laughs mutely at him and repeats herself. “Whatever you say.”

They step into the room and instinctively Matt drifts toward the crib. He glances down at the tiny wriggling baby, hands scrunched around his still wrinkly face. He smiles and gently rubs his son’s belly.

“How you doing, buddy?” He asks, hoping for a glimpse of a smile. Drew hasn’t quite gotten there yet. Though Sylvie swears she saw a genuine smile once, Matt’s pretty sure it was gas.

“Mommy, daddy,” Morgan announces as she stands between two pictures she’s taped to the wall opposite Drew’s crib. “Drew and me would like a puppy.”

Sylvie presses her lips together with barely restrained amusement. “You…and Drew would like a puppy? Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” she says as she neatly folds her hands across her back, like a professor preparing for a lecture.

Matt suddenly sees a flash of her going off to college and feels a pang of something in his chest. He’s not sure what it is, but he knows it’s telling him to enjoy the moment. She won’t be this little forever.

“And how do you know this?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“I drawed him a picture of a puppy and he liked it. So he wants a puppy too,” Morgan declares as if it should be the most obvious answer in the world.

“Ah,” Sylvie says with a soft chuckle and a nod. “Makes sense. Please, continue.”

Matt scubs a hand over his face to get control of his own impending laughter and shares a delighted grin with his wife.

“This,” she says as she dramatically stabs a finger at a picture of a frowning stick figure family drawn in blue crayon. “Is us with no puppy. See how sad we are? I drawed Drew crying. I know he’s always crying but, trust me, this crying is sad crying.”

“Wow,” Matt replies, feigning concern. “That looks pretty bad, yeah. And the other picture?” He asks as he points to the drawing in red crayon.

“This!” she tells him, beaming at him with a smile that looks exactly like Sylvie’s. “Is us with a puppy! Look! I drawed the puppy! I drew a dalmatian so he can ride in the firetruck with daddy! And now we’re all happy! Even baby Drew. I drawed him crying again but that’s just cause he’s hungry. So, see? We have to get a puppy so we’ll be happy!” She stops, points wide watery eyes at him and folds her hands under chin. “Right, daddy? Please?”

She draws out the please and sticks out her bottom lip and dammit if it doesn’t almost rip the word yes right out of his throat.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sylvie staring at him with a smug smirk. He knows she’s just waiting for him to cave. Thankfully, his beautiful compassionate wife takes pity on him.

“We’ll think about it, sweetheart, okay?”

Morgan sighs with her whole body and slumps her shoulders as she nods glumly. “Okay.”

“Honey, why don’t you go turn on Paw Patrol for a little while, okay? Daddy needs to get back to work and I need to feed your brother.”

Her mood suddenly brightens, complete with a springy hop. “I get extra TV time?”

Sylvie smiles and nods but follows it with a stern reminder. “But just two episodes. So choose wisely, munchkin. Copy?”

“Copy, Chief!” Morgan yells with an excited salute. Calling Sylvie Chief started as an inside joke between him and Sylvie. He told her once that if their home was a Firehouse then she’d the Battalion Chief and it stuck. Over the years, it seems Morgan’s followed his example. “Can I go turn it on now?”

“Have at it,” Matt says as he sweeps an arm across the open nursery doorway. “Backyards off limits till I say so,” he reminds her as she skips off toward the living room. Once she’s gone, Matt takes a step closer to their daughter’s crayon artwork and studies them carefully.

“Matt,” Sylvie starts. The warning in her tone is obvious so he knows what’s coming next. “You are not seriously considering getting our four year old and our newborn a puppy, are you?”

He turns to face her with an overly wide smile. “No, of course not.” He leaves one beat of silence before he can’t hold it in any longer and has to change his story completely. “But…Ritter’s been volunteering at a dalmatian rescue–”

Sylvie breaks out into hysterical laughter, effectively cutting him off. “God, you are such a sap for her!”

“Yeah, well, she has your eyes and your smile so I can’t really help it. Those eyes and that smile should always be happy,” he admits as he reaches for her waist and pulls her into his chest. He chuckles to himself as he contemplates his own words. “Damn. I never stood a chance, did I?”

She shakes her head at him but never once stops smiling. “No, no you didn’t.”

This would be the moment where she could put an end to this dog idea. All she has to do is say the world and he’ll drop it. But she doesn’t. Secretly, he thinks she wants to spoil their kid too – despite giving him hell for it.

“God, I love you. Even if you spoil our daughter every chance you get,” She scolds half heartedly as she dips her face closer and closer to his. She steals a lingering kiss, and then pulls back to look him in the eyes. “But if you get her dog you’ll have to fix the fence in the backyard. Some of the boards are loose.”

He thinks about it for a moment and then shrugs one shoulder. “I can do that. Easy. I even have some extra lumber left over from a job. It’s in the back of my truck.”

Sylvie snickers through a resigned sigh and then completely caves. “Fine, you fix the fence and I’ll call Ritter after I feed the baby.”

“Now look who didn’t stand a chance?” He asks her teasingly.

“You’re lucky I love you and that our daughter is impossibly cute.”

He drops a grateful kiss to her temple and then meets his wife’s bemused gaze with an earnest expression. “Trust me. I know. I’m the luckiest bastard in all of Chicago.”

And that’s the God’s honest truth.

[pax-2735]

GoT Fanfic: Come Into My Parlor (3/3)

Words of caution: This part has supernatural elements (sort of), implied murder, smut and dark! Jon - consider yourselves warned.

If you wanna play catch up, here’s part 1 and part 2. 

Summary: When Sansa goes to the Targaryen’s annual Halloween bash, the last thing she expected was to come face to face with her demons.

Come into my parlor

It was only after his footsteps faded, the sound of a door closing in the distance, that Sansa forced her own feet to start moving. Not towards the now dim sounds of the party, no. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to go back in there and risk another chance encounter. It was hard to imagine this night getting any shittier but the way the universe was treating her lately… she wasn’t about to take any chances.

Turning around, she went in the opposite direction.

Which is how she finds herself in her current predicament.

This must be the Halloween party from hell, she thinks grimly, as she rounds yet another corner and comes face to face with four different corridors, all leading in opposite directions.

How the fuck did I get fucking lost INSIDE this motherfucking house? How is that even fucking possible?

She knows her English Lit teacher would probably be appalled at the lack of creativity behind that sentence but right now she doesn’t give a flying fuck. Isn’t this the shittiest ending possible to the shittiest night ever?

Her initial escape from the damn party had quickly evolved into the excitement of exploring the old house. Sansa has never been the bravest of all the Stark siblings – she has, on occasion, even heard unflattering comparisons to a kitchen mouse (not even a garden mouse, for fuck’s sake) – but she has always loved exploring abandoned places. There’s something that speaks to her on a deep level, to come face to face with trinkets and artifacts that have been used and cherished long ago by people she will never know.

Harrenhal isn’t abandoned, but it had quickly become a study in contrasts, as she wondered across rooms that had been completely refurnished to its previous beauty and straight into rooms where no one had apparently set foot in more than a few decades. She’s not exactly an expert on recuperating old houses but she’s pretty sure this isn’t how they do things on The Property Brothers. The excitement had eventually soured though, once her feet had started to hurt and she had decided it was time to get back, only to discover she had no idea where ‘back’ was.

Way to go Alice. Straight into the rabbit hole.

In her defense, she has realized – belatedly, she’ll gladly admit – that this house is an absolute maze. Harrenhal was the pinnacle of Lord Whent’s dreams of grandeur and it definitely shows. Everything is huge and completely disproportional, as though it was built for giants and not men, and the inside is just as senseless. There are stairs that lead to nowhere, rooms where one would expect passageways and everything seems to be tied together in a loop from where there is no escape. She may have to resign herself to the fact that this is where she’ll spend the rest of her life, endlessly going up stairs and turning corners and never finding her way out.

You can check out anytime you’d like, but you can never leave. No wonder they say the place is haunted. At least, if everything turns out for the worse, she’ll have plenty of company.

She chooses the smallest of all four, climbs over the three crooked stone steps at the end of it and turns the corner, and comes face to face with two narrow hallways. None of this looks even slightly familiar which is good – in the sense that she hasn’t been walking in circles as she’d feared – but also bad, as it means she’s not retracing her steps back into the party.

Seven fucking hells. She really needs a drink right now. Or a cigarette. Or her cellphone so she can call the police, the fire department or even her mum. Anyone will do at this point really.

Alright, yoga remember? She takes a couple of deep breaths, starting from her belly and all the way up to her chest, to try and calm the fuck down. This isn’t impossible. All it takes is a little common sense.

There is what looks to be an open door near the middle of the corridor to her right, a soft silvery hue wrestling its way against the shadows lingering in the corners, and she makes her way there. If she can look outside maybe she’ll be able to pinpoint where exactly she is now.

Reference points and all that shit. Dad would be so proud.

The room isn’t very big and it’s crowded with old furniture underneath layers of dust, but the window is huge. The full moon stands directly in front of it, tiny wisps of clouds being pushed by the wind occasionally obscuring its glow. It’s like something right out of a witches story. That, or a slasher movie, she thinks gloomily.

Sansa remembers when she was little, how Old Nan used to tell her that she was lucky for having been born on this night, that there was something special about this time of year. She had never felt particularly lucky though. Right now, she just feels stupid. Still, she supposes, as she makes her way to the massive window, there is something beautiful about this night. Something special, that seems to call out to her.

The gardens that surround the estate are still mostly in disrepair. The grass has grown as tall as a toddler and covers the stone pathways in shades of dark greens and greys. Wild weeds have long since strangled the flower beds, leeching their way into the barks of trees that look older than time. Scattered around the edges of the greenery, antique lamp posts that have long ago grown dark stand as tall as giants, their shadows like black ghosts staring back at her.

She’s startled when she hears it at first, a low rumbling sound that seems to be coming from one of the smaller buildings to her left. Probably the kennels Ramsay was talking about earlier from the looks of it.

She frowns as she peers down at it. The thing looks mostly abandoned, with its barred windows and huge cracks lining the roof and she has a hard time imagining Jon, who is a notorious dog lover, allowing for some poor animals to be stuck in there. But there’s no mistaking the sounds coming from it.

Something heavy clenches at her chest and she suddenly feels the hairs at the back of her neck prickling, the way Lady bristles whenever she senses something foul. The gnarls coming from down below are steadily increasing in volume, something wild and untamed tearing and snarling and scratching at something, until they stop suddenly and everything is silent again. A startled bird takes flight from a nearby tree and the quiet is shattered with a long, powerful howl. Other voices soon join the first one and the black night is suddenly alight with the gut wrenching sound.

The chorus dies down gradually after some time and the night is silent once again. After the sudden howling everything seems deadly quiet, not even a speck of wind disturbing the few leaves still stubbornly clinging to the wiry branches. The only thing Sansa hears is her blood rushing in her ears.

“Sansa?”

The air hisses as she draws it in through suddenly clenched teeth as she swirls violently around. The shadow looming in the doorway jumps back and lets out a startled – and very unmanly – yelp. Her heart is still hammering away as her brain slowly begins to fire back on, her eyes widening at first and then narrowing in recognition. “Jon?”

He has a hand against his chest, the other one running through his hair in a nervous gesture she has seen on him thousands of times, and she can hear him clearing his throat before fixing her with a glare. “Seven hells, you just scared the shit out of me.”

“I scared the shit out of you? What the hell are you doing here?” she huffs.

“I was looking for you. Margaery said she left you in the bathroom but no one’s seen you since. I was worried.”

Ok, so maybe that melts her heart a little bit. “So you came looking for me?”

He shrugs in a casual manner but it does nothing to hide the pink that’s faintly coloring his cheeks underneath his beard. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t lost or anything.”

And now it’s her turn to blush as he gives her a knowing grin. “Don’t you laugh at me,” she says, as sternly as she can.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He holds up his hands to emphasize his point but she can see the gleam of amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Shall we head back then?”

She huffs as she passes him and he chuckles as she stops dead in the doorway, looking left and right. “Do you want me to lead the way?” he whispers close to her ear, so close she can feel his breath on her neck and the faint smell of the beer he was drinking earlier. Gods, he could lead her straight to hell with that voice and she’d gladly follow.

She elbows him in the ribs instead. “If you’d be so kind.”

They walk mostly in silence as they make their way through winding corridors and steep stairways. Jon seems to know where he’s going, barely hesitating whenever they reach a new crossway before he leads them left or right accordingly, and Sansa begins to believe there might actually be a light at the end of this particular tunnel, and one that doesn’t include a train at that.

It’s only when they turn yet another corner and start making their way down the hall that Sansa suddenly stops, breaking the silence that has settled like a blanket over them to call out his name.

“Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Course I do. You think I’m just walking around aimlessly?”

“You sure?”

He frowns at her, looking genuinely hurt. “You don’t trust me?”

“Normally, with my life. In this particular instance, however…” she trails off, nodding her head to her right before fixing him with a stare. His frown deepens and he retraces his steps back to where she stands leaning against a doorway and peers inside the room she just pointed at.

“Shit,” he murmurs.

She narrows her eyes. “I take it that means what I think it means.”

He gives her a sideways glance before turning back to the room, his hand running through his raven curls before he lets out a frustrated sigh. “This is the room I found you in.”

“Which means we’ve been walking around in circles this whole time.”

He turns back to her with a scowl on his face, apparently not finding any of this amusing. Well, tough luck baby. Before he can answer her though, the room erupts in a sudden flash of white light, the walls around them trembling with the force of the thunder that follows right after, making the glass rattle on the weathered windows. Sansa jumps, her jaw clenching as she bites down on the startled scream that threatens to follow suit.

“It’s just a storm Sans.”

She fumes at him. “Just a storm? Just a storm? Are you shitting me right now? This isn’t just a storm! This is Halloween, and there’s a full moon, and we’re lost inside a haunted house –“

“The house isn’t haunted,” he says, quirking his brow. “I can’t believe you believe in such –“

“And NOW there’s also a storm! I’m all for the horror mood of the season but this is getting ridiculous!”

“Hey, hey,” he says, “it’s alright Sansa.” His hands are incredibly gentle as he steps forward to rub them up and down her arms, trying to soothe her. “Look at me. We’re alright.” He’s really close now, their noses almost touching, and the breath she takes in to calm her nerves smells only of him, something earthy and warm and familiar. “Better?” he asks after a few seconds, and she nods.

“Sorry. This has been a weird night.”

He smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, look at it this way. At least we don’t have an axe wielding psycho on our tail.”

The shaky smile she’s sporting dies on her lips. “I don’t know about any axe wielding but we have the psycho part down.” He stares at her, clearly not getting it, and she sighs. “Ramsay’s here.”

“What?” His voice resounds through the walls as another roll of thunder comes crashing in. “What the fuck’s he doing here?”

“He says he was invited,” she explains, as she stares at him, gauging his reaction.

“No,” he says, and there’s an absolute finality in his tone that makes her relax a bit. “There’s no way. Rhaenys and Aegon would never do that, not without talking to me first and I’d never agree to it. At least, not with these many witnesses around.” He smiles as though he’s cracking a joke but it never reaches his eyes. Instead, she sees something hard flashing in its greys depths.

Sansa shivers as another thought suddenly pops into her mind. “Do you have any dogs in here?” Jon keeps silent, his face an unreadable mask as he stares at her, no doubt trying to make sense of the sudden change in conversation. “In the kennels. I thought I heard them howling a while back,” she clarifies.

He shakes his head, giving her a puzzled look. “No one lives here. Besides, I’m the only one who has a dog and if I had brought Ghost, I wouldn’t have put him in the kennels.”

Of course. That makes sense.

Jon gives the room one last dismal look before turning back to her with a sheepish smile. “Maybe you should lead this time.”

“Yeah, because I was doing such a bang up job of it before you showed up.” Still, she starts moving, leading them back the way they came, up until the corner where she turns the opposite way. She can hear Jon’s footsteps following close behind. It’s reassuring somehow, even if he’s just as lost. She’s not alone anymore.

At the very least, he’ll make for good company even if they never find their way out.

“So let me get this straight,” he says after a while, “you ran into Joffrey, Harry and Ramsay? All three of them?”

She shrugs. “My kind of party.”

“I’ll bet,” he murmurs. “I mean, what are the odds?”

“Maybe I should try the lottery next.”

He smirks. “I have to admit though, it was very satisfying seeing you telling Joffrey off.”

She looks at him over her shoulder. “You were about to see me do the same to Harry if you hadn’t been so quick to step in.”

“He was hurting you,” he says, and that hard edge is back in his eyes.

“And my boot was about to hurt him right back. Hard.” She smiles wickedly. “I was channeling Arya. He should be thanking you.”

He lets out a startled laugh as his eyes fall to the mentioned boots. They’re black leather, soft and pliant all the way up to her knees, with some killer heels. Rickon had joked about how she could easily stab a man with those. Or maybe fuck one. Jon’s eyes are now raking up her body, over her legs and lingering slightly at the apex of her thighs, sweeping over her bodice and trailing her neck before settling on her mouth. It’s a thorough eye-fuck if she’s ever seen one. And when he licks his lips before finally locking eyes with her, she feels it like a caress over her skin.

“I wouldn’t want you to ruin them. They look…” he hesitates before giving her a devastating smile, “nice.”

She grins at his cheekiness. They have been doing this for what seems like forever now, the friendly back and forth of friendship always skirting around the edges of flirting, the eternal will-they-won’t-they that has most of their friends rolling their eyes and, in Theon’s case, probably making bets. But there’s something definitely different about tonight. Something far more deliberate, that seems to be taking them much more towards the when-will-they.

The corridor comes to a sudden end, opening up into a large room with massive floor to ceiling windows, wood paneling all around and a gigantic chandelier hanging over their heads. There’s a huge dining table at the center, complete with velvet backed chairs, the brightly polished wood seeming strangely out of place when everything else is covered in what looks to be years’ worth of dust.

“Wow.”

She cocks a brow at him. “You’ve never been here before?” she says, remembering his earlier misguided bout of confidence about knowing his way around.

He seems to be remembering the same thing as he looks sheepishly at her. “In the house? A couple of times. In this room?” His eyes take a long sweep around. “I think I’d remember something like this.”

“Well, I don’t know about you but I need a break.” She struts inside, the carpeted floors muffling the click clack of her heels. The storm is still raging outside but the lighting seems to be holding up so far, several lamps bathing the room in soft yellow hues, a stark contrast against the dark woods and blood reds of the décor. Jon follows her in, pulling up a chair for her to sit before sprawling himself in the one next to it.

“This house was always more of my father’s project. He said there was something about it that reminded him of his Valiryan roots.”

She doesn’t really know what to say to that. The stories about Old Valirya – the ones she’d heard about as a child – were always filled with gore and bloodshed, gruesome tales of incest and madness, sprinkled with just a tad of magic and witchcraft. There’s something strange about this house, that’s for sure. She can feel it in her very bones, to borrow one of Old Nan’s sayings. But she always thought there was something strange about Rhaegar Targaryen as well.

There is something she wants to tell Jon though. Something she feels is way past its due. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you at the hospital.”

The twitching of his fingers as they drum against his jean clad thigh is the only indication that he’s heard her as he keeps his eyes glued to the carpet. “It’s alright.”

She sighs as she contemplates his answer. His quiet dismissal is nothing short of expected but it isn’t what she wants. “No, it isn’t. We’ve known each other ever since we were kids. We’re friends. I should have been there.”

“You were dealing with Ramsay at the time.” His eyes have seemingly lost their interest in the swirling patterns adorning the floor and he looks straight into her own blue gaze. Somehow, it gives her the courage to forge ahead.

“Robb said you died.” She sees him flinch at her words. “He said that when he got to the hospital the doctors told him they were trying to revive you. That you had died and they didn’t know if they could bring you back.” Her voice breaks but there’s nothing she can do about it, the helplessness she always feels whenever she thinks of that terrible night threatening to pull her under until there’s nothing she can do with it but drown.

He must hear it too and suddenly he’s leaning forward, holding her hands and invading her space, breathing her in. “But they did. They brought me back.”

Her smile is probably more like a grimace, her voice barely above a whisper. “What was it like?”

He lets her go and leans back in his chair, his hands running over his face. “I don’t remember much of it. I remember the stabbing.” He shrugs as though he’s talking about something meaningless but his eyes betray the pain the memory still causes him. “I remember thinking how cold everything was, how it felt like I was drowning…” he trails off as he sees her shuddering. “And then I just remember waking up with my father beside me.”

This times it’s her that leans forward, placing her hands over his thighs in what she intends to be a comforting gesture until his eyes darken and he raises his hand to trace a finger gently over her cheek. “I could have lost you that night,” he says, and something both warm and dangerous sparks in his eyes.

She swallows before giving him a shaky smile. “I think that’s my line.”

“No, it isn’t.” He leans forward again and his face is now just inches apart from hers. “I could have lost you without never truly having you.”

He moves, just the slightest bit forward and Sansa knows he’s going to kiss her. Her hand moves up, her palm pressing flatly against his chest and he immediately stops, making her feel a surge of power. It’s intoxicating, the knowledge she can stop him with just the barest of touches, that he will submit to her so willingly. She can see the hurt and regret swimming in his eyes but for once she doesn’t regret putting them there. If they’re going to do this – finally, at long last, actually do this – she wants to be the one to take that final step. She wants to make sure neither one has cause to doubt ever again.

His fingertips are still grazing softly against her neck, as though he fears this is both the first and the last time he has the chance of doing so. Her left hand finds purchase on his arm, holding him against her, as the other one cups his face gently. His beard is scratchy against her palm as her midnight blue nails graze his skin and he closes his eyes when she finally bridges the gap between them.

Behind her closed eyelids she can see flashes of lightning and hear the rolling of thunder from the storm outside. Or maybe it’s fireworks and the mad beating of her own heart and the storm actually exists inside of her. All she knows is that his lips are soft and yielding as they move against her own, giving her complete control over the kiss, and her brain is scrambling to catch up, trying to memorize his reactions. A soft nip at his bottom lip has him groaning, the tug of her fingers in his hair makes him tilt his head as his arm snakes around her waist to pull her into his lap.

She can feel him poking against her ass, the hard plains of his chest rubbing against her nipples as she presses herself against him, and she moans. That seems to be all the encouragement he needs as his control snaps and he grabs her thighs to lift them both up, never breaking the kiss, before settling her down on the table.

Her legs are splayed open and he settles himself in between, her knees cradling his hips and reeling him in. She can feel him rubbing against her most sensitive spot, white hot sparks of pleasure searing through her body and she tears her mouth away in a gasp. His lips never leave her skin, trailing fire across her jaw line and nipping at her ear lobe before venturing down to suck at her neck. His right hand is splayed against her back, keeping her up, but his left is slowly trailing under the hem of her dress and over her thigh, his fingertips toying with the edge of her panties.

She feels the rip against her skin more than she hears it, and she means to give him a dirty look and a slight scolding – those were some of her more expensive panties, after all – but all she manages is a keening, needful sound as he takes half a step back before placing his hand fully against her core. His fingers dip beneath her folds, easily parting them, and the lady in her should feel embarrassed about how wet she already is but she can’t, not when his thumb is brushing her clit in the most delicious manner, not when he slips one and then two fingers inside of her and she can feel her toes already curling in pleasure.

Gods, but the man knows what he’s doing. Her hips buck against his hand and he snaps his eyes back to hers, a smug grin on his face, but right now he has every right to be smug, she thinks, as she grabs his face and pulls him back up to her mouth. It’s only a fleeting kiss before she’s throwing her head back, his arm around her waist the only thing keeping her up, and she lets out a wordless scream.

When she opens her eyes again her whole body is still shuddering. Jon is looking at her as he brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, the gesture incredibly sweet after what he just did to her with that hand, his eyes filled with lust and something else she doesn’t dare to name just yet.

Her fingers play with the soft hair at the back of his head, her nails raking lightly against his neck and she’s delighted when he closes his eyes, letting out a low rumbling sound. They’re still so close that she bumps her nose against his as she tilts her head to the side to whisper in his ear, “I want more.” Her hands smooth down slowly over his chest until they reach his belt, her fingers making quick work on the buckle.

“Sansa” he rasps out through gritted teeth, “we don’t have to…” Whatever else was going to come out of that gorgeous mouth is lost as she pops the button on his jeans and lets her hand play along the fine hair over his abdomen.

“I know,” she says, her hands pushing his jeans and boxers down over his hips, fingertips touching the velvety hardness before she looks back into his eyes, a coy look on her face as he bucks against her. “I want you Jon.”

His uncertainty turns into a wolfish smile, his hands gripping onto her hips to pull her towards the edge of the table, the tip of him brushing against her wet folds. “As the lady commands.”

When he slides inside of her, the only thing she can think of is that it won’t take long for her to peak again. He sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping against hers in all the right ways, his cock hitting that delicious spot inside of her with every stroke. His right arm encircles her waist, keeping her close even as his left hand moves between them to circle her clit. Her legs have wrapped themselves around his hips and her arms move around his shoulders, their tongues mimicking the movements of their lower bodies as they swallow each other’s moans.

Lightning flashes just as Sansa wrenches her mouth free to scream his name as her orgasm washes over her. She thinks she sees something violet sparking in his grey eyes as he leans forward to whisper you’re mine now against the skin of her collarbone but a second later thunder crashes, and Jon roars her name as he spills inside of her.

She’s still limp and completely boneless when he collapses against her, his weight pushing her backwards against the table, his hands moving rapidly to cushion her fall. She lets out a contempt sigh as she combs her fingers through his sweat dampened hair, willing her racing heart to finally settle back down.

He’s grinning when he finally raises his head from her chest to look down at her. “This isn’t how I thought this night would go.”

“Second thoughts already? Man, you’re fast.” Her attempt to look miffed is shattered by a squeal of laughter when his hands tickle her sides.

“Never,” he says, moving his hands up so he can settle on his forearms and give her a heart melting kiss. “My only regret is how much time I’ve wasted.” The tips of his fingers toy with the loose strands of her hair before he brings a lock up to his lips. “But I’ll never regret how tonight turned out.” His cock twitches against her inner thigh and he gives her a playful smirk.

She cocks her brow before giving him a slight shove. “Down boy.” He laughs, leaning down to give her a quick peck on the lips before straightening, his hands gripping her elbows to help her along, even as she uses her stomach muscles to lift herself up to try and chase his lips back to hers.

Jon is tucking himself back into his jeans as Sansa stares at the mess between her legs, looking around for something to clean herself up with. “Where are my panties?”

“Those are mine now,” he smirks, and she huffs at him.

“I bet you’re gonna look great in them.”

He moves back against her, his arms boxing her in as he grips the edges of the table on each side of her. His breath is warm against her neck and she feels his teeth bluntly nipping at her ear. “Want me to clean you up?”

Oh Gods, does she ever. Even though she seriously doubts her body is capable of another orgasm right now – another knee-weakening, mind-blowing, earth-shattering orgasm – she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t very, very tempted. She feels him smiling before he moves back, allowing her brain to start working again. “Raincheck?”

“Whenever you want love.” He nods his head to a small greenish door, partially hidden by the wooden paneling. “There’s a bathroom over there where you can clean up.”

She’s throwing the paper towels down the toilet, checking herself in the mirror to try and make herself look presentable – never mind the marks Jon has left on her neck and collarbone as there’s nothing she can do about that – when it suddenly hits her.  How did he know about the bathroom? Hadn’t he said he had never been here before?

She’s still frowning, trying to collect her thoughts, when a strange noise, followed closely by a moan, startles her. There’s a door on the other side of the bathroom, probably a connection to the adjoining room, and as she strains to hear it, it’s obvious there’s something happening on the other side. The door isn’t locked, or even closed properly, the hinges creaking as Sansa pushes it open and her eyes widen.

Harry is half sitting, half lying on a couch, someone Sansa instantly recognizes as the blonde zombie from the party sprawled on top of him, her hand palming him over his trousers. She can’t see the blonde’s face as it’s hidden on the crook of Harry’s neck, but Harry sees Sansa. He lets out a strangled noise, his eyes widening at her before he lifts up his hand, beckoning her to come closer and she frowns. Is that dick really inviting her to join them?

A shadow moves in her peripheral vision and the door bangs shut abruptly. Jon is looking at her in concern as he grabs her elbows and gently steers her back. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, as he gives the now closed door a dark look. “This night can’t end soon enough.”

“I’ll say,” she mutters. He pulls her against him, his arms wrapping around her as his lips graze her temple and she nudges her nose against the crook of his neck.

“What do you say we head back to the party?” He pulls back slightly to give her a boyish grin. “I promise it isn’t half as bad as it seems.”

She’s about to make a joke over the fact that they’re still as lost now as they were an hour ago, but now that the storm is finally over, she can hear the faint strains of music coming in from somewhere down the hall. She nods, tucking herself against his side as they make their way outside. And just as they’re stepping out, she catches their reflection in the mirror, hair still pretty much disheveled, the remains of her red lipstick marring the black of his shirt, his beard burn making her neck look as pink as a new born.

He looks at her through the mirror, angling his head so he can kiss her cheek while still keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Happy birthday baby,” he whispers. And this time, she can swear she sees something violet flashing in its grey depths.    

                                                            ***

Epilogue

This time, as they start back towards the party, Jon knows exactly where he’s going. It takes them only a short while before the music is blasting its way into the corridor, pulling them back into the mass of bodies drunkenly swaying across the room.

Jon brings her hand to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles before smiling. “Do you wanna dance?”

She nods and he pulls her along, twirling her around as they reach the center of the room before pulling her firmly against his chest, eliciting an excited giggle from her lips. His arms reach around her, a palm planted against her lower back, the other finding its way up her spine to tangle gently in her red locks. Her own arms have wound themselves around his neck and she tucks her head against the crook of his neck. Right where she belongs.

He knows better than to blame this pull she has on him on anything other than his own heart. He has loved her for far longer than anyone would ever suspect.

It had been his reaction to her infatuation with that asshole Joffrey that had first opened his eyes to his real feelings for his best friend’s little sister. He had watched as she lost herself in her feelings for the blond jerk, how he gave her nothing but contempt and threats in return. The desire to see him choke over his own words was so dire Jon was sure his own hands would end up doing the job.

In time, she will learn how Joffrey died on the way to the hospital, choking on his own spit as bloody foam spurted from his mouth. Allergic reaction, the people will call it. But Sansa will know the truth.

When her path to college had taken her miles away from him, he had briefly thought about following her. But his father had cautioned him against it. She needed time, he had said, time to grow into herself and learn what she wanted. Jon hadn’t liked it, but he had agreed.

He had learned about Harry from Robb and once again jealousy had reared its ugly head. But it was Robb’s own rageful comment about how that prick had cheated on Sansa that had truly sealed his fate.

In time, she will discover how the pretty zombie from the party was really someone Harry knew – or thought he knew, in any case. Rhaenys is good at getting these things arranged, even if she doesn’t have the stomach to stick around for the fallout. Sansa will be shocked, no doubt, when Harry’s body is discovered, livid and cold and mangled in one of the mansion’s secluded rooms. Too much alcohol, the people will whisper, his heart gave out. But she will know.

His own death had changed something deep inside him. He didn’t exactly lie when he told her he couldn’t remember much. He doesn’t. But what he does know is that there was someone else in the room with his father when he had woken up, and one look into the woman’s face had made it clear he wasn’t supposed to have come back. But whatever else death might have done to him, the one thing that never changed was his love for her. If anything, it just made everything clearer. He needed her. He wanted her. And he was going to have her.

He knows why she hadn’t visited him in the hospital. While he was lying in that hospital bed, she had been in a different one, recovering from wounds inflicted upon her by the prick who was supposed to love her. Ramsay is the one he’s sorry he couldn’t kill with his bare hands. She doesn’t know it – at least Jon doesn’t think she does – but soon after his release from the hospital he had paid Ramsay a visit. His knuckles had been scraped raw as he had beat the sorry motherfucker into a pulp, his face a distorted, bloodied mass by the time Jon had stopped. Sometimes he wishes he hadn’t. Stopped, that is.

In time, she will hear about the disfigured body found in what used to be the mansion’s old kennels, too eaten and torn to pieces to allow for a positive ID. There will be speculation about how it was probably some homeless guy attacked by wild animals – and won’t Aegon be pissed when he hears his hounds being referred to as such. But Sansa will know the truth.

He nudges his thigh between her legs as he presses closer to her and she lifts her head to shoot him a dirty look. Her dress is short enough as it is and he still has her panties safely tucked away in his pocket. He kisses the tip of her nose in apology as he sways her gently across the floor. He’ll behave for now. His plan is finished and Sansa is safe in his arms.

In time, she will come to learn what he is. She will know the truth about the Targaryen bloodline and heritage, how the stories of madness were mere tales to mask a much uglier truth. In time, she will accept that everything he’s done has been for her.

He twirls his fingers through her hair, gently tugging her head until he can capture her lips with his own in a whisper of a kiss. Her eyes are sparkling as she pulls back to look at him.

“I love you Jon.”

“I love you too sweetie.”

It’s time to reap his reward.

[youcancallmecirce]

Elemental, ch 13: Regrouping

Because I have no chill.  Read it on AO3.

“So, that was wild,” said Nino, his laconic wit more dry than usual.

Everyone stared at him.

After the truncated fight, Adrien had scooped Marinette into his arms and announced his intention to take her to the emergency room.  Marinette flatly refused.

“No hospital, no police.  This can’t become any more public than it already is,” she said, her voice still raw, and Adrien had reluctantly agreed.  Having yielded that point, though, he insisted on carrying her the entire way home. Marinette gave in easily to that, too tired and frightened by her experience to offer more than a token argument.

Satisfied with her acquiescence, Adrien had set Marinette on her feet long enough to text Nino, though he kept one arm around her waist the entire time.  When he’d told him to meet them back at the girls’ apartment, he’d scooped her up once more and started off in that direction.

A few of the people who had been nearby and successfully ushered away by Nino and Alya shrank back from them as they’d passed, and while Marinette’s heart had sunk at their obvious fear,  Adrien didn’t even seem to notice them.

They were the last to return.  The others had made a place for them on the couch, fussing over Marinette, and Adrien claimed the place next to her.  

Now, they were all seated around the living room, staring at Nino incredulously.  Marinette wondered how he could describe the disaster so mildly. Then she remembered that all of this was new to him, and she blinked.  “How are you dealing with all of this, Nino?”

“Me?”  He looked startled by the question.  “I’m good. I’m still worried about you!”

Marinette touched her still-painful throat and winced.  “I’ll be fine.”

“You should let me heal you,” Master Fu said again, frowning at her.  

“Later.  Maybe. Right now, we need to figure out what to do next.”

Alya shook her head helplessly, her face still pale.  Actually, Alya was in worse shape than Nino. Marinette would have expected the opposite, given that Alya had at least been aware of the magical world before this.  Nino had taken the evening’s events in stride, but Alya was struggling.

“Indeed it was, Nino,” said Master Fu with a sigh, finally responding to Nino’s observation.  He looked as if he’d aged decades since they’d returned to the apartment. “And we do need to decide on a course of action.”

“Do you know what it was, Master Fu?” Adrien asked.  “It wasn’t just Nathniel.”

“No, it certainly wasn’t just Nathaniel.”  Fu leaned back on the couch and crossed his hands over his belly.  “From what you’ve described, I believe is was an Akuma.”

Adrien frowned in confusion and Alya stared at him blankly, but both Marinette and Nino cursed at hearing the name.  Once again, all eyes swung to Nino.

“You know what an akuma is?” Marinette asked incredulously.

“Yeah.” Nino shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny.  “I know some stuff. My mom’s a mage, my dad is a djinni.”

There was a long moment of silence as they all gaped at him, stunned.

Master Fu smiled faintly, and inclined his head towards Nino.  “We can explore Nino’s connections to the magical world later.”  Then he shifted his gaze to Adrien. “An Akuma is an elemental that has been captured and enslaved by a dark mage.  It is rare, but it can be done if the mage is both creative and depraved.”

Adrien’s mouth had fallen open, and he gaped at Fu in disbelief.  “I thought you said that if a mage tried to force a binding, that the elemental would possess the mage?”

Marinette shook her head. “It’s not a binding; Akumas are something different.”

“An Akuma’s will is completely dominated by that of the mage,” Fu added.  “It has no agency of its own.”

Adrien seemed to digest this for a moment.  “Is Nathaniel our mage, then?”

“Nathaniel was only a tool wielded by the dark mage, like the Akuma itself.”

“I just don’t understand,” Alya put in.  “Why would anyone want to hurt Marinette?”

Fu looked at Adrien, his gaze clear and direct, and Adrien closed his eyes in resignation.  “It’s Piers.”

Marinette’s eyes widened, then narrowed angrily.  “How could you say such a thing, Adrien? You know her!  You were there, you saw her!”

“Marinette--”

“She apologized to us!  She comforted me!”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I think he’s right,” Alya offered quietly.  “Think about it, M. She’s been at that university for years; there’s no way she didn’t know about the policy on student privacy, and there’s no way she broke it lightly.”

Adrien nodded his agreement.  “I checked with the dean, Marinette.  The penalty for the rest of the university is suspension pending investigation; the penalty for the Arcane Department is usually automatic dismissal.  The only reason she was suspended and not terminated, is that she has been with the university for so long, with a spotless record.”

“But--”

“Didn’t you say, Adrien, that she didn’t know you were more than acquaintances?”  Adrien nodded, and Alya continued. “And she knows very well how close-lipped you are about your power, Marinette.  She had every reason to think that she’d never be found out.”

“No.  I don’t believe it,” Marinette said mulishly, though her voice had lost some of its conviction.

“You don’t have to, Marinette.”  She looked at Fu hopefully but he shook his head sadly.  “Not yet, anyway. What I want you to do, is to go with Adrien to Meriton while we find out what’s going on here.”

There was a brief pause, and then everyone spoke at once.

“What?  Why”

“I’m not going to run away!”

“Where is Meriton?”

“She can’t! It’s not possible!”

Fu held his hand up for silence, and they quieted.  “It is possible, and you will not be running away. It is a strategic retreat, so that we can gather information and make a solid plan.  Whoever this mage is, they want Marinette, and probably Adrien as well. If you remove yourselves from their reach, it will not only keep you safe, but also bring a halt to whatever they have planned.”

Alya glanced over at Adrien, then at Fu.  “I don’t understand why you think a retreat is necessary.”

“Right?” Nino agreed.  “Adrien had this guy way outclassed, and we know what to expect now.  If he and Marinette work together next time, they’ll have it in the bag.”

Fu shook his head.  “It won’t be that easy.  Our mage was clumsy and over confident in choosing a water mage weaker than Adrien.  If it was Piers, then she didn’t realize you’d bonded with Plagg and likely reasoned that a mage of less power but greater control could best him--even with the added difficulty of controlling the other mage through the Akuma.  It might have even worked, if you had not been able to invoke your bond. The mage won’t make that mistake again. They know what to expect now, too, and will be sure to choose a powerful mage of their own element, or one that will actively counter one of yours.”

“It would be just as careless for us to re-engage without doing as much as we can to prepare.”  Marinette sighed. “What do they even want from us? Our power?”

Fu nodded, tapping his ear with a pointed look at Marinette.  “All of it.”

“No,” Marinette breathed.  She looked at Adrien, who shrugged helplessly.  It was enough to make her blood run cold, but she still wasn’t convinced that leaving was the right thing to do.  “But, if we are out of the picture, who is going to gather this information?”

Fu’s gaze slid to Alya, and then to Nino, before coming back to Marinette.  “I do believe,” he said, “that you have friends who are perfectly capable and perfectly willing to do a little investigating on your behalf.”

Marinette felt her heart drop, just thinking about Alya poking around at the kind of mage that could make and control an Akuma.  “Absolutely not! I won’t let Alya put herself in danger for me!”

“Um, excuse me?”  Alya drawled with deceptive calm.  “Alya here. Remember me? Your best friend, investigative reporter, grown ass woman ?”

Marinette winced.   Shit .  “I know, but--”

“And she won’t be alone,” Nino said firmly, interrupting her.  “I’m not sure how much you know about Djinn, but we’re kind of...scary.”

Marinette blinked, and made a mental note to read up on Djinn later.

“Scary?” Alya asked in an aside to him, her brows raised, and Nino shrugged.  “We’re coming back to that later. I hope you know that.”

He quirked a rueful smile, and nodded.  “Yeah, I kind of figured,” he said in the same lower tone.

Fu smiled.  “And you have some of your mother’s magic as well, don’t you?”

“Yup.”

“So,” Adrien began, bringing the conversation back to the point, “assuming that we can even get Marinette to Meriton, what are we going to be doing there?  Sightseeing?”

“I suppose you can do a bit of that if you want to, but no.  I think it is high time that you confronted your father, and I think that this is a good time to do it.”

Adrien’s face went pale and stony, but he said nothing.  He just leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and stared pensively down at his hands.

Marinette looked from Adrien’s shuttered expression to Fu’s placid one, and had to take a deep breath to calm her temper.  Then another. “Master Fu, I love you,” she said finally, her words slow and deliberate. “You know that I do. And I both honor and respect you as my elder.”

Fu’s eyes twinkled.  “But?”

“But I have to ask.  Who the fuck do you think you are, and what are you thinking?”

Adrien choked in surprise, but Alya snickered and Fu outright laughed.  “I love you too, my dear. And I understand why you believe my suggestion to be impertinent.  It is impertinent.  But it is necessary, and I think that Adrien will be the stronger for it, when it’s done.”

“And if his asshole of a father makes things worse?” she demanded.

“He might.  Knowing Gabriel, he will probably try.”  Adrien scoffed, but didn’t contradict him.  “Aren’t you glad, then, that you will be there with him?”

Resigned, Adrien sat back and slipped his arm around Marinette’s stiff shoulders.  She relaxed into him, but did not stop glowering at Fu.

He was not wild about the idea of facing his father, and even less so about subjecting Marinette to that hell, but he couldn’t deny the wisdom of Fu’s suggestion.  And taking her to Meriton, sharing his home with her? Seeing her there? Yes, he liked that idea very much.

“How do we do it?” he asked, just as Marinette opened her mouth to argue.  She shut it again, and looked at him questioningly. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, and she relaxed a bit more.  He looked back to Fu. “How can we get her to Meriton? Because I’ll not agree to it unless you can guarantee her safety.”

“She’ll be as safe there as you are here.  The rest will be up to the two of you.”

Nino and Alya shared a confused look.  “What did we miss?”

“Because it seems like we’re missing a lot.”

“I will leave you young people to fill in the holes for one another,” Fu said, reaching for his cane and pushing to his feet.  “It is time for this old man to get some rest, if I am to work such an enchantment any time soon.”

“Master Fu?” Adrien asked, stopping him.  “What will you be doing, while we are gone?”

“Recovering, and doing a little digging of my own.”

Adrien did not like the oblique response, but let it go with a nod.  

"Marinette?  If you will come with me, my dear, I will see to your throat before I retire."

When they had gone, Alya rose and started for the kitchen.  “Anyone else want a drink? I’m pretty sure that whatever bombs you’re going to drop, I am going to need one by the time we’re through.”

The others agreed, and when Marinette returned, they all ended up around the dining table with drinks in hand and a bowl of chips and salsa between them.

"Your neck looks better," Nino offered as Marinette came into the room.  

Adrien was relieved to see that Nino was right; the bruising had disappeared entirely.

She put a hand to her throat as she sat at the table with them.  "It feels better."

“You sound better too,” Alya said.  “I’m glad.”

They all settled in to their snack then.  After a few minutes of companionable crunching all the way around the table, Adrien sighed. He was still hesitant to share his secrets, but after this evening, it made no sense to keep them.  Better to get it done and over. “I guess I’ll start then.”

Marinette scooted her chair closer to him to put her hand on his thigh.  Her touch was reassuring, and he smiled his thanks before drawing in a deep breath.  “I’m a Mer,” he said.

Nino nodded in sudden understanding, but Alya stared blankly.

“A Merman,” Marinette said softly, and Alya’s eyes went round.

Adrien nodded, and continued.  “I grew up in a city called Meriton, and until I moved here, I’d lived under the sea for my entire life.”

“Hence the problem with taking Mari home to meet the family.”

“One of them,” Adrien said grimly, answering Nino.  “The sea is a dangerous place.”

“But how are you here?” Alya asked.  “Not that I don’t believe you, but Marinette’s not the only one to have noticed that ass.  Not a scale in sight.”

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself, Lahiffe.  I’m committed to you, but I’m not blind.”

“It’s the ring,” Adrien said, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks.  “Fu enchanted my ring.”

“And now you get to be ‘ part of that world’ ,” Alya sang, grinning.

Marinette and Nino both groaned.  

“Had to.”

“Drink your tequila, Al,” Nino said, pushing her drink a bit closer to her. “The adults are speaking.”  Then he looked at Marinette. “Air mage, right?”

“I--yes?  How did you know?”

Nino nodded.  “I figured you were, since that sweet little  Air elemental is always hanging around you.”

Marinette startled.  “You’ve seen Tikki? She doesn’t usually show herself around anyone but me.  Well, and now Adrien, too.”

“Yup.  I’ve seen your grumpy little cat dude, too, Adrien.  He’s kind of an asshole.”

Adrien stared at him.  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Nino shrugged.  “I was taught that it’s best to stay mum about this sort of thing, and you guys never brought it up.  I figured that was the way you wanted it.”

“Can you see magic, then?” Marinette asked curiously.

“Well, yeah, sometimes.  I mean, I’m half Djinni, so I can see all of the non-corporeals and I can see magic, when it’s used.”

“Non-corporeals?” echoed Alya.

“Purely magical creatures who aren’t tied to a tangible form,” Marinette explained. “Things like elementals, banshees, slyphys, keplies…” Marinette trailed off, and Alya nodded her understanding.

“What exactly is a Djinni?” she asked next.  “I’m assuming we’re not talking about anything like Aladdin’s big blue buddy.”

“No way.  It’s like, a full Djinni is non-corporeal, but can manifest on the physical plane in shape they wish.  And they can make changes on the physical plane, when they want to. It’s not unusual for a Djinni to play with people by pretending to grant wishes, while twisting the wish to suit their own purposes.  That’s how my parents met, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yup.  Mom wanted help with something big, and dad tried to play her.  She turned it around on him, tricking him into helping her after all.”  He rolled his eyes. “Mom loves to tell the story.”

“That doesn’t sound scary, it sounds sweet.” Alya prompted.  

Nino grimaced.  “Yeah. My parents are sweet.  Not all Djinn are cool, though, and the ones who aren’t tend to be nasty as fuck.  And even for the cool ones, well...let’s just say that it’s important for Djinn to stay zen.”

“How much of your dad’s power did you inherit?”  Marinette asked curiously.

“I can do almost everything my dad can, but I’m fully corporeal and not as strong.  My mom’s Earth magic means that I can do a few tricks that he can’t,though, and it’s awesome. ”

Adrien shook his head, trying to process everything Nino had told them.  It was another huge revelation, not long after all of the others. He almost didn’t know how to process it. “Did you know what I was from the beginning?” he asked, finally.

“Nah.  I just knew you weren’t fully human, and that you have a crabby water elemental living with you.”  Nino frowned. “So you guys had no idea? About me?”

They all shook their heads.  “I know I can’t sense other magicals,” Marinette offered.  “I can’t tell unless someone uses magic in front of me.”

“Same.  The more powerful the magic, the easier it is to sense.”

“Well I certainly can’t sense anything,” Alya said.  “I’m completely non-magical. I just happened to have a freakishly powerful Air mage for a best friend, or I wouldn’t have known anything at all.”

“Actually,” Nino said, surprising everyone once more.  “You’re not completely non-magical. You’ve got something, somewhere in your family tree that I can’t place.  It’s Earthy, though. It’s why you’re so well grounded, and why you seem to gravitate towards magicals.”

“I think I need another drink.”  

[whimsicalworldofme]

Let Go

Conversation with Rey takes a turn to Ben that Ava would rather avoid and like clockwork, Ben finds an opening into her mind and confronts Ava with feelings she’d rather not dredge back up.

Word Count: 1728

Content Warning: Some angst. Mentions of death.

Looking around the living room, Ava watched her students in concentrated silence, the six of them working in pairs on protecting their thoughts against intrusion. She wanted to redouble her efforts since they were going out on more missions and could end up encountering the Knights of Ren. Thirty minutes ago, they’d been laughing and chatting as they moved things around the room, showing off by trying to lift larger and larger pieces of furniture until Ava had to put her foot down because the couch almost went through the ceiling when Luke got over-eager to match Rey and then Eden and Zyn almost sent things through a window. They were young, eager, and full of untapped potential, refusing to cow to the fear Kylo Ren and his thugs tried to instill in the rest of the galaxy. Ava felt guilty sometimes about sending them out to help the Resistance since none of them were older than twenty-two, but they had volunteered. They wanted to help the way only they could, and she would make sure that they were prepared as best they could should things go south.

               Typically, they had a room reserved in one of the main training buildings on base, but Ava was having a hard time getting around and was getting close to confined to bed rest. Poe didn’t like her pushing herself and she was running out of the will to do so anyway. Her ankles and feet were swollen to the point that they didn’t really fit in her shoes anymore. Despite it being cramped having all the kids in her quarters, it was nice. She loved seeing their passion, their joy. When she watched them, she understood why Poe wanted a house full of kids.

               “All right,” she pulled them out of their silent work. “Good job today. You guys can go but I want you to practice on your own the rest of the week, all right?”

               There were murmurs of agreement and nods all around. Rustling ensued as everyone got up and put on their shoes, gathered up any of their stuff they’d brought with them. While everyone else filtered out, giggling and chatting as they went, Rey and Luke hung back.

               “Mom, can I go hang out with Jacen and Jaina?” Luke asked, leaning against the back of the couch, bouncing a little. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

               “That’s fine,” she nodded. “Have fun. Love you.”

               “Love you too,” Luke kissed her on the cheek and tore out of their quarters, eager for time with his friends. Only Rey remained, sitting on the couch across from Ava, fidgeting a little with her hands, tugging at the hem of her tunic.

               “Is it weird?” Rey asked, her eyes scrunching up a little, nodding Ava’s direction, eyes fixated on her enormous belly. “Feeling them in there?”

               “Yeah,” Ava laughed, rubbing her stomach. “They’re really active now. I think they’re wrestling in there.”

               “Can I feel?” Rey asked timidly and waited until Ava nodded before reaching out hesitantly, laying her hand on Ava’s belly. “Oh, I felt a kick!” Rey lit up with a sweet smile.

               “They’re very good at kicking,” she grinned. “But I know you didn’t stay behind to talk about babies. What’s on your mind?”

               “We’ve been training everyone with wood sabers and they’re getting really good. But what about getting them real lightsabers? How do we do that?”

               “I don’t know,” Ava mused. She’d thought about it before but hadn’t come up with a solution. “The main kyber mine on Jedha was stripped by the Empire before they destroyed the moon with the Death Star. Kyber crystals are out there but they’re mostly on the black market and I don’t like the idea of dirty dealings to get them. Han would know where to get them,” she sighed heavily, missing him a lot in that moment.

               “Ben might know,” Rey suggested quietly.

               “No,” she shut that line of thought down immediately. “That puts everyone at risk.”

               “Something’s changed in him,” Rey insisted. “Have you talked to him lately?”

               “Not since he found out about the twins,” Ava frowned, rubbing her stomach again. It actually unnerved her that he’d gone silent. She had been irritated with him, afraid of his response for the sake of her babies’ safety, and for the sake of the bond they were reforming, however weird it was. “It really worries me still that you talk to him as freely as you do.”

               “I’m careful,” Rey assured her. “You know you can trust me.”

               Ava bit her tongue, remembering that it wasn’t all that long ago that Rey had sent herself to him in a box, only to end up being tortured by Snoke and betrayed by Ben when she urged him to come to the light. How Rey continued to hold onto hope so unfalteringly perplexed her.

               “He’s hurting, Ava,” she added softly. “Maybe just talk to him. If for no other reason than it might help him.”

               “I don’t know how you stay so sweet,” Ava smiled at Rey, knowing she meant well. She couldn’t stand to see broken souls. “I just can’t have that same kind of optimism about him.”

               “That’s fair,” Rey sighed. “I’ll poke around other ways and see what I can find about kyber crystals.”

               “All right,” Ava grunted as she shifted and tried to get more comfortable when one of the twins jabbed something pointedly into her spleen or bladder, something internal and important. Rey pushed her hands against her knees and stood up.

               “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Rey smiled. “I’m going to go. I have work to do on the Falcon.”

               “See you tomorrow,” Ava smiled and waved her free hand, watching as her apprentice strode out of her quarters. She sighed and leaned forward, reaching for her datapad on the caf table in front of her. The kitchen staff didn’t need her to help cook anymore but she was still in charge of planning the menu and keeping up with the kitchen’s inventory, which she could do easily from the comfort of the couch.

               It’s so easy for you, Ben’s anger shaken voice pushed into her thoughts. Shutting me out. Ignoring what we were. Pretending like I never meant anything to you.

               Oh, for kriff’s sake, Ben, she put the data pad down in her lap.

               Are you happy now? He sneered. Since you got everything you wanted? Does it make you happy, thinking that you hurt me?                    

               Where do you get off thinking you can be angry at me? Ava snapped. After what you put me through? Am I happy? I deserve to be happy! After what you did I couldn’t sleep for months, I couldn’t function, I could barely take care of our son. I barely survived that night and you want to be angry at me for what? Because I made you think I was dead? Because I moved on with my life?

               Did you only ever feel sorry for me? I was just a project for you to try to fix, is that it?

               What are you even talking about? Where is this coming from? Ava knew he was spiraling out of control. Something needed to get off his chest, but he had a habit of grasping at and hurling every insult and accusation he could think of before getting to what was really the matter.

               It was always going to be him, in the end. When you got tired of trying to fix me, you were always going to go running to that pilot.

               I would have followed you to the ends of the galaxy but how could I ever accept what you became?! Ava shot back. I loved you, but you chose darkness over me. Stop playing the victim!

               You were all I had! Ben shouted. You were all I had left, his voice grew heavy, emotion pulling him to a place of vulnerability that she hadn’t seen in him since they were kids. You promised you wouldn’t leave me. You said I was all you had left too. But you left me.

               You left me! Ava swiped at her eyes with her fingertips, brushing away tears, angered by their presence. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him. She didn’t want to be reminded of how much she loved him, how badly he’d hurt her, how she’d wished for months that he’d come home, make things right and help her raise their son. You killed them all and left me for dead.

               I never wanted you dead, he insisted, his voice trembling. She knew then he was crying too, and it made her chest hurt. I had no choice.

               You always have a choice, Ben. Ava wrapped her arms around herself as best she could, working around her massive baby bulge. Even now, you have a choice. You can still come home.

               To what? He scoffed. To watch you and your pilot raising my son? To see Rey with that Storm Trooper reject? To have everyone watching my every move? My mother is gone. There’s nothing for me where you are.

               That’s not true, Ava couldn’t believe what she was saying, but somehow, she knew she meant it. I may not be in love with you, but I still love you. You’re my family. You’re Poe’s family too He laughed bitterly at that. It’s true. He loved you like a brother. He misses the way we used to be. I know he does. And Rey believes in you. She told me what she saw. Luke wants to know you. You don’t have to be alone. I wish you would come home.

               You hate me, he pointed out.

               I hate Kylo Ren, she countered. I hate what’s been done to you and what it turned you into. But that’s not you. Ben Solo is still there, somewhere. I wish he would come home.

               I can’t, Ava. He was resigned and broken, completely defeated.

               Well I can’t save you, Ben, Ava sighed heavily. You have to make the choice yourself. We’ll be here for you if you choose us.

               I still love you. The words came as barely more than a whisper and Ava’s heart broke. She sniffed and ran the back of her hand across her nose.

               I know, she bit her bottom lip. But you have to let me go.

Last Chapter                  Master List               Next Chapter

[pamphletstoinspire]

In the Belly of Lent: Jonah and Us

Story with image:

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/belly-lent-jonah-us-harold-baines/

One of my favorite features on the television show Sesame Street when I was growing up was a game entitled, “One of These Things Is Not Like the Other.” As the song played in the background, we were challenged to find the one object out of the four that was different: an orange, an apple, a pear and a spoon, for example. Tucked in among the apples-and-oranges books of the prophets in the Hebrew Bible is a spoon!

The prophet Jonah is that oddball piece of Scripture. Written several centuries after the latest of the other prophetic books, this little book is short on prophecy but long on a narrative that satirizes a number of sacred cows and provides genuine insight into what following a call from God really means.

From the opening verses of the Book of Jonah it becomes clear that we’re dealing with an unusual hero. In response to God’s call to head out for the city of Nineveh (located at the center of the Assyrian Empire that encompassed parts of Asia Minor and Mesopotamia) and preach a call for repentance to its inhabitants, Jonah jumps aboard the nearest ship and gets moving — but not to Nineveh. He boards a ship heading for a place called Tarshish. While no one is sure exactly where Tarshish was located, the consensus is that it was somewhere along the southwest coast of Spain, the ends of the earth as far as the ancient Mediterranean world was concerned. According to the scriptural text, Jonah was on the lam, running “away from the Lord” (Jonah 1:3).

Your Assignment, Should You Choose…

It’s not hard for me to sympathize with this reluctant prophet. The Assyrians are notorious in the annals of the ancient Middle East because of their power and the atrocities attributed to them during their conquests. Assyrian stone carvings that have been uncovered in modern times proudly display corpses of defeated soldiers that have been decapitated or otherwise mutilated. In the background the ruins of the conquered city can be seen in flames.

How much of this was a form of propaganda designed to intimidate enemies and how much was based on reality is unknown, but as far as Israel was concerned the legend became a nightmare in 721 B.C. The Assyrian invasion of the Jewish homeland in that year resulted in the total obliteration of the 10 northern tribes of Israel, plus a prolonged siege of the city of Jerusalem that would have resulted in the city’s total destruction had the Assyrian army not retreated for unexplained reasons.

By the time the Book of Jonah was written, probably in the fifth century B.C., the now extinct city of Nineveh would have remained a symbol of the greatest abomination to God on the face of the earth in the eyes of the Jews. How could God possibly want to save those people?

Save Who?

Jonah’s flight from God is rooted in the basic human sin of pride, something with which I am all too familiar. Mystified by the ways of God that may seem totally irrational and unfair, Jonah presumes to know better, takes matters into his own hands and leaves God behind — or tries to.

As the psalmist expresses most eloquently in Psalm 139 (“Where can I go from your spirit… if I go up to the heavens you are there”), you can’t outrun God. As Jonah’s ship makes its way through the waters of the Mediterranean, a great storm hits. The captain and crew try everything to keep the ship afloat. Cargo is thrown overboard, prayers to any and all deities are attempted, but nothing works.

Finally, as the very destruction of the ship and loss of all hands seem imminent, Jonah ‘fesses up. As the sailors listen with horror, Jonah informs them that he is in the process of fleeing the God of the Hebrews and that the storm is the manifestation of the divine wrath. There’s an interesting bit of satire at work here, I suspect.

The attitudes of the sailors and, to some extent, Jonah himself, reflect the essence of ancient pagan approaches toward the gods and goddesses. Generally speaking, the various deities of pagan religions were seen as apathetic if not openly hostile to humankind and were to be more feared than respected, and certainly not loved. Crossing a god meant signing your own death warrant.

But we should know better, the author of this book seems to be reminding his Jewish audience. For when Jonah resigns himself to his apparent fate and allows himself to be thrown overboard in an effort to save the rest, this apparent capitulation to the vengeance of the gods becomes something very different. Jonah does not experience divine retribution. Instead, he undergoes the groaning and pain of a rebirth.

It’s a process that begins in the belly of the fish that God sends to swallow him. (That’s an anonymous sea creature, by the way. Never is it referred to as a whale!) The idea of the three days Jonah spent in the belly of the fish as the turning point of his life and the beginning of his true destiny was not lost on the Jewish Christians whose preaching formed the basis of the gospel tradition. You’ll find the comparisons of Jonah’s adventure and the resurrection of Jesus in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke and in Paul’s writings.

Hollywood Climax

What can one do when he or she is in the belly of the fish? In those lucid and transcendent moments of our lives, moments often brought into being during times of trial and struggle, when the vision of another way of living and a closeness with God we didn’t realize was possible just begin to crest over the horizon, all we really can do is what Jonah does: Pray. The bulk of Chapter Two consists of Jonah’s prayer of thanksgiving to God.

In some beautifully scripted verses that mostly incorporate verses from the Psalms, Jonah thanks God for sparing him. Once and for all, he denounces everything in his life which he has allowed to get in the way of hearing God’s call. “Those who worship vain idols/ forsake their source of mercy./But I, with resounding praise,/ will sacrifice to you;/ What I have vowed I will pay:/ deliverance is from the Lord” (Jonah 2:9-10).

Jonah leaves the whale belly (Caption for linked image)

In the context of the time period when this book was written, these words are perhaps the author’s clearest condemnation of the polytheistic practices which continually threatened to swallow up the monotheism of Judaism. Even though our idols are different, the words of Jonah continue to ring true through the centuries.

The true price of our relentless pursuit of money, power and popularity, for example, is to cut ourselves off from the source of our own lives. The way out of the belly of the beast is to acknowledge that only God can get us out.

With this prayer, the reorientation of Jonah’s life is complete. Having placed himself fully in God’s camp, Jonah is now open to being the instrument God intends him to be. Jonah finds himself on the shore — a wonderful image for the beginning of life and of Lent — having been spewed out by the fish.

As Chapter Three begins, Jonah sets off for the huge metropolis of Nineveh. And a miracle happens.

Jonah just begins to preach his warning to the people of the city when everyone, from the king right on down to the most humble peasant, listens and responds. Every person (and animal!) dons sackcloth, an ancient symbol in both Judaism and the early Church of a person who is in the midst of performing a genuine act of repentance. God sees all, and forgives.

From a Jewish point of view, Jonah has marched into the very pit of hell and God’s power has triumphed. Any Broadway or Hollywood production of this story could end right here, complete with a dancing chorus of Assyrians and appropriately joyous music in the background. But real life tends not to be so tidy.

Satirical Anticlimax

As we enter into the fourth and final chapter of the book, the focus shifts back to Jonah and what he thinks of the act of salvation demonstrated before his very eyes, an act he has played an integral part in achieving. Does he fall on his knees in thanksgiving once again? Stand silent and awestruck at the incredible beauty of God’s love? Settle down among the folks he has helped?

Actually, he’s not too happy about things. In exposing the logic behind the unhappiness Jonah expresses to God, the author of this book reaches the height of his skills as a satirist. Probably aimed at his own community’s ultranationalist feelings, the words still speak powerfully to any one of us “good” people who in our hearts have closed off the possibility of redemption for someone or some group.

“This is why I fled at first to Tarshish,” Jonah tells the Almighty. “I knew that you are a gracious and merciful God…” (Jonah 4:2). In other words, Jonah simply could not bear the thought that God might forgive these murderous wretches.

When I read these words, I think about how lukewarm or downright ambivalent my own prayers and actions toward the more “unlikable” members of my own community can be — a difficult student or colleague, for example — and begin to feel the hard edges of the boundary lines I’ve erected within my efforts to forgive without limits as Jesus did. What is most amazing about this insight is that the author is writing about 400 years before Jesus, at a time when a thought such as this would cross the line into heresy. Perhaps it still does.

So Jonah’s journey continues into a new and more difficult stage. It is tough to let go of our own self-centered desires and goals and consciously allow God into the business of daily living. But it is much tougher, I think, when we begin to see that the work God has set us to do is not what we expected it would be, when the results seem hard to find or even appear counter to what we thought holiness and goodness were all about.

The Gospels suggest, for example, a similar experience among the first women and men who followed Jesus. All of the Gospels include stories early in the ministry of Jesus which demonstrate the apostles’ decision to leave their former ways of life and adopt radically new life-styles in following Jesus.

But this initial commitment, important as it is, is merely the first chapter of their faith lives. The deeper understanding and openness to what it really means to be a follower of Jesus come only after their divinely aided struggle through the terrible reality of the crucifixion.

In Jonah’s case, we never learn whether or not his transformation is complete. This may be the most meaningful thought of all we can take away from this book as we each work through our own Lenten journey toward the ultimate celebration of the Resurrection beyond this all-too-limited physical existence.

God hears Jonah out and responds, not with flashing thunder and lightning or celestial visions designed to dazzle and overwhelm, but in a simple way. “Have you reason to be angry?” God asks Jonah (Jonah 4:4). Jonah does not respond.

Teachable Moment

God has sent a sign. As Jonah sits, brooding, on a hill overlooking the city that he helped save, baked in the hot Middle Eastern sun, God sends him a plant with large, shady leaves. For a moment, Jonah is comforted. But then, just as suddenly, God takes the plant away. When Jonah (inevitably) complains, God seizes the “teachable moment.” If you can feel such anguish over the loss of a plant, God says, can’t you find it in your heart to feel something for your fellow human beings?

We leave the reluctant prophet on the hill, bereft of shade and easy answers, pondering the questions God has posed. Struggling to free himself from his reluctance, egocentrism and pride, fundamentally determined to do as God wills but not fully understanding what that means, Jonah stands as a model for every one of us.

In what is perhaps the greatest irony of the story, the least prophetic of all of the prophets emerges as the most human. In the midst of all his ambivalence, Jonah is a most effective instrument of God. His struggle to come to terms with the power and love of God within his limited horizons of being is our struggle — during Lent and during life.

Story written by: James Philipps

[thesummerfox]

so I have actually two prompts to ask (1) something happens to Karen and she ends up in the hospital (2) anything domestically fluffy PS: I'm sorry if this is to much to ask, so if you want to do just one I'm okay with that 😍💖 (but let it be the first one 😂). And thank you sooo much!!💖💖

Thank you for sending this in, oh my goodness! This has been a blast to write -- I decided to opt for 1 and add in sprinkles of 2, how about that? ;) Also, if this prompt is your jam I’ve got one other (older) fic of mine you might like! Though Death Be More Kind fits this bill perfectly, if you haven’t read it yet. ^^As for your prompt... I hope you’ll enjoy this!

Her ears are still ringing.

She winces at the high-pitched whining tone that has wormed its way into her eardrums. Wonders if the quiet in the room around her is setting it off even further, or if she just permanently suffered some damage to her eardrums from that explosion.

The fact that she’s more concerned about damage to her hearing than about the varying cuts and bruises on her body is probably a testament to how good hospital painkillers can be when they work.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” says a voice somewhere to her right as she cracks one eye open and lets out a groan at the harsh light overhead. There’s something familiar about its mellow-toned sound that’s buried deep in her subconscious. She tries to remember what it is by furrowing her brow and attempting to turn her head. Regrets the decision almost immediately when her stomach rolls uncomfortably and bile rises in the back of her throat. The voice sounds concerned about her wellbeing in the next few seconds. “Try not to move too much, okay?”

“M-Micro?” she breathes, finally remembering the name that eluded her before. Croaks out his name and winces at the rough quality of her own voice. Her throat feels like sandpaper. There’s a burn in it that doesn’t subside even after she swallows half a dozen times. She blinks both eyes open now. “W-what?”

“Well, at least your brain still works,” assesses the man. She thinks she detects a sliver of approval in his tone, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “Rather a sticky situation you landed in. Big explosion, too. You got lucky.”

“Don’t remember.”

It’s only half a lie. There are some holes where her knowledge of last night is supposed to be. She remembers chasing a story. Remembers something about an arms deal going horribly wrong. Definitely remembers the explosion. Is a little hazy about the details. Certainly doesn’t recall how she wound up with needles in her arm and bandages wrapped around various body parts. Her head is swimming. Her stomach flips a somersault as she moves her eyes slowly to the right.

“You look ridiculous,” she croaks out when she gets her first good look at the man. “Seriously. Did you get dressed in the dark?”

Micro raises his piercing blue eyes from the bag he’s holding for a second to fix her with a half-smile. His curly hair is tucked haphazardly into an oversized beanie, he is wearing two scarves that clash horribly with one another in colour, and Karen is pretty sure that he is the only person in her life who’ll don a kimono and hoodie at the same time. He looks just a little too much on the side of kooky for anyone to take seriously. She supposes that’s the entirety of why he chooses to dress that way. If there’s one thing she’s learned about the man, it’s that he thrives off being underestimated.

There’s something else that’s bugging her.

“How did you..?” She gestures haphazardly, groaning as even the smallest movement makes her muscles ache in protest. “Hospital?”

“I’m listed as your first emergency contact,” he shares conversationally while throwing half the contents of her bedside table into the bag. She blinks at that. Huh. “I’m your doddering older brother, Dan Page. I do not trust medical professionals and it took one of the nurses five minutes to explain to me that you were not going to die.” He smirks at that. “I swiped her keycard and half a dozen pain medications while she was preoccupied.”

It hurts to smile, but Karen can’t help break out into a small grin at that.

“There you go.” Micro sounds almost relieved to see her smile, brittle and more teeth than feeling though it may be, and he pats her hand reassuringly. “Dan Page is here to bail you out.”

She frowns at that. “Bail me out?”

“Well, you’ve only got a concussion and three broken bones and a whole lot of stitches.” He shrugs as if all he’s done is announce the weather. “Nothing some rest back home can’t fix. I’ve commandeered a wheelchair. You’ll be fine.”

“Jesus,” she mutters, then, catching on to all the things Micro is not saying, “he’s going spare, isn’t he?”

Micro has the grace to wince. “Like one of my kids' fucking wind-up toys,” he affirms. “I have half a mind to knock him out and check if there’s some kind of battery removal function.”

The laugh that bubbles up in her belly has her wincing in pain. White-hot agony shoots through her as the laugh escapes her lungs and stabs the air around her haltingly. She hisses as her throat clamps down on the bile that keeps on threatening to spew forth from her. Micro’s cool hand finds her brow seconds later. She moans in contentment as his hand stays on her feverish skin. Closes her eyes and lets the dark sink back in.

*

Karen Page sometimes wonders when exactly her life got to this point. She thinks even her longstanding bad luck charm for trouble must one day just.. run out. It has to. Keeps thinking that maybe it will as she gets older, but is somehow left dodging bullets and running away from danger more often than she can count.

Not that she’ll be doing any running any time soon.

A whimper escapes her as she inhales a little too noisily and her ribcage beats a steady protest against the motion. Oh, she’s going to kill Micro once she’s able to sit up without wanting to vomit. Vows to do some serious damage to the man so he can find out for himself that half the painkillers he swiped from the hospital don’t work well enough. She moans out a curse as the ceiling finally coalesces into a familiar sight. Doesn’t know what exactly she expected from the word ‘home’, but is pretty certain that a dingy basement that somehow always smells like lightning does not fit that bill completely.

“Hey, hey, don’t move.”

“Please tell me this is your bed and not his,” she groans out in reply, praying that she won’t throw up a third time as she shifts into a more comfortable position. “I don’t trust that Micro knows the meaning of the word clean.”

“Oh, he knows,” comes the answering chuckle, “but he likes upsetting you more. He did think it would be smarter to put you on my bed, though, I’ll give him that.”

“He’s weird.” She wrinkles her nose at that. Resigns herself to the pile of pillows and blankets she’s surrounded by. Tries to smile. Almost falters in her bravery. “Thanks.”

“How’re you holding up?” His voice may be gruff, but the gentle hand on her belly and the even gentler hand that brushes her hair back out of her face speak louder than his words. “Micro said you were pretty out of it when he transported you..”

She snorts derisively. “I puked all over him when he picked me up to put me in the wheelchair. I passed out after that.” Heat rises to her cheeks when she remembers Micro’s soft curses and the icky smell in her hair. “When I came to, again, we were in the van and he was hollering ‘I have a permit!’ at some irate hospital security guard who kept repeating he should not park in the ambulance’s spot.” She grins fully now, despite the fact that her face still throbs with pain. “Micro flipping everybody in the vicinity off was something I didn’t know I needed until I got it.”

It’s this that finally draws out a full laugh from Frank Castle, as she knew it would. “I’m pretty certain that permit just said ‘I can do whatever the hell I want’,” remarks the man good-naturedly as he settles down beside her on the bed. “You still queasy?”

“Less. But still.” She wrinkles her nose again. Wonders why her hair smells like bubblegum. “Did you.. uh..” She hedges the words carefully. Doesn’t want to presume. “Did you wash my hair?”

“Yeah. Micro’s idea. Said it’d make you feel better to wake up with clean hair and stuff.” His hand hovers nervously over the blankets she’s buried under. She raises her head slowly. Meets his furtive gaze head-on. “Are you.. uh..?”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” She smiles, more real this time, and folds her hand around his own. “I’m sorry I made such a mess of things. Didn’t expect it’d go that badly.”

Frank looks like he swallowed a good-sized chunk of lemon. His breathing goes irregular for a moment, as if he is no longer in the room with her but somewhere else entirely. She curls her fingers around his. Weighs him down and waits him out. When he finally does speak, his voice is scratchy. Rough with disuse, as though he’s only ever said these words in his head before. She senses the need that drives them. The worry. The fear.

“Thought you were.. weren’t gonna make it. Thought that night would be it. I’d never get to..” He lets out a shuddering breath. “You.. uh.. you..”

“I scared you.” Her voice is just as soft as his. “I’m here now. I’m okay. That’s what counts.”

It has to count. They both don’t voice the fear that one day they won’t be in the same place. If there’s one thing her life has taught her, it’s that everything is a fleeting series of moments. She just tries to hold on to the good.

Thinks she succeeds at a part of that when he sweeps his legs up on the bed and comes to lay beside her. Knows she succeeds at some of it when she wakes again to soft lips brushing against her brow and the smell of chicken soup wafting into her nostrils.

In these moments, fleeting in her life as they may be, Karen Page thinks she’s going to be just fine.

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

130lb of Ukrainian Courage (pt. 13) - NSFW

“Night Papa, Night Dad.”

Yev murmurs sleepily as Mickey shoos Ian out of the way and closes the door softly behind them.

“Jesus Christ. I thought he was gonna stay awake all night.”

Mickey runs a hand over his face and groans, pinching the bridge of his nose before blinking up at Ian blearily.

“I’m fuckin’ beat, man.”

Ian makes a sympathetic noise at the back of his throat and runs his thumb along the edge of Mickey’s jaw, rasping over the stubble, which is now threatening to become an actual beard.

“You didn’t sleep well at all, did you?”

Mickey is too tired to lie and shakes his head.

“No. The rain was fuckin’ intense and Yev wriggles around like a fuckin’ grub.”

As he speaks his upper lip curls in that long-suffering expression that never fails to amuse Ian, even when he tries not to show it. Tonight though, Ian smiles faintly and nods toward their bedroom.

“Go get into bed, I’ll bring us a couple of beers and we can watch ‘Hard to Kill’.

Mickey’s face brightens instantly. He fucking loves Steven Seagal and ‘Hard to Kill’ is an awesome movie.

“Cool. Not sure I’ll stay awake for the whole thing though.”

“That’s fine.”

Ian kisses his forehead and unexpectedly pats his ass, firmly, the way Mickey likes it, before moving past him down the stairs. He glances over his shoulder and sees his boyfriend smirking at him.

“What?”

“You fuckin’ know what.”

“Thought you were tired?”

Ian raises his eyebrow innocently and Mickey catches his lip between his teeth, tugging it slightly inward and unconsciously adjusting the bulge in his pants.

“Never too tired for that.”

He bobs his head with the shit-eating grin that he knows Ian can’t resist and sure enough a flicker of very genuine desire flits across Ian’s face.

“I’ll be there in a minute, ok?”

Mickey nods, watching Ian disappear down the rest of the stairs. He doesn’t know if Ian is ready yet, Ian probably doesn’t know himself until he tries it, but Mickey isn’t worried. He’ll do whatever Ian wants to do and if they get half-way and have to stop – well so that fuck what? No one ever died of not cumming.

There is more to it than that but Mickey doesn’t want to think too much about that, so he puts on his swagger even though no one is watching and bowls into their room.

*

By the time Ian comes back, Mickey is sprawled out in his boxers, cigarette dangling from his lips, another tucked behind his ear and the opening credits of ‘Hard to Kill’ paused on screen, looking more relaxed than he has in days. Not in Papa mode, not in protective boyfriend mode, just completely himself.

Ian’s eyes roam across his body, the soft muscular flesh of his upper arms, the immaculate tuck of his hips, sturdy legs and broad, neat feet. He wants Mickey with an almost desperate need but doesn’t know if either of them can manage it yet. Ian’s body is still coloured with bruises and welts, he looks ugly and Mickey has seen them but not intimately. It might be seriously off-putting!

Also Ian’s mind is a slippery plane that he isn’t quite certain of. One wrong step in one direction and he is a crying mess, in another direction he is filled with violent rage and he won’t risk taking that out on Mickey.

Ian hands his boyfriend a bottle of beer and as he settles back on the bed beside Mickey, they clink the bottlenecks and both take appreciative swigs.

“Damn.”

Ian laughs and tips his head back, resting it against Mickey’s bare shoulder.

“This feels like the longest fucking two weeks ever.”

Mickey kisses the soft copper of Ian’s hair and nods

“Yeah it fuckin’ does.”

He has the remote in his hand but doesn’t press play, just lets his head gently rest against Ian’s, thumbing the neat rubber buttons. Both of them are simply enjoying being in each other’s company, alone in the quiet of their room.

“It’s been a weird day too.”

“Yeah. Sorry I strangled your brother.”

Mickey doesn’t exactly sound sorry but the thought is there and Ian grins up at him

“Sorry my brother deserved strangling.”

He starts trailing his hand lazily up Mickey’s thigh and back down again. It is a small motion but makes Mickey’s pulse quicken and Ian hears his breath catch as he grunts and slips his hand under Ian’s shirt, not demanding or cajoling, just enjoying the feel of his palm against his boyfriend’s warm belly.

They’re moving slowly, pausing at each familiar touch. Mickey drops the remote onto the comforter and rolls onto his side, pushing Ian’s shirt a little higher, bending to kiss the soft skin of his ribcage, his lips brushing delicately over the discolouration, every now and then raising his gaze to meet Ian’s own.

Ian pulls his shirt off and drops it on the floor. He lifts Mickey’s chin with the edge of his index finger, drawing him upwards and setting his own lips at the base of his lover’s throat. It has been years since Mickey went more than a day without shaving and Ian had forgotten how quickly his facial hair grows, how dark it is and how thick. He dabs his tongue out against the prickly line of Mickey’s jaw making them both smile.

“You like me hairy?”

“I like you however you are.”

Ian mumbles, his erotic explorations softening into a gentle enfolding hug, his face buried in Mickey’s neck.

“God, I love how you smell.”

Ian breathes him in deeply and closes his eyes, contentment playing in the corner of his smile.

They stay like that for a while and then Ian makes a little noise at the back of his throat a question and a command rolled into one. He slides his hand higher up Mickey’s thigh, he wants so badly to please him, to please himself, to take in the familiar comfort of their bed and lose himself in Mickey completely.

All the same, as Mickey’s fingers dip into the waistband of his pants, softly cupping the hot weight of his balls, panic flutters in Ian’s chest. Mickey’s tongue touches Ian’s lip as they kiss, and Ian finds himself turning his cheek away, needing to catch his breath. He sees the outline of an erection straining against his boyfriend’s boxers and Ian shudders involuntarily. It is no more than a small tremor but Mickey freezes and slowly, carefully, removes his hand from Ian’s pants, realising as he does so that Ian’s dick is completely soft.

“You don’t have to …”

“Shut the fuck up and come here...”

Mickey cuts across him, his tone gentle compared to the words he speaks, wrapping his arm around Ian’s shoulders, pulling him in close again. Ian tips his head slightly, looking up at the profile of Mickey’s jaw, fingertips gently stroking the neatly formed chin.

“Mick, I really want to. You know that right?”

Mickey presses his lips together and nods. He is trying not to look bothered but his eyes are worried and Ian hates that he is the cause.

“I’m so sorry, I know you want to get back to normal.”

Mickey smiles and hits play on the DVD remote

“What the fuck is normal around here? It’s South Side, bitch.”

*

As the movie rolls on, Ian mulls over what Lip said. When it comes to his brother, Ian normally has a pretty good idea of where things are coming from and why. Lip doesn’t like Mickey. Never has, probably never will. Ian is fine with that, if anything it’s actually a little bit of a relief because Ian doesn’t really want to be with someone Lip would approve of.

Ian likes that Mickey is his diamond in the rough, he likes that not everyone gets him and that there are so many small, wonderful qualities that Mickey chooses to only share with him. They fit together so well that sometimes Ian forgets where he ends, Mickey begins, and where the seam that has held their souls together for these years even lies. It makes the possibility of Lip actually knowing something about Mickey’s heart that Ian doesn’t seem ridiculous … but not impossible.

Looking discreetly at Mickey now, Ian wonders how to ask the questions he wants to ask. Mickey is normally most open with his feelings after sex, especially rough sex that leaves them both trembling and exhausted. In the moments after that, Mickey can tell Ian anything and everything because he feels safe and it is a fact that Ian holds close to his heart – his love makes Mickey feel safe.

But right now, Ian can’t offer him that. He can’t offer him any of it.

“Mick?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey’s gaze flicks away from Seagal, absently flicking ash from the end of his cigarette into the ashtray beside the bed and Ian takes the plunge

“I want you to know if you’re grieving for your dad, you can tell me.”

“Wha…”

“I just want ...”

They speak simultaneously and Mickey holds up a stilling hand, turning away to extinguish his smoke.

“Hang on.”

The bed jolts as Mickey sits up, grabbing the remote and hitting pause. He looks down at Ian intently, eyes bright despite the shadows beneath them and when he speaks is tone is resigned.

“What the fuck, Ian?”

Ian meets his look with a reluctant stubbornness, pushing forward before Mickey can get more frustrated.

“It’s not about him. It’s about you. You’re loyal, Mick. If you’re grieving, I’m here for you.”

Mickey scrubs a hand over his face and shrugs his shoulders against the headboard. He doesn’t really want to talk to Ian about this but Mickey knows it is part of Ian’s process has always been to talk shit through, even if it crops up in the middle of a fuckin’ kick ass movie. If he isn’t able to do that then he starts free-wheeling inside his head and that is when the crazy shit happens.

“I’m loyal to you, asshole. Not some evil old bastard who never gave a fuck about anyone.”

“I know you are but you always tried so hard to please him! You …”

“Ian, will you stop? Jesus!”

Mickey waves Ian’s words away and frowns. He doesn’t have the energy or the patience tonight.

“I just want to understand, Mickey. Lip said …”

“Oh great! Lip said? Fuck Lip!”

Mickey spits, throwing up his hands and Ian flinches realising too late how stupid bringing Lip into this mix was.

“I know and yeah, fuck him. But he’s right isn’t he? You can’t just be fine after this! I know you Mick…”

“Apparently not as well as fuckin’ Lip…”

Ian looks down at the comforter, that familiar gesture of being hurt and Mickey masters his temper with a conscious effort.

“Listen, Lip doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

“I really just want to make sure you’re OK, Mick.”

Ian looks up, watching Mickey like a puppy that just shit on the rug and expects to be yelled at. Mickey wants to fuckin’ yell at him but just like having an actual puppy, he knows it wouldn’t be fair and it won’t do any good so he draws a breath and nods.

“Alright. Okay, you want to do this? If you think it’s not going to fuck you up or make you crazy then fine but when this is done, it’s fuckin’ done, you hear me?.”

Ian nods and sits up so that they are facing each other properly and Mickey spreads his hands, palm down.

“I’m not sorry the bastard is dead…. But if … if it had been different, if he died in fuckin’ prison or something the way he was supposed to, then …”

Mickey hesitates and Ian grips his hand tightly. Ian knows it is part of Mickey’s process; he needs contact – physical and eye contact to get the words out. Even if he looks away, he needs to know that Ian is there and Ian IS there. He is always there, no matter what.

“ … then I would have sorted a funeral, a fuckin’ decent grave and maybe a wake for his Nazi buddies to come and say goodbye, but it ain’t my fault that didn’t happen. It’s his fault.”

Mickey shakes his head, almost laughing. He’s so tired it feels like he’s slipping into delirium after just a couple of beers and this is rapidly turning into an emotional release that he really didn’t want but actually feels pretty good now it’s happening.

“He wouldn’t fuckin’ get that though. If he was here right now and I laid it out for him, he still wouldn’t fuckin’ get it. He’d call me a faggot and be completely pissed that I fucked it up. He never once in his life thought he might be the fuckin’ problem.”

Ian nods but doesn’t speak, Mickey isn’t really even talking to him anymore, he’s just talking and the slightest interruption will most likely clam him back up.

“And I need to tell Mandy and my brother’s that he’s dead. And I need to lie and tell them that I killed him because they’ll accept it from me but it could cause problems for Svetlana. She ain’t family in that sense. And the truth is that I wish it had been me that pulled the trigger. It should have been me.”

Mickey blinks and nods to himself, then looks at Ian and sighs, curling the back of his fingers against Ian’s cheek and giving him a scrunched little smile. It is the same smile Yev gives the weird cat down the street with one eye that he wants to bring home.

“But I’m not grieving for him, Ian. I’m … I’m fuckin’ grieving for you. For letting you down. For the years I fuckin’ wasted on what that asshole thought. For all of it.”

Ian opens his arms but Mickey is pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and doesn’t notice so Ian moves forward and gathers him into his arms.

“I’m okay Mick, we’re okay.”

“No you’re fuckin’ not and I can’t … I can’t even take you to piss on his grave cause I don’t know where it is!”

Mickey breaks off with a startled laugh, as if he has just heard what he said and isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Ian watches it all play out and feels something deep and primal stir in his chest. The desire to protect mingles with his physical desire for this beautiful man by his side and the oil slick in his mind clears for a blissful moment of clarity.

His lips crash against Mickey’s with a force that ignites a fire in Mickey’s belly long before his mind can catch up. Ian grabs his hips and pushes him backwards into the sheets, covering him with his body.

Ian can smell Mickey’s hair wax, his deodorant, and the fresh tang of beer on his lips. It is so much, almost too much and as Ian pushes down another wave of rising panic, he knows he can’t do it alone.

“Mick, will you help me?”

Mickey understands instinctively. He has asked Ian the same question through almost every step of their relationship, not in words but in lingering looks and mimicked behaviours, following Ian’s sure footsteps and allowing himself to be saved repeatedly by doing so and Ian has never let him down.

Mickey rolls Ian onto his back and kneels over him, arms stretched and fingers locked with Ian’s own, staring down at him with more certainty than he feels, waiting for Ian’s breathing to even out. Ian’s eyes are almost black behind the shadow of Mickey’s arm, obscuring his face from the light but Mickey sees him all the same. He sees him very well.

“I’ve got you.”

He nods and kisses Ian slowly and deeply, drawing him out of himself and reviving the part of his soul that another had tried so hard to break. He lifts Ian’s hand and places it flat on his chest, then guides it down, over his ribs and waist. Ian makes a small whimper at the back of his throat as his knuckles graze the fabric of Mickey’s boxers and then slide up the billowing leg, bumping lightly against his ass. He can feel the unnatural slickness of lubricant beneath his fingers and smiles slightly.

“You actually wanted me tonight?”

“I want you every fuckin’ night.”

Mickey mumbles, kissing along one purple bruised collar bone

“I look disgusting.”

Ian laughs, a fake, strained sound and Mickey eyes him with obvious impatience

“I’ve seen you look disgusting. This ain’t it.”

Ian is momentarily shocked and then his smile widens, becoming genuine.

“Oh? When have I looked worse?”

Mickey pretends to think as he slides back down Ian’s body, taking his time, lightly grazing his nipples with his teeth and nipping the flesh at his hips, drawing his tongue in a wide flat sweep up the length of Ian’s shaft before positioning himself over him.

“There was the time Yev threw up on your head when he was a baby.”

Ian actually laughs and Mickey lowers himself onto the tip of him, muscles quivering with the urge to plunge all the way but forcing himself to keep still.

“The time you played football with your EMT buddies and slipped in dog-shit.”

“How about when the water got shut off last Summer. We didn’t shower for three days.”

Mickey grins remembering exactly WHY that lack of showering facilities became such a problem so quickly and allows himself to take a little more of Ian’s dick, both of them gasping, smiles identical as they relax fully.

“Oh yeah. That was … uh … that was ... fuckin’ nasty.”

“Mick, can you take more?”

Ian’s voice is strangled as his hands press lightly on Mickey’s shoulders and Mickey thinks there can be no sweeter words.

He slides down onto Ian until a sharp ache catches him, reminding him that it has been a few days and if he wants to walk tomorrow, he needs to go slow. Ian rocks his hips experimentally and Mickey’s eyes roll back in his head. He bites his lip hard and moans low in his throat. His face is screwed up in the agony of building ecstasy, a mirror of Ian’s own. Ian taps his thigh and Mickey forces his eyes open with a desperate effort

“You need me to stop?”

It is a testament to his love for Ian that he manages to sound almost casual but his relief when Ian shakes his head is obvious.

“No. Roll over.”

Mickey had been wrong. There are sweeter words.

His ass is throbbing as he climbs off Ian and assumes the position on all fours, he starts on his hands, knowing he will sink to his elbows soon enough and be fucked flat by the end. Mickey normally likes the shock of Ian entering him but tonight he pushes himself back onto Ian’s cock, meeting Ian’s movements as he gets used to the new position. Ian is never normally this hesitant but that’s alright, Mickey is more than ready to go for as long as Ian needs.

Mickey is trying to be quiet, trying to be respectful of Ian’s mood but thick grunts are reverberating up from his chest, turning quickly into deep, vibrating sighs as soon as Ian starts to nudge against his prostate.

Ian watches as Mickey’s arms begin to tremble and he goes down onto his elbows, arching his ass higher, tightening in a whole new way around Ian’s cock.

“Mickey … Mickey ...”

Ian doesn’t have any control over his tongue, his boyfriend’s name is rolling into the air over his sweating back like honey from a warm spoon and Ian knows he won’t last much longer. He reaches under Mickey and finds his dick almost impossibly hard, straining against the mattress.

Mickey makes a high-pitched noise as Ian palms him, his face twisting into a silent scream of pleasure and even his elbows give out, smothering his face in the quilt, the scent of Ian’s side of the bed filling his senses.

"Ian, harder,"

Mickey gasps through a mouthful of cotton as he feels his orgasm coming, pushing himself backwards with an almost desperate scrabble. Ian rocks his hips in a series of sharp, achingly familiar movements and Mickey is done. He hears Ian’s own shuddering gasp from wherever his conscious mind is floating in the vastness of the universe and smiles to himself, releasing the quilt from between his teeth.

*

Ian curls around Mickey’s body, the warm comfort of their closeness mingling with the natural high of his orgasm and he is suddenly overcome with a feeling of being himself. It is a delicate feeling, certainty, and can be snatched away so quickly. But here with Mickey, Ian captures it again. He is certain of so many things that had seemed so broken that is would startle him if he wasn’t also so tired.

“You okay?”

Mickey’s voice is deep and a little slurred with sleep but he manages to kiss Ian’s hand as Ian nods against him

“Good.”

Early summer rain begins to drum against the window panes, changing the quiet of the room to a cocoon of gentle sound.

“Mick?”

“Mmmm?”

“I love you.”

Ian’s words are met with a small, happy sigh and then Mickey is rolling over to face him, cupping his cheek tenderly in one bruised, scarred hand, the tattoos on his knuckles stark against his pale skin, even in the semi-darkness.

“I love you too.”

With Ian awake with him, the hammering rain that kept Mickey from sleep the night before now sounds almost peaceful, washing away the dust of the day from the house, readying it for a new day.

[journalxxx]

Through the Looking Glass

Ford clasped his hands behind his back, trying his best to wait calmly and patiently despite the worrying noises around him. "Uh, Stanley?" "Not done yet." "Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but do you remember what happened the last time we... rearranged the furniture?" "Shush, it's a different thing. Perfectly safe. Don't peek." "And we hadn't even drunk anything..." "Pffft, you call five glasses of whiskey drinking? Ma would be ashamed."

"May I just ask-" A louder thud came from right in front of him, and Ford gave up on arguing. He should have chosen to hold onto his self-respect sooner, instead of accepting to stand around for a good five minutes in the middle of their bedroom, eyes duly shut, waiting for whatever heavy and bulky 'surprise' Stan was apparently dragging all over the boat. There was no stopping Stan's enthusiasm after it exceeded its critical threshold. "Perfect. A few steps back, if you please, and then sit." Stan moved behind him and took both Ford's hands, guiding him backwards as instructed. Ford frowned slightly at that needlessly convoluted procedure, but he complied silently. He sat on something soft, confirming that bed and mattress, at least, were still where they were supposed to be. "All right, you can look." Finally, Ford opened his eyes, and he found himself staring back at his own confused expression. Thankfully, the room was as he'd last seen it, the only difference being a large, full-length mirror standing exactly in its center, facing the bed. Stan had managed to arrange the two of them so that Ford was sitting between his legs, and he shot a wide grin at his brother from behind his back. They made an amusing sight, two elderly men sitting around like playful children, bulky bodies and rough skins shaped by tireless navigation and misadventures, yet elegantly dressed and clean shaven for the first time in months. "...A mirror?" "Brilliant observation, Poindexter. Any thoughts?" Ford bent slightly forwards to take a better look at the new addition. It was very dark and lucid, with a thin yet steady build made of sturdy wood, ebony perhaps. The frame was richly carved with arboreal motifs, shaped like thick roots and solid bark in the lower half and ascending with delicate and lithe branches in its upper side. "It's very elegant. I'm no connoisseur, but it looks expertly made. It's... not the kind of vanity I'd ever expect you to choose for yourself, I'll admit. Especially knowing how you usually favor cheaper alternatives." Stan barked out a laugh. "Yeah, it really isn't my style - which you aren't allowed to criticize, by the way. I've lived in your house for thirty years, Ford. I've found things." Ford cleared his throat in embarassment. "Right, well... I am still slightly puzzled as to why you decided to buy us a new mirror." Stan swatted an invisible speck of dust from Ford's shoulder. "To buy you a new mirror, you mean. It's a gift. I told you the suit was just the beginning." Right, Stan had been in high spirits since the day before, when they had docked, for the first time in months, in some place that wasn't the usual far-off fishing village, but a full-fledged sea-side tourist resort, complete with luxury shops and a casino. That very night, Ford had reluctantly watched Stan dress up and head to the seedy establishment, already resigned to find a solid loss in their budget by the following morning. Instead, his brother had come back with substantial and allegedly legitimate winnings. His good mood had only intensified from there. He had positively conned - Ford couldn't even quite remember how, or with which words - his brother into promising they would go back together to the same establishment the following night, and he had subsequently dragged him out for the afternoon to get him 'cleaned up nice'. Apparently, within that short time span, he had also managed to buy, bring on board and hide God knows where a new piece of furniture without Ford even noticing. "I'm very flattered, but..." Ford turned to look directly as his brother. "Why a mirror?" "Oh, well." Stan smiled, wrapping his arms around Ford's torso and resting his chin on his shoulder, gently nudging his brother to face the mirror again. "I finally got an idea about a present we could both enjoy for once, so I just went for it." "Mh... Interesting. I never took you for the vain type." "Oh, I'm not. But it's nice to know you have some shareable interests beyond equations and unlikely fauna." Stan smiled amiably, smoothed carefully his brother's waistcoat and slid his finger within the tie's knot, starting to loosen it. "So. Why have you never told me you like peeping?" Ford blinked, processing his brother's claim with unusual slowness. "...Excuse me?" "Man, aren't you lovely when you get selectively deaf. I said..." He smirked, and Ford felt him - and saw him - pressing his lips directly against his ear, practically into his ear, sending small shivers down Ford's spine with each whispered sillable, each warm breath, each wet contact with the curved cartilage. "'Why have you never told me you like peeping?'" "I... really have no idea what you're talking about." "How strange." Ford's tie landed at the bottom of the bed and Stan began undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, from top to bottom. "I thought you'd remember the thirty or forty times you stood in front of the bathroom door while I was jerking off." Ford's whole body tensed abruptly, but Stan didn't seem to mind or notice. "I mean, it kind of made sense at first, before we got all upfront and settled about this. There were some weird vibes on the boat at that point, I'll give you that. What I didn't get is why you kept doing it after we talked things through. And you kept doing it for months. Maybe you're still doing it, uh?" Ford's beet red face was as clear of an answer as Stan could possibly need. "Yeah, ok, you're still doing it. Well, at least you seem to be a bit more discreet about it. Can't honestly say I have noticed, lately." Ford was at a complete loss for words, not that he thought there was much to say to justify such behavior. Luckily, Stan wasn't expecting long-winded replies, and he seemed perfectly content with his task of slowly undressing his brother, who had just lost his waistcoat as well. "It is weird, you have to admit that. You could just, I don't know, knock and join the fun, or storm in, tie me to the fittings and take the matter in your own hands - literally, right? But no, you'd rather rub one off on your own without even tipping the showman, like the little self-centered prick you are. Some guys would take it as a personal offense, you know." Ford finally tore his eyes off the mirror and looked straight at his brother, radiating genuine outrage. "I do not do that." "Do what?" "I don't-" Ford sighed, turning back to face their reflections again. It didn't really make talking any easier. "I don't peep through keyholes, for heaven's sake. I'm not that far gone. Nor do I act upon it. I just... listen, mostly. Not that there's much to hear, but... well..." Stan hummed, massaging Ford's torso through his shirt. His fingers alternatively straightened and creased the light fabric with leisurely strokes, letting it both bunch up and stretch on the soft expanse of his brother's belly. "You listen. And that's all. God, you're such a dork. That sounds... slightly hot at best, and very frustrating." "That's because you're making a huge deal out of nothing. I just... find the knowledge of what you're doing in there... a bit distracting. That's all, really. And I assume that if you aren't seeking me out, you'd rather have some privacy for once, so I keep to myself." "And your idea of respecting my privacy involves eavesdropping on me and patrolling the corridor while I'm trying to have a good time?" Ford let out a defeated sigh, accepting the jab fairly. He didn't have a shred of a valid argument to counter his brother, that much was obvious. In fact, he could count himself lucky that Stan was completely nonplussed and amused by the whole thing, at least judging by the steady progress he was making with Ford's undressing. He had just moved to the top buttons of his shirt, and he was taking his sweet time with each one of them, rolling the tiny round buttons in his fingers a few times before slipping them through their eyelets. Saying that the motions were suggestive would be an understatement. "All right. Let's pretend this unbelievably prudish behavior of yours doesn't underwhelm me. How about your questionable fascination for my seduction attempts? With strangers, I mean." There went the second can of worms. Ford closed his eyes for a moment, genuinely missing those blessed old times when his brother used to find him intimidating. "And here I thought you'd appreciate my liberality in letting you hit on whoever you liked for the evening." "Only to lock onto me and find any random excuse to drag me away the very second anyone starts flirting back? Mighty generous of you." "Is this about what happened earlier?" "Also. I didn't even manage to catch the name of that charming estate agent I was-" "And the loud, young heiress. And the blackjack dealer. At once. I am only human, Stanley." "Yeah, yeah. The point is that you know I wouldn't mind holding off from doing that, now that I'm taken. But you've specifically told me you have no problem with that. You've encouraged me to keep doing it, even. And I don't think you're lying. I don't think you're saying that out of sheer open-mindedness, either." Buttons finally undone, Ford's shirt fluttered open, revealing the bare skin beneath. Stan's hands dipped under the fabric, deftly seeking and tickling those tender spots that invariably made Ford's muscles twitch automatically. He was staring at Ford with a certain intensity that made something squirm in his brother's stomach. "And your point is?" "My point is: have you ever considered that, with the proper arrangements, you may get to see more than some cheesy pick-up lines and a couple of ass squeezes?" Ford slightly lowered his gaze on the mirror, temporarily relinquishing his brother's eyes to focus back on his hands. His callous fingertips were running along the lines of Ford's ribs, leaving a slightly itchy and pleasantly lingering sensation in their wake. His touch had a certain assertive presence, pressing hard enough to leave a lighter trail on Ford's flesh for a second, before it returned to its usual tone. Briefly, very briefly, Ford tried to imagine Stan's hands giving the same ministrations to someone else, some faceless, charmless passerby who would share with Ford nothing but the same questionable interest. The mere idea was enough to make Ford's gut constrict in the most unpleasant way. "Honestly" Ford swallowed thickly, resting his hand on his brother's thigh and squeezing it gently, "I can't say that the idea appeals to me." "Mmh. Figured as much, but I thought there would be no harm in asking." Stan smirked, leaning back slightly to peel the shirt off Ford's body and throw it in the growing heap on the opposite side of the bed. He hugged his brother again, laying a kiss on his neck. "We'll see." Stan's hands took to roam around Ford's chest with wide, languid movements. His fingers carded and tangled through his hair leisurely, pulling just enough to give him a slight sting, then relenting and taking off in a different direction. Warm kisses peppered Ford's neck and shoulder, quickly divesting him of the lingering discomfort of that bizarre conversation. Unexpectedly, Ford found himself oddly compelled to keep looking at the mirror throughout all of it. It was nothing they hadn't already done a hundred times already, but the new perspective offered by the reflection made it feel somewhat different. The soft, delicate feeling of his brother's hands and lips on him, coupled with the unhindered sight of the very same actions, had a positively mesmerizing effect. He focussed on one detail at a time, savoring each nuance of each gesture. The odd contrast between the round fullness of his brother's lips and their chapped surface. The fond intent of his expression as he savored the taste of Ford's skin, inch by inch. The tiny wrinkles and scars on his knuckles. The pliable elasticity of his own skin, molded by Stan's measured caresses. He let out a deeper breath when Stan pinched both his nipples, and he felt - saw - his own cheeks redden slightly at how quickly they hardened under his brother's touch. Stan chuckled, and their eyes met on the clear surface. Only then Ford felt the magnetic fascination of the object wane slightly, and he finally turned his head just enough to kiss his brother fully. He was sweet like whiskey, and salty like skin, and still the most delicious thing Ford had ever had the pleasure of tasting. Ford sucked at his lower lip, and inhaled his breath, and licked his tongue, and it wasn't nearly enough. He moved to face him fully, but a hand on his arm stopped him and nudged him forwards again, while another swiftly slid down his stomach, past his navel, beneath the hem of his trousers. There was something new to see on the mirror. Stan's hand created a big, squirming bulge in Ford's groin, almost comically so. It re-emerged for a moment to pull down the unnecessary garments, and Ford gulped embrassingly loudly as Stan purposefully let his brother's growing cock literally spring out from underneath. He didn't even have the decency to get on with it immediately, the bastard. He stroke the surrounding hair first, scratching and teasing the thick curls all over Ford's crotch, while his neglected erection gradually grew higher, one tiny twitch after another. Yet, Ford did not complain. He was too fascinated by the entrancing sight. The closest he got to voicing his disappointment was when Stan's hand dipped lower still to grab and squeeze his sack, which, due to an unfortunate combination of bunched up trousers and a bad angle, wasn't quite visible. And that felt surprisingly frustrating. But Stan seemed to guess the problem and quickly, mercifully moved on to wrap his hand fully around Ford's length. Ford let out an involuntary gasp as his thumb, only his thumb, moved, barely scraping along a particularly evident vein along the whole length. "God, you're gorgeous." Stan's husky tone caught Ford's attention again, and his eyes darted up to their faces. Ford had often been surprised by his brother's perceptiveness during their intimate moments, by how easily he seemed to gauge Ford's interest and mood at any given time. Seeing his own expression in that circumstance for the first time, Ford had to admit that it may have been less of a feat than he was imagining. His flustered look, tinged cheeks and slightly parted lips left little to the imagination. Stan was drinking in the sight with evident rapture and Ford suddenly felt nothing short of debauched, despite realizing that he wasn't objectively more exposed than during any of their previous encounters. He swiftly reached up and snatched Stan's glasses away, leaving his brother blinking in confusion for a moment before he let out a short laugh. "Dick." With the glasses out of the way, Stan's next onslaught of kisses, nibbles and bites became even more energetic. Ford let out a small moan at the feeling of his brother's tongue roaming freely all over his neck, of his breath tickling his skin delightfully. He tried to turn again to return the kisses, but Stan's free hand grabbed his chin and held it firmly towards the mirror, towards the captivating view he had peevishly denied him. At the same time, the hand on his cock started stroking him in earnest, with slow and tight pulls that left Ford positively gasping. His eyes were glued to the mirror, to the engrossing sight of Stan's fingers tracing his jaw back and forth, then dipping lower along his neck to press softly in the hollow of his throat, along the tense tendon on the side, on the quivering spot of his pulse. He observed the small telltales of his own increasing pleasure, the small twinges of his abs, the uneven heaving of his chest, the imperceptible thrusts of his hips. He did not blink for so long that his eyes started to burn slightly, until his vision wavered, for no more than a split second, when it suddenly was too much. He let out a harsh pant and grabbed Stan's thighs instinctively as whiteness burst from his tip, messily splattering the floor, coating his brother's fingers with thick dribbles that spread all over Ford's length when Stan kept stroking him seamlessly. He finally closed his eyes then, and he let his head fall backwards on his brother's shoulder while he caught his breath, waiting for the waves of pleasure and excitement to subside. A few minutes passed, only marked by the occasional pecks Stan was still laying on Ford's cheeks. When he finally opened his eyes, Ford was greeted by a shamelessly proud smirk. "You still haven't told me if you liked your gift or not." "...I think it's starting to grow on me." They kissed once more, deeply. Stan wrapped his arms around his twin again and held him close, bringing his own warm appreciation to Ford's attention by shamelessly thrusting his hips against the other's lower back. Ford smiled against Stan's lips, idly smoothing the lapels of his brother's jacket. "How come you're still fully clothed?" "Because you're a selfish douche. How about you give me back my glasses and put up a nice show for the audience?" As an answer, Ford placed a hand flat against his chest and pushed him down on his back. He clambered onto him with deliberate slowness, straddling his hips and bending down to wipe that smug expression off his twin's face in his own way. "Maybe next time."

[isolavirtuosa]

Starting Over (For Real?) 45-46

[fanfiction] NaruSasu

Read the previous parts here.

- 45 -

  Naruto was in bed, staring at the wall.

I’d just finished blow drying my hair, and when I came back to our bedroom, there he was.

I didn’t know what to do for him.

I put my clothes in the hamper, and got into bed next to him.

He didn’t move.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn’t know what to say.  So I thought about what Naruto would do instead.  I inched closer to him, settling my arm around his waist.

He startled at the touch but then sank back into me.

I kissed his cheek, then rested my forehead against the back of his head.

“Sorry, love,” he said quietly, resting his hand over mine.

“Why?” I asked.

“I know you’re hurting, too.”

I rolled my eyes.  “I’m fine.”

His grip tightened on my hand.  “You can’t do that anymore.”

“Do what…?”

“Lie to me.”

I got irritated at that, pulling my hand away.  “So now I’m a liar.”

He sighed.  “Well, isn’t that what you call someone who doesn’t tell you the truth?”

“Fuck you,” I muttered, moving to get out of bed.

Naruto finally left the comfort of the wall, his fingers wrapping around my arm, keeping me there.  “Sorry, maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words.”

I glared at him, not pulling away, but ready to.

“Sasuke,” he said, sad and tired.

“So what’s a better choice of words?” I asked irritably.

He started chewing on his bottom lip.  “I dunno.  You’re just so… you always act like everything is okay when it’s not.  You try and bury all your emotions and never acknowledge them and-”

“That’s how normal people are, Naruto,” I interrupted him.  “They don’t talk about every thought and feeling that they’ve ever had.  They don’t carry on-”

“It’s not carrying on, Jesus, Sasuke,” he said, dropping his hand from my arm and running his fingers through his hair.  “It’s hard for me, too, you know.  To say how I’m feeling.  To not just cover it up with a smile and stupid joke.  I’m… destroyed right now.  Do you get that?  Do you understand that Baachan is… and Gaara… they’re both gone.  They’re gone.  They’re...” he trailed off, closing his eyes tightly.

Naruto had actually lost something.  Something irreplaceable.  I didn’t have time to feel stupid and hurt and betrayed about being tricked by a fake mizukage Karin for months.

“I wish I could bring them back for you,” I said quietly, which was a stupid thing to say.  But I did.  Anything to take away the pain that was radiating off of him.

He didn’t open his eyes, just leaned his head in until it hit my shoulder.

I patted his back, trying not to be awkward.

“Well, you got your revolution,” he said, then laughed quietly.  It sounded a little hysterical.

I swallowed.  A little warning bell was ringing in the back of my head.  All of the kages are dead, Naruto is yours, and you’re basically a god.  Isn’t this the world you always wanted?  “This isn’t what I wanted,” I whispered into his hair, kissing his temple.

He shifted, wrapping his arms around me.

I hesitated, then hugged him, rubbing his back with my good hand.

He sighed, nudging his head under my chin.

It felt easy all of the sudden.

We fell asleep spooned up together.

Naruto woke up before me, and he had a cup of coffee waiting when I dragged myself to the kitchen.

“Thank you,” I said, kissing his cheek as I took the handle from his hand.

He gave me this smile that was grim around the edges.  He didn’t say much of anything, but after having his whole world turned upside down, it didn’t seem so strange.

He didn’t say much of anything for the rest of the week.

We were soon gathered for a debriefing in the kazekage’s office.  The Council was there, ready to install new leadership.

“We’re ready to choose the next kazekage.”

Naruto finally spoke.

I had to have Sai help me take him out of the room after his, “Gaara isn’t dead!” outburst, and we were followed by Temari and Kankurou.

“There has to be a way to save them!” Naruto cried, flailing around like a crazy person.

I’d thought he’d given up on the kages, and it felt strange to suddenly see Naruto… acting like Naruto again.  The solemn resignation was gone, and now he was pure adrenaline and passion.

“We’re getting them back!” he snapped, stomping out of the building.

Temari and Kankurou looked at one another.  They nodded, then turned and followed him.

Sakura was in the temporary lab that Suna had been putting her up in.  She had on a lab coat and goggles, but was just sitting on the floor staring into space.

“Fire up your beakers or whatever, we’re finding a cure,” Naruto informed her.

“I’ve been trying for months…” Sakura mumbled despondently.

“Yeah, with one of them in here sabotaging every move that you made,” he said, turning on one of said beakers.

“It’s over,” Sakura said, shaking her head.

“The fake Karin wouldn’t have been here if they weren’t worried that you’d figure something out!”

“Uzumaki is making sense,” Sai commented.

“There’s nothing!” Sakura cried.  “I’ve tried everything!  There’s… what the hell are you doing, idiot?!” she yelled, leaping to her feet and quickly turning off the beaker that Naruto had lit.  “This is a very volatile solution!”

“Well then why did you just leave it over a flame?!” Naruto protested.

“Because I didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to just come in here and turn on the burner at full blast!” she snapped.

Naruto grinned at her, not even the slightest bit abashed.

Sakura blinked slowly, something changing in her expression.  I could see her eyes coming back to life.  “Dummy.”

Naruto rubbed the back of his neck, his smile widening.

“So what’s the plan?” she asked him.

“I have no idea,” he said, laughing.

“Then what are you coming in here and getting everyone all fired up for?”

“We’ll go to Orochimaru,” I said.

All eyes flicked to me.

“Karin… the mizukage told us not to go to him,” I pointed out.  “And yet he’s one of the foremost researchers in the world.”

“Uh, yeah, but like immoral research,” Ino put in.

“Okay, you’re in charge of Orochimaru,” Naruto said.

I looked at him, masking my surprise.

“I trust you,” he said.  “I think we need to find that crazy powerful farmer guy, too.”

“Kamenosuke,” Temari said.  “We’ve been tracking him.  He’s in the Land of Water.”

“Can I leave him to you?”

“I think I should stay here and keep an eye on the Council,” Temari said, shaking her head.  “Kankurou will go.”

Kankurou nodded.  “I’ll put together a team.”

“Okay,” Naruto said, climbing up onto one of the tables and standing up.

I suddenly realized that the room had completely filled up.

“What’s next?” Naruto asked, addressing the crowd.

I looked around the room.  The thing that struck me was that these were all ninjas from our generation, and they were all looking to Naruto to lead us.

Kakashi popped in, making himself the oldest ninja in the room.  “I need someone to make a magazine run.  All the best dirty magazines are published in Konoha, and they’ve stopped exporting due to the war and the famine,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

“Okay, so you’re in charge of checking up on Hyuuga,” Naruto said, waving him off.  “I think we need teams going into Water and Lightning to figure out the source of the fake God Trees.”

People were stepping forward, volunteering for missions.  They were offering ideas.

It suddenly seemed so obvious to me.

I would never be able to right all the wrongs that the hidden villages had committed, but it didn’t matter.  The way of thinking that had perpetuated those atrocities and genocides for so long were about to be replaced.

Our apartment became the new meeting hub.  Ninjas were constantly coming in and out, working with Naruto to determine the parameters of their missions.

The Council and the ANBU loyal to them lurked in the shadows, but they didn’t dare make a move against us.  For the moment, we all co-existed in Suna, the old guard and the new.

We all knew it wouldn’t last.

“We need to find somewhere neutral to establish a base,” Sai pointed out.

“Somewhere outside of the Five Great Countries,” I agreed.

Naruto consulted the map, shaking his head.

“How about the Land of Iron?” I suggested.

“Are you trying to start a war with the samurai?” Sakura asked, rolling her eyes.

“Maybe,” I said with a shrug.  I really fucking hated samurai.

“Love, we don’t need your bigoted vendettas right now,” Naruto said.

“Land of Sound,” Sai put in.

“Too tainted,” Naruto said, shaking his head.  “We want to start somewhere fresh.”

“How about Frost?” Sakura suggested.

“Too cold,” Sai said, pointing to his belly shirt.

“Then buy a whole shirt!” she cried irritatedly.

“Land of Hot Water?” I said.

“Oh,” Sakura said.  “That actually sounds pretty good.”

“Hm,” Sai murmured thoughtfully.  “Hot springs everywhere…”

“We can check it out,” Naruto said.  “We don’t wanna interfere with their hidden village, but… yeah…”

“They probably wouldn’t appreciate our military presence,” I pointed out.  The Yu ninjas were a bunch of pussies.

“But they also couldn’t stop us from coming,” Sai said cheerfully.

The two of us cracked up.

“I don’t even want to know what you two sociopaths are laughing about,” Sakura said with a sigh.

“But it’s funny because we’re promoting peace by using force to achieve it,” Sai explained between chortles.

“Hilarious,” Sakura said with a sigh.  “Well, I want to move my lab as soon as possible.  There are ANBU following me constantly, and I’m afraid they want to get their hands on the chakra fruit.”

“Pack everything you need tonight,” Sai said.

“Are we going somewhere?” Naruto asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Let’s go to Sound,” he said.  “There’s rumors that Orochimaru’s there.”

“Bring the very valuable chakra fruit right to that sicko’s front door?” Sakura grumbled.

“It’s Orochimaru,” I said.  “I’m sure he has his own to experiment on.  But my team is still recovering…”

“Best Friend, we are your team,” Sai informed me.

“Taka knows Orochimaru,” I said, shaking my head.  “The four of us have the best shot of getting anything out of him.”

“I don’t think we have the time to wait for them to recover,” Naruto said, shaking his head.  “They’ve been in that tree for months.  The amount of physical and chakra therapy that they need…”

I thought about it.  “Am I taking you three, then?”

“Team Seven, together again!” Naruto declared happily.

“Does that mean I’m invited?” Kakashi asked, appearing behind us.

“No,” we all said flatly.

“But I can get you all to Sound in the blink of an eye,” he said cheerfully.

“Yeah, and then be exhausted and worthless,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Hey, you don’t need energy or chakra to be eye candy,” he said.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Konoha?” Naruto asked, squinting at him.

“Yeah, about that… they didn’t really like me being there.  I got some great nudie mags as souvenirs for you all, though,” he declared, holding up a magazine splashed with busty women.

“I’m gay,” I said flatly.

“I might be gay,” Sai added.

“I am definitely not gay,” Sakura said.

“I’ll take them,” Naruto said, scooping them away from Kakashi.

“Excuse you,” I said.

“What’s wrong with looking?” he asked with a shrug.

“Oh, if you put it that way, it seems educational,” Sai said, taking one of the magazines from him.  “You know, I think I might actually like looking at this.  Am I straight?”

“No one cares, Sai,” I said, frustrated by the insane people I was surrounded with.  “And you, why are you promoting delinquency in minors?”

“How old are you again?” Kakashi asked, squinting at us.  “I swear you were all thirty-seven.”

“You’re not even thirty-seven,” Sakura growled.  “Why are you like this?  Behave like an adult for once.”

“I’m definitely behaving like an adult,” he said, happily flipping through one of his magazines.

“This is sexual harassment!” Sakura yelled, grabbing it from him and throwing it out the window.

“A very lucky person is going to walk by this apartment,” Kakashi commented.  “See you tonight!”

“Did we agree to any sort of plan?” Sai asked as we all watched Kakashi disappear.

“Is he okay?” Sakura muttered.  “He’s gotten ridiculously pervy lately.”

“I need to debrief him about his mission,” Naruto said, getting up and moving towards the door.  “We’ll all meet back here tonight.”

“Okey dokey, boss!” Sai said.

The door closed behind Naruto.

“Are we really going to Sound?” Sakura asked, a wrinkle forming between her brows.

“Yeah, I think we are,” I said.  “And I don’t think we can come back here.”

Sakura sighed.  “I’m going to miss real food.”

“Sure, but can you even wait to be eating rations and living on the land again?!” Sai asked excitedly.

“I can’t even with you,” Sakura said, shaking her head.  She stood up and headed towards the door.  “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Later, skater,” Sai said as the door closed behind her.

“No,” I said.

“Come on, it’s what the cool kids are saying,” Sai protested.

“What cool kids do you even know?” I asked.

“I’m a master spy, Uchiha,” he scoffed at me.  “It’s literally my job to observe.”

“And you’ve been observing the cool kids?”

“That I have,” he said.  “The Academy has a treasure trove of brats with an over-inflated sense of self worth that makes them the right balance of sociopath and cool.”

“And the best you got from them was ‘later, skater’?”

“Oh, just you wait and see what I’ve got in store for you.”

“Oh, god…” I muttered, and then the room exploded.

 - 46 -

  “Sai?” I called, pulling myself out of the rubble.  Dust filled the air, making it impossible to see.  I started coughing as the dust settled in my lungs.  I ripped the sleeve from my shirt and tied it around my face.

“Up here!” Sai announced cheerfully.

I looked up at the ceiling, making out a vague shadow stuck to it.  There was also a giant hole in Naruto’s living room, leading to the outside.  “I don’t sense anyone.”

“They attacked and fled,” Sai said, dropping down beside me.  “I think it was just a warning.”

“Who was it?” I growled, brushing the dust out of my hair.

“Not Suna,” Sai said shaking his head.  “Didn’t feel like Konoha, either.  Maybe Kiri or Kumo.”

“Go find Sakura,” I said.

“On it.”

I grabbed everything we would need from the room, and then I was off to find Naruto.

Apparently our apartment wasn’t the only place that was attacked.  Smoke was rising up into the skyline all throughout Suna.

Naruto found me before I found him, flying around like an unhinged ball of golden light.  “You’re okay!”

“Of course I’m okay,” I said, rolling my eyes and refusing to show the same excitement at the sight of him unharmed.  “Where’s the pervert?”

“Right behind you,” Kakashi announced.

“Sai’s getting Sakura, and then we go,” I said flatly.

I expected Naruto to protest, but he nodded.

“So you don’t care at all that we’ve just been attacked?” Kakashi hummed.

“It has nothing to do with us,” I ground out, though it probably had a lot to do with us, and actually I was starting to get quite pissed.

“If you say so,” Kakashi said.

We moved towards Sakura’s lab.  The closer we got, the more obvious it was that it had also been attacked.

“Naruto!” a Suna ninja called, coming up behind us.  “What’s happening?”

We were suddenly surrounded by group of concerned jounin.

It was so ridiculous that high-ranking ninja would ask Naruto what was going on in this situation, but somehow he’d become the leader of Suna.

He started directing them, which was also ridiculous, because he didn’t know anything about what was going on.

As soon as the first group of ninjas was off, another group came.

“Leave him,” I grumbled, heading towards the lab without Naruto as Kakashi followed.

Of course Sakura was inside the burning lab, trying to salvage some of her research while Sai put out fires.

“It’s not important,” I said, trying to get her to leave.

“Of course it is!” she snapped.

“It’s all inside your giant brain,” I said, rolling my eyes.  “If you’ve got the chakra fruit, then let’s go while we still can.  Naruto’s already getting sucked into all this ridiculousness.”

“We were attacked,” Sakura said angrily.  “My research, my…  Who would do this?!”

“It’s the same old ninja politics bullshit!” I snapped.  “It doesn’t matter.  Whoever hates us today will be teaming up with us against whoever we both hate tomorrow.”

“I can’t just…” Sakura trailed off.

“I’m going then,” I said irritably.

“Sasuke,” Sai said, giving me a worried look.

“Orochimaru won’t talk to you anyway,” I said.  “It’s better if I go alone.”

“Just wait a minute,” Sakura growled.  “Drama queen much?  I need to get a few more things, and then we’ll go.”

“I think Sasuke’s practicing his denial,” Kakashi stage-whispered to her.

“And what am I in denial about?”

“The fact that you want revenge when someone so much as folds your sheets wrong?” he suggested.

“He just wadded them up!  They were completely wrinkled!” I cried, the memory immediately clear in my mind of Naruto opening the drawer to show me where he’d stored our sheets.

“So someone just blew a hole in your house, and you’re completely zen about it, but if Naruto makes your sheets wrinkly you put laxatives in his coffee?”

“No one ever proved that was me,” I muttered, but of course it was me, because I was a petty, petty bitch.

All of the fires were finally out, but the smoke in the air was heavy and we really didn’t need to be in there breathing it all in.  I stomped back outside, trying to clear my lungs out.

“Mommy!” a little boy cried, running up the street.

I ignored him and thought about taking up smoking again.  It would give me something to do instead of standing on the street like an idiot.

“Mommy!  Where are you?!” the little boy cried, running by me again.  He looked about four years old, so he must have been a baby when he got sucking into the God Tree.

I imagined myself pulling out a pack of cigarettes and shaking one out, placing it between my lips.  That was definitely the image I wanted to cultivate for myself.

But then there was the smell and the yellow teeth.

“Did you see my mommy?” the boy asked, tugging on my pant leg.

I looked at him.  “Kid, I don’t know your mother.”

He sniffed loudly.  “Can you help me find her?”

What about me gave off an aura saying, ‘please ask me for help?’  I definitely needed to take up smoking.  “Where did you see her last?”

“At the store,” he said, wibbling his lower lip at me.  “She was buyin’ vegetables and stuff and it was boring and then there was a big noise, so I tried to find where it came from.”

I looked at the charred lab.  “Have you thought about… going back to the store?” I suggested.

“I don’t know where it is!” he cried, suddenly going into hysterics.

“Come on then,” I said with a sigh.  I knew there was a grocery store the next street over.

The boy nodded with his big teary eyes and grabbed my hand.

I looked at it distastefully, then walked him back to the store.

His mother was outside, talking in a panic to a jounin.

“Mommy!” the boy cried, letting go of my hand and racing towards her.

“Baby!” she cried, swooping him up in her arms.

“Aw, you did that,” Kakashi cooed from next to my ear.  “Uniting families.”

I cringed.  “Let’s go already.”

“What’s the hurry?”

“The hurry is I’m tired of this bullshit village,” I muttered.

“You keep saying that,” he hummed.  “Seems like it’s something a little deeper.  Maybe a little fear perhaps?”

“A fear of what,” I said flatly.

Kakashi shrugged noncommittally.

“Did Sakura and Sai die in the fire?” I grumbled.

“Sakura and Sai are right here!” Sai announced cheerfully from down the street.

I looked at Sakura, carrying towering boxes of files.  “Did you bring the entire fucking lab?”

“Do you want me to just throw away all this research?” she snipped at me.

“Maybe he does,” Kakashi put in, smiling all the while.

“You need to cut out that passive aggressive bullshit,” I informed him.

All three of them laughed at me.

When the hell did I become the butt of everyone’s jokes?

“Oh, wow, Best Friend, you are so mad right now,” Sai said, slapping me on the back.  “Just because we all know how passive aggressive you are.”

“How am I passive aggressive?” I ground out.

That made them laugh more.

I walked away.

It wasn’t hard to find Naruto.  He was in the kazekage’s office, which for some reason had not been attacked, and was taking reports and giving out missions with Temari.  The Council hadn’t been able to choose a new kazekage what with most of the ninjas in rebellion against them, and apparently that meant that Naruto was the de facto leader of Suna now.

“Naruto.”

He looked up from the meeting he was in the middle of.  “Hey, love, what’s up?”, which showed how stressed out he was, because he knew that calling me pet names in public never went well for him.

“I’m leaving,” I explained flatly.

“You just got here…?”

“I’m going to Sound,” I elaborated.  “Now.”

“Sas’, come on, you can’t go now,” he said, gesturing around him.  “It’s chaos here.”

“It’s not my problem.”

“The marital squabble is real cute and all, but we have work to do,” Temari interrupted us.

Naruto looked conflicted, his eyes flicking between Temari and me.

“Someone from Suna let those ninjas through the gates,” I spoke slowly, enunciating each word.  “Someone more than likely working for the Council, seeing as how the only sites I’ve seen that were attacked were all places tied to the resistance.”

“You don’t know that,” Naruto protested.

“I’m with Uchiha on this one,” Temari said.

Naruto gave her a scandalized look.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the Council hired them to come in and do this,” Temari continued.  “They were probably non-ninjas from Water, acting on the orders of the daimyo to get us to stop poking around in their business, and the Council welcomed them with open arms because the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Why are you two like this?” Naruto asked, aghast.  “Why can’t you think good thoughts?”

“You’re not that naive,” I said, shaking my head.

“Well maybe I’ve decided to be,” he said.  “Maybe not everything is a giant conspiracy.”

“It’s usually a giant conspiracy,” Temari confirmed.

Naruto sighed loudly.  “Fine.  Okay.  It usually is.  But before jumping to conclusions, let’s look at all the facts, yeah?  Let’s make sure.  Let’s know who exactly was involved and who wasn’t involved, and let’s not condemn an entire group of people based on the actions of a few.”

Temari and I both stared at him.

He flashed us a tired, 40-year-old man smile.

“Damn, Uzumaki, did you just read your boyfriend?” Temari asked, looking impressed.

“What part of me was read?” I muttered.  It wasn’t like condemning an entire clan for the rebellion of some had anything to do with me personally.  I had survived that condemning.

“Look, whoever did this is going to be held responsible,” Naruto continued, like he hadn’t just obliterated me.  “No one died, but people were hurt, and this kind of thing isn’t going to fly on my watch.”

“You’re staying here,” I said, frowning at him.

“Just until everything gets figured out.”

“Naruto.”

Our eyes finally met.

“I’m going to leave you two to your drama,” Temari said, stepping out.

“Are we having drama?” Naruto asked me, eyes going full puppy dog.

“No,” I said.  “I just…”

He waited.

“I would rather you come with me to Sound.”

“I know, and I’ll meet you there.”

“You don’t know when that will be.”

“We don’t really know much of anything right now,” he said with a shrug.  “We don’t even know if Orochimaru is still in Sound.  We don’t know what you’ll find there.”

Which was why he should be with me to find out.  “Fine,” I said.  “See you when I see you.”

Naruto smiled at that.  “You’re getting to be very codependent.”

“I think you’re confusing me with you.”

“I’ll come as soon as I can,” he said, pulling me in closer and suddenly pouring his chakra into me.

I gasped, startled, then closed my eyes, resting my forehead against his.

“Be careful, and don’t murder anyone unnecessarily,” he concluded, kissing my forehead.

I opened my eyes, knowing that they were glowing with a golden light.  “And you don’t get killed by a disgruntled civil servant.”

“Like any of those geezers could take me,” he said.

“They could hire the superpowered farmer who blows people up with his finger as an assassin,” I pointed out, pushing away from him.  “I’m leaving now.  Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll do my best,” he assured me.

I wasn’t in the mood for a further scene, so I attempted to walk out the door.  A light tug at the back of my shirt stopped me.

“Really and truly be careful,” he said, leaning his forehead into the back of my neck.  I felt the press of his horns.

“Of course,” I said, hoping it didn’t sound sarcastic.  I didn’t mean for it to sound sarcastic.  Probably.

“Love you, Sasuke.”

“Me, too,” I said, because that was sufficient.

There probably would have been more nonsense, but then Temari came back in, irritated about damaged incandescent lights.

“Later,” I said, breezing out the door and leaving them to it.

Sai and Kakashi were at Sakura’s, having tea.

“It’s nice that the attack didn’t damage any of the other apartments,” Sai commented, sipping his tea.

“So nice,” I said.  “Who cares, we’re leaving anyway.”

“You never know when we’ll be back,” Sai said with a shrug.  “One day we’re enemies, the next day we’re friends.”

“So Naruto isn’t coming?” Kakashi asked, hovering his teacup in front of his mouth with his mask still covering his face.

“He’ll meet us later,” I said.  “Let’s go already.”

“Sit down for five minutes and have some tea,” Sakura said, putting down another cup of tea on the table.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

I sat down and had some tea.

When we finally left, it felt like things were clicking into place.