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rafesapologist · 3 months

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the set up — rafe cameron; part twenty one

summary: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, topper

Rafe's eyes fixated on the flickering flames of the bonfire as Topper and Kelce chatted beside him. The distant roar of the ocean served as a backdrop to the lively conversations around the beach. Topper, oblivious to Rafe's internal turmoil, casually mentioned, "Hey, it feels like I haven't seen Y/N in forever. What's she been up to?"

Kelce, always one for gossip, chimed in with a teasing smile, "Maybe she finally realized she's too good for the likes of us."

Rafe, lost in his own thoughts, absentmindedly took a swig from his drink, the liquid burning down his throat. The mention of your name sent a jolt through him, but he masked his reaction with a nonchalant demeanor. In reality, he hadn't stopped thinking about you, but the pain of the past had kept him from reaching out. The familiar ache in his chest intensified as he drowned his thoughts in the numbing embrace of alcohol. The bonfire's glow reflected in his troubled eyes as he struggled to reconcile the reality of your absence from his life.

As Rafe continued to nurse his drink, his gaze involuntarily wandered back to Sofia in the distance. The laughter and animated gestures of her friends painted a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. His mind replayed the unexpected encounter with you, the image of your radiant presence etched in his memory.

He took another swig from his drink, the burn of the alcohol providing a temporary distraction from the ache in his chest. Rafe's thoughts lingered on the details of your appearance—your longer hair, your sun-kissed skin. The subtle changes hadn't escaped his notice, and he found himself wondering about the reasons behind them. The sight of you had left an indelible mark, stirring a mix of emotions that he struggled to untangle. The once-familiar warmth he associated with you clashed with the icy reality of the present, leaving him disoriented and consumed by a cocktail of conflicting feelings.

"She's probably screwing Maybank now," Topper's casual pat on Rafe's back jolted him back to the present, disrupting the fragile sanctuary of his thoughts. The joke about you and JJ fell on his ears like a lead weight, and Rafe couldn't shake the tension that crept into his muscles. He managed a half-hearted laugh, but his gaze shifted from the fire to the crowd, scanning for any sign of you and JJ.

The idea that you could be with JJ, even if it was just a joke, stirred an unsettling mix of jealousy and regret within Rafe. He tried to dismiss the thought, reminding himself of the complexities that had led to your separation. However, the flicker of doubt lingered in the recesses of his mind, casting shadows over the flames that danced before him. The bonfire's warmth offered no solace to the internal turmoil that threatened to consume him.

"I mean she seemed pretty close to him even when her and Rafe were dating, so I wouldn't doubt it," Kelce's agreement with Topper's joke landed heavily on Rafe's ears, and an uncomfortable dryness settled in his throat. The casual banter felt like an unexpected blow, a reminder of the uncertainties surrounding your current situation. Even though Rafe tried to hide it, the subtle undercurrents of tension and longing painted an intricate mosaic of emotions on his face.

The flames of the bonfire danced wildly, mirroring the tempestuous thoughts raging within Rafe. He took another swig of his drink, attempting to drown out the rising tide of emotions that threatened to engulf him. The night, once full of anticipation, now felt like a merciless unraveling of suppressed feelings.

As Rafe rose from his seat, the disquietude within him became palpable. He excused himself with a hurried cough, a facade of normalcy failing to mask the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. Sofia was the anchor he sought in this sea of emotions, an attempt to regain composure and escape the incessant echoes of your presence. With determination etched on his face, Rafe navigated through the crowd, each step carrying the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

"Hey, where have you been?" Sofia turned around, a bright smile illuminating her face as she greeted Rafe. The warm camaraderie between them was evident, but Rafe's eyes betrayed a subtle urgency. He took another swig from his drink, the casual gesture belying the turmoil within.

"Hey, been around, you know how it is," he replied nonchalantly, trying to keep the conversation light. But then, his gaze intensified as he asked, "Have you seen Y/N? I thought she might be around here somewhere."

Sofia's expression shifted, catching the undercurrent of Rafe's inquiry. "Oh, Y/N! Yeah, she was here a while ago, but I think she left with JJ. They seemed in a hurry. Everything okay?"

The words hit Rafe like a punch to the gut. The revelation stung, and he could feel the facade of composure cracking. "Yeah, yeah, just curious," he mumbled, avoiding Sofia's eyes as he continued nursing his drink, the weight of the moment settling in.

The distant sound of laughter and chatter blended into a muffled buzz as Rafe's thoughts swirled in a tempest of emotions. Sofia's voice became an indistinct murmur as he gulped down his drink with a rapid, almost desperate, intensity. The liquid burned on its way down, but it provided a fleeting distraction from the turmoil within.

Anger simmered beneath the surface, a turbulent undercurrent to the steady rhythm of the bonfire crackling nearby. Each gulp was a futile attempt to drown out the echoing questions in his mind. Why did you leave with JJ? What did it mean? Did it matter?

His jaw clenched, and he resisted the urge to throw the empty cup into the flames. Instead, he lowered it slowly, his gaze fixed on the flickering fire, the dance of the flames mirroring the tumult of emotions within him.

"Gonna go grab another drink," With a strained smile, Rafe excused himself from Sofia and her friends, his movements deliberate yet detached. He navigated through the lively crowd, the distant hum of conversation and laughter forming an inconsequential backdrop to the storm brewing in his mind.

As he approached the makeshift bar, he could feel the weight of eyes on him, the warmth of the bonfire casting flickering shadows across his face. With a curt nod to the person manning the drinks, he grabbed another cup and poured himself another shot.

The fiery liquid burned down his throat, momentarily eclipsing the nagging thoughts that clung to him like persistent shadows. Rafe's gaze remained fixated on the undulating flames, a silent battle playing out within him. The liquor was a fleeting ally, offering a temporary respite from the relentless questions that clawed at the edges of his consciousness.

The glow of the bonfire reflected in Rafe's eyes as he hesitated, his thumb hovering over your contact name on his phone. He felt a surge of emotions battling within him—anger, longing, regret. For a few agonizing seconds, he stared at your name, the memories of your time together flooding his mind.

His internal struggle intensified. Part of him wanted to reach out, to hear your voice, to bridge the chasm that had grown between you. Another part resisted, fearing the pain and uncertainty that might accompany such a conversation. Rafe clenched his jaw, the internal conflict etched on his face as he grappled with the decision.

In the end, uncertainty won. With a heavy sigh, he locked his phone, the screen fading to black as he once again drowned his thoughts in the fiery solace of alcohol.

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The night air was filled with a mix of the ocean breeze and the aroma of the blunt you and JJ shared. Sitting on the steps of the chateau, you curled your knees up to your chest, finding a small sense of comfort in the night sky. Your gaze fixed on the moon, its pale glow casting a soft light over the surroundings.

JJ took a drag from the blunt, the sweet scent of cannabis lingering in the air. The sound of waves crashing against the shore created a rhythmic backdrop to the heavy silence that hung between you two. It was a moment of solace, an attempt to escape the tumultuous emotions stirred up by the unexpected encounter with Rafe.

As you exhaled a plume of smoke, you broke the silence. "I never expected to see him with someone else, especially Sofia," you confessed, your voice laced with a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

JJ nodded, his eyes reflecting understanding. "Yeah, that's a tough pill to swallow. But you know, people change. Circumstances change. Doesn't mean it's easy, though."

The words hung in the air, carrying the weight of the unspoken pain that both of you felt. The complex web of emotions surrounding Rafe, Sofia, and the past seemed to entangle you in an intricate dance of heartache.

Taking another drag, you leaned back against the steps, staring at the moon as if seeking solace from the celestial body. The tranquility of the night provided a temporary escape, a brief respite from the storm of emotions swirling within you.

JJ reached over, offering you the blunt. "Maybe things will get better, you know? It's like a fucked-up rollercoaster, but sometimes you gotta ride it out to get to the other side."

You took the blunt from him, the shared gesture a silent acknowledgment of the camaraderie between you two. The night continued its quiet vigil, the chateau standing as a silent witness to the unfolding chapters of your intertwined lives.

Your tired eyes met JJ's, and with a heavy sigh, you confessed, "I wish things could go back to the way they were before any of this happened. Before the secrets, the pain, before everything fell apart."

JJ took a thoughtful drag from the blunt, his eyes reflecting empathy. "Yeah, I get that. But you can't change the past, no matter how much you want to. All we can do is figure out how to navigate the present and hope for a better future."

There was a weighty silence as his words lingered in the air, the truth of them sinking in. The night wrapped around you, holding the shared vulnerability in the quiet space between conversations.

You stared into the distance, feeling the cool night air against your skin. The chateau, once a symbol of carefree moments and laughter, now stood as a silent witness to the complexities of relationships and the scars they leave behind.

JJ's gaze softened, and he gently rubbed your back in a comforting manner. "You've been handling all of this better than you give yourself credit for, you know? It takes strength to face the aftermath of a mess like this. You're doing better than you think, Y/N."

His words held a sincerity that offered a glimmer of solace, a reminder that amidst the chaos, there was someone who saw your resilience. The subtle warmth of his hand on your back, coupled with his reassuring words, provided a momentary reprieve from the turmoil within.

You chuckled, a bitter edge to the sound. "It just feels like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders."

JJ looked at you with understanding in his eyes. "I get it, Y/N. It's a lot to carry, especially when everything feels like it's falling apart. But you don't have to carry it all on your own. You've got people here for you, including me."

He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before adding, "And hey, tonight wasn't easy for you. Seeing Rafe with someone else after all this time… I can't imagine how tough that was."

The shared understanding between you and JJ was a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lingered in the air, a pain that words could only touch the surface of.

"Yeah, seeing your ex with your co-worker, it's like a special kind of torture," you remarked, your voice tinged with bitterness. The bitter taste of reality mixed with the smoke of the blunt hung in the air as you continued, "I guess I deserve it, though, right? Karma or whatever."

JJ took a drag from the blunt, exhaling slowly before passing it back to you. "Y/N, you don't deserve any of this. Life's just been throwing a bunch of crap our way lately."

He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, a silent gesture of support that spoke volumes. The night enveloped both of you in a blanket of darkness, punctuated by the distant sounds of laughter and music from the bonfire at the boneyard. In that moment, leaning against each other on the steps, it felt like a small sanctuary away from the turmoil that had become your lives.

With a faint smile, JJ extended his hand towards you. You reluctantly took JJ's hand, allowing him to help you up. The effects of the night were taking their toll, and the weight on your shoulders felt even heavier. As you stood, JJ wrapped an arm around your shoulders, offering silent support.

"Yeah, you're right," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thanks for being here, JJ."

He squeezed your shoulders reassuringly. "Always, Y/N. Let's get you some rest."

Together, you made your way back into the chateau, leaving behind the night and its echoes of painful encounters. The door closed softly behind you, muffling the sounds of the outside world.

As you closed the door behind you, the silence of your room enveloped you. The events of the night weighed heavily on your mind, and you couldn't shake off the vivid image of Rafe with Sofia. The room felt emptier than ever, and the solitude pressed down on you.

You changed into your sleepwear, the fabric feeling cool against your skin. Crawling into bed, you stared at the ceiling, lost in your thoughts. The night's events replayed in your mind like a relentless loop, and sleep seemed elusive.

Tossing and turning, you tried to find a comfortable position. The soft glow from the moon spilled through your window, casting a gentle illumination in the room. Eventually, exhaustion overcame your racing thoughts, and you drifted into a fitful slumber.

The chateau, usually a place of comfort, felt unfamiliar. The bed that once cradled shared laughter and whispered secrets now seemed too large, too empty. The room echoed with the lingering emotions of the past, and as you closed your eyes, the boundary between dreams and reality blurred.

In the ethereal realm of dreams, you found yourself in a familiar and comforting place. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated Rafe's room, casting a warm ambiance that enveloped you both. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air, creating a sense of intimacy that transcended the boundaries of the waking world.

You were nestled against Rafe, the two of you sharing a quiet moment on his bed. The rhythmic hum of the television played in the background, its glow illuminating the room with a soft flicker. Laughter erupted between you, a harmonious melody that echoed through the dreamlike space.

Rafe's arm was draped around you, pulling you closer as you both reveled in the simplicity of the moment. The weight of the world lifted, and the connection you once shared seemed to rekindle in this dreamy haven. The touch of his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your arm sent shivers down your spine, and the genuine joy in his laughter echoed like a soothing lullaby.

As the dream unfolded, the outside world faded away, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like time itself had paused to allow you to savor the stolen fragments of happiness. The dream encapsulated a bittersweet nostalgia, a stark contrast to the harsh reality that awaited you when morning inevitably arrived.

Little did you know, the dream held its secrets close, masking the ephemeral illusion from the conscious mind that yearned for a respite from the ache that lingered in the waking hours.

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The morning light spilled through your window, casting a golden glow across your room. Despite the sun's attempt to bring warmth, the heaviness in your heart lingered, and the bitter fog of reality settled around you like a persistent shadow.

With a reluctant sigh, you forced yourself to sit up, the weight of the previous night's encounters clinging to your every thought. The dream, though a temporary escape, was now just a fleeting memory, leaving you grappling with the harsh truth of the present.

As you moved through the motions of the morning, the world outside seemed to carry on as if nothing had changed. Birds chirped in the distance, and the distant hum of life continued, but within the confines of your own emotional landscape, a storm brewed.

Each step felt like an uphill climb, and the simple act of getting out of bed became a monumental task. The remnants of the dream lingered, teasing you with echoes of a reality that seemed increasingly distant.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, and for a moment, you studied the weariness in your eyes. The events of the previous night had left their mark, etching lines of sorrow and longing on your face.

JJ's presence in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with a carefree demeanor, brought a bittersweet nostalgia. The aroma of breakfast filled the air, reminiscent of mornings spent with Rafe, whose declaration of love had once echoed in the same space.

Your lips curved into a small, melancholic smile as you took a seat at the table. The contrast between then and now hung in the air, the scent of pancakes carrying both the warmth of memories and the ache of their absence.

JJ, absorbed in his pancake-flipping task, glanced over at you with a lighthearted grin. "Morning," he greeted, a hint of concern in his eyes as he noticed the subtle change in your expression.

"Morning," you replied, your smile lingering as you appreciated the effort JJ put into creating a sense of normalcy. The echoes of the past lingered, and yet, in this moment, you found solace in the companionship of a friend determined to bring a bit of joy to your morning.

As the pancakes sizzled on the griddle, you allowed the bittersweet memories to wash over you, momentarily lost in the intricate dance between past and present.

"Are you scheduled to work with me today?" you asked, breaking the trance of your thoughts and returning to the present.

JJ, still flipping pancakes, shook his head. "Nah, I'm off today. Figured I'd whip up some breakfast for us."

JJ's carefree demeanor faltered for a moment as he listened to your words. The realization that you were scheduled to work while he enjoyed a day off hung in the air, a stark reminder of the challenges life had thrown your way.

"Hey," he said gently, turning his attention away from the pancakes. "You don't have to go if you don't want to. We can figure something out."

You sighed, appreciating the offer but feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on you. "I appreciate it, JJ, but I can't just bail on work. Bills don't pay themselves."

JJ's expression tightened, an empathetic frown forming on his face. "I know, Y/N. But sometimes, you gotta take a break for yourself. You've been through a lot lately."

The sincerity in his words tugged at your heart, and for a moment, you considered the idea of taking a break. The weight of the world seemed a bit lighter when shared with a friend who genuinely cared.

Taking a bite of the pancake, you sighed and looked at JJ, a sense of vulnerability in your eyes. "I don't know how I'm gonna handle work today, JJ. I just... I can't imagine being around Sofia after what happened last night."

JJ nodded in understanding, chewing thoughtfully. "Yeah, I get that. It's gonna be tough, but you've got this."

You let out a frustrated exhale. "I just wish things could go back to how they were, you know? Simple and uncomplicated."

JJ's expression softened, and he reached across the table to give your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I know, Y/N. I wish that for you too. But we'll get through this, alright? One day at a time."

His words offered a glimmer of comfort, and you managed a small smile. "Thanks, JJ. I appreciate you being here for me."

"No problem, kiddo. We're in this together," JJ replied, his gaze warm and supportive. The weight of the upcoming day lingered, but for that moment, the camaraderie between you and JJ provided a much-needed anchor.

Once you finished the remainder of your pancakes, you hurriedly changed into your waitress uniform, the fabric feeling strangely foreign against your skin. Each step felt like a chore, and the knot in your stomach tightened as you thought about facing the day. With a rushed goodbye to JJ, you headed out the door, the cool air doing little to ease the tension that gripped you. As you approached your car, you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the challenges that awaited you at work.

You sat in your car for a few moments, the engine humming softly, contemplating the day ahead. The drive to work had passed in a blur, and now the reality of facing everyone at the restaurant loomed ahead. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever emotions and challenges awaited you inside. With a sigh, you opened the car door and stepped out, determined to navigate through the day as best as you could.

Sofia's cheerful greeting caught you off guard as you entered the restaurant. A forced smile appeared on your face as you reciprocated the greeting, trying your best to maintain a friendly demeanor despite the turbulent emotions swirling within you.

Sofia's voice rang out, pulling you away from your thoughts. "Hey there! I was wondering where you disappeared to last night. The bonfire was just getting started," she said, her tone friendly but curious.

You managed a small smile, trying to play off your early exit. "Yeah, I just needed some quiet time, you know? The crowd was a bit much for me," you explained, hoping to brush off any further inquiries.

Sofia tilted her head, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. "Everything okay, Y/N? You seemed a bit off. Did something happen?"

You debated how much to share, not wanting to delve into the complicated emotions of seeing Rafe with Sofia. "Nah, just one of those nights. Sometimes you just need to recharge solo," you replied, hoping she wouldn't dig any deeper.

Sofia nodded, seeming to accept your explanation. "Fair enough. Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. We all are," she offered, her friendly demeanor shining through.

"Thanks, Sofia. I appreciate that," you replied, grateful for her kindness.

Sofia's voice caught you off guard once more, this time steering the conversation in a different direction. "Hey, quick question," she began, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Is there something going on between you and JJ?"

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected question. "Uh, no, why do you ask?" you replied, trying to sound casual.

She leaned in a bit, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Oh, I don't know. I just noticed you two seem pretty close, always together and all. People are starting to talk, you know?" Sofia added with a sly grin.

You couldn't help but chuckle nervously. "No, Sofia, JJ and I are just good friends. Nothing more," you clarified, hoping to dispel any potential rumors.

She raised an eyebrow playfully. "Just friends, huh? Well, you two certainly spend a lot of time together. Anyway, just thought I'd ask. Gossip has a way of spreading around here," she teased before heading back to her duties.

As Sofia left, you couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that the workplace dynamics were shifting, and the last thing you needed was more complications. The weight of Sofia's words lingered in the air, a subtle annoyance gnawing at you. It wasn't just the insinuations about you and JJ; it was the reminder of the tangled web of relationships and feelings that surrounded you. Frustration simmered beneath the surface, fueled by the growing complexity of your personal life.

As you went about your work, you couldn't shake the feeling that the workplace dynamics had shifted, and the eyes of your colleagues seemed to carry unspoken questions. The atmosphere felt charged with unsaid words and assumptions, adding an extra layer of stress to an already challenging situation. Despite your efforts to focus on your tasks, the undercurrent of workplace gossip cast a shadow over your day.

As the hours passed into your shift, almost nearing the end of the day, you managed to get through your work while avoiding Sofia as much as possible. You attempted to focus solely on your tasks, hoping to minimize any unnecessary interactions. The atmosphere in the restaurant remained tense for you, a constant reminder of the recent events.

Suddenly, the hostess approached you with news of a large party that had just arrived. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to face whatever challenges lay ahead. After a quick cleanup, you headed out to the dining area, only to be met with the sight of Rafe and his friends sitting at the table you were assigned to.

A wave of discomfort washed over you, and you had to work hard to hide your surprise behind a forced smile. The unexpected presence of Rafe and his friends added an extra layer of tension to your already strained day. Trying to maintain professionalism, you approached the table and greeted them with a neutral tone.

"Hey, welcome! My name's Y/N, and I'll be taking care of you all today. Can I start you off with some drinks?" you asked, doing your best to keep your composure despite the internal turmoil. The forced interaction with Rafe and his friends in a professional setting made the situation even more challenging to navigate.

You felt a sense of discomfort wash over you as Topper recognized you. He greeted you with a mischievous grin, "Well, well, well, if it isn't the elusive Y/N," he remarked, his tone teasing. "I haven't seen you around in forever. What have you been up to?"

You forced a polite but strained smile, not entirely comfortable with the unexpected attention. "Hey, Topper. Yeah, it's been a bit." You tried to steer the conversation towards neutral ground, hoping to avoid any unnecessary complications during your shift.

Topper's friend smirked, intrigued by the mention of past connections. "Oh, really? How do you two know each other?" he asked.

Topper leaned back in his chair, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Y/N and Rafe used to date. Crazy, right? Small world."

You felt a mix of discomfort and annoyance as Topper casually threw that piece of information into the conversation. The atmosphere at the table shifted slightly, and you tried to maintain your composure, not wanting to let on that the revelation affected you.

Rafe's jaw clenched, and his eyes shot a fierce glare at Topper. "Fuck off, Topper," he snapped, the tension in his voice cutting through the air. The atmosphere at the table grew more palpable, and the friends exchanged glances, sensing the underlying tension.

The friend leaned back in his chair, chuckling, "Seriously, Rafe, how'd you mess that up?"

Rafe's jaw clenched as he shot a piercing glare at his friend, "Back off, man."

Topper, enjoying the discomfort he was causing, chimed in with a teasing smile, "Come on, Rafe, spill. What went wrong?"

The conversation at the table continued, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet anyone's eyes. The weight of the awkwardness hung heavily in the air. You focused on taking the orders, avoiding any direct interaction. Rafe's presence added an extra layer of tension to the atmosphere, and you couldn't shake off the discomfort that lingered throughout the encounter.

Rafe's frustration boiled over as he snapped at Topper, "Enough, Topper. Knock it off."

Topper, undeterred by Rafe's warning, chuckled and added fuel to the fire, "Come on, man. It's not every day we get the scoop on Rafe Cameron's love life. Gotta spill the tea, right?" The other friend at the table joined in the laughter, completely oblivious to the discomfort spreading across your face.

Topper continued with his teasing, "Yeah, seriously, it was like a soap opera. One minute they're together, the next minute, she's with JJ. Classic love triangle stuff." Rafe's jaw clenched tighter, and you could see the frustration building in his eyes. The friend at the table leaned in, eager to hear more of the drama.

The other friend's eyes widened in mock shock, and he burst into laughter, teasing Rafe about being the second choice to JJ.

Topper joined in, playfully patting Rafe on the back, "Don't worry, buddy. We all have our ups and downs."

Rafe's frustration escalated, evident in the way his fists clenched on the table. The atmosphere at the table became tense, and you felt a mixture of discomfort and sympathy for Rafe.

Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke up, "Excuse me," and, with tears forming in your eyes, you swiftly turned away from the table and stormed outside. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on your shoulders, and the cool air outside provided a brief relief from the suffocating atmosphere within the restaurant.

As the door closed behind you, you took a moment to collect yourself, trying to shake off the embarrassment and pain that clung to you like an unwelcome shadow. The words exchanged at the table echoed in your mind, leaving you grappling with a whirlwind of emotions.

"Y/N?"

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gglitch1dd · 1 year

Text

The Wolves and the Doe

Viking KiriBaku x FemReader

Hey yall! I'm still on my haitus but I TOTALLY forgot to post this on here. I posted it on AO3 but not here. It has been sitting in my drafts for who knows how long. Sorry about that. Either who. Here you go. I love this peice.

Since you were a little girl you had loved the son of a Jarl and the son of a great warrior, but life took you away from them. When they come back to you, it's almost as you first met. A chase. A hunt. The wolves and the doe.

Note: Mentions of Norse gods, periods and the demons that they are, mentions of blood, Predator vs prey mentality, mentions of Kiribaku obviously. Some NSFW close to the end. No smut. Sadly.

Growing up as the king’s youngest daughter you were always pampered and spoiled. You were daddy’s little girl. His favourite girl. Yet that also meant you could get away with a lot of things. Tripping in the procession? That’s fine. The poor little one tripped on a stone. Interrupting your father to tell him that you think some random lady looks pretty? Look at you being a kind little princess. Sneaking off to go play with a Jarl's son and his friend?

That was new.

You never liked playing with the other girls of the court. They were all so stuffy and if not pampering you and trying to suck up to you. As much as you didn’t mind the attention, it wasn’t what you wanted nor what tickled your fancy.

It was one time, when you were not older than six, you had wandered away from your family that sat posed in the great hall. You had magically found your way outside where a group of friends were playing around. They were wrestling and fighting one another. Out of the group your eyes couldn’t leave two of them. You hid behind a wooden pole to watch them.

The tallest of the boys was a blond. He had spiky blond hair that made him look a bit like a porcupine to you. He had red maroon eyes and a boisterous laugh and smile. He seemed to be confident and hold an aura of control and pride to him. Another kid that seemed to be rather close to him, slightly smaller, was a boy with black hair that came into is face. He had wide ruby eyes, like a jewel or crisp apple. He had a scar over his right eye and seemed to be the strongest out of all of them.

They played around with two other boys and a girl. One boy had black hair and the other had yellow hair with a black mark in it. He must have been a relative to a seer. You heard of them with their mystical powers and connection to the gods. The only girl had fluffy pink hair and seemed just as rowdy as the boys.

You watched all of them enviously.

“Come on, Eijiro. You can hit him harder than that!” The ash blond shouted at the kid with the black hair and scar.

The boy put his hands together and looked down. “Sorry Katsuki, but I don’t want to hurt Denki.”

“Yah, Kacchan!” The yellow haired small boy shouted, standing behind the other boy with black hair and had a straight tooth smile. “I don't want to get hit. Look at me, I’m tiny.” He hid more of his body as he glared.

He’s false bravado made you giggle, causing attention to yourself.

“Oi!” The ash blond child, Kacchan you guessed, stomped over to you. “Who are you! Why are you spying on us!” He shouted at you.

You weren’t used to people shouting at you other than your older siblings. You didn’t tolerate it from others. Not liking it at all, you frowned. “I am princess Y/N! My daddy is the king and I can do whatever I want.”

Bakugou glared at you. He didn’t like how high you placed yourself. How higher you placed yourself above him. He pointed a finger at you. “You little brat!” Before he could do something he regretted, Kirishima quickly wrapped his arms around him.

He held the angry blond in his arms as he offered you a smile. It was odd watching them, being the same age, and yet Kirishima was restraining him pretty well. “Sorry about him, your highness.” He said, offering you a kind smile. Broad, sharp teeth and kind. You couldn’t help but soften at the look of him.

“Well…” You looked away. “It’s fine for now. But the next time he does it, I’m telling daddy.”

“You’re a princess?” Mina asked as she approached you bouncing on her heels in excitement. “That’s so cool. You look like the King so it must be true.” She said as she looked between you and her friends.

“Yah, she should call her precious daddy!” Bakugou mocked as he tilted his head side to side. “You wouldn’t be able to handle me by yourself, princess. You’re weak.”

“No, I’m not!” You stomped your foot and glared back at him.

Sero quickly moved to stand next to Bakugou. “Uh, Katsuki.” he said with a nervous smile. “Maybe you should calm down.” He offered.

Bakugou kept his eyes on you. “Never!” He stuck his tongue out at you childishly. “Weak little brat!” He teased you. “Can’t do anything without daddy’s help. Poor little princes-”

A slap went through the area. You stood with an angry face as you looked down at him. Clutching his plush cheek was Bakugou. His face was set into one of pure surprise. He didn’t expect you to hit him, let alone the slap to sting. The other children were silent, not fully believing that it actually happened.

“Keep quiet you… you… you dog!” You shouted at him angry.

Denki retreated back as he grew nervous at how quiet Bakugou was being. “Oh no. I don’t think you should have done that, princess.”

Bakugou’s fists balled up as he faced you again. His eyes white with rage as he seethed in anger. “You’re gonna regret that princess.”

That’s when you did the smartest thing you did all day.

You ran.

You ran, not in fear but giggling for the most part. The angry blond throwing retorts and angry growls at you as you ran through the streets. People watched and wondered why you were running away from a string of other children all following one another. Bakugou was behind you trying to catch you. Kirishima was behind Bakugou trying to calm him down. Mina was behind Kirishima wanting to see what would happen next. Sero was following Mina for the same reason. Denki followed because he didn’t want to be left alone for the most part.

You ran straight into the main hall, giggling and squealing trying to get away from Bakugou. Kirishima and Bakugou both followed you into the main hall but Mina, Sero and Denki all stopped. In the main hall was where all the leaders were meeting. Your giggling, Bakugou’s shouting and Kirishima’s apologise were what disturbed the meeting.

You quickly ran over to your father and hid by his side. “Daddy save me!”

“Come here and fight me, princess!” Bakugou shouted in front of all the adults. Including his mother and his Jarl, Kirishima’s father, Takeo Kirishima. The two adults stood horrified as their two sons stood in front of the royal family.

Kirishima quickly stood in front of his best friend and stopped him from approaching you any further. He forced the blond down on his knees alongside him. They were both on one knee in front of you and your family. “I’m deeply sorry for the disturbance your majesty. We were just playing outside when things got out of hand.” He apologised profusely. He knew how much his father took pride in these meetings so he knew what was best was to apologise.

“SHE SLAPPED ME!” Bakugou shouted looking back up at you with a glare. Kirishima tugged on his friend’s ear harshly. “OW!”

“Forgive us.” Kirishima stated his head still down in respect.

All the adults were very amused at the whole situation. Especially your parents. Your mother laughed but looked down at the two young boys fondly. “What are your names?”

“Eijiro Kirishima, your majesty.” Kirishima answered immediately. “Son of the great Jarl Takeo Kirishima. And this-” He kept Bakugou’s head down with a firm grip that was clearly not relanting despite the blond's struggles. “Is Katsuki Bakugou, son of Mitsuki Bakugou.” He answered for his grumbling friend.

Your father turned to look up at the two embarrassed parents. Mitsuki was seething at her son for interrupting the meeting and showing little respect to royalty. Takeo, however, was rather impressed with his son’s level-headedness in this situation. Your father turned to look at you, who had crawled into his lap. You sat with your arms folded and a huff. “Daughter.”

You turned to your father innocently. “Yes, daddy?” You asked.

“Did you slap Katsuki?” He asked you.

You hesitated. You pouted. “He was being mean to me, daddy.” You pointed down at the two boys.

The king turned to Bakugou who had calmed down a bit more. “Katsuki.”

“Huh?” Bakugou asked as he looked up. He was roughly nudged in the ribs by Kirishima making him wince. “I mean… Yes, m’lord.” He corrected himself with a mumble. That made the other Jarls laugh. Mitsuki dragged her hands down her face as she tried not to burn with anger at her child’s show of no manners.

“Were you bested by my daughter?”

Bakugou huffed. “No, she ran away and I-”

“If a doe runs away from the wolves does that not mean that the doe has won?” Your father asked as he raised an eyebrow down at the blond child.

Bakugou opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. He crossed his arms and looked away. “Tsk.” He scowled. “One day I’ll be a strong warrior and no stupid doe will out best me!” He loudly proclaimed. “Especially you princess!”

Your mother laughed at the child's ambition. “I don’t doubt that, if you are anything like your mother.” She turned to Kirishima. “Little Eijiro. What do you think of the blond's proclamation? You are to be a future Jarl if all goes right.”

Kirishima was only silent for a moment. “He’s the best boy in my village, your majesty.” He said making Bakugou’s cheeks burn a slight pink but he still frowned. He nodded his head in agreement. “He’s fast, skilled and has great ambition. I don’t doubt what he says. I want him to be my second in command, like my father has Aunt Mitsuki as his.”

Your mother nodded her head as she looked up to Takeo. “Your son has a great eye, Takeo. If Thor will have it, he just might make a strong leader one day, especially if he can deal with a Bakugou.”

After the meeting had finished, with no more disturbances, both Jarl Takeo and Mitsuki both apologised to your family. No one minded. Bakugou, however, was now determined to try and beat you at something, dragging Kirishima along with him. There were many visits from the Bakugous and Kirishimas since that day. Whenever they were in your village with their parents you always spent time with them. Whether it was watching them fight, or running through the surrounding woods with them in a game of tag. Where you were, they were. The three of you, even though you only saw each other every few months or so, you were all close. Everyone could see it. Some even wondered at your young age, who you would choose. The Jarl’s son or the fierce warrior?

You could never choose. Never split them apart. They were great together as is.

Then one day, when you were twelve, you woke up and there was blood everywhere. Everywhere means your sheets. You had screamed loud enough for Valhalla to hear you. You thought you were dying. You felt like it too. Your servants had run into the room you shared with your older sister. But next thing you know, no one was listening to the girl who was practically crying her eyes out. Everyone was celebrating. For what reason you hadn’t known till your mother and sister sat you down.

You weren’t a girl anymore to them.

You had to take your princess studies more seriously now.

Your sister took pity on you, having had experienced what you were going to be put through a two years before. Suddenly she seemed less annoying and more like your only refuge.

So while the village celebrated and you were sulking around, you met Kirishima and Bakugou one last time.

You met them in the woods, your secret place by a river. The two of them stood in front of you who looked like you were anything but happy. Of course you couldn’t be. Not with all you had learnt today. The moon was high in the sky and the river was still. The dark area was peaceful other than the growing tension between the three of you.

“We can’t hang out anymore.” You let out finally and quietly.

Bakugou was the first to react like always. “HUH!” He shouted rather loudly. “Why not?” He asked as he stepped closer.

Kirishima stopped him and shot him a look to calm down. The blond took a breath and focused back on you. Kirishima had his black hair tied back in a small ponytail, sort of spikey at the end that reminded you of Bakugou’s hair. The boy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Is it because of today?” He asked.

The both of them weren’t entirely sure why today was a big deal. Nor why everyone was acting like it was a god’s birthday but it seemed important enough and that it had to do with you. Takeo had promised to explain to his son and his son’s best friend later when they went back home. It didn’t stop them from enjoying the festivities though. They did enjoy it until they noticed you weren’t.

You nodded your head as you held your elbows. You shrunk your shoulders as you furrowed your eyebrows. You looked off to the side. The cool night air blew making your long dress move with you. “I… I’m not a little girl anymore. I can’t play with you guys. I need to take being a princess and a woman of this village seriously.” You recited what your mother’s handmaiden had told you. “Besides, you guys will have to train to become leaders and warriors. You won’t have time for me for the next few years.”

The boys winced as they knew you were telling the truth. They would have to go to the trials and earn their place among men. Earn their place as warriors and protectors. They wouldn't be able to see you for the next few years. They would be plundering, training, earning their arm rings. They would have to be away from you.

They didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit. The three of you all knew that the day would come where childish games and fun times would come to an end.

Bakugou folded his arms over his bear chest. “How can we get your attention then?” He asked. That caught both you and Kirishima's attention. “If you can’t give us it then how can we get it?” He asked again.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. My mom said I would have to focus on my future partner.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He proclaimed. He had already made up his mind. The blond placed his hands on his hips and nodded. “WE’RE GONNA MARRY YOU!” He pointed to you.

“W-what!” You asked confused. “Both of you?” You asked shocked. “My father won’t allow it.”

“Yes, he will.” Bakugou said shamelessly and certain. Kirishima however was blushing red and went stiff. Bakugou threw his arm around Kirishima next to him. “I will become the best warrior this kingdom has ever seen and Eijiro will become the next Jarl of our village! Right, Eijiro?”

Kirishima nodded his head, not entirely sure what exactly he was putting himself up for but he did know, if it concerned you and Bakugou, he would do anything. “Y-yes. As a Jarl, I’ll make sure we’ll marry you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. You clearly weren’t convinced. Bakugou turned to Kirishima. “Oi, Eijiro. What’s that thing that people do before they get married?”

Kiri looked at Bakugou confused. “Kiss?”

Bakugou’s face scrunched up as he stuck his tongue out. “Gross. No.” He pushed the other boy. That made Kirishima blush bashfully and you giggled. “The other thing.”

“Propose?” Kirishima suggested again.

“Yah but we did that.” Bakugou stated.

“We did?” Kirishima asked, confused.

Bakugou opened his mouth to speak but then realised Kirishima was right. He dropped down to one knee. His face went pink but he looked determined. His red eyes looking between the two of you. “I promise to Odin and any other fuckin’ gods I need to, that I’ll marry the both of you.” He nodded his head. He pointed to his chest. “And I’ll be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have.”

You and Kirishima shared a look. Before you could comment, Kirishima did the same thing. He went on one knee before the two of you. “I promise to Odin and Freya that I’ll marry the both of you and be the most manliest and reliable husband to… to the both of you.” He stared at the blond briefly, making Bakugou turn his head trying to hide his red face. Kirishima looked back up at you. “I promise.”

Watching them do it, you couldn’t just stand and not say anything. You pulled your dress to the side and went down on one knee. Your knee pressed against the cold damp soil. “I promise to Odin and Freya that I’ll marry the both of you and be the best wife you could ever need. Don’t think about trying to find another woman because she won’t be better than me.” You stated proudly.

And that was the last time you saw them for years. You grew, you changed physically and mentally but what stayed the same was where your heart belonged to. You were older, wiser and for one thing less spoilt. You did everything to be the best person you could be. You helped around the community, you supported your warriors and even learned a bit from them.

Your eldest brother had passed leaving your eldest sister as the next heir to the throne. That in itself scared you. Not because you didn’t support your sister. You did, but that also meant that she couldn’t be carted off. That she wasn’t to be used as a bargaining chip anymore. You were the next royal in line. You were terrified obviously. You didn’t want to marry some fat old man of a neighbouring village or kingdom. If anything you would have rather died single.

Your life was like that. Waking up each morning to fear.

But for one day, that disappeared. Your father was holding a great feast for a series of successful raids that had been occurring. The guests of honours were said to be ones you hadn’t seen in years.

You hadn’t been that excited or nervous for something in months. You dressed in your best outfit, applied face paint to your eyes, face and shoulders and made sure you looked more presantable than you were in months.

“You know you might just attract every other person other than them right?” Your sister teased from her place upon her bed.

You pulled on a fur around your shoulders. “Lets pray that doesn't happen.” You stated unbothered.

Your sister raised an eyebrow. She stood up. “I heard they were lovers.” She stated.

You stiffened for a moment. You heard stories about them. The beast of a redhead that tore through enemies like they were paper. The blond demon warrior that slaughtered and took with a smile on his face. An unstoppable duo whose affections towards each other, though not shunned nor hated on, were very apparent. You were glad they still were close and if the rumours were true, loved each other. If they couldn’t have you at least they had each other.

Your sister walked up behind you and placed her hands on your shoulders. “Sister, let them go. You can’t keep on holding on to silly childhood promises.” She told you as she bent down to look at you through the mirror. You looked down at your lap. “I am sure I can find you a lovely young jarl you could spend your time with. Plus what if you don’t find them attractive anymore?”

You looked up at her. “Well, I would need to get my eyes checked.” You stood up with her.

The two of you went into the main hall. You both stood next to your father and mother and younger brother. You watched as Jarl after Jarl and warrior after warrior came into the great hall but you hadn’t seen them yet. You kept your head high. Even if you were mistaken, even if they weren’t coming, you wouldn’t be disheartened. It only meant you would probably take your sister up on what she had offered.

Lastly, from the darkness outside were two men, built like oaxen. You were stunned for the most part. The sea of people in the great hall parted for them, feeling the power and radiancy they carried with them. It was suffocating from even where you stood.

Finally making it in front, standing next to each other were the two men you had longed to see for years.

On the left was an ash blond with a white direwolf fur over his shoulders with a red cape. His hair was longer now. Half his head was braided in tight blonde braids and the rest was kept in his unruly blond locks. He was lean with a small waist that had even you envious. His large chest seemed soft to you and held few scars to them but clearly hard earned. His maroon piercing eyes, covered in black tribal paint looked at you instantly. They held no shame in looking at you or your figure, a smirk of pride and cockiness went to his face at your attention.

Your eyes then went to the giant next to him that you could hardly believe was the same boy you knew years ago. He had a growth spurt making him wider and bigger than the blond. He truly lived up to the reputation that the Kirishima’s held of being beasts among men. His broad and exposed chest was covered in markings and a few scars. He had long locks of red hair that fell down his back. You had heard rumours that his hair turns red permanently from the blood of his victims. His crisp apple eyes found you as well. An unreadable emotion behind his eyes.

The two of them bent down on one knee before your family, their heads down. The tight arm rings around their right arms showing their vows to their fellow man here. “Your majesties.” They both said.

Your father smiled with a laugh. “The demon warrior, Katsuki Bakugou and the Beast among men, Jarl Eijiro Kirishima. Stand men, stand. This whole night is in honour of you after all.” The duo stood back up straight, heads held high. “Your winnings and efforts have paid off my good and faithful warriors. Tonight we shall feast in your honour!”

With that the hall erupted into joyous cheers. Music played and food was served as everyone sat drinking and eating to their hearts content. Loud boisterous laughter and cheers rang through the warm air as there was celebration to their achievements. You sat dutifully next to your sister as she got lucky enough to sit next to Bakugou. Your father sat between the two men.

“Maybe you weren’t so wrong about dressing up.” Your sister whispered into your ear, making you both giggle.

You nudged her. “You never did like to listen to me.” You teased. Before you could continue you heard your father say something.

“I would like to reward the both of you with an opportunity as well with your riches… If you so wish...” He stated to the two of them. You peered over trying to hear what else he would say when your sister cut in.

“Whoever gets their hands on them would be a lucky person.” She stated as she picked up her cup of beer.

You nodded. “Yes, they would. If only the heavens would be so kind.” You motioned to her.

“Mother said that father might just reward one of them with the opportunity as King.”

You choked on your wine. “What?”

She nodded her head. “For my hand, they would be crowned King.” Your ears started to ring at her words.

“For… your… your hand?” You asked shakily.

She smiled. “Yep. Of course you could have the other one if you so wished.”

You absentmindedly nodded your head not entirely feeling all up to the party. Your first chance in years to see them, talk to them, be with them and it was taken from you. You stood up. “Excuse me, I’ve got to go out and check on our brother. He must be so bored.” You smiled and quickly made your way away from the main table. Red eyes watched you as you left.

You quickly made your way out of the hall into the cool night air. You dropped your shoulders and went into the direction of the woods. Your head down as you tried regaining your barings. She must have known your fathers plans all along. Which was probably why she told you to forget about them. You couldn’t have both. That’s selfish.

Or was it?

You didn’t mind being selfish.

You found yourself at the river, your meeting spot when you were kids. The night seemed identical to it was the last time you saw them. Bright big moon in the sky with the heavens twinkling and winking at you. The river was calm near you and the wind was only just strong enough to move the cape you wore.

This was a place where you could feel safe. Almost as if they were standing right next to you.

You heard a snap of a twig that made you immediately look back. Your heart raced in fear as you looked behind you. Your eyes dashed around the area looking for what the sound was. You moved backward in fear. Your back bumped into what you thought was a tree.

“No hello, princess ?” You turned around immediately and your eyes widened in shock. You knew who it was from the way he said your title. Standing in front of you, arms crossed over his chest was Bakugou. The moonlight lit his blond hair in a sort of luminescent glow as he stared down at you with red eyes that seemed to stare into your soul.

“ Katsuki .” You whispered his name like it was something you never thought you would say again.

You took a step backwards and your back hit something again. “Years away from you and you haven’t even given us some of your attention. Do you not know how much we missed you, princess?” You turned around and you saw him. Kirishima. His tall stance is almost menacing in the dark, even with the moonlight falling on him. Eyes dark like a predator in the night as he looked down at you.

You gulped. “ Eijiro .” You whispered.

This was nothing like it was when you were younger. For one thing, this wasn’t the same Kirishima you knew when you were younger. He used to be so timid, keeping himself closed within himself most of the time. He was doubtful. This man in front of you seemed to radiate confidence and strength. A real Jarl.

“That’s not true, Eij.” Bakugou stated. “You should have seen the way she was staring at my chest. Perverted little princess.” Bakugou snarked with a grin on his face.

Kirishima laughed. “I don’t blame her Katsuki, but you’re right. She was staring at my arms like they were meat on a silver platter.” He too snarked.

The two of them started circling you. For a moment you wondered what was going on. Why were they saying such things? Why were they circling you? Why did your legs feel weak and your abdomen felt tied in knots?

Then it hit you.

They were playing a game with you. A game they loved to play after the first day they met you. Wolves and doe. Wolves circle their target, their prey- the doe- and the doe has to get away from them. You were always a doe. They were always wolves. Back when you were younger it seemed easier since you were always a bit taller than them and could get away faster and probably climb a tree away from them. Now? Now you felt more like your fate was already sealed to the butchers than you having a chance.

But the thrill. The thrill you yearned with them overtook your judgement. The hunter and the prey.

The wolves and the doe.

They saw the recognition in your eyes and their grins grew. You bit your bottom lip as you looked between the two of them. Kirishima’s eyes raked over your body with desire. Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Look at her, Katsuki. Doesn’t she look just delicious?'' He asked as he licked over the edges of his sharp teeth, his clear want for you making your heart beat out of your chest.

Bakugou chuckled. “Indeed. Looks like a pretty doe for the fuckin taking.” Once he was behind you, his fingers dragged across the nape of your neck making you shiver. “I wonder how she tastes.” He growled close to your ear.

That’s when you ran. You pushed your legs as hard as you could away from them, away from the village and deeper into the woods. You heard their loud and amused laughter from behind you, but you couldn’t hear them following you. Your heart was beating out of your chest and you almost felt it hard to breathe.

You kept running, swerving between trees trying to put as much distance between them and you as possible. A glimmer of hope flickered within you. Maybe you could win.

Then you heard it. Loud laughter. “Was she always this fucking slow, Eijiro?” To your left, running just a few trees away from you was Bakugou. He’s lean body moving agily between the trees and over fallen logs. He was keeping up with you as if it was child’s play.

“Nah!” To your right was Kirishima. Even with his huge size, he seemed to navigate the trees better than you ever could and you lived in the area. “I don’t think she’s even trying to get away.”

Suddenly just like that, they were gone. You couldn’t see them in the darkness of the woods or the light of the moon. You slowed down and looked around wondering where they had both disappeared to. Your eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“Katsuki? Eijiro?” You let out scared.

Two arms wrapped around you. You let out a small scream as you were being held by the waist. You heard Bakugou’s rare laughter. Loud and obstreperous laughter. “ Katsuki! Eijiro! Where did you go? ” He mocked you, making you laugh. He held you up making you giggle and laugh louder. His big strong arms always made you feel safe despite the game you all just participated in.

Suddenly you were both pushed back by a huge force. You landed on Katsuki’s chest, with your back against him. Caging the both of you between the ground and his large frame was Kirishima with a grin on his face. The three of you all laughed at the situation, you between the two men. It reminded you of the good days when you used to let them win and you would end up in a similar position with all three of you on the floor laughing.

You calmed down as you looked up at the redhead. You admired his handsome features. A satisfied smirk on his face at getting to you. He leaned closer down to you. “Got you, doe.” He said condescendingly. Your heart was beating loudly with how close he was to you.

“Yah… you got me.” You affirmed, your eyes strayed to his lips. Bakugou pushed you forward, making you kiss the redhead.

Kirishima placed his knee between you and the blond’s spread legs, applying pressure to you both. Both you and Bakugou groaned. You leaned deeper into the kiss as he easily won for dominance. His kiss had a burst of passion and need for you. It was as if he was sucking the energy out of you, leaving you breathless.

The moment his lips left yours, and air could return to your lungs, Bakugou had tilted your head back towards him and had taken your lips for himself. He kissed you deeply too. His touch was explosive and filled to the brim with desire. His grasp on your hips tightened as he held you. You hummed as you arched your back slightly, pressing harder against him, making him grunt.

Your eyes were closed even after separating from him. “Gods, I missed the both of you.” You whispered.

“And we missed you.” Kirishima placed his hand on your cheek.

“I… I had thought the two of you had…” You couldn’t let it out. Your own insecurities suffocating you.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow. “What? You thought we would just live on without you?” He asked. “Yah fuck no.” He shook his head. “Your ours, doe. We promised you, didn’t we?”

“I know. I know.” You looked away from the both of them. “My father wants one of you to marry my sister, doesn’t he?” You asked.

Kirishima let out a heavy breath. With that he got off the two of you, and pulled Bakugou up, automatically sitting you in his lap in the process. “He does.” He answered your question, making you shrink back more.

Bakugou had his hands down on the ground to steady himself as you leaned against him. “I wouldn’t blame you guys.” You stated. “One of you would be king and the other a Jarl. It would be the dream for you guys. I would support the two of you, even with my sister as your Queen.”

Bakugou scoffed. “We couldn’t give two shits about her.” Bakugou growled in anger as he looked off to the side. “But… we do care about you.” He told you, his voice softer than normal. With one of his hands he took yours securely. His calloused warm hands gave you comfort.

Kirishima placed a large hand on your cheek. He offered you a soft smile. The smile that would comfort you in your dreams. “We would deny Valhalla to be with you.” He told you honestly. You closed your eyes as emotions bursted into your heart at the declaration. “I would rather let Thor strike me down with his hammer, lightning in tow, than to love another that isn’t you and Katsuki.”

You smiled and placed your smaller hand over Kirishima's. You nodded your head. That reminded you of something. You chuckled and a small smirk went to your lips. You turned back to look up at Bakugou. “I heard you two were lovers? Is it true?”

Bakugou chuckled. His hold on your hand tightened slightly. He bent down closer to your ear. “It’s whatever you make of it.” He told you with a smirk of his own. That made a desire to know exactly what he was meaning burst from you. “What I do have to say though, is that you have never seen a cock like the one between his legs that’s for sure.” Bakugou shot you a wink as your cheeks warmed instantly at his vulgar words. Kirishima shot him a glare which Bakugou chose to ignore. “You should see him when he is straight off the battlefield, princess. When he’s covered in blood, veins bulging and looking like a fucking god. I’m tellin’ you, nothing sexier.”

“Can you shut up, Katsuki?” Kirishima asked annoyed.

Bakugou stuck his tongue out childishly making you laugh. “Make m-”

He was quickly shut up with a kiss from Kirishima. It was forceful but held the same passion and love as always. Kirishima’s hand snaked up to your thigh and gripped it roughly making you release a held in breath. Something about what the blond was saying, made you know he wasn’t lying about anything. Kirishima playfully bit on the blond’s lower lip. The blond held a smirk of his own at Kirishima’s actions. Kirishima moved back and shook his head with a deep chuckle. “You are such a brat.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “You sound like my mother.”

“Well, your mother isn’t wrong, Katsuki.” You told him, making Kirishima laugh. Bakugou playfully growled at you next to your ear. He bit lightly on the top of your ear making you laugh. “We should head back before people get even more suspicious than they no doubt are already.” You let out with a sigh.

“Or we can just kidnap you.” Before you could respond, you were suddenly off the ground. You squealed as you were thrown over Kirishima’s shoulders. “Make you our chieftess and live the rest of our lives with you by our side and warming our bed. Right Katsuki?” Kirishima held you by your thighs as he stood up onto his feet not bothered by your weight at all. He turned to look at the blond who had gotten up beside him.

Bakugou placed his hands behind his head. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, Red.”

“You guys can’t just kidnap me.” You defended yourself. “What about-” You let out a gasp as a slap went to your ass. You arched your back in surprise at the stinging feeling.

“Oi! Stop spewing shit and just say yes. You already said you would be the best wife ever, so do that.” Bakugou reprimanded you.

Your face felt hot. You looked away. “But-”

Kirishima now slapped your thigh making you tense again, pushing them closer together. “Don’t worry princess.”

“Just focus on Eijiro’s ass and life will be a much better place.” Bakugou bent back to look at you. That’s when you noticed at the perfect view you got of said ass.

Holding you with one arm, Kirishima slapped Bakugou on the behind making him yelp. “The two of you are going to be the death of me.”

“What an honourable way to die.” You and Bakugou stated together.

-Glitch1d

Hey yall!! Love this? Well I have many other one shots on my AO3 that I havent posted here. Go check them out on my OneShot book!!

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houseofhyde · 1 year

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ii. a game of westerosi chess.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis. the six chess pieces in the king’s game and how your uncle calls checkmate. read the first part here !

warnings. niece!reader, targcest, possessiveness, themes of sexual/romantic ownership, alicent slander (im sorry, i love her, but this is daemon’s pov and we all know that man wakes up every morning and makes the conscious decision to be a hater), daemon being a filthy pervert (affectionate), smut ( masturbation, breeding kink, voyeurism, dacriphilia, virgin kink- if that's even a thing-, implied bi!daemon )

word count. 11.3k

taglist. @nyctophilic0vitnir

hyde’s input. yes, i could have just made them get married after the events in part one. no, that wouldn’t be as fun as watching daemon suffer. i went and fucked myself over a little though because i never realised how much i’d struggle to write from his point of view without the fear of making him too out of character or his behaviour feel, idk, fake? empty? idk what the right word is but yeah. i caught the flu and have had sick-brain the whole time while writing this so who knows if the writing is even comprehensible lmao :)

disclaimer: i’ve never played chess (i'm too dumb for that) so pretend any incorrect comparisons are simply because there’s different rules for chess in westeros <3

when daemon targaryen was five years old, no more than a mischievous little babe who haunted the halls of the red keep, there was no one greater in his eyes than his older brother.

his older brother who bonded with the largest dragon; who snuck wine into his cup when the adults were occupied with their political indiscretions; who stood up for him even in times where he was the culprit.

his older brother who had the longest winning streak in the whole of the red keep when it came to chess.

from maesters to the king, and ladies in waiting down to his own mother, there was not a single person within the castle who could face viserys targaryen in the game of strategic moves and walk away undefeated.

it was an understood fact: viserys targaryen was a master at chess.

one day, after catching his younger brother, moon-eyed and fresh-faced from wondering the dragonpit in search of a dragon to claim, and now spying upon his winnings against a pretty maiden, viserys had called the boy over. with daemon captivated by the sight of the chess board, the older of the two felt the cogs in his brain turning, an idea spawning.

you see, when one becomes the best at something, there is no more challenge. no fun to be found when you’re no longer sat at the edge of your seat wondering if this person will finally be the one to best you. and, so, viserys thought if no one else was good enough to beat him, he’d need to create a worthy opponent.

enter onto the scene, daemon targaryen.

with him being but a child still, viserys began his teaching with what captivated the little boy most: the figures which sat atop the checkered board.

“this, brother, is the pawn. it’s the least worthy piece, but do not let that fool you into thinking it is weak, for anyone may wield power if they work hard enough. a pawn may become a queen, just as a fool may become a lord.”

the rogue prince, now a man of three and thirty, awakes with one thing on his mind: his niece.

he’s always been a restless sleeper, not even in dreams would he escape the havoc of his own head and the inner-workings of it. and, though he’d scarcely recall the images his sleeping mind would conjure, the evidence comes in the state he’d find himself in: sprawled diagonally across the bed, the pillows which had once provided rest for his head now scattered along the floor and the bedsheets- which scratched uncomfortably on his skin, a slick of sweat oozing from his pores and leaving him looking glazed, like a freshly cooked hog at a feast- now a wrinkled tangle around his waist, trapping his legs in the cotton confines.

he spies the familiar lick of sunlight casting through the closed curtains, affirming that dawn has indeed passed and a new day is upon him.

running a hand over his face, a disgruntled sound escapes him, sluggishly moving himself to sit up right, that familiar yet new ache in his back flaring up and begging for release in the form of stretching limbs and extended muscles. age has begun to sneak up on him, grabbing him in it’s clutches and reminding the egotistical man that he is just that: a man, not a god, much to his own displeasure.

the hand departs from his face only to pause midair. a smell, heady and musk infused, reaches his nostrils. it’s dirty and grimey in every way yet enticing him to seek it out again, to sniff out wherever the odour is coming from and bury himself in it till he suffocates.

tentatively, he retraces his movements till his fingers dance over his face once again and realisation kicks him like the hoof of a horse, hard and with a lingering pounding.

only, the pounding comes from his crotch rather than his skull.

the smell is you, in all your dribbling, soaking, honeysuckle glory, stained on his skin like the slaves of volantis are stained with ink.

another inhale floods his senses with the memories from last night, replaying the feel of your bodies pressed together in dance, and your hand squeezing his almost painfully tight as he leads the way to your chambers, and the eager spreading of your legs as he at last satisfies his hunger for you- a hunger which had started sometime after you’d first began to present the figure of a woman, all supple breasts and pouting lips and silhouettes made of dresses that hid from view the naughty parts of you your uncle’s cock ached to see.

the voice in his head, which more often than not drives him to behave erratically, this time is but a whisper, a seduction of craving and curiosity that has him slipping his hand further down, brushing over the fine line of his lips and awaiting entrance as he parts his mouth open, brushing his stained digits over his tongue.

a jolt of heat burns down his spine while the sweet tang of your taste invades his senses. like biting through a lemon, the taste should repel him in every way, flood his soul with shame and leave him disgusted in himself.

instead, he licks his tongue in a silent plea for more.

the thought of never bathing again crosses daemon’s mind, unwilling to wash away the evidence of the peak he’d driven you to with nothing but his fingers. gods help the world when he finally gets his cock in you, for he’s likely to become a deranged, dirty shell of a man too busy getting fill after fill of your pulsing cunny to ever plunder himself into the oil-infused waters of a bath.

you’d be so sweet for him, a little harlet for him to mold and bend and break into every which-way he desires you. and it’s that thought, plus the taste of your dried essence, which has the rogue prince’s cock stirring beneath the tangled sheets.

desire awakens much like a dragon would: slowly and, then, all at once, eyes wide, chest huffing and puffing, and body arising from the ground.

the prince kicks the tangled sheets off, no thought given to whatever corner in the chambers he tosses them towards, eyes and hand and mind too focused on the once flacid organ between his leg growing more solid and red in the tip as the moments pass.

“fuck...” he means to only think it, yet speaks it aloud into the solace of the room as the warmth of his hand makes itself familiar with his cock.

he gives himself a tug, dry hand meeting the movement with resistance yet the layer of skin which conceals his soon-to-be seed soaked slit retracts enough to allow the blushing head of his cock to poke through. while he’d typically prefer to wet it with a whore’s cunt, or slicken it with whatever mindless ointment he could find laying around, daemon finds himself gathering his own saliva and spitting a fat drop of it into the palm of his hand.

the glide of his digits over the organ becomes easier, allowing him to work himself into full-blown hardness, cock taking over the use of his brain and sending him into a state of restless lust, demanding to be fed and satiated with the emptying of his stones, preferably into the warm, pulsating, tight cunt of his little dove.

while the prince does debate his ability to throw on a robe- or, even, roam the halls in his nude glory- and seek out your likely sleeping form, to watch as you startle awake with the breaking of your maidenhead and cry out for your uncle to fill you with his spend till you’re swelling with his bastard, he decides he prefers the thought of making you wait a little longer, see how much he can test the limits of your impatient desires.

after all, a maiden always feels best when her cunt’s as soaked as her crying eyes and her mouth’s spewing plead after plead, begging for his cock.

while one hand works over himself, the other sneaks it’s way back into his mouth, lust bursting into bright colours as he licks over the taste of you, soaking it into his bloodstream and making you part of his genetics- just as he is part of yours.

daemon allows his eyes to slip shut, sinking into sweet fantasies and mental pictures of bouncing tits and blood stained sheets, only to reopen them within an instant at the sound of his chamber door slamming against the solid wall.

“oh my!” a young girl dressed in rags turns her back on him as quickly as she notices his naked form, as if allowing him to compose himself and make himself presentable. “i’m so sorry, my prince! i would have knocked but he said i should simply let myself in!”

daemon makes no attempt to find cover.

“do whatever it is you need to do.” he speaks with a tone far too relaxed for a man who’s still got a grip on his cock. if anything, the raggedness in his breaths comes from his frustrations of losing the flavour of you on his tongue. “don’t stop on my account.”

she hesitates upon facing him again, eyes clearly wandering off from her own commands and glancing down at his exposed crotch more times than he imagines she’s comfortable with. from the look of her, she’s young in age- likely only recently blossomed into a woman- and, at the thought of his being the first cock she’s ever seen, he feels himself grow closer to his peak, a sick and twisted satisfaction buzzing through his veins at the possibility of giving the sweet girl her first sense of visual arousal.

when the shock passes, yet still lingers in her features like a harsh cough irritates the throat, she makes her way fully into the room. in her arms, a tray with a mass of food, enough to feed a lord and his men for several nights. without a word, she lays the assortment out on the large table within his chambers, hands shaking under her own nerves.

meanwhile, daemon slows the flick of his own wrist, teasing his cock with the impending satisfaction. a smile, too faint to be seen yet present enough that he feels the slight stretch of his lips, births itself as he considers who this offering of a feast may be from.

“what’s this about, girl?” he throws the question out into the air, clear amusement in his tone.

“the king, my prince.” just as he expected. “he’s ordered this be sent to you.”

and so it begins, he thinks.

his brother is buttering him up, showing a sign of good-will to have daemon in his good graces when he orders the rogue prince betroths himself to the king’s pretty daughter, her supposed virtue now a pile of crumbled ruins in the eyes of the court. as if he needs convincing to take such a sweet young thing to wife, the perfect little bird made of blonde hair, valyrian blood, sugar-coated cum and the sweetest song of whimpers and pleas.

“then make sure you let my brother know how eager i am to receive his feast.” he can feel himself reaching the edge of his peak, tethering off the edge and seconds away from painting his hand white with wasted seed.

perhaps the serving girl will lick it clean for him.

“of course, my prince.” once finished with the arranging of the feast, the maiden straightens out some wrinkles in her skirt- though it does nothing to clean up her looks- and begins to make her way back toward the entry to his chambers. “the king will be surprised to see you so agreeable, though it will help soothe his unease, my lord.”

“his... unease?” daemon’s movements stop, the air runs dry and the girl visibly stiffens, hand curling around the door handle and clenching it as if it is the only thing giving her support.

clearly, she’s said something she shouldn’t have.

“i must go, my lord.”

“unease over what, girl?”

“you... you don’t know, do you?” she’s beginning to irritate him, speaking in riddles and shaking like a leaf in the winds of winter.

“answer me clearly or i’ll have your tongue.” the girl can not see the way he moves off the bed, nor the way he spies his eyes towards his trusted sword propped against a wall, but she certainly hears the loud thud of his feet meeting the floor, feels the darker shift of energy in the room as the rogue prince makes a threatening advance towards her.

“ser gerold royce, my prince...” he’s near certain she lets out a pathetic whimper, like a wounded doe. “he’s proclaimed himself as lord of runestone.”

the world comes to a stand still as her words flood over him.

while the prince is frozen in his spot, face an empty canvas devoid of emotion, the young girl makes a swift exit, wise enough to not wish to stick around long enough to bare witness to the hot-headed prince’s reaction. the slamming of the door on her way out seems to startle him back into motion, naked limbs striding across the room and grabbing at the door. he twists the handle and gives a harsh tug, strong enough to have the wood smash as it collides against the wall.

the door does not open.

he attempts again, and again, and again, and is met with the same resistance each time. only then does it dawn on him- the feast, the unease- this was never about his brother keeping him in his good graces.

this was about the king keeping him locked away in his chambers.

“next, you’ve got your knight. while still not a very point-worthy piece, this holds power in the way it moves, jumping over pawns like a real knight slices through his enemies with the point of his sword.”

four days pass by slowly within the confines of his chambers.

at first, he rages. pacing the floor till the plush carpeting runs thin, hacking away at hand-crafted furniture his ancestors had sat upon and broken fast at, mouth dropped open in a bellow of impassioned words of all the things he plans to do once he gets his hands on his older brother, most of which start and end with his grip on the king’s neck.

then, he tries rest.

it’s a hopeless attempt, though, as the thoughts are running far too rampant for him to ignore the fact he’s confined within his room, not a clue of what his brother has done in regards to runestone’s rebellion. then come the thoughts of you, his little dove, likely hurt, and confused, and needing your dear uncle’s guidance on how to continue onward, how to outsmart the wretched ladies within your father’s court, how to ensure you do not wind up married off to some boring oaf of a lord, with not a drop of valyrian blood in his veins.

after sleep evades him, and rage consumes him once more, he switches to pleasuring himself, hand squeezed tight around his cock and working over the sex organ till he’s completely spent, his sack drained and nothing but pathetic droplets of seed painting his skin by the eight, ninth, tenth peak he drives himself too, fuelling the fire of his lust with past rendevouz- the pentoshi whore he’d fucked in front of her own husband, the nights he’d spent in the streets of silk in rooms where cups and cunts were shared amongst the crowd, the young knight who’d sought him out after a tourney and cried out as daemon stretched the tight pink hole of his arse- and with future desires- the slapping of his stones against your pearl as he takes you from behind, your pretty eyes struggling back tears the first time he fucks his cock into your silky wet hole, the sick, and nasty, and down-right degenerate want to bend you over the small council table and shoot his seed into your womb for all those wrinkled cunts to bare witness to.

ultimately, it’s the memory of how you taste that sends him spiralling for a tenth time.

the rogue prince is a sexual deviant, that was the very first whisper that had flooded the keep about him. and oh how he’s worn it with pride over the years, a twisted joy found in watching their outrage each time he speaks of crass and acts on sin.

even so, there is only so much he can take until he reaches his limit. and, thus, with his cock feeling like it may fall off if he does not give it some recovery time, the prince returns to raging.

that is how the king finds him, sword in hand and the expensive fabrics that once made up the curtains leading onto a balcony now nothing but tattered rags on the floor.

“i must say, daemon, this takes me back.” viserys’ tone carries amusement, which licks at daemon’s ire and coaxes it back to life, hand gripping the hilt of his sword as the prince reminds himself- despite how infuriating the king may be- that he cares deeply for his older brother. “me entering your chambers and finding you amidst a temper tantrum.”

the prince is quick on his feet, turning on his ankle till he finds himself gazing upon the face of his brother. he’s dressed in his finest robes, a mixture of reds and blacks, yet daemon does not miss the green jewel on one of his fingers. the crown upon viserys’ head reflects the sun, shining offensively in the prince’s face as if to more harshly remind him of the inheritance he’ll never claim, the throne he’ll never sit.

“what is the meaning of this?” daemon bellows and instinctively raises dark sister, the tip of the blade pointed directly at his brother.

the sound of kingsguards drawing their own weapons floods the room yet the raise of viserys’ hand halts them all in their defence, calling his brother’s bluff.

“i had some business to attend to.” the king speaks so casually, as though he’s discussing the recent weather or what he’d eaten for his supper the evening before.

“so you imprison me in my chambers as if i am some ill-behaved child!” daemon means to question him yet his words come out as more of a statement, an acceptance of the matter at hand.

“yes, well, what kind of idiot would i be to let my brother wander free in my castle while i’m grasping at straws to prevent a war?” the room grows more tense with every exchanged word between the two brothers, a feat which doesn’t go unnoticed by the guards who stand by the king nor the maidens who had rushed in after the reopening of daemon’s chambers, scrambling around to tidy the place up. “a war which you started in the first place.”

it irks something in daemon, the way viserys remains level headed whilst he’s pacing the room, and gripping his sword, and releasing his frustrations in bursts of loud voices and disgruntled grunts. condescending in every way, it sends daemon into a headspace where he’s no longer a man-grown and, instead, a tear-stained child being reprimanded by his king and grandsire.

he liked to torture young daemon who, despite his best efforts, was always prone to outbursts of emotion- outbursts the old man liked to meet with calmed expressions and tired words of disappointment, dismissing his grandson to bed.

it seems to be a commonality shared among kings, antagonising daemon.

“a war i started?!” and yet he falls for the trap every time, meeting viserys’ passive with his aggressive, striding those few steps closer till he’s a hair away from touching the king with his blade. still, his brother holds off his guards. “and how do you suppose i done such a thing while being imprisoned!?”

“cool it with the theatrics, brother,” viserys punctuates his exhaustion with an eye roll and gives a single nod of his head, giving the kingsguards the go-ahead to swarm around daemon.

a pair of them, both young in their knighthood and matching in face, grab at the rogue prince’s arms and hold him in a stand-still while another guard plucks the weapon from his hand. daemon shoves against their hold and is met with more resistance.

dark sister is passed among the guards, each hand that touches it being added to a tally of people on daemon’s list of men to disembowel. finally, viserys holds the weapon, examining it like it is the very first time he’s seen it.

“daemon, it brings me no joy to do this,” the king starts up again, eyes meeting the glaring amethysts of his brother. “but with the tensions arising and war creeping over the horizon, i can not afford to risk anything going amiss.”

“get to the point, brother. you’re speaking in rhyme as if you were some bard.”

“very well. from now until i decide you are not a threat to this kingdom, your confinement will be stretched from your chambers to the red keep. you are to carry no weapon and you will step no foot out of this castle.”

“you’re a fool if you think i’ll agree to this.”

“it is an order from your king!” viserys lets the mask slip, intentionally or not, and his irritation shines through like the stars paint themself across the dark sky. “and if that’s not enough to keep you in line, you will also be monitored at all hours of the day, every move you make within these walls will be shadowed by that of a knight of my choosing.”

daemon targaryen considers murdering his brother.

“and i see no man more fit for the job than ser criston cole.”

for the first time in his life, daemon targaryen may just go through with it.

“the bishop may be similar to the knight in it’s point count, yet it moves differently. while a knight can not move three times in the same direction, a bishop must stay within the colour it started in. think of a bishop like a maester: chained to an oath it can never break”

he’d rather be forced to endure a lifetime of self-flagellation than another moment of this conversation.

“it is in your best interest, your grace, to cut this state of anarchy out from it’s roots before any other houses chose to follow in the footsteps of runestone.” the new hand of the king is certainly an improvement from the hightower cunt, daemon can’t deny it. yet a part of him feels the knife of betrayal twist deeper into his back upon realising his brother had not only ignored his own warnings of the green lord till rhaenyra brought them up too, but he’d once again given the role to a random lord in his court rather than his own brother. “we have cause to believe that the dandarrions may be next to follow, given the less than kind words your daughter had for them during her tour for a marriage.”

“then there is the matter with the lannisters and, of course, the never ending tensions with the dornish folk. they’re more weary than ever, since someone,” maester mellos has never been a subtle man, despite all his supposed wits and knowledge, and so it flies over no one’s head when he takes a glance at the rogue prince and his standing guard, the insufferable man who’s made himself daemon’s shadow. “went to war with the triarchy.”

“my apologies for riding you all of that tyrant crabfeeder!” daemon speaks for the first time since he’d been forced to sit at the small council. “i’ll be sure to stand by and allow the next one to rip you all to pieces.”

daemon drowns out the rest of the meeting, uninterested in hearing his brother grovel at ways to keep his subjects at bay, as though they are the ones that rule over him.

gifts of gold for the dandarrion, a knighting for the lannisters’ youngest lords, peace-offerings in the forms of poetic words, and sweetened fruits, and lavish silks for the dornish. each gift more empty than the last.

it’s the mention of your name that brings him back into the room.

“were she here, we could have used her as a bargaining plea for one of these stronger houses,” ser lyman beesbury is the one who speaks and, with each word, the rest of the councilmen grow wider in the eyes and stiffer in their seats.

daemon explains their otherwise odd reactions away with them simply feeling uncomfortable discussing you in his presence, everything changed and nothing the same since sometime between the night he had you pressed against your door and his confinement within the keep.

upon release back into the castle, he’d searched for you first of all, paying no mind to criston cole as the knight struggled to keep up with his rushed footfall, mind too focused on the renewed anger he wished to placate with his cock in your mouth and the further destruction of your purity, all in the name of spiting your father.

when he’d reached your chambers, however, he’d found nothing but a mess of emptied trunks and an unkept bed.

“the princess is not here.” ser criston had spoken between gasps of air, chest heaving beneath the unnecessary layers of chainmail and armor his position forces him to wear.

daemon had demanded an answer for your whereabouts, only to quickly realise the knight was none-the-wiser. it was the new hand, ultimately, that clued him in, over sips of wine and looks of caution from other council-men amid a private feast.

“driftmark, prince daemon.” he’d dabbed at the corners of his mouth with poise and composure, everything about the man seemingly perfected for politics, serving only to irritate the prince further. “the princess has accompanied her older sister and her new husband on their trip to laenor velaryon’s home.”

that was the last daemon had heard of you.

a near moon later and you were still out of reach, likely turning your nose at the smell of salt that coated the walls of the velaryon household and wondering why a certain red-speckled dragon had yet to swoop in on the island, carrying the cause and answer to all your problems upon it’s back.

“dare i say i agree, your grace,” another of the men chimes in, his words barely a whisper at first, glancing nervously toward the king. “perhaps we may write for her return and see to it that a betrothal be made.”

daemon chooses to observe viserys in this moment, eyes trailing over his features and taking note of every wrinkle in his brow, every greyed hair within his unshaven face, every upturn and scorn of his lip. there’s a wave of unease that’s fallen over his brother, and it only grows with every moment that the lords speak of you in the rogue prince’s presence, the air thick with the discussion the two brother’s had yet to have regarding the rumours of your deflowering.

“and, tell me, my lords, what you suggest we tell the princess’ current betrothed?” maester mellos, ever incapable of holding his tongue, barks across the table, deathly unaware of the looks that befall the council nor the tensing of daemon’s shoulders. “the king is trying to avoid war, not further instigate one by implying her current betrothal is not good enough, that house-”

“that’s enough!” the king rises from his chair all at once, slamming his hand down on the table and commanding the attention of everyone in the room, more so when he recoils in pain. all at once, the rumours of his declining health and the effect it’s had on his body feel all too true. “there will be no further discussions of my daughter nor the prospect of a new betrothal. what’s done is done and i will not go back on my word to appease your fear-mongering speculations. we will continue our diplomatic relationship with these houses and ensure they do good to remember who sits the iron throne.”

the men obey like sheep, each bowing their head and mumbling false reconciliations.

one by one, they all take their leave.

first, lyman beesbury, who with pale face and solemn eyes lays apologies at visery’s feet. next, the master of laws and maester mellos, neither of them wasting time with niceties and opting for a mere bow towards their king. when all the chairs lay empty, save for daemon’s and the king, silence runs thick through the room. neither brother moving, each testing their unnamed opponent and awaiting the first blow through the tension to be made.

daemon grows impatient.

“unless corlys velaryon fucked a new son into our lady cousin and had the babe birthed in a matter of days, i do wonder who you’ve betrothed my niece to on driftmark.”

“do you know what your problem is, daemon?” though viserys’ words come out with inquisitory tones, he leaves no space for the prince to answer. “you’re so busy with your own schemes and plans that you fail to see when you’re the one being played.”

daemon feels small.

for a moment, he’s no longer a man grown into a soldier, with a mighty sword and a fearsome dragon. instead, he’s frail and weak, and staring across at his older brother as he beats him once more in the game of knights and checkered spaces, a taunting look on his face as he knocks over the little boy’s king piece and declares himself victor.

when the moment passes, he straightens his posture and rises from his seat, and reminds himself of the words his mother would comfort her crying babe with each time he failed to win, whispers of how there’s always something to be gained in any loss he finds.

he settles with leading his brother further into the trap of rumours him and his niece have conjured up together.

“i hear your new wife is fond of the seven, brother.” the prince reaches to grip the hilt of his sword, only to find an empty space and the reminder that he carries no weapon as of late. “ask her to pray for your daughter, i don’t believe she tasted the bitterness of moon tea after our evening together.”

the king does not call daemon’s bluff.

“this right here? the rook, worth more than the bishop or knight, yet less than the king or queen, it is an allusive piece. play the game wisely and your rook may trap the king, leaving it with nowhere to run.”

with the passing of another moon, daemon plunders deeper into insanity.

he’s always been a man of possession, the kind who owns and conquers and takes. objects, lands, people. they’re all the same in daemon’s chequebook of ownership. and, while living a rather messy and unkept life, he enjoys the pleasantness of having his possessions in his line of sight, like the sword he’s worn at his hip since the old king bestowed it upon him, or the seating he takes at every royal feast, chair angled perfectly to keep his eyes on the brother, nieces, family he possesses.

with dark sister out of reach and his most recent favoured family member out of sight- the pretty niece he’s silently layed his claim on-, destruction is imminent.

no longer does he debate with his own inner-turmoil over if he will go against the king’s orders but, rather, he questions when.

when will he redeem his previous loss against ser criston cole, beat the knight to the ground and steal his weapon as he lays unconscious?

when will he slip through the cracks in the castle walls, making use of the secretive halls built by maegor the cruel himself and slice through any guard who may attempt to get in his way?

when will he take the skies atop his fire-breathing mount, fleeing the city of whispering cunts and chees-playing fools?

the answer to each questions comes back to one thing, one person, one possession he needs to locate first.

you.

the events to follow the council meeting had lead him to several conclusions.

the first, and most obvious one, was that you clearly were not on driftmark, as lord strong had so boldly claimed. the second took him a few sleeps to fully decide upon but, remembering the words spoken of your betrothal among the council men and the apparent greater houses they could have given your hand to, daemon crossed off the possibility of you being in winterfell, the young stark lord likely too prideful to entertain the king’s earlier propositions of marriage after the way you’d left him amid a feast to go and- falsely rumoured- fuck your uncle.

with the dandarrions, the lannisters and the dornish folk already ruled off the list, it left daemon with few options.

his strongest lead is the baratheons, a long-standing connection between the two houses and a recently widowed lord who’s previous wife had gifted nothing but girls from her womb, it took no genius to assume a targaryen bride would serve him well.

daemon will soon find out he's wrong.

there’s an unease that takes over someone’s chambers the moment they notice something has been tampered with, whether it be as silly as a glass moved a few inches across a table or something as significant as a chest of drawers laying open when they’d clearly been left shut.

it tickles the back of the prince’s neck this very evening, skin rising to mimic that of a goose as he trails his eyes over his surroundings.

he’d returned to his chambers later than usual this evening, the day spent cornering council-men and threatening them- daemon had quickly discovered they feared him less with no blade to slice through them and his own personal minder at his back, that ridiculous kingsguard armour reflecting every ray of sun and every burn of candlelight.

daemon had taken to tormenting the poor ser crispin only a matter of days into their forced companionship. he figured that, if he may no longer seek joy in the streets of silk or the bloodshed of his enemies, let him at least take pleasure in the squirming discomfort of a man he loathes entirely.

“my niece,” he’d spoke as the two sat through their usual quiet supper together. “did you enjoy fucking her?”

“i did not fuck princess y/n.”

“well, of course not,” daemon pushed his spoon back and forth, passing time while he thought up his next taunt. “my younger niece has always had the more refined taste out of the two of them. rhaenyra, on the other hand, well she’d fuck a hound if it licked her the right way.”

“all this from a man who preys on his own blood for his sexual deviance. you and i both know what you done to your niece, how you seduced such a-”

“my nieces have always seemed so alike. both pale haired, both sharing the same smile, both wearing the same dresses.” the knight and the prince had long abandoned their food now, discussion heavy with daemon’s accusation of ser criston abandoning his own vows and committing what he can only imagine would be declared treason, deflowering a princess. perhaps soon the two will share something in common. “now i wonder if they feel the same. you must know, so tell me, did rhaenyra’s cunt grip your pathetic cock in a vice that threatened to ruin any other woman for you? or is that a trait only my youngest niece possesses?”

even now, hours into the late night and several more cups of wine drowning in his system, daemon can not bite back a dry laugh as he recalls the astound look upon the knight’s face, a mixture of disgust and discomfort.

he’s seated- more accurately speaking, he’s draped- upon a chaise, muscles tense and mind racing, in need of distraction. most of his nights end like this now, several emptied pitchers of wine along the floor, red staining his mouth and his own figure collapsed over whatever surface he finds first. occasionally, he’d attempt to have his way with a serving girl, ignoring the looks of ser criston as he stands guard outside his chambers and watches the prince enter with his partner for the evening, yet most were dismissed before daemon could satisfy himself, a mixture of his own drunken incontinence and their far too placid natures.

at least the whores of the silk street make him believe they want him.

letting out a groan, he sinks further into the seat, legs bent at the knee and feet planted firmly on the ground as he lets himself lay back fully. he’s contemplating taking rest here for the evening, and weighing the likely-hood of awakening with a new pain in his neck.

it would certainly be a more comfortable sleep than the would he’d taken last night, back slumped against a wall and body sat atop the cool marbled floor.

he makes his choice, limbs too tired to make the few paces to his bed, and resigns himself for the night, twisting once more to find the most comfortable position upon the chaise and closing his eyes.

only to reopen them instantly.

something rustles. that feeling of unease creeps in once again, slow like fog over the horizon, hazy and threatening, and cold in every sense of the word. someone has been in his chambers, is in his chambers, and they’ve left something askew.

his eyes dart over the room, trying to assess every nook and corner and crevice within it in hopes of spotting a pair of spying eyes or unsettled objects. struggling due to all the blind spots his position has created, daemon heaves himself back into the upright position, figure slouched and back curved uncomfortably.

the rustling happens again.

he shoots up from his seat, wondering if his inebriated state has begun to create delusions, or if the psychosis caused by staring at the same red walls of the keep nonstop has finally begun to take over. he must be going mad, he thinks, eyes scanning over the whole of his room as he turns in place, cursing the more he notices nothing out of the ordinary.

until he sees it.

there, placed exactly where his tired limbs had been mere moments ago, lays a note.

it’s folded over and sporting a strange yellow blotch in one of it’s corners while, in the centre, written in the blackest ink so delicately and flowery it near stirs his cock in his breeches, kepus.

he snatches at the paper, near tearing it in two with the speed he unfolds it, eyes racing over every scribble and every swirl of pretty inked words.

the rain is the only thing that brings me comfort these days.

the letter begins and, while the writer has still not identified themselves, the prince is more than certain he knows who is speaking.

i’ve never been a fan of change (i’m sure you recall my horrid tantrums as a child whenever my mother assigned me a new handmaiden), yet never have i faced one so large. where in the capital i spent my days with books and needles and rides upon dragon’s back, here i am told to sit quiet as a mouse, as though i am merely another ornament within the lord’s home. where i once spent nights rolling my eyes and wishing to be excused from public feasts, here i cry and ache for a morsel of socialising outside the lord’s inner circle. where once i slept sound over the small folk screaming and cheering into the late night, here i sit awake by the window and listen to each raindrop.

i am not built for the cold, both in weather and in people. they frighten me here, which is a thing i never thought i’d need admit to. there are no whispers here, only silence. but their eyes, they speak paragraphs of hatred and disdain and ill-intentions with a simple glance. i need not worry if they will eat me alive here, but rather whom will be the one to do so. in the capital i’ve always felt untouchable, first because i was my father’s daughter, a princess of the realm, and, when that began to lose effect, you stepped in and taught me safety can be found in another, with your advice and your combat training and your inability to let me fall asleep without you on my mind.

i’ve developed a sick obsession for you, uncle, and it is entirely your fault.

he’s sunk back onto the chaise, hand gripping the letter tighter as a mixture of worry and anger stirs up in his loins. worry over the tales you tell, anger for the possibility of this being a sick game, a note written by some pathetically bored serving wench aiming to ruffle some feathers.

he decides he must keep reading to uncover the truth.

and so, now, it is with heavy heart that i must admit i’m disappointed. don’t perceive me as foolish, for i am wiser than some maiden who believes the things i feel for you to be love. but i always believed there was understanding between us, two different souls yet so completely immersed and knowing of each other’s drives and needs. even when i was a child, you were always the first to notice once i was too tired to continue with the festivities or when i craved the thrill of sneaking down to the dragonpit to spy upon the great beasts. i thought you’d understand, too, that this is not the life i wishfor: a husband with the personality of a wet piece of parchment and a life of silence and gloom.

i am a dragon, just like my sister, and my father, and our ancestors. and a dragon can not grow in a cage, so why have you let them put me in one? you agreed to help me, to ruin me for any other lord so that my father would have no option to but to wed us, leaving us both to our own devices. you, gaining that valyrian wife you always wanted while not changing your whorish ways, and i, earning the freedom i would not find shackled to some low achieving, overbearing, egotistical man. yet i now have a betrothed who’s hair is brown and who’s house has no dragon.

i will risk writing this only once, for the spiders may not spin their thread here but they still bite, and ask this of you: speak sense into my father. tell him i’m with child, tell him i’m a threat to the realm, tell him i’m plotting my own death. tell him any lie you need to put a stop to this betrothal and bring me home, to where i belong.

or, outsmart him and simply come rescue me yourself, like some knight on his white stallion (caraxes would likely singe my hair off if i ever dared call him such a thing in his presence).

i’ll be awaiting your next move, uncle. be sure you play wisely and don’t lose both your princess and your king.

coldest regards,

your little dove.

p.s. i have cum to learn that, while my fingers are indeed skilled, they are nowhere near as good as yours were, kepus.

the intensity behind the stare he holds the note under may just set it alight.

no longer does he doubt who could have written such a thing, the mentions of your joint ploy to deceive the courtiers and the wording used to describe the connection shared between you both marking the undeniable truth of the letter’s author.

perversion brings him to reread the final sentence, mind fully registering them and flooding him with pink hued paintings of his pretty niece, as nude as the day you were born, now flushed skin and hardened nipples and honey dripping down your thighs as your dainty hands fail to fuck themselves as deeply as his had.

daemon can’t help but wonder what his little dove must think of in moments of self-pleasure, questions of whether you were depraved enough to think of men doing unspeakable things to you or if you merely blush over the memory of your uncle.

reading over the last part two more times, his eyes scatter back up the page- first, in an effort to avoid having to deal with his own impending arousal, and then because he feels compelled to read over the letter once more, eyes scanning over every detail.

it takes an unknown number of reads for him to notice a code among the words, a subtleness of ink layered to appear harsher, darker, more noticeable than the other words upon the parchment.

i’m, where, you, once, were.

i’m where you once were.

an inexplicable sense of pride comes over him, the fact his little dove has found a way to tell him something whilst, simultaneously, telling him nothing. were your worries true of spiders and the risk of one of them reading this letter in the time it took to reach him, he doubts any of them would be wise enough to notice the message, much less decipher it’s meaning.

and, while he applauds your display of wits, he despises his own inability to comprehend it. if you are where he once was, where had he been?

just about everywhere in the seven kingdoms, is the unfortunate truth.

by the time sleep at lasts takes over him, daemon has gained two things: the letter you’ve sent and the unbreakable will to move in on the king at last.

“the objective of chess is to protect your king while attacking your opponent’s. you must back the king into a corner, leave him with no way out, place him in check. only then will you be able to call checkmate and win.”

daemon nudges the knight with his foot.

as they’d sat for supper that evening, the prince had felt doubtful of the contents in the vial. he’d pinched it from the grand maester himself and, though he payed no real coins, the prince would argue he payed a grater price: feigning interest in conversing with old crone. a near three hours he’d sat, listening to the man drone on and on, till at last he’d excused himself to relieve his bladder and left daemon with a window of opportunity, his ointments and medicine all in a neat little display.

having little time, he’d grabbed at what he was sure to be milk of the poppy- a significantly smaller dose remaining within the vial compared to the rest- and tucked it in his trousers, at last excusing himself from the bore of a lifetime.

it wasn’t difficult to slip the liquid into a cup of wine, nor was it particularly hard to convince ser criston to drink from it, inviting the knight to join in on his empty toast towards the hightower queen and yet another pregnancy.

hours later and ser crispin lays slumped over outside his door.

daemon gives one more nudge for safety and, when the man merely slouches even closer to the ground, he grabs at the knight’s weapon and nestles it in his own scabbard, making use of it for the first time in two moons.

the hour is late and most of the keep have given in to the temptations of rest, yet the prince still travels the halls with caution, one eye looking over his shoulder. he half expects every guard he passes to seize him on sight, spewing some nonsense of his wrongful weapon or non-permitted solitude. with luck he reaches his destination, no one to spy upon the way he enters into the emptied library nor to witness as he shoves a bookcase aside and steps into the tunnel.

his memory serves him well, even after all these years, navigating himself through the interconnected secrets of the keep. he passes rooms of lords laid in bed with women they do not call wife, and ladies disrobing for the evening, and the still empty chambers of his little dove, till, at last, he reaches where he wants to be, not bothering with patience before barging his way out of the tunnel and into the regal chambers of the king.

“it took you longer than i expected.” daemon had counted on his brother being the one wearing shock upon his face, yet it is the prince who plays the fool, stepping into the room to find his older brother sat at a table, goblet in hand and a familiar checkered board in front of him.

it irks him to hear the king even imply he’d been expecting his arrival.

“don’t you have a wife to be bedding, brother?” he steps deeper into the chambers with caution, eyes on the empty bed and the lack of sight of his brother’s breeding mare.

“pregnancy, daemon. it works wonders on a woman’s body,” he takes a sip of his drink before reaching to pour a second cup meant for the prince. “it’s just a shame one of those wonders comes in the form of my wife snoring louder than a lion roars.”

it’s strange to hear his brother discuss details of his new bride.

daemon had never sought answers for their marriage, yet he’d forever questioned what had driven his brother to marry such a girl, childhood friend of his eldest daughter and so clearly lacking the backbone needed to stand up for herself against the injustices forced against her by her own father. were the prince a more gentle person at heart, perhaps he’d find it in him to pity her.

instead, he sees her as just another thorn in his brother’s side, waiting for the chance to poison his mind and seat one of her wretched babes upon the throne.

“come, come,” dragging him out of his thoughts is viserys once more, now half-hovering over the table and moving his limbs back and forth, hands carefully placing each piece upon it’s designated checker. “sit down! let us play!”

only as he’s seated across from viserys does he notice he’s been bestowed with playing the blacks on the board. never before was he allowed, the older of the two always insisting black was his lucky colour and refusing to play the whites.

in truth, daemon has always suspected his brother had been to fearful to play white, not knowing how to make a good first move and relying on his opponent to instead kickstart the game and give him places to move his pieces.

“isn’t it a beautiful board?” the elder must confuse his staring as a sign of fascination, gawking at the splendour of it. “it’s the very same one mother gifted me after i bested her for the first time.”

there it is, that familiar lick of envy, a sick and cruel twist in his guts as he stares down at an object viserys gets to remember their parents by, while all daemon ever got was disapproving looks and half-hearted embraces. perhaps the rumours are true and the prince has a complex which forces him to pity himself, to cast a shadow upon his own image and declare that it was a wrong forced upon him by others.

or, more likely, the consequences of watching his parents prop viserys up on a mantelpiece whilst leaving him in a corner to collect dust had lead him down the path to the destructive man he’s become.

even when he’d claimed caraxes, he could only imagine what his father’s reaction would have been, were he still alive to witness it.

impressive, but your brother claimed the greatest dragon to have ever lived, the one who the great conqueror rode upon and forged a throne under the black dread’s flames.

“‘tis exactly the same as any other chess board, brother.” he lets petty feelings spin lies on his tongue, rolling his eyes and disregarding the clear etherealness, the intricate carvings on each piece and the extravagant linings of the board, and each of it’s shimmering onyx and quartz squares.

daemon downs half his cup in one sip, eyes trained on his brother’s first move.

king’s pawn forward two spaces, a strong start and an immediate attack to the centre.

it’s fitting, daemon thinks, for this to be the first move his brother makes while leading a game. while a powerful start, it’s rather obvious, one he’d seen viserys defeat in a manner of mere seconds. perhaps age has taken away his astute mind and skill for the game.

daemon retaliates, moving one of his bishop’s pawns forward two spaces.

with the crease that forms in viserys’ brow, daemon delights. his brother was not expecting him to move in such a way, likely expecting him to do something erratic like bringing his queen’s pawn forward.

the pair continue to move in silence, sips of wine and scratching of pieces echoing around the chambers. it’s deceivingly peaceful, nothing like the confrontation the rogue prince had geared himself up to walk into. while he’d awaited bursts of anger and scathing accusations and marks of betrayal, the two sit like children once more, moving empty objects in an imitation of politics.

the only difference is daemon appears to have the upper hand, a growing collecting of white pieces stored to the right of his long-ago emptied and refilled cup.

as always, it’s daemon who takes the first bite.

“i’m afraid i must pay you your dues, brother.” his words slip through his own smirking lips, satisfaction rolling in by the hundreds as he spies the white king, slowly losing places to hide on the board. “it’s truly applaudable how you managed to not only secure one daughter a marriage amid questions of her virtue, but two! young helaena will follow in her half-sisters’ footsteps, surely.”

viserys’ hand pauses mid-air, his remaining bishop held in his grasp. his grip tightens with each passing second. the older has always been more level-headed, that no one can dispute, but the rogue prince will forever swear up and down, high and low, that it is his brother who carries the more foul temper.

viserys’ anger is just harder to weed out from behind false niceties and calmed breathing.

“if you mean to say that helaena will be so lucky as to marry a noble man, filled with honour,” he lays his bishop down at last, not managing to capture any of daemon’s blacks. “then yes, i should hope so. both the betrothal of my eldest daughter and my middle-born were to good men, faithful lords. my helaena will be lucky to do the same.”

“you never did quite tell me about y/n’s betrothal, brother.” the king chuckles at daemon’s words, empty amusement in the obvious statement the prince makes. still, he makes no attempt to stop him, letting him string the conversation along to the dreaded topic between them: the rumours of what daemon had done to you. “last i spoke with her, she was rather... occupied with something other than the prospect of marriage. when you announced her future union to her, did she drop on her knees and kiss your feet in gratitude? or did she spit at you and-”

“did she drop on her knees for you?” the raise in viserys’ voice is minimal yet enough to have daemon smirking over the rim of his cup, amused to see his brother being led into his trap for once.

he makes his next move on the board fist, plucking his knight and moving it over one of his own pawns. if he plays is cards right, messes with his brother’s head just the right amount, perhaps he won’t notice how he’s moving in on his king.

his only hope is to keep talking about his little dove.

“so that’s what you wish to discuss, brother? how it felt to fuck your young daughter?” for the first time he speaks the lie out loud, no hiding behind innuendos nor insinuations. they need to believe you’ve stolen my virtue, kepus, were the words you’d whispered to him, face still fresh from dried tears and teeth stained purple with the wine he’d let you sip from his glass late into the night as the rest of the world had slept, they need to think that you fucked me. he’d sworn an oath to you, to put on a show and ruin you beneath the judgement of others. he’ll be damned if viserys becomes an exception to this oath. “because i can go into detail, you needn’t beg. i can tell you of how it felt to have her squeeze around my cock, and how she arched that little back like a cat, spine curving deeper each time i pounded into her. i can tell you of how she begged for her uncle, her kepus, to shoot his spend into her aching womb and-”

a screech rings out as viserys’ chair flies backwards, the king rising to a stand and glaring down at his brother, who only sinks deeper into the velvet lined seat and allows himself another sip of his glass, face painted in pure amusement as viserys’ reflects that of an angered dragon.

“enough! i will not have you speak such atrocities about your own niece!”

“oh spear me the lecture of the seven, brother!” the hypocrisy to shun him for lusting after his own kin, it has to be the hightower cunt’s doing. feeding lies into her new husband’s head, any means to have his true-blooded targaryen daughters removed from the line to the throne. daemon at last feels himself begin to irk, a scowl engraving itself into his forehead. “your own beloved, your late wife, shared blood with you and you never once objected to bedding her. it is our family’s birthright to keep the blood of the dragon burning hot, not dampen it with that of lesser folk. i mean our parents, for gods’ sake, they were siblings! are you going to tell me it’s wrong?”

“this is not about you being her uncle, daemon. this is about you being you! and her being my sweet girl, one of the last pieces of aemma-”

daemon can’t help himself, flying out of his own seat with the slam of his hand on the table. the pieces rattle under the impact, the white queen toppling over and sending her pawn flying off the board.

“your sweet girl who you let be slandered by the same lords who break bread at your table and drink from your cups!” the prince stands taller than the king, shoulders straight and head held high as he flips positions, becoming the one staring down upon his older brother, who’s slouched and frailer than he once was, hands searching for the steadying hold of the oak table. “tell me, brother, where were you when she drank herself sick as they spoke on her fertility? what did you do when they mocked her for being scared after an attack on her life, in her own chambers!? did you even ask her what happened between us before you shipped her off like cattle to the slaughter, let her tell you it was she who asked it of me? she detested the thought of marrying some unknown lord so much she’d rather destroy her maidenhood and her honour, but you wouldn’t see that, too blinded by your own downfall into becoming a boot-licker for all these cunts who hold land in your realm.”

viserys can only stare, frozen where he stands and eyes widened in bewilderment at his brother’s own outburst, chest heaving in anger and hands shaking with adrenaline as he points towards the king.

“are you in love with her?”

no more than a whisper, so quiet the rogue prince is almost sure he imagines it.

till the king repeats himself.

"gods, don't be ridiculous!" it’s neither a yes nor a no, and daemon is so painfully aware of this, aware that he gives no real answer to your father nor himself.

the concept of love and all it entails has never appealed to the prince, at least in the way it’s presented in song and written of in history. all his life he’d heard of knights who’s lady love was a gem they sought to hold, to sing songs of faithfulness and dance around with hands entwined by marriage. of men who made themselves better, kinder, more gentle, all in the hopes of pleasing their lover and winning her hand. daemon had never experienced such a feeling.

while love is something most feel in their heart, daemon feels it in his loins.

it’s a hunger that consumes his very being, aching, and growling, and demanding to be fed with bursts of passion and shouts of anger. it’s a possession he needs to take, to mark someone as his, in every sense of the words. his to own, his to touch, his to drown in expensive gifts. his love is not kind, but brutal, and loud, and forceful, never leaving room for the rest of the world to doubt it. it makes him want to march into battle, to burn down cities, to spill the blood of any who dare harm the object of his obsession. his love is a fire that burns him from within, spilling out from his skin and scorching everything in it’s path.

the prince is not sure if he wants you to burn in its flames.

“but i could give her a greater life than any other man in this realm.” what he is certain of is that he will not stand by as your father let’s you be ruined by someone other than him. “a good man means nothing if he can not keep her safe, or even happy. at the very least, wedding her to me would mean her husband is someone familiar. she wouldn’t have to leave her home, or change her ways, or even bare a child if she does not wish to.”

viserys sighs, tired body dropping back into his chair and his mangled hand reaches up to brush over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeeze shut. the prince almost believes he sees a flicker of resignation, winning his brother over at last or exhausting him so deeply he sees no choice but to accept his words as truth, if only to silence him.

instead, the king reaches for the board once more, an airy laugh escaping him as he examines the placement of each piece. leaning over, he sits his queen back up and drums his fingers on the table.

he laughs once more.

"after all these years, daemon, you still struggle to capture my queen."

“but your queen, daemon. the queen is where you hide all your power, look for where your opponent keeps their queen and there you shall find true victory.”

the words of years ago spin round and round in the prince’s head.

his eyes, glued to the board, watch as the king moves his queen out two spaces and captures daemon’s knight, snatching it off the board and tossing it over his shoulder. viserys looks up, awaiting for daemon to continue the match, to put an end to it at last.

but he’s too stuck on the phrasing his brother had used, stubborn in his belief that it’s meaning has little to do with the game upon the table and, rather, the one that’s being played with words and whispers and undisclosed betrothals.

the prince thinks of the queen, the hightower girl who parades around the courts in green silks and upon swollen ankles, face downtrodden each time she foolishly thinks no one is looking. if ever he believed viserys held true affection for her, he’d wonder if she was who the king refers to, if otto hightower had truly been sent back to oldtown empty handed or with a new bride on his arm.

but any fool with a set of eyes can see the king loves his second wife like he loves the iron throne: through duty and obligation.

it is, instead, the late queen aemma who viserys must speak of.

and, while her maiden home, house arryn, where she’d spent her girlhood in the days before she’d been betrothed to her cousin, possesses no lord nor man awaiting a wife, a neighbouring house had just recently named a new wifeless lord.

a house which remembers, especially those who wrong it.

“no…”

i'm where you once where.

“you have to understand, daemon, that the actions you take leave me with consequences to bare. after what happened to lady rhea… after what you done,” his brother, so clearly exhausted with the secrecy and the scheming, folds like a house of cards against a gentle breeze, collapsing further into his seat and shaking his head. he does not notice as daemon moves his own queen along the board. “the vale were at an unease. threatened, was the word they used. so when lord royce staked his claim over his house’s seat, demanding i compensate runestone for the marriage agreement you destroyed and the lady you took from them, i had to give them a show of good faith. i had to reassure them of the longstanding trust between our houses.”

“so you gave her to them, sold her like some slave!”

“i made a political deal!” he attempts to defend himself in both words and on the board. in both, he fails. “one where lord rhoyce gains a bride, i avoid war and my daughter gets to finally take on the duties bestowed upon her at birth.”

“you’re a fucking fool, viserys. you would have been better delivering her to the triarchy. least they would make her death a more swift one. that rhoyce twat’ll have her head on a pike, and her tits and cunt will be hand delivered to you. they’ll slaughter her, as payment for their-” daemon swallows every ill coloured word and expression of his despise that comes to mind at the memory of his bronze bitch, giving no out for his brother to twist this conversation into a matter of his own wrongdoings. “late lady.”

with no more hesitation, the rogue prince moves his queen one last time and delights in watching the white king fall into check.

he knocks the piece over, quietly declaring checkmate.

“brother, please,” the king’s words are as fragile as his health, failing and mute against daemon’s scowling features, which refuse to play nice any longer. “do you think this is what i wanted, for my daughter to be used as a bargaining tool for peace? but there’s no going back, what’s done is done.”

“then undo what is done!”

“how can i when they threaten violence and-”

“you’re the king! who gives a shit what they threaten, they have a dozen men to your thousands. you have dragons! if the threat of fire worked on the men of the vale once, it’ll do so again. so regain your pride and write to that cunt royce. tell him to have your daughter cleaned up and sent back to where she belongs, to find fulfilment in his new lordhood and to drop this notion that he even deserves to gaze upon a targaryen princess, much less stick his shrivelled cock within her. i urge you to send this letter post-haste,” that familiar blade of his sits neatly by the entrance of the chamber, attracting the prince over till he clutches it in his grasp at last, quickly returning dark sister to her rightful spot by his side and discarding the blade he’d stolen from ser criston. he glances back at the king, now risen once more, and twists the doorknob. “and pray, dear brother. pray that it reaches gerold royce before i do.”

with the slam of the door, daemon plunders into the halls of the keep, footsteps heavy and echoing with each one he takes. jaw clenched and hands fisted, he paints the image of a man enraged, sick and fed-up with the games being played.

by the time he reaches his chambers, shoving his way past the sleeping knight at it’s doors, there’s bound to be a flurry of gossiping fools who speak of the prince and his defiling of the king’s commands, but he cares little as he straps himself into leathers and steel, hell-bent on reaching the dragonpit before day breaks and the sun paints the sky alight.

daemon is done sitting idly by, waiting for the king to see reason.

because while at the age of five, naive and easily influenced, daemon targaryen had looked up to his chess-genius of a brother, it was at age five and ten that he realised why his brother kept winning, why pawns and knights and rooks would conveniently move to the places he needed them to be.

he cheated.

#daemon targaryen smut #house of the dragon smut #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fluff #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon targaryen imagine

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piracytheorist · 4 months

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Episode 36 reactions!

I don't think one single minute passed this episode without me bursting out in laughter XD

I will get what interesting details I can, though! And here we have soap opera male character who has a Betrothed in the West. Interesting! Why did they separate, and how did she end up in Westalis, or he in Ostania? Did she defect and is waiting for him to join her? I need the full context, Berlint in Love!

Looks like one of the things that make Becky rush to be a grown-up is how she can't wait to have romantic feelings and relationships. Gurl, you're six. Pick up a doll or a ball.

The way the next scene was shown (hilarious) it looks like it was Anya who first picked up the phone, and didn't even make a sound before Becky started off her rant. Picking up the phone as a kid is quite a responsibility!

The music suddenly went full humor shoujo there XD

I love how Martha is already onto Becky.

She's like "Yo maybe reel it in a little"

The way all three of them are in completely different wavelengths is hilarious. I guess Twilight, the honey-trap master, sees Becky as the girl she is and cannot imagine she'd ever have such passionate imaginings with him.

The hell, though. I've met my favourite actor from up close in a convention and that was pretty much my reaction while being close to him. I feel Becky but someone needs to tell her of this thing called parasocial relationship--

WHAAAAAT

I had my eyes glued to the screen for this. It's definitely not surprising that the Blackbells would hire such an experienced bodyguard for Becky, but it's very interesting how it was pointed out to us! I wonder what we'll get to see next with her! (reminder: anime only!)

Becky really thinks she lives in a shoujo story doesn't she XD

I mean, Anya thinks she lives in a Spy Wars story so it's not that surprising XD

I love how in the "new" family photo Wiesel is added in front of Bond!

This episode is full chaos and I love it.

Seriously, the way Anya's powers work for her character is amazing. Usually, we'd get to see those imaginings even if she didn't have telepathy. But since she can see them with us, she gets a fair place as - almost - an audience proxy. And I mean, yeah, why wouldn't Anya be excited at the idea of super tasty food all of the time (even when papa is super busy), not having to do chores, and having fun family outings all of the time?

Completely different wavelengths, I tell you. How does this show make me love misunderstandings XD

And then a fourth wavelength is added and it's just! You don't know where to begin!

Poor Bond was heartbroken that Becky didn't notice him! Poor boy!

I find it really funny that this episode happened now, just a little after we got heavy hints that Loid is falling hard for Yor, and Becky is still like "I will win his heart with my six-year-old charm!"

If you count Bond dealing with getting rejected, that's five different wavelengths in one single screencap. No-one knows what's going on, not even Anya the telepath or Twilight the master spy.

Those are not the family teacups! Interesting choice. Also Becky's face, yeah that's exactly how I was when approaching my favourite actor for my photo shoot with him. I was smiling from one ear to the other, though XD

Also, I remember getting sent manga screencaps with Loid in such a cardigan! And I guessed right that it would be a beige one! I mean, it's a pretty common colour for a grandpapa cardigan, but has he maybe worn this before?

I wonder how he'd react and adapt if he knew Becky is having a crush on him. Like, what would he do? He'd definitely avoid anything inappropriate for all the obvious reasons, but here he's trying to pull back because he thinks Becky is getting suspicious of him XD

Send this to a friend without context and ask them to guess what the actual fuck is going on here. This is Misunderstandings: the Right-Before-Holidays Special.

Pure Chaos and it just

keeps

going.

This is exactly what I signed up for when I watched the very first episodes and was like "please tell me the entire show is like this"

Poor Yor, though. Her very first instinct was to blame herself and think of herself as incompetent. I guess old habits die hard.

Simp alert.

YEAH DEFINITELY NOT SCREAMING AT THIS

Seriously, though! She remembers what he told her there (though, weren't they supposed to repeat the conversation the next day?) and I hope she remembers how vulnerable he made himself with her.

OH BOI I DON'T SHIP OFTEN BUT WHEN I SHIP. I SHIP.

LOID BROUGHT YOR'S COAT WITH! MY GOD!

I mean! This isn't supposed to be a twiyor-centric episode and yet!

BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T RICH AS A KID AND THEN YOUR CHILDHOOD WAS VIOLENTLY RIPPED AWAY FROM YOU 😭😭

If you thought I wouldn't grab even this opportunity to make this angsty, well, you were wrong

The highest prize in the hammer competition thingy is... a q-tip?

We stan. Everything for the ultimate q-tip.

Becky sees Loid's ._. face and she's like

The way he said that "Yoru-san" there, though! This was the cherry on top of this entire hilarious part!

It was weird to see there was an entire small part on Nightfall, considering we haven't seen her in the entire season. However.

WHO THE FUCK IS THIS. WHY IS HE WATCHING THEM LIKE THAT.

(again, anime only here)

And I'm like, whoa. That's a very suspicious guy thrown in the middle of a filler part (I was told this is anime original) and not shown again. Since the next episode is the last of the season, I assume we'll see him again in that one?

I remember that in episode 20, when Loid is in the hospital, we see a moment from afar with a moving shadow, like someone was watching them. I noticed it on a rewatch and up until now I thought that was Nightfall. But now?

Seriously, though, are they not noticing him??

What he doin

I love how Handler said she doesn't want to overwork her agents... I wonder if she says anything relevant in the manga but I dare not look into the chapter after the one with Becky XD I'm guessing she actually took to heart the reprimand from HQ to be more lax with her agents.

Nightfall shows an almost audacious level of self-confidence in front of her boss... and Handler doesn't deny it. She trusts her and actually thinks the same - that Nightfall is probably the only one capable of handling Twilight's missions.

Anyway, Nightfall is going all "Senpai will notice me" and I'm like

ADDITIONAL CRUISE FOOTAGE???? 👀👀👀👌👌

Another hopeless suitor, Nightfall goes like "Did you spot any flaws in that Briar woman yet or" having no idea he was looking at Yor like the yearning simp he is <3

Nightfall being all "Pick me. Choose me. Love me." and then Twilight is like "Wow she did all of that hard job while I was gone. Guess she deserves the leftover souvenirs."

Like. I'm crying laughing over this. He didn't even think about getting a souvenir for her, not even as a cover. Nightfall couldn't be more hopeless.

And then she gives him that look

And the little hope she didn't even have is thrown out the window.

I love how Twilight turns around in shock and goes like "Why is glaring at me like that?!" because you idiot you gave her "leftovers"

Like I know he thinks they're not supposed to actually connect as friends but still. For a master spy he's so dense XD

They do kinda make you feel bad for her, though. She is trying really hard, and it would be hypocritical to blame her social awkwardness when we're here shipping Mr. Emotional Constipation and Ms. Naivete Personified. She would have actually been sympathetic if she wasn't so aggressive towards Yor (and in her mind, Anya too).

Anyway. Very funny and unhinged episode but there's only ONE EPISODE LEFT. I'M NOT READY FOR THE HIATUS 😭😭

#Spy x Family #sxf spoilers #sxf reaction

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petrichor-idyllic · 1 year

Note

Hi hello! Can I request a Minho x Reader oneshot where the reader is working for WICKED but is like an undercover agent and actually tries to give out info for the Right Arm or whatever and she helps Minho when he gets taken back to the facility(like trying to find ways to free him or at least bring him food or smth when he's not being... yk tortured to death and all- it can be whatever) and she helps in his escape and they all go tho the safe haven where they live happily forever after- ok I'll stop now, thank you. Also I'm in love with your Minho oneshots!

Omg yesss this is such a good request and I can actually do so much with this.

I got really into this one so I'm sorry for the variation in my writing quality lmao. This might be my longest piece yet, so sorry it took so long to get out.

Due to the pronouns used in this text I am assuming it is Fem!Reader. I am also assuming this is based on the films because those events do not take place in the books.

WARMTH IN COLD PLACES PT. 1

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

PART 1 | PART 2

SUMMARY: See above. Minho x Fem!Reader. Movie based fic. Instead of Jorge knowing about the Last City and where Minho will be, you provide that information.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, violence, guns. WICKED being WCKD because movie. I'm assuming you know the rules of the card game Black Jack. This is also time inaccurate because TDC takes place over a couple of days but here you're getting weeks worth of events. VERY long.

You joined the Right Arm as a child, maybe ten or eleven- you can't really remember. You'd lost your parents to the Flare on separate occasions, escaping to a refuge camp after your father started showing symptoms and forced you to flee without him.

You can't even remember losing your mother. You were too young.

After moving from camp to camp, each one being safe until some Crank snuck in, or someone joined unknowingly suffering from the disease.

After the forth move, you met Vince. You tried stealing some extra bread for a girl who was sick (she had pneumonia, not the Flare). You got caught but put up a hell of a fight. Vince introduced himself, and you kind of became his adoptive daughter.

So, when he gave you an alias and a fake ID, sending you on a private mission to interfere and spy on WCKD, you were shocked to say the least.

But it made sense. Vince had been protective and secretive about you, making sure that he kept you away from WCKD's watchful eye. Sure, you're pretty well-known; but only by name. There's several rebellious attempts attached to your name, mainly spread around groups of activists.

But not your face. You were the perfect candidate for an undercover gig.

It took months to go through WCKD'S training, pretending to be older than you were with a name that wasn't yours, but it worked.

And then, even your fake name and life didn't matter- you simply became Guard 175.

It's been two years since you took the job.

Your time in the Last City was unlike any other- mainly stealing information and providing intel.

Until strict message from Vince on your smart watch tells you to keep an eye out for an Asian boy called Minho.

You knew of Minho- of course, you did. Vince and his new allies had been looking for him for the past six months. After the events in which Teresa betrayed you all, you were in the Last City. The Guard job you had required you to stay at WCKD's Headquarters at all times, since you were guarding the building. Even in events where WCKD needed more bodies.

All you could do was try and warn Vince, but by the time you found out what was happening yourself and managed to find a private place to send the message, it was too late.

So, now everyone's focus is on trying to find this random boy you've literally never met for ex-WCKD workers/prisoners. It's been a weird six months.

Much to your dismay, the only information you could provide were the routes the trains would be taking and that Minho might be on them.

Which got messed up, but not thanks to you. You told them the location, but which carriage Minho was on would be random based on where the Guards forced him to sit.

You were still unable to leave your post.

Vince had suspicions that they were bringing Minho to the main WCKD base, especially after you told them the documents stating the destination. It was really the only other option since they didn't save him. So, you're now under strict orders to keep an eye out for him.

You know what he looks like. You have an earpiece and a high-tech smart watch, both of which you keep hiden under your Guard's uniform. These were used to tell you what you had to look for. So, when you broke into WCKD's system, searching for Subject A7- information that was provided by some keen-eared boy called Newt -you knew who you were looking for.

"Miss Agnes," you jog, catching up to Teresa as she struts down the scary clean white walls of WCKD HQ. You hate it here. It's worlds away from the chaotic but cosy environment you spent your life in- from the small town that got plagued by the Flare to the Right Arm bases you helped run. It's too bright; too clean.

Part of your mission is to befriend Teresa. She's Ava Paige's personal lapdog, and if she likes you, you've got an in- and someone with power that will defend you. She seems to be fond of you, probably because if a lowlife peasant can like her, then maybe she isn't so bad.

You, obviously, despise her.

Your job wouldn't have become so complicated if it weren't for her, and you'd probably have a lot of people safe and sound in the Safe Haven. Your job was long, but it was originally to get as much information as physically possible and then flee, providing the knowledge to free more people and completely disrupt WCKD's plans. Now it's "tell Vince if you find this random kid."

"Ah, 175," she doesn't even know your fake name, "I was wondering where you'd got to."

"Yeah, well, you know how it is- busy guarding and all that." She scoffs. She's always found you funny; that might be why she likes you.

"Yes, well, as much as I'd love to chat, I've got to get to the labs." You're glad the mesh masks of your uniform shields your face because that means you can hide your panic.

"Sorry, uh, before you go- I heard one of the cargo trains was intercepted," her face visibly hardens, "I was wondering if that had anything to do with your old friends; the ones you told me about?"

She clears her throat, "I'm afraid so. I just-" she sighs, "Thomas thinks he's doing the right thing. He thinks that this is what's best for him- but I'm trying to do what's best for humanity. It hurts that they don't understand that. But it's fine, because we prevented the Right Arm from getting our most reliable cargo."

"Oh?"

"I can't tell you much, I'm not allowed," she throws a sad smile your way. "I wish I could, though. You've been a great friend. So, let's just say one of the most impressive and consistent subjects is still in our possession."

She walks away, leaving you to huff and puff in the corridor. It made you sick how they spoke about people like they're objects. It's hard to believe the boys you're helping used to hold her so highly.

You return to your room. It's basically a box room that's big enough for a bed, but it's the only place that offers you any privacy. You yank your mask off, tossing it to the bed and pressing your fingers to your earpiece.

"Yo, Vince, you there?"

There's silence, followed by a sharp static. "(Y/N)? Did Teresa tell you anything?" You flop onto your bed, letting yourself move your hand away from your ear now the connection is stable.

"Not really, but she did mention about precious cargo being still intact- and an important test subject. The records I told you about before our raid said the train was coming here- we can only assume that this subject-"

"-Has to be Minho," Vince sounds stressed, groaning slightly.

"V? Everything alright over there?"

"Not really," he sighs, followed by the sound of a squeaking chair, "WCKD's jets have been snooping around base and Thomas, Newt and Frypan have gone AWOL- Brenda and Jorge left earlier to go and find them. But I doubt they're going to bring them back."

Honestly, you'd never spoken to any of these people, but you knew the names well enough to tell who they are.

"What are they going to do then?"

"What do you think?" You sit up on your elbows, processing what he's implying. "You might be having some company real soon."

"Does that mean I'll be able to leave?" Vince snorts a laugh. You've asked him that every single call since you started this gig.

"It might, actually," though, this is the first time you haven't gotten a no. "Keep an eye out for Minho. He should be arriving there within the next twelve hours. If not, he's somewhere else and you're going to have to do more snooping whilst I try to contact Thomas."

"Okay. Speak soon." The connection dies with a hiss.

This was going to be shit.

Not even two hours later, you hear the call off of your walky-talky that Guards are needed at the cargo entrance to transport Subjects. You flew at the opportunity, rushing into the crowds of your colleagues.

Joining the other members at the doors to the carpark, you watch as buses full of innocent people in handcuffs pull up- all in the depressing WCKD garb they're forced to wear. Some faces are familiar from browsing files, some new- all looked terrified.

You stay away from the front, dipping between masked personnel and observing from a distance. You knew exactly what you were looking for- Asian, dark-hair, well built, about eighteen-ish, good-looking, and probably angry. That was offered by some dude called Frypan. You doubt that's his real name, but you really hope it is.

You watch, processing faces and people as fast as you can as Guards grab the Subjects, holding one of their arms, which are handcuffed together in front of them, and leading them into the building. This could be the perfect opportunity to do something, but by the time you spot Minho, someone has beat you to it.

It's definitely him. His image and description match him perfectly, even if his hair is a little bit flatter. You silently curse as you try to make your way over to him, only for another Guard to force him to walk forward.

Okay, new plan- grab someone close and stay nearby.

You don't get to use that plan either when Minho suddenly lashes out. He slams his foot onto the Guard's, making the masked man yelp and let go. Minho takes the opportunity to spin around, kicking the guy in the chest and sending him flying.

Another Guard comes to help, but Minho has got a hold of a pair of keys from the previous guy, just about unlocking one of his wrists before dodging.

Shit.

This is bad. There's no way Minho is going to be able to escape the building under these circumstances. It's brutal and dangerous and he's going to get himself shot.

You act fast, breaking away from the colleagues waiting for their turn and being affected by the bystander effect. You watch as a Launcher is pointed at the boy, as another Guard tries to wrestle him. The guy gets kneed in the groin and you dive in from behind.

Minho seems to sense you're there, spinning around to punch you, but you grab his fist, catching him by surprise and giving you a second to react. You'd done a lot more than basic WCKD training. Vince has been teaching you to fight since you first met him.

You launch your heavy boot into the bottom of Minho's shin at the front of his ankle, causing his foot to bend awkwardly. Taking the opportunity to spin him around, pulling him in front of you. You're quick to switch your grip to his wrist, forcing his arm behind his back. Kicking the weak spot on the back of his knee, he hits the floor with a thump as you hold him in place.

Minho is physically stronger than you, easily. But, you have years of practical and strategical training over his head.

"Not bad, 175," you freeze as Janson's grating voice hits your ears, "do us all a favour and take care of that delinquent- he's unfortunately important."

"Yes, Sir." He stands at the front of the room, watching as the Subjects filter past him. "Come on."

You yank Minho up, forcing him back onto his feet, he groans, anger visibly seething from him.

You hold him close to you so you can lean into his ear and whisper. "Listen man, I don't wanna hurt you but there's no way you're gonna survive here if you keep pulling shit like that."

"Why should I listen to you?" He spits. His voice is scratchy and hollow, full of hatred and aggression.

"You'd rather listen to these assholes? Trust me, I do that pretty much daily, and it's not exactly an ideal lifestyle."

He scoffs. It's dry and very clearly forced. "You think I'm gonna be your friend just 'cause you don't like your coworkers?"

Unfortunately, you have to be vague. If someone overhears and you tell him you're an ally to the Right Arm, then you're a dead man. If they think it's just dumb workplace drama, then they probably won't bat an eye.

"Quite frankly, I don't give a fuck what you think about me- I'm here to do my job. Unfortunately, my boss wants you kept kickin'." That's subtle enough to not bring concern, but intruiging enough that Minho looks over his shoulder at you.

"175," you're moving through the corridors now, having left the parking area and moving to Subject dorms. Your attention diverts to behind you as Janson touches your shoulder, having left his observation of the transfer. "Come with me. Subject A7 has a private cell per the request of Miss Paige."

"Yes, Sir."

This could be good. Minho has his own room away from the other victims, which means you'll have easier access to him.

You follow your "Boss", making no attempt to communicate with Minho in such tense circumstances now.

"That was quite the stunt you pulled," Janson speaks, making you cringe under your mask. "I don't remember many Guards being taught much hand to hand combat- we mostly focus on arms training. It's impressive."

"I excelled in the brief lessons we had, Sir. I knew some beforehand since I had to look after myself in the Scorch- fighting Cranks is no easy task." You keep your voice calm. A lot of people have similar life experiences, and if you haven't lost absolutely everything, you're classed as lucky. So, it's no shock when you casually mention hardships, giving a plausible explanation to your skills.

"I suppose so. You've come a long way, you should be proud of yourself- from street rat to WCKD agent. That's quite the accomplishment."

"Thank you, Sir, but I'm just trying to survive- just like everyone else."

"Humble, too," you can hear the smirk in his voice, "no wonder Teresa likes you."

Shit. Minho physically tenses at the mention of her name. If Janson knows that you're friendly with Teresa, then it's not really a jump in logic for him to think you're up to something.

"I'm honoured to be held in such high regard, Sir." Janson seems satisfied with this response, humming slightly.

Minho is quick to notice how different you spoke to him vs. Janson. It's very clearly a front, but he can't afford to question it.

He leads you to a small room away from the group Dorms, opening the door with a key card and revealing it. It's pretty much the same as your room, which probably says a lot about the people you're pretending to work for.

"Okay, Minho," Janson addresses the boy, condescending and irritating, "no more little stunts, okay? Your friends and the Right Arm can't reach you here. It's better you just give up and help us save humanity." He looks at you, jolting his head towards the room.

You grit your teeth, but follow the insinuation, throwing in the boy as guilt washes over you.

○ ○ ○

"I've found the boy," you pace your room once you returned, immediately contacting Vince.

"So he's there? Do you have access to him?"

"Not really- I know where he is but only higher level personnel have access to it- like Janson." You did a brief sweep of the key card requirements before you left- you're not Hugh enough ranked.

"What about Teresa?"

"Yeah, she'll probably have access."

"Okay, you can work with that, surely."

You sigh, running your fingers though your hair, "Sure, yeah, I guess. But what do you even want me to do now? Break him out? Release his file to you? Both of us escape?"

"I want you to keep an eye on him."

"Seriously?" Your face twists into a frown. "Is that it?"

"We can't risk anything. You're a one man show and one of our best resources- Thomas and his group are probably already making their way to you. God knows what their plan is, but they have more chance with you inside."

"How are they even gonna get into the City? It's on lockdown."

"I have a feeling they'll find a way," Vince huffs, clearly tired of your pressing. "Just a little longer, kid, make sure Minho is alive and okay- I don't know what they're gonna do to him, but I need you to make sure he's still breathing. Am I clear?"

"Yep," you pop the P.

"I also need you to keep quiet about your position, even to Minho."

"What, why?"

"We don't know what WCKD are going to do to him. If he says anything about our operation or you, we've done all this for nothing."

"I guess- alright. I'll sort it," disconnecting and sighing, you lay on your bed. You need to rest. These next couple of days are going to suck.

○ ○ ○

You wake the next day, and immediately start your hunt for Teresa. You have a hunch she'll be dealing with the Minho situation, or at least observing it.

The problem is that the WCKD HQ is huge. And you don't know where the experiments will be taking place. Since your job mainly just consists of walking around and keeping an eye on things, it's not like you're raising any suspicions. Especially since you helped out yesterday.

You turn a corner, spotting Teresa and Ava Paige talking, looking into a lab room with a glass window- one of the several open testing rooms found in this part of the building. You slow your pace, watching from a distance.

Teresa seems to be distressed; her fists are balled and she swallows uncomfortably, almost like she's hypnotised by what she's watching but wants to look away. Ava is unfazed, but she brushes her prodigy's shoulder as she walks away, offering some kind of sympathy.

The sound of clicking heels fade, and you make your approach. Going to speak, your breath catches in your throat as you witness the gruesome scene.

Behind the glass, Minho is strung up to some kind of contraption. Screens surround him and wires come from all over his body. He's stood upright, a foot above the floor and held in place as they start the machine again. One of the screens shows brain wave patterns that indicate high levels of stress.

"He's dreaming." Teresa speaks without pulling her eyes away.

"Dreaming?" You question. This looks anything but peaceful to you.

"Induced dreaming- they're forcing him to experience high stress situations to see how it affects the Kill-Zone," her words are shakey, and you latch onto that.

"You don't sound like you approve." She looks at you, even though she's never seen you without your mask, your voice and the numbers sewn on your sleeve tell her enough- she could tell its you from a mile away.

"During my time in the Maze- and the Scorch -Minho was brave. He's one of the most courageous people I've ever met. I can't tell you how many times he threw himself on grenades to protect us." She smiles, almost fondly as she looks back at the glass. "One time, when we were escaping the WCKD lab after being saved from the Maze, he ran full force and kneed an armed Guard. Completely knocked him out in one go; still probably one of the coolest things I've heard someone do."

"He sounds like he meant a lot to you," she lets out a sad chuckle.

"They all meant a lot to me but... I don't know. I made choices they don't agree with. They refuse to see the bigger picture, and I don't think they ever will."

"Why don't you try talking to him? Maybe visit him in his cell? Even if it's just to make sure he's okay." Come on, if you can get her on this line of thinking, you're more likely to get into Minho's cell.

"I'm too busy- besides, I doubt he'd want to see me. He hates me."

"Ah, yeah, that's a problem," she laughs dryly.

"Would you do it for me?" You tilt your head at her, exaggerating your confusion.

"Do what for you?"

"Look after Minho? Janson says you handled him easily yesterday, so there's no worries about him escaping or causing problems."

"I can't- I don't have high enough card access to enter the cells." She looks at you, thinking for a second.

"I'll get your card access upgraded. I trust you to take care of him- he deserves as much."

And just like that, she'd played into your hands. You're mainly relieved your hours of talking to her had actually paid off in some sense, that much was proven when she found you later that day- presenting you with a new key card.

Heading towards Minho's cell, no one even batted an eye when they saw you slide the key down the lock and the light flashed green.

Minho's sat on the floor, back resting against the bed frame, his legs bent and head in his hands. He doesn't even react to the sound of the door opening or closing.

"I brought you some decent food."

Still nothing.

Cautiously, you walk over to him, crouching and placing the dish on the floor. He looks at it out of the corner of his eye, which is kind of an improvement.

You cross your legs, sitting next to him but facing him. Silence fills the room and you let it. Minho is going to have to talk to you on his own terms if he's going to talk to you at all.

A good five minutes passes.

"You're not gonna leave, are you?" His voice sounds dry and is barely a whisper compared to the aggressive boy you'd tackled not even forty-eight hours prior.

"Nope."

"Did you at least get me a shuckin' drink?"

"...I'll be back. What would you like?"

"Do I even have a choice?"

"I'm asking, aren't I?"

"...Anything alcoholic?"

"No."

"Juice then."

You return ten minutes later with a glass full of orange juice, taking the sitting position that you had previously.

To your surprise, he's now sat with his legs crossed, holding the tray of beef, mash, gravy, and veg that you stole from the dining area on his lap.

You gently place the glass next to him, and he anxiously looks at it. "Not poisoned, right?"

You sigh, lifting the bottom on your mask and taking a sip, returning it to it's spot. He still hesitates, glancing down at his plate. So, you reach over, picking up a small piece of meat, struggling slightly to put it in your mouth under the mask.

He seems to accept this. It takes him a second, but he slowly starts eating- mainly picking at the food and taking slight sips of his drink, but progress is progress.

"You should count yourself lucky- the others aren't getting this quality food."

"Is that meant to make me feel better?" You guess that comment was a bit insensitive.

"Sorry, but you need to eat. You need the energy."

"What? So I'm strong enough to be tortured?"

You hesitate, feeling genuinely bad. "I'm sorry that-"

"No, you're not!" He snaps to face you, eyes full of fury and for a second you think he's going to attack you. "175, right?" He glances at your sleeve, "You stopped me from escaping."

"I stopped you from getting killed."

"I had it under control."

"Didn't look like it." His jaw tenses, staring down at his meal. "WCKD's Guards are trained with guns and weaponry- you're important but not nearly enough for them to risk you ruining their whole operation."

"You mean your whole operation."

"Whatever," you spit, determined to follow Vince's request, "I saved your ass, whether you appreciate it or not. I didn't know what they were going to do to you, I'm only here because-"

"Because Teresa wants you to look after me?" You blink at him, even if he can't see it. "Yeah, I saw you, even if I wasn't conscious. I knew it was you- same height and everythin'. You're helping that shuck-faced shank 'cause she feels bad that she's a shuckin' traitor that sentenced all her friends to death. Betraying little-"

"Okay," you cut him off, "I get it. I don't agree with it- do you seriously think I'd be here if I was just doing this because some bitch who doesn't even respect me asked?"

He looks at you. He really looks at you, like he can see straight through your uniform and into your soul.

"What other reason do you have?"

You shake your head, sighing through your mask. "Finish your food. I need to get rid of the dish- I'll get in deep shit if they find out I'm giving handouts to prisoners."

"The traitor didn't tell you to feed me?"

"Nah, did that all on my own." He snorts, kind of like a forced laugh, but he seems to relax a bit.

The remainder of your interaction is in silence. Minho finishes his food quickly, picking up pace once he gets taste for it. He finishes his drink, passing the glass to you instead of just putting it on the ground.

You stand and leave without saying another word. Minho doesn't attempt to change that.

This is going to be harder than you first thought.

Thomas better work fast.

○ ○ ○

You desperately try to avoid Teresa the next day, and you missed Minho for breakfast since they already took him for another round of glorified torture.

Your avoidance did not work.

"175." You've been guarding the entrance of the building for the last seven hours and you think you're starting to hallucinate. So, when Teresa actually approaches you, probably to leave for the day, you kind of wish she wasn't real.

"Hey," you greet her, for some reason smiling even though there is literally no point. "You okay?"

"I was wondering how Minho's doing?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" You attempt to joke, but when her face drops, you realise you've miss-stepped. "He's fine. As fine as you can be in this situation." You lie, mainly just wanting her to leave.

"Okay," she nods her head, accepting this, "thank you for this."

"It's no problem, Miss Agnes."

"Please, call me Teresa," she offers you a genuine smile and for a second you understand why Minho's so hurt.

"Okay then, Teresa." She flashes another smile before walking through the doors. Of course, WCKD scientists get high-end apartments away from the building.

The second day of your new routine starts. You bring Minho food- and you remember the juice, though it does make it harder to open the door.

This time, he's lay on the floor. Not the bed, the floor.

"Uh, you good?" The question even sounds dumb leaving your lips.

"Are you seriously asking me that?" He grumbles, eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the ceiling.

"Yeah, fair point." You sit on the edge of his bed, putting the food next to you but still holding the glass so it doesn't spill. Having a sticky orange juice covered bed would not improve his day. "I've brought you chicken wings and some fries, they were out of the healthy option."

He reluctantly sits up, shuffling across the floor and using the bed as a table as he sits in front of you. You pass his the drink and he sets it on the floor.

"If you're not doing this for Teresa, why are you doing this?" He asks between struggled mouthfuls of food.

You shrug, playing off your intentions. "Wanna pretend I'm a good person."

He scoffs, "No one who works here is a good person."

"That's why I said pretend."

You like to think you're doing a good job at keeping up the act. And maybe if Minho wasn't so exhausted and in pain, he might pick up on something not being quite right.

Though, you have to at least provide Vince with some kind of intel. Teresa said he's dreaming to stress the Kill-Zone part of the brain, but what's the point?

"What exactly are they doing to you?" He pauses for moment, clearly not wanting to think about it.

"Torture."

"I mean, I gathered that." Unfortunately, you have to stay stoic. Fortunately, you've basically been trained your whole life for this.

"I don't know- they put me in some weird trance and I see all the horrible things that's happened mixed with, like, a remix of traumatic things I've gone through- like they're using my shuckin' memories against me to make new ones or some klunk."

Well, that offered nothing, "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. It's weird. It feels so real and I can't tell it's fake when it's happening. But I'll be getting chased by Grievers down concrete corridors, or be back in that mall being hunted down by Cranks, except it's warped and keeps changing and I can't find the way we escaped. It's like being back in the shuckin' Maze, except they can control my entire body and make me do whatever they want. It's the Maze without being safe in the Glade at night, and I don't actually know how to survive."

"Huh," now, this is interesting.

"What? What is it?"

"They're trying to gain similar- or better -results as they did for the Maze trails. Except the Right Arm knows the location of all the Mazes, and pretty much all WCKD facilities so they're being forced to use psychological torture and hallucinations to mimic it instead. Since the City is on lockdown and no one can access it."

He pauses completely, blinking at you.

"What? I don't get it- why would torturing a bunch of immune teenagers help anyone."

"Because they want to cure the Flare."

"So?"

"So, Munnies and normal folk have the same structure brain, except the Kill-Zone area, the part of the brain that's damaged by the Flare, is left unaffected in those who are immune. The Kill-Zone reacts under extreme stress and produces new results and hormones that could, in theory, be used to create a cure."

Minho stops completely, the fork he's holding clattering onto the plate as he just stares at you.

"What?"

"How the shuck do you know all this? You're just a Guard but you know the biology behind all the science?"

"It's kind of common knowledge," you bluff, "the Flare's been plaguing humanity for a while- everyone knows the basic science behind it. I don't know what they expected, really."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know the Flare is man-made, right?"

A beat passes, horror crossing Minho's face. "What?"

"When the Solar Flares hit, millions of people died, but half the world was pretty much left kinda intact. But, it meant we lost half the globe's worth of supplies and important necessities, so the growing population issue grew tenfold. So, for some fuckin' reason, the big bosses of the World thought it would be a smart idea to make a deadly virus to use as population control. The virus was too strong, spread too fast- those geniuses didn't think to make a cure just in case things went wrong. And, well, the rest is history."

You're actually shocked that Vince, or even WCKD didn't tell them this, because Minho seems genuinely dumbfounded.

"Shuck it," he rests his elbows on the bed, head in his hands. "Why am I not even surprised? Trust some random WCKD shank to be giving me a buggin' history lesson."

"Kinda figured someone woulda said something."

"Yeah, well, they didn't. Some shuck-face shucked up and now I'm being literally tortued to fix it. Brilliant."

"Bummer," he snorts at this.

"Yeah, you can shuckin' say that again."

"Why do you talk like that?" You decide to ask him more questions, mainly because you are genuinely confused.

"Like what?"

"Like that? Yanno, shuck, shank, buggin', klunk- you talk fuckin' weird."

"It's just how we spoke in the Glade. Don't really know how it started, but it's engrained in my vocab now."

"That's kinda cool," he raises his eyebrow, starting to eat again, "leave a bunch of teenagers to fend for themselves and they start makin' up words. It's just interesting."

"Yeah," he hums, "guess it kinda is."

○ ○ ○

You fell surprisingly easily into a routine. You talk to Minho, inform Vince of the current WCKD methods and then go about your job.

It's a lot of effort, but Minho is starting to be less reluctant to talk to you. He fondly retells stories of the Glade, like how he and Thomas survived a night, how bad Frypan's stew was, and that one time Zart accidentally burnt down a hut and Gally didn't talk to him for a month. It sounds like they were genuinely happy there, and it breaks your heart that Minho seems to wish he was back in that trap. Especially when he tells some of the darker stories.

But now there's a problem. Vince had always been touchy and strict about relationships. He didn't want you distracted or upset over some boy, so relationships were forbidden. And considering he's the closest you have to a father figure, you obeyed. Though, that means you've never been romantically involved with a boy through your entire teenage years.

And the first time you've ended up spending long amounts of time with a boy is with the torture victim you're trying to comfort whilst simultaneously convincing him you're the reason for his capture. A very good-looking boy who seems to be warming up to you.

A very good-looking, strong boy who listens to what you tell him and seems to be taking an interest in you and is very passionate about his opinions. Opinions that, unbeknownst to him, align perfectly with yours.

Oh no.

"I don't even know your name." You and Minho sit on the floor, playing Black Jack with a pack of cards you managed to sneak into his room. He's slowly being worn down. His features are more sucken, his skin pale and his hair dishevelled and messy. None of which you can really help. "Or what you look like."

"You don't need to know my name, or what I look like, to get your ass handed to you at Twenty-One last time I checked." He rolls his eyes. He acts like a completely different person around you than to the other Guards. It's hard to watch the empty shell of the person he normally is in this room be pushed around.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"No can do, sweetheart," admittedly, you want to take your mask off because it makes seeing the cards harder. But it does mean you don't have to worry about your pokerface.

Pet names had become an interesting topic. You used to endearingly call members of the Right Arm things like sweetheart, or doll, or hun- something you picked up from your father. Something that has bled into your relationship with Minho.

Not that he complains.

"C'mon," he groans, "how am I meant to be friends with a faceless freak?"

"You think we're friends?" You ask, genuinely as you take another card off of the deck, cringing as it's the ten of clubs which takes you to twenty-five.

"Well," he shrugs, "what else am I meant to call it? Stockholme Syndrome?"

"Wouldn't be that wrong of a diagnosis. You taking another card?"

"Are you?" You shake your head. Minho reveals his hand, showing twenty on his cards, and you dramatically throw yours down, showing your loss.

"God dammit!" He barks a laugh at your reaction. "Why am I so bad at this?"

"You're just playing against a master," you galre at him, "I had plenty of practice in the Glade."

"It's a game based on luck- you can't master it."

"That's what you think."

○ ○ ○

Maybe you got too used to your routine- too comfortable with Minho and the situation you're in, but when Teresa told you she'd finally gained enough courage to speak to Minho, you knew it would end badly.

Teresa enlisted you to guard the room, but with the door closed and your colleagues discussing lunch next to you, it's kinda hard to hear what's going on.

That's until Minho screams the word "Traitor" followed by a loud slamming noise.

Shit.

The other Guards scramble into the room, knocking into you and halting your progress. You burst in, panic swelling in your chest as one of them holds up a buzzing taser. Darting forward, you grab the Guard's arm, placing one arm on Minho's back to at least play it off as the shocked masked man lets go slightly.

"Stop!" You snap. "He's subdued! We don't need to inflict unnecessary pain!"

"It's protocol to-"

"175 is right," Teresa comes to your defense, controlling the atmosphere of the room. "Subject A7 has been through enough- he's in no position to cause any further harm. Return him to his cell and only act if necessary."

Without words, you yank Minho up by the back of his shirt, cringing at the 'PROPERTY OF WCKD' printed on the back. You undo the cuffs from the table and reattach them to his wrists. He makes no effort to resist. He knows he's safer with you than he is with any of his other options.

You walk him down the halls. The rage seeps off of him, his skin under his shirt is warm and his cuffed hands are balled. Unlocking the door to his cell, you push him in, probably a little bit too aggressive. But you tell yourself it's for show.

"What the fuck was that?" You hiss, stepping into the cell. Minho immediately turns to face you, his nostrils flaring, jaw tense and for the first time, you realise how scary he really can be.

"You're shucking kidding, right?" He shouts, causing you to immediately panic and try to shush him. "I'm here because of her! Everything we did- everything we went through- is because of her! And you expect me to be calm about this klunk? Just because you can act like an apathetic shuck-face, doesn't mean I can!"

He slowly walks towards you, throwing his words at you. You back away, not realising how close the door is until you hit your back against it. Minho towers over you, still in cuffs, leaving very little space between you as his chest rises and falls.

"I'm sorry-"

"Sorry? You're helping them! You are keeping me here! Why? You clearly don't like them and have some morals deep down- but you're still bringing me to this shuckin' cell!"

"I have no choice!" You finally shout back, making him flinch. "I don't want to watch this shit- or hurt you or anyone! But I can't help you if I'm fucking dead, Minho! You can get away with this shit because they need you! They don't need me! If I step too far out of line- then I'm dead!"

His features soften as he steps back, giving you more room to breathe.

"What exactly do you want me to do? Trust me, if I could, we'd be long gone from this hell-hole but I have no way of doing that without at least me ending up in a body bag." You huff, crossing your arms across your chest. "And what use would I be to you then?"

The bed squeaks under Minho's weight as he sits down. His legs are spread, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. Neither of you say anything for a couple of minutes; you take the opportunity to compose yourself.

Until Minho sniffs.

"Minho?" You push away from the door, cautiously making slow steps towards him. "Minho? Are you okay?"

"I can't do this anymore," his voice breaks as he speaks, shattering your heart in the process. "I can't- I don't- how am I meant to keep doing this?" He groans, frustration mixed with a sob shakes his whole body.

You make the bold move to sit next to him, being closer to him than you've ever dared before at the bed sinks under your weight, you shoulders bumping slightly.

"This is so much worse than the shuckin' Maze- at least I had some control in there. But here? My body- my mind- I- fuck! I have nothing. I-I feel like I'm dying. I can't live like this. Teresa said that I'm saving some kid by being tortured. But what about me? What about all the other shanks they're putting through this klunk? How is this fair? For a shuckin' maybe? They don't even know it's gonna work- how can you justify this?"

You choose to ignore the final comment, even if it stings. Gingerly, you put your arm around his shoulders, rubbing small circles into the top of his arm. He doesn't pull away, his arms dropping to between his legs.

"It's gonna be okay," you sooth him, "we're gonna get out of here, okay?" He scoffs, shaking his head.

"How am I meant to believe you? I can't even trust you."

You know he's right, but it doesn't hurt any less. You wish you could tell himself everything. About the Right Arm and why you're here- everything that Vince told you to keep to yourself.

"I know," you sigh, "I'm sorry." He looks at you, his tear stained face and puffy eyes sending a new drive of determination through you.

To your shock, he rests his head on your shoulder, allowing you to hug him further, resting your head on top of his.

"I hate you," he whispers, more like he's trying to convince himself than he is telling you.

In all honesty, Minho probably had started to develop some liking towards you. And that's what he hates. He thinks you're the enemy, that you're the reason he's here- but he doesn't have anyone else. He's completely on his own until you come into his room. He doesn't even know who you are, but he's already getting attached to you.

"Yeah, I know. Want me to take your cuffs off?"

"Please."

○ ○ ○

You slam the door to your room, immediately throwing your mask across the small space, hearing it thump against the wall. You connect to Vince, fury coursing through tour veins.

"(Y/N)?" The line connects in your ear, "You're not meant to be calling at this-

"Vince," your voice is sharp and concerned, "I need to do something- Minho is on the verge of a complete mental breakdown and I'm starting to regress in progress." You refer to his words instead of his actions- things are already complicated enough.

"Look, I'm in contact with Jorge. Things should start moving soon; Thomas and Newt have made a deal to get into the City. Stick to the plan and be prepared. I need to go."

"What? Vince-" the line falls dead, leaving you alone in your room.

The tests increase over the next couple of days. You've barely seen Minho, and Teresa completely vanishes for nearly an entire day, which raises alarm bells all over the tower- but she returns seemingly unharmed.

Until the alarms start blaring not even hours later.

Fuck.

"175!" A masked Guard bursts into your dorm, scaring the shit out if you not even seconds after the blaring starts. "There are intruders in the building! The Subjects have been released!Come on!"

He runs off, giving you absolutely no time to process what's happening. Diving under your bed, you pull out guns and weaponry you snuck into the building, straping them around your black turtle neck you wear under your uniform before hiding them with your jacket.

You burst out of the room, pulling your mask on and joining the hoards of Guards flooding through the building.

You break away. You know that Minho will be in the testing area since he won't have been with the other Subjects. So, that's where you go.

The tower has fallen into complete chaos. People are shooting at each other and Guards are running around like headless chickens.

You can't get distracted though.

You break into a sprint, staying away from everyone else as you rush to make your way up to the lab where Minho can normally be found. The lab area is surprisingly quiet, probably because you decided to take the stairs for the most part. Using your endless training for Vince to run up the multiple flights of stairs.

You do give up and take an elevator for the last few floors though. You're not superman.

Bursting onto the floor, several scientists seem thrilled that help is here, and are met with disappointment when you completely ignore them. Sprinting down the halls, you skid to a halt.

One of the lab rooms has the door thrown open. A man in a white lab coat is lay on the floor, blood pouring from his side as others seem to be knocked out and scattered across the room.

"Fuck!" You exclaim. If you had any doubts that Minho could handle himself, you definitely don't now.

"175!" Two Guards stand at the end of the hallway. "Subject A7 has escaped! We need to find him. Come on!"

You're left with little choice but to follow them. You all jog down the corridors, the opposite way to which you were originally planing on tracking Minho's footsteps.

You can see Minho, and assumingly Thomas and Newt hugging beyond a room that's walls are all glass. One of the windows from the far room is completely shattered, and you can see a knocked out Guard on the floor.

"Hands up!" The Guard on your left shouts, catching the three boys off-guard. "Drop your weapons!"

Judging by the fact none of the trio move, you're assuming that they've ran out of ammo.

One on your left, the other on your right, you whip your gun out, pointing it at your unsuspecting allies.

It's now or never.

Minho's face drops at the realisation it's you. Was everything you said a lie to make him more compliant? Despite the uniform, he's gotten completely used to you based on height and the brown army boots you wear- different to the black owns adorn by the rest of WCKD employees. It's a subtle difference implemented by Vince just in case. But Minho doesn't know that.

"Seriously?" He snaps, making the other boys exchange glances. "After all this- everything that's happened- you're still with them?"

Newt and Thomas look completely lost, looking back at Minho, who is staring directly at you, hands still at his side.

"Please," you scoff, "I was never with them."

Without warning, you slam your elbow into the stomach of the guard on your left, using the shock to slam to end of your gun into the side of their head. The other one goes to shoot at you, but you rip your Guard's jacket off, throwing it at them.

It engulfs them entirely, making them stumble back. Pointing the pistol at them, a loud bang fills the room as the bullet finds its new home through the fabric and in the Guard's head. Their body hits the floor in a heap and you make no attempt to retrieve your jacket.

Minho steps back, stunned. His hands go to his hair as the other boys lower their arms.

"It's nice to finally meet you, (Y/N)." Thomas sounds surprisingly calm, Newt looks between him and Minho, the cogs setting in place.

"Likewise," you grab the bottom of your mask, pulling it over your head and letting it fall to the floor. Finally revelaing yourself to Minho, you feel slightly insecure about what he'll think of your face, but you don't show it. Not that it matters because he's staring at you in some form of awe.

"What? You guys know- what? What is happening?"

"I'll explain later- we need to move." The boys all mumble in agreement as you join them, hearing footsteps and Janson's irriating voice not that far away.

You all start moving, you taking the lead with more of an understanding of the building.

"What? I don't understand what's happening? How do you know her?" He asks Thomas as your eyes land on Newt. You've seen their files, a long time ago, but you can tell who's who.

Newt's skin is pale, his eyes dark and he glistens with sweat. He's infected. And you're not immune. This could end badly.

"She's with the Right Arm- Vince's secret weapon."

"Sorry I didn't tell you, hun, but I was under strict orders to keep my mouth shut. Let's just get out of here alive and I'll explain everything," you try to hurry them along. "Tommy-boy, fill me in on what's going on."

Just as the words leave your mouth, static connects in your ear. Vince.

"(Y/N), I'm on my way to the City- what's going on on your end?"

"I'm with the boys," you respond, completely confusing the trio even more. Voices behind you and footsteps make you all break into a sprint. "Here! Come on!" You pull them into a room, they barricade the door as you continue talking.

"We're tryna get out but it's not looking good."

"What now?" Newt asks as you all examine the room. "Is there another way out of here?" He asks you and you simply shake your head.

The drilling sound of a mechanical saw fills to room.

"Any ideas?" Minho shouts, backing away from the door.

Thomas turns around, examining the window. "Maybe."

It take the three of them to pick up a metal container, presumably full of anaesthetic gas through the window. It shatters on impact, sending shards and the cannister hundred of feet down into the water.

You all stand on the edge, looking at the boy as he seems to be questioning himself. "Okay, it's doable- just need a little running start."

All three of look at each other like Thomas is losing his mind. But you still all follow him further back into the room, standing by his side. You stand between Minho and Thomas, taking a second to think about how you life has led you to this.

"You sure about this?" Minho asks him, and it's obvious these boys are going to follow him to the ends of the Earth.

"Not really."

Well, that's brilliant.

"Nice pep talk." Minho sarcastically states, his wit still prominent as ever.

"Yeah, we're all blood inspired."

At least the feeling is mutual.

The door bursts open with a bang, all of you turning to face Janson breaking into the room before Minho grabs your hand, dragging you with him as you all break into a sprint. Jumping at the last second, you all plummet out of the window.

"Thomas!" Minho yells.

"Oh shit!" Thomas responds.

You're submerged in the water, just managing to hold your breath last second. It takes all of you a moment to rise again, all panting and all stressed.

Gasping for air, you and Minho look up, catching Janson standing at the edge of the window.

Thomas puts his middle finger up at him.

Kind of iconic.

Swimming to get to the ledge, you make sure they reach them first, taking Thomas' hand as he pulls you out of the water.

"You four, don't move!" You all immediately turn to face to group of WCKD's armed men walking towards you. Thomas takes the front as Minho grabs your arm, pulling you protectively behind him.

He seems to have forgiven you pretty fast, at least.

"Take it easy!" One of the masked men shouts. Hidden by Minho, you pull another gun out of your weapon holder that's strapped around your middle. Thomas also reaches for a gun.

"Ah-ah! Don't even think about it! Get on your knees with your hands in the air!"

One of the Guards suddenly turns around, shooting the other three that are standing with him. Minho immediately steps back, reaching for you and finding contact with your wrist.

"You son of a bitch!" One of them groans, the electricity from the Launcher leaving them useless.

Your savior approaches, taking his mask of and revealing... some dude. Though the others seem shocked.

"Gally?" Minho gasps, and you snap to look at him, returning to his side.

"Minho." The boy simply says. "You guys are nuts." He looks at you. "(Y/N) (L/N), big fan." You blink at him.

"Thanks?"

"I'll explain later," Thomas playful pats his friend on the arm whilst Minho is having some kind of internal meltdown. He's going to be enlightened by the time everyone's told him everything.

The other boys walks ahead and you look at him. "I thought you said you..." You trail off, completely at a loss yourself and remembering what he'd told you about Gally.

"Yeah, me too."

You both connect back to the group, awkwardly ducking and crouching whilst you run through the City.

Trying to hide from helicopters isn't easy.

"Well, they're definitely pissed," Gally states as you hide behind some planters that some trees are in.

"How far are the tunnels?" Thomas asks the new boy.

"Uh, maybe twelve blocks from here." Newt coughs, and you look at Minho, who is very clearly in some serious distress. "We can make it."

"Newt, how you feeling?" Minho crouches in front of his friend.

"Terrible," the boy responds honestly. "It's good to see you though." He pats his friend weakly, and you remind yourself to stay at a safe distance.

Minho joins the other boys whilst you stay with Newt. "He's one lucky shank," Newt tries to laugh.

"What?"

"Havin' you around- some badass chick lookin' after him whilst we couldn't. Pretty, too." You scoff at Newt's attempt at small talk.

"I don't know if he'll agree with that."

"Hey, Newt, we gotta get you up. Gotta get goin'." You help Thomas pull up the sick boy, who nearly falls flat on his face whilst Minho and Gally exchange some words.

Minho takes Newt off of your shoulders, sensing your slight distance from the boy.

They start struggling to carry Newt through the City, when a load explosion and bursts of flames from the walls stops you all dead in your tracks.

"We're supposed to take down WCKD, not the whole damn City," Gally stares into the flames, and you have no idea what's going on. But that's not good.

"Gally, c'mon," Thomas say, yanking them both away whilst you stand with Gally, waiting for him to move. Sirens fill your ears as you start to follow him.

"Tunnels are right up ahead. Shit!" You move round a corner, following Gally's instructions, only to come across a battle field. "Stay low! Stay low!"

"What are they waiting for?" Minho asks as you all hide once again. Unfortunately, he's answered as another round of explosions courses through the streets.

Violence erupts. "We gotta go! We gotta go!" The boys struggle moving Newt again, and you stay behind Gally. Desperately trying to not get hit, you hold your gun in your hands, ready to kill anyone that gets too close. Your job now is to protect these boys.

You retreat to a nearby building, where Thomas contacts Brenda over the radio. You can't make out what they're saying over the static and gunshots. You're too busy trying to shield Newt and Minho.

Though you do make out a clear. "I'm coming to you."

Vince.

You pick up again. "We're almost there," Gally pushes forward, taking the lead as you cover the back.

"Just leave me," Newt grumbles before a truck explodes, sliding across the roads.

A Berg flies overhead, giving you some glimsp of hope. But with Newt is his current condition, you can't keep moving.

"Minho," Thomas looks at his friend, "you run ahead, grab the serum, and get back to us as soon as you can." The boy hesitates, looking at Thomas. "Minho. Go."

"He's right," Gally states, "I can cover."

"Me too," you add.

"No, you're staying here, you could get hurt," Minho tells you, showing you that he actually might not hate you after all.

"I'm coming with you." You're more definite, putting your foot down and leaving with no choice.

Minho caves, going to stand until Newt grabs him. "Thank you." Black drool covers his chin, and his eyes are bloodshot and shifty. He's not gone just yet, but it's not far off. "Thank you, Minho."

"Hey, just hang on, you hear me?"

The three of you make your move. You and Gally cover the faster boy, both of you using your expertise to let him make a run for it.

Teresa's voice rings over the loudspeakers. Her voice trying to pressure Thomas to return to her. But you, Gally and Minho can't afford to stop and listen.

Running at full speed, you reach the Berg, not taking any time to acknowledge your father figure you haven't seen in nearly two years.

"Where's the serum?" Minho yells at a girl with short hair- you're assuming Brenda.

She makes a run for it. Bolting through the City and you're all hot on her heels, a new boy, Frypan, joining the mix.

The four of you get stuck in a tunnel during a shootout, using a car for cover as Brenda keeps going.

"Shit," Minho hisses from next to you. You look at him. "You should've told me."

"I couldn't," the poor Frypan clearly has no idea what either of you are talking about. "You know I couldn't."

"I could've- we could've- shuck it!" He lashes out, kicking a piece of debris that's in front of him. "We need to help Newt. This can wait."

He's mad at you. It's weird- he's protective but furious. He doesn't want you to get hurt but that might be because he wants to hurt you himself.

"Come on!" Gally shouts, "We're clear! Let's move!"

And with that, you're all on your feet again, dodging bullets and flying through the City to try and return to Thomas and his sick friend.

You slow to a jog as the people in front of you slow, spotting Brenda motionlessly standing in an empty pathway. You once again stay back, just about joining them as you watch Minho hit the floor.

His body crumbles in front of Newt's corpse, a knife sticking out of his chest. You stand next to Brenda, observing the distraught washing over the group. You've known Newt for under half an hour, but you can tell he played a huge part in these people's lives.

You suck in a deep breath, approaching Minho from behind. "I'm sorry," you murmur. "I'm so sorry, Minho."

He pulls his eyes away, looking at you instead as you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"You really couldn't have done anything, could you?" He's sincere, all of his anger washing away for a second. You shake your head.

He's on his feet in seconds, throwing his arms around you, knocking you back slightly. His entire world as he knows it is crumbling, but he's seeking comfort in you.

You hug him back, your hand coming to the back of his head, holding him steady as his body trembles. "We can't stay here," you whisper. "We need to move."

"She's right," Gally agrees, overhearing, "it's dangerous. We need to get back to the Berg."

"What about Thomas?" Brenda's voice breaks.

"We'll find him," you pull away from the boy. "But we have more chance of doing that from the Berg."

They all agree, leaving Newt's body and returning to the perilous task of making your way through the City. You take control, being the only person in sound mind to do so.

It takes a lot, but you get there, making sure everyone enters the Berg before you.

"(Y/N)!" You turn as Vince makes his way over to you. "You did it!"

"Vince!" Throwing your arms around him, you allow yourself to relax. You both pull away, emotions of the past two years of your life finally starting to spill out. "We lost Newt."

He sighs. "I'm sorry. But you did everything you could."

"No," you sniff, "I didn't. I could have done more- figured something out. Done literally anything else- I- I could've saved him."

Unbeknownst to you, Minho is watching and listening from a distance. He's known you as stern and in control this entire time, but watching you fall apart in Vince's presence reminds him that you're just another kid that's been put through hell.

He wasn't mad at you anymore. Seeing Newt's corpse and the sympathy you possessed showed him that. But now he pities you. He doesn't know anything of the sacrifices you've made.

"That wasn't your job- it was meant to just be a simple intel gig and it all went wrong. I shouldn't have put that pressure on you." Vince's words do little to make you feel better.

"We have to find Thomas," you compose yourself, returning to your normal stoic form in the blink of an eye.

You make your way onto the Berg, Vince not too far behind you. You make eye contact with Minho, but you don't have time to deal with that right now.

"Miss (L/N)," (you're assuming) Jorge approaches you, a grin on his face, "it's an honour to meet you." He holds his hand out for you to shake. "Ha! You're a living legend, hermano. In the flesh."

"Don't go praising me so soon, dude, this shit ain't over yet." He follows you like a lost dog as you travel further into the ship, "Have you got Thomas' location?"

"The signals weak and the building's burning- but he seems to have returned to the area of WCKD's tower."

"That's where we'll head then."

"Wait," Vince stands behind you as you ignore the stares from the Berg full of people, "the City's being destroyed- I don't know if this is a good idea."

"We can't leave him- we wouldn't be here if it weren't for him he deserves a chance at a happy life and we've already lost too many good people. We're saving Thomas, V. I don't care what you say." Vince looks at Jorge, who has a faint smile creeping across his and returns the stare.

"I'm doin' what the girl says. Kid's got fire; can tell you raised her." Jorge winks at you, making his way to the cockpit.

"You've changed, huh?" You don't even bother looking at Vince.

"It's been a rough couple of years. Let's just get this over with."

The Berg starts up, and you join Brenda, Gally, Frypan and Minho at the open doors, examining the City and the surrounding area of the burning tower.

"So," Gally starts, "everything they say about you? It true?"

"Depends what they're saying." You don't pull your eyes away from the ground as the Berg moves in large, circular motions.

"A lot of klunk about causing WCKD problems- apparently you were the one that convinced Thomas to release WCKD co-ordinates to Dr. Cooper."

Minho looks at you, but don't meet his eyes.

"Yeah, I might've had something to do with that."

You finally raise higher, examining the top of the now fully inflamed tower.

"There!" You shout, "That's them!" Thomas is clearly injured, half being carried by Teresa.

So, he did return.

"What's wrong with him?" Frypan shouts and you shake your head.

"I don't know. Jorge! Get closer!"

There's a struggle as the Berg moves, your hearing turns to static as all you can focus on is reaching them. Qualms with Teresa aside, she's clearly helping Thomas.

Come on! Move closer! Let's go!

The same phrases are repeated as you slide further down the door, clinging onto one of the wire hinges so you don't fall and join them. You grab Thomas, along with the others' hands grabbing towards him, with the help of Teresa throwing him.

You manage to pull him on, and he immediately turns to Teresa. You go to reach out to her, but an explosion knocks her back, forcing the Berg to pull away.

A missile hits the building, and you all watch in horror as it collapses beneath Teresa, swallowing her into the darkness.

○ ○ ○

The next few hours are a complete blur. Thomas had been shot and was seriously bleeding out. With the help of you and Vince, you managed to slow the bleeding.

You didn't even get a chance to admire the Safe Haven when you finally landed because you were too busy trying to save Thomas' life. You got him to the medical professionals, and after several jarring hours, they confirmed he'd be okay. But he'd be asleep for a while.

Since then, you've been spending all your time catching up with Vince and reconnecting with the people you grew up with. It's very bittersweet, and you haven't had the chance, or the bravery, to talk to Minho yet.

You decided to give the Gladers some space. They'd been through hell and they need to process and talk amongst themselves for a while.

After a while, Thomas wakes up, and you watch his reunion with Minho from a distance.

Your feelings for Minho are complicated, and it's beyond clear, so are his for you. It wasn't ever going to be simple, but the events of him turning to you for comfort at least tell you there's more than his initial anger.

"You like him, don't you?" Vince's voice makes you jump as you lean against a wooden beam, observing from your safe space.

"What?"

"Minho? You like him."

You scoff. "I don't think it really matters. I don't know if it ever will."

"You protected him and saved him."

"I also held him captive and did nothing to stop the torture."

"You couldn't have done anything."

"That's not the point, and you know it."

He sighs.

"I thought you were against boys and shit, anyway?" You glance over your shoulder at him.

He shrugs, "You're clearly more than capable of making your own choices. And we're not permanently fighting for our lives anymore, so I don't really have a problem with it. You deserve to have a normal life, kid. You might finally get that here." He rubs your shoulder, slipping past and leaving you to think.

○ ○ ○

Night falls quickly. Vince finally gives a speech, earning rounds of cheers from around the bonfire as you hover behind him, staring off into the crowd with your hands in your pockets.

Vince reveals a large stone pillar in the centre of the sitting area, talking about remembering those we've lost and keeping their memories alive. You watch as Vince is the first, carving Mary's name into the stone.

To your surprise, Vince then immediately hands the chisel to you. You blink at it, before realising and taking it off of you.

People one by one, with their own tools, take the chance to add to the memorial.

You take your time, carving names into the stone, recounting the events of your life. You step back, smiling to yourself, admiring your own work. Even under the depressing conditions.

"Who are they?" You look over your shoulder, your body following you as you stand sideways. Minho's gaze is fixated on the stone. He looks a lot better now, clearly having a couple of days to recover.

"They're uh, they're my parents," you avoid his gaze, but answer honestly.

"You lost your parents?"

"I've lost everyone. My whole family, but I don't think there's enough space for them all," the joke is dark, and Minho doesn't laugh, even when you scoff.

"I had no idea."

"How could you?" You sigh, "You know nothing about me."

"Do you miss them?" The question makes you hesitate.

"I barely knew my mother- the Flare got her when I was young, so..."

"That's not what I asked," his tone is blunt, obviously still harbouring some negativity within the complications.

"...Yes. I miss them. I doubt there will be a day when I don't. My father used to say something that I think is still important- 'mortality doesn't ruin love; it only makes it stronger'."

He looks at you. For the first time, he seems to finally see the real person that's standing in front of you. "Does it ever get better?"

"Yeah, it gets better," you offer him a sympathetic smile, knowing what he's talking about. "The painful memories just become... memories after a while. It feels like it'll never get better, but it does. It becomes precious instead of hard to think about." You step towards him, handing the chisel to him.

He takes it, slowly, seemingly letting your fingers brush against each other on purpose. You go to walk away, but his voice stops you.

"Hey, 175," the number stuns you, making you spin on your heels, rage flooding your features. But it melts away the second you see Minho's dumb grin. "You're right. I don't know anything about you- but I'd like to. If you're willing to tell me."

You nod, smiling at him, "Yeah, I'd like that."

So, when you found Minho sitting on the sand later that night, sitting in front of the ocean, basking in the moonlight, you take the opportunity to approach him.

You silently sit next to him, and he looks at you, following your movements. You pull something out of your pocket, lightly shaking the small box that he immediately recognises as a deck of cards.

"Fancy a game?" He scoffs, turning to face you.

"Only if you actually talk to me."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"What's worth knowing?"

"Ah, well, that depends on what you deem important."

You fall into a surprisingly natural conversation with him. Both of you actually laughing at some of the things you tell him and the dumb stories from the Right Arm. You also somehow manage to finally win a game of Black Jack, much to Minho's dismay.

"So," you shuffle, brushing some of the sand off of one of your cards, "you still wanna be friends?" Originally, you said this jokingly, but Minho's hesitation makes you nervous.

"Not really," he says after a beat, and your heart sinks. "Shuck it," he laughs, "maybe I really do have, what was it? Stockholme Sydrome? Whatever. It sounds so dumb, but even if we were kinda stuck... I don't think I would've survived back there if it wasn't for you."

He seems almost flustered. "I don't know if my head's shucked or what, but is it really that weird to have a little crush on a kind girl in a mask?"

"No," you let out a content sigh, more satisfied with his strange confession than you expected, "but maybe you should talk to someone about that."

He playfully kicks you, making you feign an injury. "Yanno, I'd be lying if I said I didn't start kinda liking you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah- which is probably bad because we had a very unbalanced power dynamic." He snorts at this, shaking his head.

"So, what now?"

"Well, what do you wanna do now?"

He shrugs, leaning forward and picking up another card. "I don't think I want to do anything. I think I need to understand you more, and process everything I've been through. Everything I've lost. I mean, there's no rush, right?"

"Yeah. There's no rush," you nod. "For the first time ever, we actually have time to wait."

"You're willing to wait for me?"

"'Course I am. I've got to help run this place and work out my own shit too. I've got enough going on to distract me from pining over you." You exaggerate your tone, making him roll his eyes. "Seriously, take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

○ ○ ○

"You reckon they'll be okay?" Thomas asks Vince as the pair watch the both of you from a distance. Thomas smiles faintly as he watches you flick sand at Minho over losing whatever game you're playing.

"Yeah," Vince replies, finally peacefully watching the closest thing he has to family enjoy herself. "Maybe not now, but that's fine- they have all the time in the world to be okay."

Oh my God, this took me forever. But, I've got no other requests at the moment so I figured go big or go home. Seriously, this was such a cool idea and I loved writing it. Pieces like these take literal days to write, so don't be expecting them too often, but I do love more complex and indepth stories.

Also, I am so down to do a part 2 to this if you guys want to see more of yours and Minho's relationship in the Safe Haven- maybe some more developing relationship stuff, or even some spice if that is want y'all want.

Anyway, I just know no one is gonna see all of this because it's just so LONG. Literally, this thing is so big my Tumblr is lagging. But still, I hope you enjoyed :))

#🌿 petri tmr minho #🌿 petri writes tmr #🌿 petri writes #🍃 petri tmr #tmr fanfiction #tmr minho #minho the maze runner #minho tmr #minho tmr x reader #tmr imagines #minho maze runner

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 8

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 17.5k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Angst, revelations, confessions, emotional vulnerability! Oh, and fingering. Summary: Physical and emotional healing is in the cards the day after Jack rescues you from the Rollins boys. Notes: Guys, I’m not going to lie. I just keep crying. Writing, editing, proofing, crying. All day every day.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Exhaustion and an adrenaline crash combine with Ginger’s injection to keep you knocked out all the way back to the campus in Louisville. Six hours is all Ginger said you would need to heal completely and she was right - almost down to the minute. It’s past sunrise outside when you wake up, not that you can see the sun in Ginger’s lab, but when you groan slightly in your sleep and turn your head, the world doesn’t spin the way it had just hours before.

Jack grunts, leaning forward in the seat Ginger had finally relented and put next to the capsule where you were healing. Watchful for any tiny movement, he reaches out to the glass between the two of you with the need to touch you, to reassure you. “Come on sugar, open those pretty eyes for me.”

It isn’t easy to do. The lights are blindingly bright, and you’ve forgotten where you are, causing you to panic immediately before seeing Jack’s face staring back at you outside the pod that you don’t really remember Astrid explaining to you. It only calms you slightly though, seeing him, before guilt and a different kind of fear set in. If Jack is here, and you’re in one of Ginger’s isometric pods, then it wasn’t all just a terrible dream.

“Shhhhh shhhh it’s okay.” The chair scrapes back as he stands. “Ginger, open this fucking thing!” He doesn’t want you to panic and he can see the whites of your eyes already. At least they aren’t filled with blood anymore where vessels had burst. He punches in buttons and yanks on the handle for the door, opening it up. “It’s okay, sugar. You’re safe.”

“You’re here.” Though it’s obvious that you’re questioning why, with your voice so quiet it comes out almost awestruck.

“I’m here, sugar, I’m here.” Jack promises, reaching in and smoothing back your hair gently and cupping your cheek. He hadn’t been able to touch you for six hours, not even hold your hand and it’s burning through him to just reassure himself that you are here and okay. “You did so good, sugar. Hangin’ on. You’re so—” He swallows harshly, remembering how swollen your cheek was. “You did good. I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“I didn’t tell them anything.” Not even understanding who they were or what they wanted, all you could really go on was that not telling them anything was the only appropriate course of action. Apparently all those spy movies were good for something after all. “I—I promise I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter, sugar.” Jack murmurs, kneeling down and looking up at you seriously. “They’re never gonna hurt you again. You don’t hafta worry about that.”

“They wanted you.” That much was abundantly clear. Knowing what you do about Jack, you know they never would have managed to corner him without leverage. And apparently you made excellent leverage. “I’m…” You shudder with tears that won’t come. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Jack frowns, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It’s me they wanted. They used you to get to me. You were innocent, sugar. I’m sorry you got caught up in something that you shouldn’t have.” He means the feud with the Rollins, not because you’re his soulmate. He’s so fucking guilty because they targeted you. Still unsure of why they decided to try to get into Statesman after all these years. Maybe they had been all along, and the restaurant was the opportunity. Doesn’t matter, they’re dead now.

“I wasn’t wearing the bracelet.” The one he gave you. The one you had faithfully put on your wrist beside the bangle from your little sister. “I was…I was mad…so I took it off…”

“Just means I need to track your earrings.” He jokes, the halfhearted smile that he had attempted sliding off his face when you are staring down at your hands and he sighs softly. “It’s okay, sugar. I— I found your bracelet. The one you dropped. Did you do it on purpose?” He pulls the charm out of his pocket and offers it to you.

“Yeah…” Tired despite feeling better, picking up your hands feels like weightlifting. “I thought…if you realized…you might recognize it.” It was a longshot, but it’s good to know it worked.

“You did perfect, sugar.” Jack’s hands are incredibly gentle, and he takes your wrist and puts the bracelet around it again. Making sure the clasp is secure and then brushing his thumb over it. “There it is, back where it belongs.” Just like you are back near him where you belong.

“Did Ginger…” Here, in her lab, she is Ginger. Her code name seems irreversibly attached to this place. “Did she…I asked her to get rid of everything.” Your hands are free of the nicks and cuts, arms bearing no trace of burns you had gotten all through your career. You’re unmarked. Unattached. So he should be, too.

Jack sighs softly, nodding. “Why did you do it?” He wants to hear you say it. He’ll hear you say that you want nothing to do with him and then he’ll leave you alone. Go work in the New York office or go back out to the field. Just as long as you are safe.

If you were feeling stronger you might have laughed. Or at least snorted. Some derisive sound of disbelief would have been much more intelligent than the way you stare at him in the blinding light of the lab. If he really doesn’t know then he’s an idiot, and if he’s just making you say it for his own satisfaction, then he’s cruel. Either way, you swallow thickly when you look away from him and shut your eyes. “For you.” You tell him honestly, because you don’t have the emotional energy to be mean spirited. “So you can be free.”

So he could be free. Jack swallows slightly and shakes his head. It doesn’t seem like you hate him now although maybe you’re just shellshocked. Shock does weird things to people. “Honey, it doesn’t work like that.” He murmurs softly. “We’re still soulmates.”

“She was your soulmate.” If you could, you’d be sobbing by now. Wracked with them. In agony. You’d be a sniveling, pathetic mess instead of the broken version of yourself you’ve become. “I’m…I don’t fuckin’ know. But at least you can pretend I don’t exist. I know that’s what you want.”

“Sugar, I was— fuck, I was so wrong.” Jack grabs your hands and holds onto them. “I was— I thought I was bein’ disloyal to her memory. Betrayin’ her by having another soulmate. You never did anything wrong. I just— I was scared of how easy it was bein’ around you and how quickly I could—” He cuts himself off, knowing you don’t want to hear about him falling in love with you. You’d never believe it, not after what he’s done to you. “I know I traded my life for yours in a heartbeat and I’d do it again.”

“Why?” In the moment it had made no sense to you, and no clear, shining light has shone on your confusion since then. Hearing Jack agree to take your place without hesitation had flared so much hope, despair, and confusion in your heart that it was like having a chorus of screaming fury in your mind. “I still don’t understand. You could’ve—” He could have let the men kill you. He could have been free of you that way instead and it might have hurt less than believing your soulmate hates you. “Is it just…company policy?”

Jack chokes, hating that you think it’s company policy to not let anything happen to his soulmate. “No sugar…it’s not.” He murmurs softly, knowing this is all his fault. He’s done nothing to make you believe he likes you. “I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore. I would have never let him hurt you if I—” he shakes his head. “If I hadn’t been a goddamn fool.”

He’s clinging to your hands almost desperately, and you could swear you heard his voice crack but it’s just wishful thinking. Even after what you just went through - what you survived - you still find yourself grasping at the impossible fantasy of him someday caring about you. You won’t even go all the way to love anymore. Just as long as he doesn’t hate you, that’s all you’re really asking for. “It’s okay.” The words feel almost alien, but you look over at him and offer him a pinched smile. “You’re a good agent, Jack. And you can go back in the field now. I’m sorry I was stubborn.”

“The field…sugar, someone from my past nearly killed you and you’re talking about me goin’ back to work?” He’s totally bewildered, wondering if you are in shock or denial about the entire damn thing. He knows that Ginger will set you up with the Statesman therapist. “I went to therapy for you.” He blurts out.

“I’m talking about you getting your life back after I—” You started in so quickly that when he blurts out the word ‘therapy’ you turn back to look at him with bewilderment. “What? Why?” Sure you’re both stubborn, but that’s not exactly therapy-worthy.

“After I—” Jack flushes with shame. “After I exploded on you, I – I knew I needed to fix it. Fix me.” He squeezes your hands gently. “You deserve more than a fucked-up soulmate who had his head so far up his ass he couldn’t see if the sun was shinin’.”

“Plenty of people have platonic soulmates.” It’s been a mantra for you for weeks now. Reassuring yourself that the world won’t end if he doesn’t feel the same way about you that you do about him. It’s not going to end your life. It will be okay. That’s what you told yourself, as you tried desperately to shake the blazing sensation in the memory of kissing him months ago. “I just don’t want you to be unhappy anymore, and…and I know you’ve been unhappy.”

“I’ve been unhappy because I want you.” Jack confesses softly. “And I didn’t think I deserved another soulmate because I couldn’t protect Abigail and I felt guilty because I thought it would be like forgettin’ her.”

“You could never forget her. You love her.” But the mere wisp of the idea that he doesn’t hate you? It seems to light you up from the inside out like a lawn ornament. Hope, as powerful and resilient as any other force in the universe, encouraging your heart to try beating again. “Honestly? I’m jealous. I never got to know anything about my first soulmate. But…I never would have asked you to forget her.”

“I can— I can show you his file.” Jack offers quietly. “Everything Statesman has on him. They had to, you know, investigate.”

“Thank you.” It isn’t quite the same, but you squeeze his hands in gratitude and try to remember to breathe. This is a much heavier conversation than you ever thought you would wake up to. “I don’t know what things would have been like with him, but he deserves to be remembered.”

“He seems like he was a good man.” Which made Jack killing him even harder to accept.

“I don’t blame you for protecting yourself.” Since you can’t ever say what you would have done in his position, and since it won’t bring the man back in the first place, there was no point in hanging on to that anger. It did nothing but make you upset and keep you from moving forward. “Not anymore. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I’m sorry sugar, I know I’m the worst possible kind of soulmate you could ask for.” Jack lifts a hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it gently. “I’m sorry for denying you the possibility of gettin’ to know him. He worked at the hotel. Where the weddin’ was.”

"That's why you backed out?" That little act of affection, as simple as it is, has you squeezing your mouth shut quickly so you don't sigh wistfully or something equally ridiculous. "If you had told me, I would have understood."

“I—” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m— it’s been a long time since I’ve had to explain myself, sugar. And I was feelin’ fucking guilty because of - well, that kiss. Because if Diana hadn’t interrupted us, I would have had you spread out on your counter.”

"I think my exact words were that I would have worn a dress if I'd known you'd come by horny." It stings, still, but you have to laugh at yourself. If you don't you'll just...shrivel up somehow. "I would have let you. Happily."

“I know. I know you would have. And it scared me.” Jack presses another kiss to the back of your hand. “Because I know how easy it would be to love you, sugar. So I ran like a damned coward.”

"I stayed away." It's almost like you're begging somehow, pleading to be told that you did the right thing, even though you're fairly certain that there is no right or even better thing to do in this circumstance. You would genuinely be shocked if anyone in the world had ever been in this situation ever before. "I stayed away and I never asked you for anything except friendship. I tried to do what was going to make you happy, I swear."

“Honey, you were never the problem.” Jack assures you, looking up and begging you to believe him. “I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me. Never. You are kind and good and sweet and sexy, I— I fucked up.”

"Hate you?" You huff, shaking your head. Your reaction is instant, disbelieving, and out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. "I love you, you idiot. I've done everything you ever asked no matter how much it hurts because I love you."

Jack closes his eyes and inhales shakily. “Sugar, I don’t deserve your love.” He whispers softly. “I pushed you away, I didn’t protect you, I hurt you.” He opens his eyes and there’s a definite wobble to his chin as he tries to compose himself. “But all I could think about was getting to you. Making sure that the other portions of my soul was safe.” He swallows. “I love you too, sugar. I do.”

There's nothing in his face that tells you he's lying, or that he's forcing himself. If anything, he looks...relieved. Your eyes roam every minute expression you can see, trying to digest the situation and realizing that you might both have come around to this in the most monumentally dramatic and fucked up way possible - but that you still both came around to it. Whether that's the soulmate connection or the threat of almost losing each other making you be honest with yourselves, you can't ever know. "Really?"

“Really.” Jack bends down and kisses your hand again, one and then the other. Inching closer to you from his position on the floor in front of you. It’s not something he would do for anyone but he had meant it when he said he would grovel. “It’s why I ran, why I fought it so hard. Because I knew. I fucking knew that I was going to love you. And I do but I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

"What do you want, then?" Whatever it is, if there's any way for you to give it to him, the way your heart has jumped up into your chest tells you with absolute certainty that you'll give it to him.

“I wanna take you out on a date.” Jack decides, knowing that things need to be taken slow. “I want- would you go to therapy with me?” It surprises him that it comes out of his own mouth, but he’s not going to take it back.

"That's the weirdest damn proposal in history." He's down on his knees asking so formally that the whole thing would just read like a comedy routine if it weren't so serious. "Get up, Jack. And...help me sit up? I feel like an astronaut in this thing and this is an important conversation."

Jack pushes to his knees and helps you sit up. “Slowly— you can feel a little dizzy when you’re first gettin’ out of one of these.” He knows that firsthand.

He's completely right, annoyingly so, and you cling to his hand for a second while you adjust to sitting up again and the dizziness subsides. It reminds you of the time you got vertigo at that theater in Boston years and years ago. "Okay." Once you're feeling a little more like yourself, you breathe out slowly and tilt your head at him. "So...you want to take me on a date...to couples therapy? Do I have that right?"

“No.” Jack chuckles, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders down. “I’d like you to go out on a date with me. But then I’d also like to attend a couple’s therapy session with you. To work out the problems between us. To let you get out your issues and better explain mine.” He shrugs. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

"Our issues aren't a little..." You cringe slightly. "Classified? Unless...Statesman probably has a therapist on staff, doesn't it?"

“They do.” Jack nods. “It’s the one that I saw before I – when I was such an ass to you. Got my tail handed to me for that.” He confesses, embarrassed at his behavior.

"Jack..." His hand is still in yours from helping you sit up, and you hold onto it a little harder out of nerves. "I don't want you to do this just because of what happened. But if you actually want to give us a chance?" You might just be able to muster some tears if he actually wants to be with you. Joy instead of sadness or fear. "Then my answer is going to be yes every time."

“I was watchin’ your cabin.” Jack murmurs softly. “Waitin’ for you to come out so I could talk to you. Apologize and ask if you would have dinner with me. To let me try to make it up to you.”

"Yes." It's as simple as that, as far as the request goes, and you rub your thumb gently over the back of his hand. "Anytime, anywhere."

Even though he’s relieved that you would be willing to entertain the idea of stepping out with him, Jack chuckles. “I don’t deserve you, sugar. At all.” He promises, staring into your eyes and wondering how you can be willing to do that after being beaten because of him. “Is there anything you want to know? Right now? About— what happened?”

“I don’t understand most of it,” you admit, wishing you could live in the glow of Jack’s willingness to give you a try but knowing that questions and answers will be less traumatic now than they would be down the line. Letting worries or wonderings fester won’t help either of you in the long run. “He liked to hear himself talk, so there was a lot that he said that I didn’t understand. But…who was he? Just someone from your past?”

Jack sighs, lifting a hand and smoothing your hair back again. “Do you want me to tell you here, or do you want to go home? Curl up with a hot toddy?” He offers softly. He knows your throat doesn’t hurt anymore, but it might be more comfortable than in Ginger’s lab.

“Will you ask Ginger if it’s okay for me to leave?” Going home and curling up with Jack sounds monumental, but you’ve never been one to go against a doctor’s advice. If she says you need to stay put, you’ll keep sitting here. Although the things you’d do for a shower and some clean clothes are pretty extensive.

"Ging?" Jack knows that Ginger is going to respond immediately when he presses the button on his watch.

"Yes Jack?" The answer comes through the speaker and allows you to hear her as well.

"Can I take her home?" He asks, keeping a hold on your hand and giving you a small smile.

"All the injuries are healed; she is okay to go home but I do want to follow up tomorrow after she's rested and get her scheduled with Dr. Masters." She tells Jack before he addresses you. "I want you to rest. Don't go into the restaurant today. Or tomorrow. Your sous chef is taking care of everything and your family has all been assured that you are okay. We are sending the jet for them to come see for themselves tomorrow. I managed to hold them off until then."

“What did you tell them?” Knowing your family, they would have demanded details. A journalist mother and a nosy father are not the kind of people that take ‘no’ for an answer or accept vague assurances.

“That you had been involved in a corporate espionage ordeal and the ATF was in charge for now.” The slight misuse of government names had proved ideal to get them to back off.

“My father is going to be making rum runner jokes for a year once he sees I’m okay.” You laugh, shaking your head and relishing the warmth of Jack’s hand still firmly in yours. As much as you want to resume your normal life and just put your head down at work, you know they’re right. You need rest and distance. At least the rest of your staff is excellent - Tripp Rollins notwithstanding. “Okay. Home, then. Home to rest.” Your eyes move to Jack and find him watching you intently. “And to talk a little bit more.”

Jack nods, helping you stand up and if he didn’t think you would yell at him, he would just pick you up and carry you. The clothes you had been in were ruined and cut off of you, so you are now in just a clean set of scrubs that were used when the lab gets messy. “We’ll get you home and I promise we will talk about whatever you want for as long as you want.”

“And maybe eat something?” The smile you shoot him is sheepish, but you’re just starting to realize how hungry you are. “I think the last time I ate anything was days ago.”

“Shit, yeah. I’ll— I’ll make you something.” Jack promises, hating how you’ve been treated. They could have fucking fed you.

“We’ll manage.” You’re not about to let go of him, but you do feel okay other than being tired. Jack walks you through the building, holding every door and helping you down every step, and you have a feeling that if he could he’d have just carried you all the way to the Bronco to make sure not so much as a pebble even got in your way. Once he has you settled in the truck it takes no time at all to get back to your neighborhood, and you sigh in quiet relief to see your little house again.

“Sorry I went inside.” Jack moves the lever into park and looks over at you once he’s parked beside your cabin, his Bronco tucked in next to the little car that was yours. “But I didn’t really go through anything.”

“It’s okay.” Being home again - and you really do think of it as home - is more peaceful and reassuring than you had expected, and you lean on his shoulder for a second. “If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to me.”

“I don’t even want to think about that, sugar.” Jack’s voice breaks and he opens the door to the Bronco to step out and help you out of the truck.

“You’re getting soft on me, Jack.” You tease, nudging him a little on the porch. The biometric scanner that opens your door isn’t satisfying like a physical key is, but you appreciate the security of it now more than ever.

“I don’t think you understand how badly I wanted to— how I hated myself for not getting to you sooner. For every second you spent in their gasp.” Jack murmurs, guiding you inside and closing the door behind you. He guides you to the couch and helps you down even though you can walk. “I’ll make you something to eat.” He promises, knowing that you would have plenty in your fridge, even if it was just the makings for some kind of sandwich or omelet.

“I really don’t understand.” The care with which he’s tucked you in on the couch makes you not want to get up again, convinced he’ll just come back to retuck if you fuss. But you twist around a little to be able to watch him in your kitchen, surprised when your chest clenches watching him in your space. Your sanctuary. “I thought you hated me. And even if I understand now why you were acting the way you were, it still…” You bite your lip momentarily and look down at your hands, remembering the scars you had removed for him. “It’s going to take a while for me to process, that’s all.”

“I’m not asking for anything, sugar.” Jack promises you. “Take all the time you need.” He opens the fridge and hums when he sees all the options and looks over at you. “What are you feeling like eatin’? You want some tea? Or that hot toddy I promised you?”

“A hot toddy sounds good.” Deciding that you don’t care what time of day it is, you nod. Surely being a victim of kidnapping disqualifies you from petty things like waiting until the afternoon to drink. “I’m pretty sure there’s leftovers in there from the night before I left. Probably enough for two, if you’re into reheated chicken pot pie for breakfast.”

“How about some chicken pot pie and some garlic bread?” He asks, finding half a loaf of French bread on the counter. “Unless you want me to make you an omelet? I’m not as good as you are, but I won’t kill ya with my cookin’.”

“Good garlic bread is worth its weight in gold.” Even the sound of it has you salivating and your stomach rumbling. “Let’s use the leftovers. I’d hate for them to waste.” You’re tempted to suggest omelets for dinner - one of your favorite comfort meals - but don’t want to presume that he’ll be spending the entire day with you.

"Okay. I'm going to use this garlic you've got in the fridge." The pot of garlic confit is only recognizable because Abigail craved it while she was in her second trimester. She would slather it on everything, making Jack joke that at least they knew she wasn't carrying a vampire. He chuckles to himself as he pulls it out along with a hunk of cheese to grate over the top.

“I have a feeling that if I offer to help I’m going to get a dirty look, otherwise I’d be in there with you.” It’s equal parts soothing and wrenching to watch him, and if you were feeling a little saucier you’d probably be focused on his ass as he moves around your kitchen.

"You're gonna sit your pretty little ass right there and let me take care of you." Jack warns, raising a brow at you before he flips the kettle on to boil water for your tea. "I was helpless when you were unconscious. All I could fuckin' do was hold you and pet your damn hair. Now I can make sure you're okay."

“You stayed with me?” After everything he’s said today, you’re not really sure why that surprises you. But reconciling Jack’s apparent true feelings for you to how he’s acted around you for the last few weeks isn’t exactly easy.

"Haven't left your side since gettin' out of that fuckin' warehouse." Jack admits, not looking over at you and instead focusing on mixing the garlic confit with butter to spread onto the soft interior of the bread so he can toast it.

“Shit…” The curse is soft under your breath, but it comes with a shake of your head and a fond smile that he can’t see. “We really have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

"We do and I guess that we should start at the beginnin'." Jack sighs, knowing that telling the story of his background would be easier while he's concentrating on something other than talking. It's not something he enjoys rehashing. "The Rollins boys and I have a history that is long convoluted. My family and his, settled into the same valley in the 1800s and started ranches."

“Hatfield and McCoy style shit?” It’s the first set of names that comes to mind with the whole ‘blood feud’ thing, which is certainly what all of the crazy shouting had sounded like.

"Kinda....'cept my family didn't engage in the crazy. It started as a land dispute. Which I'm sure was violent back then. But..." He shakes his head. "It seems like they've always had a few screws loose. And when our ranch was surviving when theirs was goin' under, it seems to make the grudge even worse."

“I don’t even know where you’re from.” It seems to occur to you out of nowhere, even as you watch him studiously avoid looking at you while he cooks. “I mean I would have guessed Southern, but I’m not exactly an ace with accents. You could be from Alaska for all I know.”

"I'm from Montana, but I've picked up more of a twang since I've been here." He tells you with a small grin. "Settlin' into my surroundings it seems."

“So you’re telling me I’ll be saying y’all in no time?” Small smiles are still warm ones, and you can feel your cheeks burn a little. He’s handsome no matter what, but when he smiles it’s a whole different level. “Go on. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He starts grating the cheese on top of the breath and butter mixture. “Abigail was— I knew she was mine from the playground. We were—hell we were swingin’ and I saw the scar I got from bein’ thrown from my horse and breakin’ my arm when I was nine. But Hank—” Jack shakes his head. “He always wanted what I had. Claiming that he was her soulmate. So we kept things quiet until high school.”

“I heard him claim it.” It was nothing you could have seen, obviously, but you heard every word that passed between the two men in that room. “He faked her scars, didn’t he? To try to pretend?”

“Yeah. Crazy bastard.” He growls, Hank’s confession of being behind Abigail’s death rocketing through him again. “I— we got married after high school. I was gonna run the ranch, take over for my daddy and let him enjoy his golden years. Although the man would have still poked his nose in and gotten up before the sun.” Jack chuckles. “She got pregnant right away. Everyone swearing she was expectin’ on our wedding day, but we actually waited.”

“Oh god…” You barely muffle a gasp. “You were just kids…”

“I’m not that old, sugar.” Jack huffs, turning around and placing the bread into the oven so he can work on heating up the chicken pot pie. “After - after she and the baby died, I took off. Joined the military and tried not to go back. Only went home when they buried my daddy.”

“Military?” That part surprises you a little, but the line from active service to private sector spy probably isn’t that difficult to traverse.

“Had a death wish.” He admits with a shrug. “Didn’t give a damn about anything, especially that fuckin’ valley, so it seemed like a good idea. Champ recruited me from there.”

“For what it’s worth?” You’re sitting up, hands in your lap as you play with the blanket that he spread out over you. “I’m glad that wish never came true.”

“I don’t know about that, sugar.” Jack hums, feeling guilty about all of it. “If it had, you woulda met your original soulmate and wouldn’t have been tortured at the hands of a fuckin’ psycho.”

“And who knows what that might have been like?” You’ve thought it over and thought it over so many times that you feel like you’ve tried to imagine every possibility even if that’s not possible. “Having my little tearoom has been my dream for my whole life and I know for a fact that I got it because of you. What would I have gotten in Boston? Definitely not a big enough paycheck to open my own place, that’s for sure.”

Jack wondered when you were going to bring up why you got your restaurant. “Champ is still thrilled at the idea.” He murmurs. “The word is spreading and Diana is tellin’ everyone comin’ in for tours.”

“Diana’s the one who ‘fessed up,” you admit. “We have lunch together at least twice a week…it’s kind of a ritual now.”

“You deserve it.” Jack insists, his reaction to your food hadn’t been an act. He loved everything you let him try. “Though they do try to make soulmates happy. It’s not easy bein’ with an agent.”

“I do…want to, you know.” Now that you’ve come to it – to the topic. The possibility. It makes you nervous. Something else could happen. Someone else could consider you a target. But…for Jack? You would have died zip tied to that chair for Jack. You had accepted that inevitability. “Be with you, I mean.”

Jack looks up from his task, spooning the chicken pot pies into bowls to heat up and he stares at you for a moment. “I— I want that too.” He confesses softly.

“I know it won’t be perfect.” Slipping out from under the blanket, you stand from the couch to cross the small divide, and you end up smiling at him like a dopey schoolgirl with her first crush from the other side of the kitchen counter. “But I would rather have something imperfect than have to spend another day pretending I’m not in love with you.”

“It’s another reason why I want to do therapy with you.” Jack admits, looking up and smiling at the expression on your face. “I come with a lot of baggage and I’ve hit you with a lot of it, but I don’t want you carryin’ it for me.”

“Don’t worry.” The soft look of love turns to one of teasing so easily. “I think we’ve proven that we’re a lot more likely to fight than to not speak up.”

“I’m tired of fighting.” Jack huffs, shaking his head. “And it’s not worth it when I know for a fact that I’m sunk.”

It’s like your own private miracle to hear him say it, and you inch closer at the counter while he works. “You don’t have to decide any time soon, because I feel like we should probably be slow and steady and all that…all things considered. But if you don’t want to get married again, I’ll understand completely. I’m not trying to take Abigail’s place and we don’t have to say another word about it ever again if you don’t want to. I only want to do what will make both of us happy.”

Jack turns around and shoves the first bowl into the microwave and covers it with a paper towel. “Sugar, I don’t want to count that out.” He tells you as he turns back towards you. “And I don’t think that you are tryin’ to take her place.”

“I just want you to know that I’m not gonna be sitting around here counting days for you to propose, that’s all.” Most soulmates would have been married already, at least from what you’ve seen and heard. The fact that you and Jack have known each other for months and only kissed once is extremely rare. “If we get there, we get there. And if we decide not to, that’s okay, too.”

“We’re kinda in uncharted territory here, aren’t we sugar?” He murmurs, stepping closer to you and sighing. “Second soulmates and tip-toeing around each other.”

“Seems like...” The forgotten tea kettle on the stove hisses angrily, shrieking to life with a shrill whistle that makes both of you cringe and laugh, spoiling the thick tension for now but easing some of the mood in the room.

“Why are you willin’ to forgive and forget?” Jack asks curiously, his turn to learn more about you. “You should hate me.”

“Maybe I should. I don’t know.” Since he hasn’t shooed you back to the couch, you move to pour hot water into the mug he has waiting for you - tea bag and whiskey already at the ready. “But the second you walked into the kitchen that first day Champ was pretending to interview me, you— you just took my breath away. And maybe all the bullshit would make some people pause. Maybe it should make me pause, I don’t know. But it just seems like a test to me now. That first week, getting to know you and spend time with you was everything I wanted. But the universe had to make sure I knew that things wouldn’t be easy, and maybe we’ll have plenty more bumps in the road in the years to come. But at least we know now that we can get past it, ya know?”

“I agree.” Jack murmurs, turning back to check on the garlic bread so he doesn’t burn it.

"I think we got dealt a difficult hand." You shrug, stirring your tea. "It's how we play it that counts."

“Yes it is.” He pulls the garlic bread out and right after that the microwave dings, making him hurry to put it down so he can pull out the bowl and put in the next one.

"I hated dating after I found out you're my soulmate." Studiously avoiding his eyes, you pull forks out of the drawer and plates for garlic bread out of the cupboard. The tray you keep on the counter can easily transport everything into the living room all at once. "Trying to force myself to not think about you was its own special kind of hell."

“Well, it seems like we are more alike than we thought.” Jack admits. “Because I hated you dating. Do you know how many nights I sat on my porch wishing those bastards would leave?”

It pains you to realize that you hurt him even accidentally, but you had been doing what you thought he wanted: moving on, trying to let him live his life, not force a new soulmate on him. If you had known what he was feeling, you never would have done any of it. You would have sat tight and let him work through things until he was ready to talk to you. "Never again." You can promise him that easily. "From now on the only person spending the night is you. Ya know...when we get to that point."

“You were doing what you wanted to, sugar.” Jack brings the bowl over to the countertop and searches for a knife to cut the bread. “I’d rejected you. Didn’t expect you to live like a monk. It just— I couldn’t— I hated that I wasn’t there instead of them and I hated myself for wantin’ that.”

"I was doing what I thought I was supposed to." The bread knife from your block is within arm's reach and you place it gently in front of Jack. "I'm glad to put it behind me."

“Me too.” Jack won’t tell you how many sleepless nights he had because of you, because of the entire situation. It wouldn’t be fair, but you know he wrestled with this ordeal a lot. “Thanks.”

With everything ready, Jack loads up the tray but only lets you carry your mug into the living room. You settle in again, letting the large throw blanket cover both of your laps, and eagerly reach for the garlic bread he made when he seems satisfied that you have everything you need. "Oh, holy shit." The hum turns into a throaty giggle, a pleased sound that comes with an expression so blissful that your eyes have closed on their journey to rolling back in your head. "It's so fucking good."

“I have made a lot of garlic bread in my day.” Jack chuckles, watching you enjoy yourself as you eat something he has made for a change.

“I’ll be calling you up every time I want to make Italian for dinner.” It’s a nice little thought - domestic - and you feel like you ought to be pinching yourself over this reality. One where Jack actually returns your affection.

He hums and nods. “Let me know. Like I said, I became an expert.” He takes a bite of your pot pie and moans at the flavor.

"So." His reaction makes you grin, always pleased when he likes your food. Which is every time, granted, but some things he obviously likes more than others. Your pot pie, apparently, is a big thumbs up. "Do you want to have our first real date tonight, or do you want to wait until after my family visits?"

“That is up to you.” Jack decides. “But you need to rest. You—it was a lot for you to go through. I know agents that could crack in that situation. You deserve a night off.”

"I can't decide if it will be more wildly uncomfortable for them all to be able to interrogate you about your intentions before or after the fact." Knowing that the only thing that could stop your family from being well-meaning but overbearing, you take a sip of your tea and shrug. "We can just not tell them yet. About...what we are to each other."

“You’re my soulmate.” He’s come to accept that, tired of fighting it even though there isn’t a mark on your bodies to distinguish that fact anymore. “I’m not going to hide that from your family.”

"Well, then prepare yourself for childhood stories, endless teasing, and extremely unsubtle hints about how my sister didn't fit into my mother's wedding dress so it's my moral obligation to wear and fulfill her life dream of passing it on." It warms you right from the inside to hear him actually say the words out loud, tingling through you like sparks crackling under your skin.

Jack snorts and shakes his head. “We just have the Daniels family veil.” He tells you. “It’s considered a requirement for any wedding in our family.”

"Then I hope they match." Your head shake matches his, and you both end up smiling a little more sheepishly than before. "My family is great. Don't let me give you the wrong impression or anything. They just get really excited."

It’s strange to think about weddings, but he’s not panicking, so it’s an improvement. “You can tell them whatever you want. I’m actually easy going.” He manages this lie with a straight face.

"Bullshit." You snort, reaching for your garlic bread with a smirk. "I'll tell them the truth, and you just be yourself. Your not-at-all easy going self."

“I’m complicated, but I’m also a professional spy sugar.” He reminds you with a smirk. “It’s a part of the package.”

"I don't mind that you're particular. It's a hell of a lot better than guys who have no opinion about anything and half the time you feel like you're just playing a guessing game trying to figure out if they even care about anything at all." Just being able to sit and talk is more relaxed than you've felt in weeks, even if sometimes it does make you a little jittery. It's the good kind of jittery. Excited.

“What do you want to do?” Jack asks, sitting back and watching you closely. The swelling is gone, the contusions healed, bones mended, but he can see that every time he glances back at you. Never wanting to see it again.

"When we go out?" Go out. With him. On a date. You hope you're hiding your beaming smile well enough behind your drink. "I'm the easy going one, Jack. We could go sit in the backyard and watch the stars and I'd still love it." All you need is for him to be there, but you're afraid that saying it will be too overbearing.

He huffs at you and shakes his head. “That’s not a very good date.” He grumbles at you. “Although it’s a romantic one.”

You tilt your head at him, wondering how many dozens or hundreds of dates he's been on over the years with women he never wanted to spend serious time with. How many times it might have been boring, or he might have wished he had chosen something else altogether. How many times he actually had fun and didn't want to admit it to himself. "What's something you've never done before?" You ask him, wondering if there even is such a thing.

Jack thinks about it for a moment and grins. “Never took a girl up in the Pony Express.” He answers finally. “Always wanted to.”

"You're on." You agree immediately, knowing that he loves that plane and genuinely finding yourself surprised that he's never used it to impress anyone before. That would have been a go-to move if you were him.

He raises his brow and grins at you. “Really? You want to take a ride on the Pony Express?” He asks, shuffling closer.

“Well now you’re making it sound dirty.” The grin on your face as you set down your bowl is pronounced, but you’re not going to pretend you don’t like how excited he is at the prospect. Like a kid getting to show off his favorite toy.

“I mean, it could be dirty.” He grins at you and sends you a small wink. Flirting with you has never been hard and now it seems as natural as breathing.

“And here I was thinking you would want to go slow.” It seems an almost silly thought, since you had been on the receiving end of the mild form of his flirting right when you had first known him.

There is a serious look to his eyes even though the wicked curve of his lips is there. “Sugar, we can go as slow as you want.” He promises.

“I want us to do what feels right for us.” Maybe it’s a cop out, you don’t know. But since you would have happily taken him home with you after that trip to Shootouts the very first day you met, you have an inclination that maybe ‘slow’ isn’t in the cards. “I just don’t want you to feel pressured.” That’s the key.

Jack chuckles and shakes his head. “Sugar, I would have taken you to bed the first night. Especially if I didn’t know who you were to me.” He puts his own bowl down and picks up your hand. “I just don’t wanna make you feel like I’m tryin’ to make up. I want you to feel like I’m here. In this.”

“Then let’s just see what happens naturally.” It’s good to know you’re both on the same page. To know that what you had felt right from the start was mutual and natural. “It might not be slow,” you admit sheepishly. “But it will be what’s right for us.”

“Right now, you need to eat.” Jack squeezes your hand before he lets you go. “Then I want you to take a nap. The hyperbaric chamber wasn’t sleep, it was you healing.”

“You don’t have to babysit me while I’m sleeping.” The offer is made gently, trying to be courteous and not be possessive of his time even though you want to be. “If you sat up with me while I was in that thing, then you need sleep too.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Jack insists, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stand having you out of his sight. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just stretch out on your couch and shut my eyes while you nap.” What he doesn’t say is that he will be checking on you every two minutes for his own peace of mind. The kidnapping had rattled him to the bone and it’s gonna take a while for him to settle down.

“This couch will wreak havoc on your back.” It’s stylish and attractive, and comfortable for sitting, but definitely not a good sleeping space. You found that out in your second week here. “If napping together is too forward of me to mention, you can at least use the guest room.” It doesn’t matter that you desperately want to find out what waking up with him is like. If he’s not comfortable with it, it’s a nonissue.

“No!” Jack jumps at the opportunity to curl around you and protect you while you sleep. “I—I mean, it’s okay if you want to nap together.” He tries to play it off subtly but is probably failing miserably. “I don’t…mind.”

The urge to tease him about it is so strong on the tip of your tongue, but it’s fully overruled by that blossoming, pleased feeling of warmth that unravels through all your limbs. “We’re both adults,” you reason, as though you’re not doing a happy dance and giggling on the inside. “We can survive a nap together, I’m all but certain of it.”

“We’re adults.” Jack nods, pointing at your food. “So finish your food, missy.” He teases. “This old man is tired, and you look like you need some sleep too.”

You roll your eyes at him dramatically but comply, picking up your bowl again to finish off your leftovers quickly. The warmth and calming effect of the hot toddy isn’t lost on you either, and by the time you’re done eating you’re smothering unsubtle yawns behind your hand. He doesn’t even let you load the dishwasher, shooing you upstairs to change into your pjs and get into bed. It seems like Ginger had gotten you cleaned up when they cut away your ruined clothes and got you into the scrubs, but you’ll probably shower after you wake up anyway. Just to feel clean again.

Jack takes his time, going through your home and securing it. Ridiculous, but it makes him feel better. Finally, he’s walking up the stairs, leaving his sports coat tossed over the back of a chair and hovers just outside the door. “Ready, sugar?”

“You’re not getting under these covers with your boots on,” you tell him, aiming for an amused tone and ending up grinning as you pat the empty space beside you with butterflies launching themselves around in your belly. “C’mon Jack. I don’t bite unless given permission.”

Huffing at you, Jack moves closer, toeing off his boots and placing them beside the bed before he looks at you again with his fingers on his belt buckle. “You sure? You want me to get comfortable?”

There’s a part of you that wants to tear that belt buckle open with your damn teeth, but it’s not the loudest part of your brain right now. It’s deeper than anything physical, and that’s the part that makes you hesitate. Honesty, you decide, nodding slowly. “I would feel safer.”

He’ll accept that. Slowly starting to undress as you slip under the covers and settle into your bed. He would feel more comfortable out of the tight jeans and button down, but he leaves his boxers on as he joins you. “Now we can get some sleep.”

It’s about safety, you tell yourself sternly. It doesn’t matter that he’s stripped down and your mouth is practically fucking watering. It doesn’t matter that your threadbare t-shirt and shorts are all that’s between you. It’s about safety. “Yup.” You gulp. “Sleep.”

“Do you mind if I hold you?” Jack asks as he turns towards you. You are tired but still so damn beautiful. “Maybe— I mean, you might feel safer.” He offers. “Knowing that I’m right here?” He will feel better, touching you but it’s your decision.

Mind?! You would have begged for it if necessary. But it’s also just…how you sleep if there’s someone else in the bed with you. “I would have ended up cuddling against you,” you admit, shutting off the light so he doesn’t see the embarrassment on your face. “I’m a cuddly sleeper. Sorry…I should have warned you.”

“That’s good, sugar.” Jack coos, drawing you into his arms with a happy rumble in his chest. Feeling relaxed for the first time since he discovered you were missing. You are safe, healthy (again) and in the protection of his arms. “You just curl into me and sleep as long as you like.”

******

It’s a good four or five hours that you sleep, held fast against his chest and so deeply that when you do toss or turn - the product of nightmares that you’re sure you should think about talking to that therapist about - you end up settling down with his shoulder as your pillow again before too long. The midafternoon sun is shining brightly through your windows when you start to move one last time, shifting lazily as though you’re trying to burrow even deeper into his side.

Jack actually sleeps, cradling you in his arms and feeling your gentle breathing against his hand. Reassuring him that you are safe and secure. Your warmth combines with his and creates a little cocoon under the sheets. Your leg wraps over his hip and he kisses you hair, settling back down and falling back under the sweet waves of sleep.

Even with the nightmares it might qualify as the best nap you’ve ever taken, and you try not to move too much when you finally open your eyes to the sight of Jack looking so peaceful in his sleep. Lips barely parted, skin flush with warmth, and immaculate hair mussed from the pillow, this might be your favorite sight in the whole world. The way it makes your heart swell and clench all at once is a beautiful new sensation. One you want to hang on to for as long as possible.

For his part, Jack is blessed with dreamless sleep. Or maybe it's more that his brain is still fucked up from being shot, he can't be sure but he doesn't dream about seeing you bound to a chair and head covered with a gun to your head, thankfully. He grunts, feeling a slight movement and he starts to stir before tightening his arms around you. "'s okay." He mumbles. "'m here."

“I know.” Taking a chance that the gesture won’t be too forward, you place a kiss on the back of his hand where it holds yours on his chest and revel silently in how good it feels. “Go back to sleep, Jack. Everything’s okay.”

He grunts again and hums, twitching slightly and stretching in the bed with you. "''ou awake?"

“More than you.” You laugh softly, almost more of a single breathy chuckle.

Finally managing to peel one eyeball open to tilt his head down and try to focus on you. "Makin' fun of me?" He huffs when he finally manages to clear the haze of sleep.

“Maybe a little.” The grin that splits your face is beaming, and you don’t care to hide it. “You’re cute when you’re all sleepy.”

It's natural, the way his lips pout, shooting you a narrowed eyed playful glare. "I didn't get any sleep."

“Close your eyes, then.” It’ll keep you from kissing the pout right off of his face if he does, and that might be the only thing that can stop you. “I know you stayed up to keep an eye on me. We can spend today drifting in and out of sleep.”

"Is that what you want to do?" The rasp of his voice is deep, laced with sleep and the need to clear his throat. "Or do you want to get up?"

“Nah.” Shaking your head and nuzzling closer feels like an absolute dream. “I wanna stay right here with you. We’ll order pizza for dinner and I’ll text my mom to see what time they’re flying in tomorrow, but let’s stay in bed.”

Jack grunts and rolls you over to where you are on your side, facing away from him so he can wrap his body around yours. "Then go back to sleep, sugar." He murmurs in your ear.

It’s easy to do just that, letting yourself be absorbed by the comfort and safety of Jack’s broad frame at your back and his steady breathing in your ear. There are no more nightmares, mercifully, just good dreams. Specifically dancing, hips swaying in your sleep like you’re having a premonition of some wonderful date that has yet to happen.

Jack Daniels had always had a healthy sexual appetite and since you’ve been in Kentucky - hell, since he killed your soulmate, he’s been abstaining. So it should surprise no one that he ends up hard as a Texas rock in a heat wave, pressed up against your ass like he is melted into you. Still sound asleep.

It might have been what woke you up. Or it might have been the way your dreams turned to other things with Jack - not just dancing. Either way, the evidence of what brought those thoughts on is pressed snuggly against your ass when you start to stir again hours later. You practically groan at the feeling, realizing that it’s not because he’s moving beside you but because his thick hard on is twitching eagerly against your ass. If you were any kind of decent you would ignore it. You would just take the subtle, unconscious compliment and not say a word later on. Besides, you shouldn’t even be thinking about anything sexual after what you went through over the last two days. But maybe that’s exactly why your body reacts the way it does. The need to feel alive and more like yourself overwhelming you, melding with your attraction to your soulmate and making your hot cunt flood with arousal as you studiously try not to guess how long Jack’s cock is. He’s sound asleep, you tell yourself when you shift a little and he just keeps on dozing. He’s sound asleep and he’ll never know. This is just your secret. That’s what you tell yourself when you crush your eyes shut and slip your hand into your pajama shorts to coat your fingers in slick that will make them glide over your clit so gorgeously.

Jack’s breath huffs against your neck, deep and slow as he sleeps. Groaning quietly as his arm around you tightens. Lost in the best damn sleep he’s gotten in weeks; he sighs softly as his cock throbs.

Being as careful as you can not to move his arm, the tight circles that you rub around your aching clit barely scratch the surface of the deep need that has built up so quickly. If you can manage to get yourself off without jarring him awake it will be a miracle, if he wakes up you'll have to pretend to be waking up and pray he doesn't smell your arousal in the air.

It takes another two seconds before Jack wakes up. A great thing about his training is that he doesn't change anything. His breathing stays the same and there is no movement this time. Allowing him to wake up more alert this time, listening to the sounds you are making.

It takes biting down on your lip to keep from whimpering out loud. To hold in the sighs and whining as tightly as you can. As much as instinct makes you want to drag this out and enjoy it, you have no idea how easily Jack might wake up and you do not want to have to explain that you just couldn't fucking control yourself imagining his thick cock sliding inside of you to throb and pulse in your pussy instead of against the curve of your ass.

You move subtly, softly grinding back as you work your clit. Jack's cock throbs even more and he doesn't want to interrupt you, he wants to take over. The beautiful pants that you are letting out are steadily gaining. Instead of speaking, Jack moves quickly, plunging his hand into your sleep shorts and pushing your fingers away in favor of his.

"Oh my— oh my GOD." The original exclamation of surprise is swept away by a deep moan and breathless pant, the sound finally breaking free of your lips as Jack's calloused fingers replace yours faster than you can blink. Your heart leaps into your throat but doesn't manage to stifle the gasp when he doesn't miss a beat, keeping the pace and pressure of how you touch yourself expertly.

"Imagine my surprise waking up to find you playin' your pretty pussy like it was a fiddle." He coos in your ear, wrapping your arm around your waist and pulling you back against him even more. "Apparently you're a dirty girl, sugar."

"How could I n—not?" You shudder in his arms, grinding back against his hard on shamelessly now that you have such obvious encouragement. "Waking up with you hard as fucking stone."

“’Course I was hard.” Jack rasps in your ear. “Always hard around you, sugar. You should have known that.” He knows that you didn’t know, because he’s been an ass, but with every swipe of his fingers, his cock pulses against your ass. “Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Don't know how you h-hide it," you pant heavily, moaning again when his fingers slip for just a bare second and nearly push inside you. "You wear the tiniest fucking jeans in the world."

Jack chuckles, the sounds vibrating through his chest. “Tucked under the belt, sugar.” He teases, wanting to push his fingers inside you but he doesn’t. He keeps the pressure on your clit.

"Fuck Jack." That thought is going to live rent free in your mind for an extremely long time, and you cling to his arm a little tighter with every firm rotation of his fingers. "Of course you're a fuckin' tease."

“How am I teasin’?” His tone is syrupy sweet and full of mischief, teasing. “I’m givin’ you what you want, aren’t I?” He hums, lips pressed against the shell of your ear and his thumb swooping in to press against that little button while he plunges two thick fingers into you like he had been wanting.

"Fuuuck." The gasp you let out is sharp, keening as you grind your hips down on his fingers shamelessly. Every time you rock back you end up feeling the heat of his cock against you and when you push forward his thumb is pressing against your clit with that perfect amount of extra pressure that makes you want to cry his name so loudly the neighbors will hear. "Your hands are so fucking big."

He chuckles again. “Use ‘em then, sugar.” He croons softly. “Want you to pour that sweet honey of your cunt into my hand.”

With his arm pinning your hands down there's no way you can do anything to help him except continuing to rock your hips, doing your best to ride his fingers like he so gorgeously requested while still giving him some kind of friction to enjoy for himself. What you really want is to strip away the thin fabric between you and find out exactly how thick that cock would feel inside you, but this is already crossing the line into definitely not moving slowly, so you're going to thoroughly enjoy this moment for all it's worth.

This is so wrong right now. Not because of who you are to him or anything. No, Jack’s accepted that. He accepted that the moment he knew that he was going to tear your kidnappers limb from limb for touching a hair on your head. This is because you are freshly healed. He shouldn’t take advantage of you like this when your emotional state is so off kilter. Still, he continues to grunt into your ear, pouring praises in it for you. “Good girl, sugar. I know you can do it. Ride my fingers.”

Good girl, sugar. You shudder, whimpering at how good he feels touching you and how he managed to goddamn guess at your praise kink. Or else it’s a perfect accident, making you cling to him that much tighter as you move. The coil of fire in your belly says you’re so near to your peak that you can practically taste it but the getting there is so sweet.

He can feel your body tensing, priming to explode under his hands. “Come on baby.” He urges you, letting go of your side to snake his hand under your thin shirt to squeeze your breast as he pushes his fingers deep and curls them up in a beckoning motion. Drawing you to your prize. “Cum for me.”

It feels like someone gave him a map of your pussy, letting him find all of your most sensitive points perfectly. When his fingers curl it’s like your whole body locks down. Your back arches against his chest and your cunt clenches down on his fingers, squeezing them tight as your orgasm slams into you with a strangled cry of his name dripping from your lips.

Jack loves it. Loves how you cry out his name. It's hoarse, but not because of your throat being bruised from screaming, but because you are overwhelmed. His cock pulses against your ass and he swears that he would cum if he slipped inside you right now. Instead he concentrates on your pleasure, making you ride out the sensations until you are limp against him.

"Fuck." The deep, throaty giggle that blossoms in the middle of your chest bubbles out of you as you catch your breath, and you bury your face in the pillow momentarily. "I know I was trying not to get caught but I'm really okay with you waking up."

He chuckles in your ear, squeezing your tit one more time before he reluctantly lets go and starts to unwind himself from your body. Easing his hips back so he can calm down. "Happy to help, sugar." He promises.

When he moves away you turn around, a frown painted on your otherwise relaxed face. "You don't want me to take care of you?" It's okay if he doesn't, obviously. Not pushing him into anything clearly includes not pressuring him into any kind of intimacy. But he should never doubt that you want him.

“Sugar— you’re still recovering.” He huffs towards you. “I don’t want to push that on you. I’m okay.”

"I'm okay, honey." You promise him, letting the little pet name warm through you. "When you're ready, I'm ready."

Jack knows that physically, you are probably better than you’ve ever been, but he knows what it’s like to not take a moment after a big ordeal. “Believe me, I want you sugar. That’s not the problem.”

"Then what is?" There's a box of tissues on your bedside table, and reaching for one or two to help him clean up seems kinder than sucking his fingers into your mouth like you want to. If something is bothering him then offering him the chance to open up is the best thing you can do. If he isn't ready to take it, that's up to him.

Jack wonders why you are grabbing tissues, but maybe it's because you don't like the way cum feels between your thighs. His fingers slip into his mouth and he groans at the tangy taste of your juices, imagining drinking them from the source and tasting you in his mustache. "I— I got shot about six months ago. In the head." He tells you quietly.

You barely manage to stifle a groan of your own, watching your slick disappear past his lips before you register what he's saying. "You—in the head?"

"Pointblank." Jack still doesn't remember anything beyond demanding the antidote from Eggsy and then waking up in Ginger's lab a completely different man. The man he had been after Abigail had died and he had gone through his whoring ways – ignoring the hole in his heart. "We have something called 'Alpha gel'. It's what saved my life."

"I'll be sending Ginger an incredibly large 'thank you' basket for that invention." It had seemed almost cartoonish when it was described to you during your tour of the lab after learning the truth about Statesman. "What the hell happened? Was it a mission?"

"It was." Jack sighs softly. "I – we were dealing with that Poppy Adams incident." He tells you, nodding when your eyes widen. "For obvious reasons, I held a very long, very personal grudge against drug dealers, drug users, drug pimpers, all of them." He frowns when he remembers that it hadn't been druggies. It had been Hank Rollins and his personal brand of crazy.

"I'm so sorry, honey." Whatever he's thinking, you'll let him get there in his own time. The fact that he's opening up to you is a very good thing. You just wish there was something more you could say to comfort him.

"That's not the point." Jack shakes his head and frowns more. Knowing that what he might say could possibly change your opinion of him. "After I was healed – in the hyperbaric chamber – I was different." He explains. "I would have never – ever – let my personal feelings get in the way of a mission, but I did. I wasn't thinking fully like myself." He takes a breath and meets your eyes finally. "I almost let everyone in the world who was affected die because of it."

Letting it sink in takes a moment. Working out his meaning until you shift your head on the pillow to find worry in his deep, brown eyes. "You're worried that I'm not myself?"

"You have to admit that you don't exactly know how you were affected in that chamber." Jack murmurs softly. "I wouldn't want you to wake up and realize that you wouldn't touch me. Or feel like I took advantage of you."

"Jack, I promise you didn't take advantage of me." If anything, you were the one pushing the envelope first, but you'll just leave that aside for now. "But if it will reassure you to wait a little while so you can see that I'm still the same me, then I completely respect that." Leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, you offer him a smile and squeeze his hand for good measure. "But the least myself I've ever felt is these last two months trying to pretend that I didn't want to spend every spare minute with you. This finally feels right."

"Let an old man worry." He gets it, he really does, but he needs to be sure. The feelings that are budding in his chest aren't ones that will be pushed away easily. Losing another soulmate for real might actually kill him this time.

"Alright." You'll concede it for the sake of this brand new whatever you are-ship, but you don't make any moves to get out of bed or even out of his arms. "Let's make sure we go over it with the therapist, then?"

"As soon as we can." Jack promises, knowing that he wants nothing more than to slide into you right now and make both of you happy, but he needs to do the right thing by you, for once.

"It might be better if we distract ourselves?" You offer, knowing that the proximity of him and knowing what he can do with those overly large hands of his is going to make you focus on him alone unless you bring something else into the equation. "I can turn on the tv? Or order dinner if you're hungry? We've slept most of the day away."

"Whatever you want to do, sugar." Jack sends you a wry smile. "I can restrain myself from attacking you and making you scream my name." He teases with a small wink.

"I'm not so sure I have your restraint." A rueful shrug of your shoulders is the best you can do while you try to wipe the sheepish grin off your face, but you grab the television remote for the flat screen in your bedroom and turn on a movie channel on low for background noise.

"Are you saying you would have your wicked way with me?" Jack sounds scandalized but the grin on his face is undeniable. Mischievous and spread from ear to ear.

"Not without your eager consent." When you settle back down there's a smirk on your face that you try twisting into a dramatic frown, but it just doesn't work at all and you end up huffing a laugh. "Wanted you since the second I laid eyes on you. But I can wait."

"Believe me, sugar. I think you have more than enough proof that I want you." He glances meaningfully down between you and chuckles himself. "I just want to do right by you, for once."

"Which is why I turned on the tv." It would be completely awful of you to push, but you settle down again against his shoulder and pick up your phone from the bedside table. "And find out what time my family is getting here tomorrow. Distractions, so I don't take a peek under the blanket."

Jack snorts and shakes his head at you. "You can look all you want." It's fun to tease you, and he knows that things are going to progress faster than he would probably want, but that's okay.

"Not if you want me to keep my tongue to myself." You throw him the same kind of wink he used to aim at you when you first met and pull up the family text thread on your phone. There's been plenty of activity in these texts over the last few days but you ignore the worried and panicked messages for now. You don't have the stomach to read them right now.

"They are going to fuss over you." He reminds you. "Just like I'm fussing over you now."

"They'll see that I'm okay." There is no reason to involve your family in anything that happened in that warehouse in Brooklyn, and you're certainly not going to describe any of it to your siblings, so you'll probably keep the nightmares and any future possible PTSD bullshit under your hat as well. "I don't want them to worry about things they can't have helped or changed," you explain, when his brow furrows slightly. "I think...I might see the Statesman therapist on my own, too. For a little while at least. Just...to make sure I work through everything that happened properly. Pretending it wasn't a big deal isn't healthy."

"That's a good idea." Jack can firmly get behind it, knowing it will be good for you to talk it out with someone who had no part in what happened. You can talk to him, but he will always have a biased slant on you, so it is best you work with someone professionally.

"Turns out my soulmate has a few of those." Smiling when you put down your phone, you slip your hand into his easily.

"I'm glad you think so." Jack huffs playfully, squeezing your hand and giving you a soft smile.

"Well it was a damn good way to wake up from a nap, and you picked out the most beautiful dress I've ever worn in my life. So that's at least three excellent ideas you've had, counting therapy." Lifting his hand to your lips lets you leave a soft kiss there, and you revel in the ease of just being with him like this.

It's almost laughingly easy how this thing seems to flow between you when he's not fighting it. Making him shake his head at the irony of it all. "Sounds like I need to suggest orderin' pizza now, to make it four." He teases, remembering how you had mentioned wanting a pie later on.

You grin, letting the playful tone of his words warm you through until you giggle quietly and pick your phone back up again. "Do you have a favorite place to order from?"

"There's a secret place. Hole in the wall. It's called Tony's pizza shop. Best fuckin' New York pizza outside of the five boroughs." Jack groans. "Guy moved down from the city and I swear it's the only reason I don't have pizza flown in on the Statesman jet."

"Tony's it is." Handing your phone over so he can make the call feels as natural and low-key domestic as just lying in bed together could possibly be. "Whatever your favorite thing is from there, that's what we'll have for dinner."

"Porcini and truffle pizza coming up." Jack hums as he dials the number he knows by heart and waits for it to connect.

“Thanks for calling Tony’s.” The underwhelmed sounding teenager on the other end of the call smacks his gum into the receiver. “Pickup or delivery?”

"Delivery." Jack declares, rattling off the address of your cabin on the Statesman property and he looks over at you. "Can I get a medium porcini and truffle...and, uh, you got any special pies?" He asks, knowing that Tony was always creating something in that pizza oven of his. Feeling like you would enjoy the man, what with your own culinary creativity.

“Special of the day is the shakshuka pie with lamb sausage and a fried egg and fresh herbs on top.” The teenager reports, trying not to sound like he’s drooling over the phone. “It’s absolutely killer.”

It sounds like it would be right up your alley and Jack nods. “Lemme get one of those too.” He decides.

“Sure thing, Mr. Daniels.” It’s not like Jack isn’t a regular customer. Every employee there knows his voice after just a couple of words. “That’ll be thirty minutes. You want it on your tab?”

"Sure thing kid." Jack grins. "Tell the driver that if they get it here in twenty, it's a double tip." He promises, disconnecting the call after the boy agrees and waggles his brows at you. "Pizza'll be here in seventeen minutes."

Instead of sinking into him for a kiss like you want to – despite the fact that his fingers were inside you twenty minutes ago – you just smile and take your phone back to see if your mother has texted about their flight. “What kind of specialty did they have?” You ask, genuinely curious as to what passes for specialty or experimental flavors around here. If you were home you’d be fighting with your dad not to order clams or something equally bizarre.

“Shakshuka?” He asks, not quite sure what that means. “Lamb sausage with fried eggs and herbs?” He shrugs. “I just know if Tony sells it, it’s worth eating.”

“Ohhhhh I love shakshuka, that sounds amazing.” You’re instantly in a state of near-drooling that can normally only be achieved by sweets or a very attractive and usually naked man. “It’s basically a spicy Middle Eastern tomato sauce that sometimes has meat in it but can be a really killer vegetarian meal. You crack eggs into it and bake them like that to dip bread in.” A small, proud smile graces your lips but it’s just the warmth in your chest filling again. “If you like it, I’ll make you my version some morning for breakfast.”

“Sounds delicious.” Jack has always loved spicy meals anyway, though he might have to have an antacid now after dinner. Getting older changes things. “I think you’ll love Tony’s.”

“I hope so.” He has good taste, generally speaking, so you aren’t worried. Instead you lay back against your pillows and tap out a quick reply to your mother before putting your phone away. “My family are landing at noon tomorrow. Mom says Champ offered to send the jet for them, so they’re coming straight here. No airport trip.”

“I figured he would send the jet.” Jack hums. “Plus they have to get the Pony Express back.”

"And it looks like my brother-in-law is staying behind with the kids, so you'll be spared diaper changes while they're here." Who knows if he minds or not. If being around little kids still reminds him of his son. You wouldn't blame him if it did. "I say it like that, but I love them. My siblings are my best friends in the world."

“Why are the littles staying behind?” Jack asks, frowning slightly. “Between my cabin and yours, there should be enough room for everyone.”

"If you want to meet everybody at once, I can tell them to come." Anybody else might have considered it a blessing to be able to only meet a portion of your loud, enthusiastic family the first time, but Jack looks positively offended that they aren't all descending on Louisville en masse. "They know I only have one guest room here, so they probably figured there wasn't enough room. I don't...you don't have to give up your space to my family, Jack. I can't ask you to do that."

"I don't mind." Jack shakes his head and twists to look at you fully. "You deserve to have all of your family here. I'm sure they all want to be here." He sends you a half smile. "Family comes first, sugar. If I need to bunk somewhere else, I can - but you tell all of them to come."

"There aren't so many of them that we'd run you out of your own home." That would be unforgivable in your opinion, and you're fairly certain your grandma Jane's spirit would rise up and smack you upside the head for it, as well. "Champ's sent an email that I'm not supposed to go back to work at all this week. Only doctor's appointments and spending time with my family. So I promise I'll keep them busy. You'll only have to spend time with us when you choose to."

Jack snorts and gives you a shrug. "I can make myself scarce sugar, you don't have to make it seem like it would be a blessin'." He promises, sure that once you explain how he had treated you, he wouldn't be well liked by your family anyway.

"That's not when I meant." Embarrassment flushes hot in your cheeks and you sink under the covers. "I would love for you to spend time with us. Time to get to know my family and time that you and I can spend getting to know each other better. I'm just apparently more paranoid about you feeling forced into anything than I thought I was."

"How 'bout this?" He poses seriously, sliding down to where he was once again eye level with you. "You tell me where to be and when to be there and I'll be on time." He offers, sending you a small wink. "Plus, I have a bigger kitchen and three spare bedrooms."

"If you let me use your kitchen I might never leave." It's a joke, of course it is, but it still makes you smile and you shift forward on your pillow until you're almost nose to nose. "Thank you, Jack. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"It's not a problem, sugar." Jack loves the way you light up at the prospect of having your entire family around you and he wants to encourage it. "You can always bunk with me to make another bed available if needed." He teases, winking at you playfully.

"Sure," you huff playfully, adding a dramatic eye roll to make him laugh. "If you wanna see how really little self restraint I really have, I will absolutely share a bed with you."

Chuckling, Jack reaches out and cups your cheek. "You mean you couldn't restrain yourself with me walkin' around my room naked as a jaybird?"

"No. Absolutely not. No way in hell." The answer is immediate and sure, and you shake your head emphatically. "I can barely restrain myself now and you've already gotten me off once today."

Jack's grin blooms on his face and he leans in, raising a brow at you. "Sounds like you're needin' to get to the therapist then, sugar." He's not above a little blackmail to make sure you get the help you need to process everything. So that you don't end up as fucked up as he is.

"Ugggggh." Groaning even more dramatically this time, you practically wail in hysterics that you can barely get through without giggling at yourself. Throwing one arm over your eyes, you toss yourself onto your back and sigh as loudly as you can. "Why did I have to get the only man in the world who wants a healthy, lasting relationship and won't just tear my clothes off?"

That makes Jack stare at you for a moment, realizing what you are saying is true. Normally he would be that man, but he’s not. Just like with Abigail, he is taking it slow. He hums. “Sorry sugar, clothes ripping will happen later.”

"Just as long as it happens eventually." You tease, peeking out from behind your hand and grinning at him. "Physical strength is a turn-on and I will never deny it."

“Is it?” He contemplates that seriously and smirks. “So sweeping you off your feet literally will get me into your panties?” He asks, arching an eyebrow at you as he asks, as if there would be any answer other than ‘yes’.”

"Since you've already technically been in my panties, I don't see the harm in being honest." It's easy. So easy with him. Even as much as you've enjoyed other men's company, no one has ever made you feel quite the way that Jack does on a basic level. It's almost its own kind of therapy right here in bed. "The night we went to the bar together?" You raise an eyebrow right back at him. "I touched myself thinking about that barfight for days."

“I might have been showin’ off just a bit.” Jack admits, smirking slightly. “Believe me, I wanted to show off, fuck– I probably could have bent you over the hood of the Bronco in the parking lot, couldn’t I?”

The groan that elicits from you is pitiful, as much a whimper as anything else as you squeeze your thighs together and consider yourself lucky that he can't see you doing it. "Yeah," you admit, not even upset about it for a second. "In a heartbeat."

“Hmmm.” Jack grunts, the conversation not helping his throbbing cock, but he is learning about his soulmate. “Exhibitionist.” He intones solemnly.

"Only a couple of times." It's barely a defense, and you bite your lip for a second while you contemplate how much to tell him. "Three times grand total." He stares at you for a moment in shock before he throws his head back and laughs. A deep belly jiggling laugh that echoes through the room. "What?" Your cheeks burn all over again and his contagious laughter takes you right along with it. "I'm just being honest!"

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, not wanting you to think that he’s making fun of you. “It’s a good thing, I promise.”

"Have we got matching kinks or something?" It's one of those things that people with soulmates - like your sister - talk about all the time. That sexual compatibility is supposed to be part of the package.

“I have no problem with anywhere, anytime.” He assures you with a wink.

Saved from whatever dramatic groan your mind is about to make, your ringtone cuts through the boisterous tone of the room and you glance at the unsaved number before realizing you shouldn’t send it to voicemail. “That must be dinner. You want me to throw on my robe and go down while you answer, or the other way around?”

“I’ll go get the food.” Jack shuffles out of the bed and grabs his pants so he can slide them on and take his wallet out to pay.

Meeting him downstairs means throwing a sweatshirt over your thin t-shirt, and you're just walking down the stairs when he shuts the door with two pizza boxes in his hand. "I'll grab drinks and plates if you want to bring those into the living room."

“So you aren’t an eat in bed type of girl?” He asks, smirking slightly at the very messy look that you have going for you. It’s cute and he can imagine you cooking just like this.

"Snacks or a drink, maybe. But not so much for meals." You do crack a grin, though, reaching the floor and wiggling your toes on the cool wood floor. "And washing tomato sauce or oil out of my bedsheets doesn't sound like fun."

“No, it doesn’t.” Jack has to admit that and the special pie sounds like it could potentially be messy. He brings the pizzas into the living room and decides that the floor seems like a good spot to eat, pushing the coffee table back to make more room and layering throw pillows to cushion your backs.

A moment later, you reappear with beer bottles, plates, and napkins, and grin at the little sitting area he’s set up. “Do you want to watch a movie while we eat?” It’s the sort of low key, comfortable, domestic little thing that you honestly just love and the fact that you didn’t suggest it at all makes it even sweeter.

Jack watches as your grin gets wider and you nod. Feeling like he’s making the right choices and he frowns for just a second. “Is–” He sighs and tries again. “Would you be offended if I talked about her?” He asks quietly.

“Honey, of course not.” You drop down amongst the pillows he’s set up and reach for his hand immediately. “She’s important to you. If you ever want to talk about her or share a memory or something, then I want to hear it.” It’s such a peculiar situation and - as far as you know you’re the only two who have ever been in it. There is no blueprint for behavior here. The best you can do is go with your instincts and your instincts are always for honesty.

“I just– I don’t want to upset you if I mention something about her, or things we used to do together.” He explains. “I was going to tell you how when we were younger, these were our ‘dates’. Curled up on the floor watching movies and eatin’ junk. When I wasn’t workin’, of course.”

“I’m not going to be upset if you want to share with me.” Holding his hand in both of yours, you press a kiss to his palm, somehow still afraid that kissing his lips could lead to losing that careful thread of control. “If it gets to be too much, or overwhelming somehow, I promise I’ll tell you.”

“Please.” Jack begs softly. “I don’t–I don’t want her to be a taboo subject, but I also don’t want you to feel like I’m hanging on to a ghost.” It might be the first time he’s ever said those words out loud before and they are profound for him.

“Jack…” One of your hands leaves his to cup his cheek, finding so much sadness in his eyes when you meet them. “I think you loved her very much, and she was taken from you unfairly. You deserve to be able to remember and talk about her. Hell, I’ll probably talk about my exes sometimes and they didn’t mean anywhere near as much to me. We’re just going to have to check in with each other sometimes; that’s all. Just to make sure we’re balanced and equal and all that.”

He nods after a moment, feeling emotional and instead of pushing it down or letting it fester inside him, he faces it. “He was gonna take you too, sugar.” Jack’s face turns deadly at the thought. “I couldn’t let that happen. Not twice.”

“I didn’t think you would come.” There’s shame in it, you can admit that, and you drop your hand back into your lap as your eyes fall away from his face. “I still thought you hated me…and I didn’t know how you ever could have found me anyway…”

“Never.” Jack promises you. “I’ve never hated you and I will always come for you. No matter what.” It’s easy to promise that to you now, but he wants you to know that no matter what ever happens, he will protect you with his life.

“It’s done now.” It was literally just yesterday, but the part of you that’s trying to cope with how it made you feel is analyzing it like it was a decade ago or more. “It’s done and you’re here and that’s what matters.”

He stares at you for a moment and then snorts. “Hell, sugar. I think you’re better than some of our agents. Myself included.”

“I definitely prefer my kitchen.” His laughter is contagious, though, and you end up cracking a half-smile. “Gives me a hell of a lot of respect for what you do though. Shit.”

“Never been scared on a mission before.” Jack admits. “This time, my heart was in my throat the whole fuckin’ time.”

"We're both okay." You promise him softly. "We apparently just needed some extremely dramatic bullshit to happen for us to get our heads out of our stubborn asses and talk to each other."

“I don’t like you thinkin’ that I wouldn’t have come for you.” He murmurs, reaching out and taking your chin in his hand. “I’d die for you, sugar. I promise.”

"I know that now." Then, just a day ago, you hadn't had any reason to think that things would ever take a turn for the positive between you. "But I'm hoping we never have to put that to the test."

“Me too.” Today doesn’t need to be weighed down by the maybes or what ifs. Jack smirks and nods towards the pizzas. “You ready to have the best pie you’ve ever put in your mouth?” It’s a bold claim, but he knows this pizza backs it up.

"You talk a big game Daniels." Plates, drinks, napkins, and slices are distributed and you settle on just leaving the television on whatever channel it's on and heckling the movie that's playing if you decide you don't like it. Your first bite of the mushroom and truffle pizza is accompanied by such a groan that anybody else would have thought that Jack had his hand in your shorts again. "Holy shit you weren't kidding."

He chuckles, not even denying how sexy that noise you make is. “Told you.” He hums. “Best fuckin’ pizza. And it’s fresh, every day that man is makin’ his mozzarella. Or at least that’s what he told me.”

“I’m a convert,” you declare about four bites later when you can finally force yourself to come up for air. Everything is perfectly balanced and gorgeously fresh and if this isn’t the best pizza you’ve had in years you’ll eat your hat instead.

“Knew you would be.” Jack grins, his own slice already halfway devoured. “Tony is why I knew you would do well here. The artistic food setting is starting to grow.”

"I can't believe there's only a couple of weeks left before the restaurant opens." It feels like every possible second has been spent in that kitchen since you got here, but only in the best possible way. Sometimes it's hard to remember that you haven't actually been serving customers this whole time. But that is mostly because there is such a handful of fellow Statesman employees who have been steadily dropping by to act as your taste testers on their lunch breaks.

“Do you need anything?” Jack asks you seriously. “I know that Champ has given you carte blanche to design and set it up like you’ve wanted, but is there anything we are missing?” He’s already talked to Champ about flying your family down again for the opening. It’s only fair they witness the celebration of your achievements.

"A new line cook for the savory side." You blow out a regretful sigh. "I'll have to go back through the resumes I kept on file and bring in some more interviews, but other than that?" A slight shrug of your shoulders is one thing, but you offer Jack a small smile. "I just really want my favorite people to be there. The opening night party is all reservations and almost every seat is sold already. So...I wasn't going to ask, obviously, but...do you want to be there? I mean I want you to be, but you don't have to."

“I will be there.” Jack rolls his eyes and grins. “Of course I’m going to be there. You think I’m missing out on your cookin’?” He tuts and shakes his head in disappointment. “Besides…I’ve already got the jet reserved for your family to come in again for the openin’.”

"You do not?" The squeal that accompanies the question is shattering, and you throw your arms around his neck so carefully so the residue from pizza on your fingertips won't stain his shirt. "Honey, that's so fucking sweet of you, oh my god..." No one had come down to visit yet specifically because of the cost of airfare, because you had talked it through with your mother a month ago and decided to split the cost of the five round-trip fares plus hotel rooms that would be needed for them to come to the opening. Even with everyone doing well, the cost of existing in the world today is high. With your face buried in the crook of Jack's neck, you sniffle quietly. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Jack chuckles, basking in your adoration and kisses the side of your head. “I have a lot to make up for, sugar.” He murmurs softly. “But this was something I had done before I came to my senses. Your family should be here. It’s not every day you open your own restaurant.”

"If I do this right, this will be the last opening night of my career, and the only one I've ever been chef for." You squeeze him tightly before sitting back, knowing that your face reads nothing but awe and excitement. The opening night party is set to be an incredibly special event and you've been looking forward to it with equal parts anxiety and excitement.

“You will do amazing.” Jack promises. “We decided that we are cracking open a barrel of the whiskey to go along with it. If you want, of course.”

"It will be perfect." To a certain degree, it has to be. Your career rides on the success of The Rabbit-Hole, even if you came by it in a sort of round-about way. You have no problem acknowledging the fact that Champ wouldn't keep a failing restaurant open just to appease Jack. "We'll open a barrel as a surprise sneak peak. We're going to have both the afternoon tea menu and the full dinner menu available that night so there will be no shortage of good things to pair it with."

“It’s going to be amazing.” Jack promises you. He looks at the other flavor of pizza. “Ready to try his newest creation?”

"Absolutely." You press a kiss to his cheek before you move away again, and pick up the slice of tomatoey, spicy smelling pizza. The first bite has you moaning again, doing a happy little dance in your seat on the floor beside him. "'S so fuckin good," you mumble happily, grinning while you eat.

Jack grins, watching you eagerly as you eat. “Good to know what I can order on nights where you’re too exhausted to do anything but lay on the couch and let me take care of things.”

"That's some real domestic talk there, Jack." The grin on your face spreads, cheeks warming through, and you put down your half-eaten slice to wipe your hands. "I like it."

“What can I say?” He teases with an exaggerated drawl. “I’m just a simple, traditional man.” He sends you a small wink. “Besides, I like the way you look when you’re flustered and still looking like the cat who got the canary.”

"That's pretty much how I feel." You can admit that fairly easily, and being able to open up to him even a little is such a relief. "I guess I would technically consider myself traditional, too. At least I wanted to be. But life throws you curveballs, ya know?"

Jack nods, frowning slightly since he was the one who hurled the curveballs your way. “I can see that.” He murmurs, wondering if you regret removing your tattoos. Now there is no proof you are soulmates.

"Now, why does that upset you?" As you both sit and eat, the noise of the television fades into the background and you shift your position to face him fully. "I already said that we don't have to push any of that."

“It’s stupid.” Jack shakes his head and gives a small shrug.

"Your feelings aren't stupid." You promise him, frowning slightly yourself.

“I was just thinking about the marks you got removed.” He admits, rolling his eyes at himself. “There’s zero proof we are soulmates now. Beyond us knowing.”

"I know I should have talked to you about it." There's more than a little guilt attached to that decision, especially now that you've talked and decided to explore whatever it is that's between you. "But now you can go back to work. And isn't that a good thing?"

He can’t deny it was what he wanted, but now that he has it, he’s not happy with it. Maybe it’s because it had been meant to cut ties with him visually. He’s a selfish asshole and can confuse himself sometimes. “Yes and no.” Jack huffs, reaching for your hand and taking it. “I’m just– you loved that tattoo and I don’t want you to, hell, regret it.” He tells you. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“The situation isn’t exactly cut and dry,” you remind him. “It’s okay to feel conflicted about something complicated.” God knows you do, and you have nothing like his reasons for having such conflicting wants. “Which part upsets you more? That I gave up a piece of art that I loved, or that there’s no proof we’re soulmates anymore?”

Jack sighs, rolling his eyes at himself again. “That there’s no proof.” He admits quietly. “Everyone always wants to see proof.”

“But is there any way to have proof that’s safe?” Given what you’ve just gone through, safety is officially at the top of your list of concerns.

“Not until I come out of the field.” Jack shakes his head sadly. He looks down at his hand. “Used to have a bullseye tattoo right there.” He muses. “Hated having it removed.”

“I’m not asking you to give up your job.” Nothing could be further from your mind, especially with how much he’s been itching to get back to things and how he begged you to remove the tattoo before this. “You love your work, and the fact that I’m sitting here right now is first hand proof that you’re good at it.”

“I…could give it up.” Jack murmurs slowly. He’s made being an agent his entire life because he had nothing beyond that. It wasn’t exactly the case anymore. “I do love it, but…”

“Jack.” You shake your head fiercely, squeezing his hand in yours. “You’re miserable with nothing to do. I’ve only known you for a few months and I know that. Please don’t make any rash decisions?” The fear in your eyes is obvious, and you sigh quietly. Honesty. Honesty. “I don’t want you to give up your work so there can be proof of us and end up resenting or regretting the decision down the line.”

“How about a compromise?” He offers quietly. “The second I’m ready to come out of the field, you put that tattoo back and however many others you want?”

“We’ll talk about it again when you start to think about it.” That is an easy enough promise, and one that you can make sincerely. “You can get your bullseye back, too. But not before you’re ready.”

There’s a moment where the two of you just stare at each other, gazing into each other's eyes and seemingly coming to an agreement. Jack tilts his head once and flashes you a grin. “Yes ma’am.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au

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barbarianbookhoe · 7 months

Text

Chapter 6

Taglist: @vainillasmil157 @bookloverfilmoholic

A/N: i don't think there's any warnings, this one's mostly fluff, little angst and flashbacks! Sorry it got so long ...

Apologies for any grammar mistakes, it's almost midnight while I'm editing this!

(I know Y/N and Kaz as "kids" are going to sound like adults, but hey, this is the language of Ketterdam) (Also, there's a little getting jealous of Inej, but no Inej slander!)

Age 13: "I wanted to know who you are"

Kaz knew 3 things about the girl: 1, She was younger than she looked, 2, She was hiding something, and 3, Her name was definitely not Eliza.

He's been watching her ever since she first came in six months ago. At first, Kaz thought she was there to replace him, and therefore made her time in the club stressful. Leaving glasses everywhere, hiding her cleaning cloth, basically being an asshole.

That all changed, when one night, while he was coming back from a job with a few guys, Kaz saw Y/N changing into a cat in the alley next to the club, and follow a merchant inside. It was Pekka Rollins.

Kaz went inside the club and saw the cat lying down on the floor, under Pekka's chair. He watched the man having a conversation with Per Haskell, and noticed that the cat's ears picked up their voice. She was eavesdropping on them.

Kaz catched the girl when she was about to step out of the place, and guided her to an empty alley and confronted her.

"Who are you?" He asked harshly and saw the girl look at him in confusion. "What?" "Who are you?" Kaz asked again, this time more seriously. "I-I clean the tables, that's all," "You're lying. You're a shapeshifter who eavesdropped on Pekka Rollins, and now is acting like it never happened. You're hiding something important. Who. Are.You?" The girl kept her scared and innocent facade for a few seconds longer, then dropped her face and stared at him in anger.

"Nobody. And I'd like to keep it that way, pretty boy," She whispered harshly and Kaz raised his brows. "So you admit you're hiding what you are?"

"This is Ketterdam. No one's who they say they are," She said and crossed her arms. "Including you, and those black gloves of yours. You think I can't see when you're pick pocketing customers in the dim light?" She tilted her head looking at Kaz expectantly. The boy stood there for a second in complete surprise, but then he regained his composure.

"You're spying on me." He stated and the girl hummed. "So are you. The only difference is our intention,"

"And what do you think my intention is?" The girl quietly chuckled as she answered. "Suspicion. You think I'm a danger to this club, this gang. I'm not after the Dregs. I'm after Pekka Rollins," She stated and Kaz's eyes widened in shock. "Why?" The girl hesitated, before stepping closer and quickly whispering to him. "Because I want him to suffer, and die like the rat he is,"

Hearing the anger in her voice, Kaz stared at her with a hint of amazement. He took in the girl in front of him, and felt a sense of familiarity with her hidden violence. Kaz knew that look, he saw it every time he looked into a mirror.

He spoke up with a newfound, cold calmness. "Then we destroy him,"

"We?" The girl asked and Kaz turned to her. "I'm familiar with your hatred towards the man. One mind can kill him, but two can take everything from him," He saw the way her eyes lit up at his words, and she smirked at him. "I'm curious about what damage the two of us will do,"

She turned around and began walking away, but before she could get further, he quickly stopped her. "You didn't tell me what your intention was. For spying on me," Kaz asked and the girl answered simply.

"I wanted to know who you were. And now that we're going to work together, I can't wait to find out."

Age 14: "Every step of the way"

Kaz had a reason to be angry. He was listening to Y/N scolding him for the thousandth time that week. It all started when she saw him walking instead of resting his leg. She put him back in bed, then he sneaked out and she caught him again. Right now, she was scolding him for running on a job with other Dregs members. Their argument consisted of Kaz rolling his eyes and making sarcastic comments, eventually fueling Y/N's frustration. Maybe it wasn't the best idea telling her to fuck off.

"Kaz, I will not leave you to run around the city with a broken leg!" Kaz rolled his eyes again at her words."It's not broken, the medic said I can walk on it just fine,"

"He said you're going to limp for the rest of your life," Y/N looked him dead in the eye. "Exactly, a limp. Which means I can still walk." He told her and stood up to go to the door of his room, but Y/N was quick to push him back on his bed. "Walk, and not run! Kaz, I thought you were smart." She said and sat down in the chair next to his bed. Kaz stared at her in frustration. "How long will you scold me for running with a limp? You did that too," Y/N scoffed at his words. "Yeah, but my leg wasn't broken." She stood up and opened his bedroom door. "You want to be on your feet all day, so be it. Just-" She turned back to look at Kaz and pointed under his bed. "Just make sure you use that. I'm going to beat the shit out of you if you don't, because I stayed too much after work for it to collect the dust." Y/N went out of his room and closed the door.

It wasn't closed for two seconds when Kaz practically jumped off his bed and pulled the object wrapped in multiple layers of newspaper from under his bed. He tore the paper apart and when he saw what the object was, he just stared at it for a minute. Then he saw the small letter that fell out of the wrapping and quickly read it.

"Dear boy who boils my blood,

I hate it when you think I don't know when you sneak out, but maybe this way I can be with you every step of the way. I hope it suits your taste.

P.S. I added some extra weight to it."

He tried not to smile as he inspected the cane.

It was black, with silver painting on the bottom, and on the top of it was a beautiful silver crow, with silver eyes, the beak almost as sharp as a knife. Kaz lifted the cane and felt its heaviness and furrowed his brows. When he moved it around, like he was using a hammer, a smile crept upon his face.

Y/N made a weapon for him.

Age 15: "Take my hand, and take my heart"

"Son of a bitch!" Y/N yelped and grabbed her chair's armrest. "I told you so," Kaz said from behind her, also sitting on a chair, his back to her. They were getting the Crow and the Cup tattoo at the same time, because lately they found each others company indispensable, comforting even. Aside from their comments and teasing, of course.

"Just wait till the needle hits your skin too. You're going to yelp like a school girl," Y/N growled as she tried to stay still in her seat. She heard Kaz's movements as he rolled up his shirt's sleeve and held it to the tattoo artist to start the tattoo. When the needle pierced his skin, Y/N felt his chair move as he jumped a little. She giggled, "Isn't it wonderful, Kaz?" "I need a drink," He answered instead, which made her laugh, but it soon turned into muffled groaning, as the needle hit a sensitive spot on her forerarm.

They didn't speak much after that, since they were too focused on keeping their composure. Truth be told, they didn't need words to know how the other was feeling. Y/N grabbed the arm of the chair multiple times, indicating that she was about to scream. Kaz exhaled rather sharply, which meant he was close to stabbing himself with the needle, just for the pain to end.

When Y/N let out a yelp, Kaz didn't even hesitate to find and grab her free arm, his back still facing her. He didn't want to risk the needle going any deeper into his skin, than he would've liked to.

"Motherfucker!" Y/N shouted and squeezed Kaz's hand with so much force she could hear the leather creak in her hands. His face didn't even falter, but his heart? It was going ten miles per second, just like his thoughts, that seemed to overflow all of a sudden.

Does she has soft skin? Are her hands cold or warm? Does her hands have scars from working with the gunsmith? What would it feel like to interwine their fingers? How long can he touch her, before he feels like throwing up?

Then his heart told him things, things he sometimes naively wished to say, when they were alone in the club.

You were an unexpected surprise, the defining moment. You could never stay in one place for too long, and yet, I was the one you constantly came back to. You pulled me out to shore when the waves rose higher, threatening to drown me. You're the anchor that ties me to this world, making it less lonely beside you.

Without realizing, Kaz interwined their fingers and whenever he felt like loosening his grip, Y/N readjusted their hands. It was like as if she were able to read his mind, knowing when he was about to slip away.

They stayed like that for the rest of the evening, while the two men finished their tattoos. Y/N drew slow circles on his hand, comforting him, and Kaz squeezed her hand, encouraging her. When they finished and Y/N let go of their hand, Kaz grabbed it again and squeezed it one more time, trying to make her understand his thoughts.

Take my hand, and take my heart too. You robbed it from me, and I don't want it back. It's yours now, yours to own, yours to lose. I promise in the name of all the Saints I don't believe in, you will never have to fear the dark when you're with me.

It was only a second, maybe half a second, but it changed everything. Y/N was never going to forget the feeling of their fingers interwined, before he dropped her hand and regained his cold composure.

She finally knew how it felt to hold his hand. She wanted more.

And Kaz Brekker? He was hiding a grin, for he never once felt like throwing up during the touch.

Age 16: "A girl worth fighting for"

"No, fuck you Kaz!" Y/N shouted at the boy in front of her in his office. Their ranks in the Dregs rose quickly, with Kaz basically leading the gang himself, and Y/N being their "secret" weapon. Using her shapeshifting abilities came in handy, especially when Kaz ran out of plans. (Though he would rather carve his tongue out, than admit that).

"What do you want me to say? That you're unreplaceable? Because you're not. None of us needs you anymore," Kaz casually said and Y/N looked at him in shock. He took a deep breath, before lifting his head up and continuing. "I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did." She said and Kaz couldn't ignore the small crack in her voice. "Then what the fuck am I doing here? Why not throw me away as soon as you brought Inej in?" Her tone got angrier by each word she spoke, but Kaz looked at her with a cold stare.

"You're valuable for the team." He said and looked away, searching through the numerous papers on his desk. Y/N scoffed. "Valuable my ass! I'm not one of your soldiers, I'm your fucking friend Kaz!"

"Oh, do you want me to treat you differently? Maybe talk with you about our hopes and dreams, and how are we feeling? I'm not your fucking lover!" His eyes held no recognition of the man Y/N knew. This wasn't her Kaz anymore, this was Dirtyhands. "And if you keep acting like I am, I'll throw you out on the streets myself." He sat down in his chair and didn't look up, not even when the girl left and slammed his door on her way out.

He couldn't concentrate on the work he was supposed to do. He tried and failed multiple times, and when even the glass of kvas wasn't enough to keep his mind off of her, Kaz marched into the night to find her.

He went to the shop, the bakery next to it, the marketplace, the library, her favorite antique shop, the Slat, and just in case Fifth Harbor. When he still didn't find her, he knew there was only one place left where she could be. He didn't like it.

Kaz came to a halt at the front step of the house, on the outskirt of the Financial District. Y/N told him countless stories about her time in her aunt's house, and now that he was standing in front of it, he felt like he knew the place.

If Kaz had to be honest, he felt somewhat afraid in that moment. After he knocked loudly on the door, he counted the seconds until it opened. Dirtyhands wasn't scared of anything, he was a fearless man, but the boy standing there wasn't him anymore. He was just Kaz, who was afraid of losing someone important to him.

"What did you say to her?" Raffiel, Y/N's brother asked Kaz, and he felt himself swallow before replying. "Something I shouldn't have. I need to talk to her," Raffiel only looked at him with a furious look. Kaz noticed the fire in his eyes, reminding him of Y/N when she was angry. "I believe you talked to her just enough. Bye." He went to close the door, but Kaz stopped him with his cane. He pushed the door open with it and stepped inside without a second thought.

"I came here to apologize, and I'm going to, wether you like it or not." Kaz told Raffiel coldly and the two of them stared each other down. None of them broke the eye contact, but Kaz could feel his hands starting to sweat under his gloves. A voice made both of them turn away from the other.

"Is that true?" Y/N asked standing on the staircase, her arms crossed. She looked down at Kaz, who in return stared at her with sincerety in his eyes. She saw the tiny change in his look, and nodded her head upstairs, not looking back to see if he followed her.

When Kaz was about to step on the stairs, Raffiel stopped him. "I've known you for a while now, Brekker. But if you hurt my sister ever again, I'm going to paint the Barrel red with your blood," He whispered to him and Kaz scoffed at him. "Many tried and failed."

"I believe Y/N will succeed one day," Raffiel told him and Kaz furrowed his brows. When the man saw his face, he watched him with curiosity. "I have a question for you, Mister Brekker," He mockingly said the 'Mister', "Who is she to you?"

"I came to apologize, not to have an interrogation." Kaz answered harshly and attempted to walk up the stairs, but Raffiel stopped him again. "But why would Dirtyhands apologize to anyone at all? Especially my sister, a regular gunsmith?"

Kaz didn't have an answer. Actually, he had multiple answers, consisting of curse words and sarcastic comments, but the smirk Raffiel gave him told him everything he needed to know. He won't believe any shit excuse Kaz might come up with, so he had no choice but to tell the truth.

"I'll ask once again, who is she to you?"

The old words came to Kaz with ease. No one. A spy. A great asset. But there was something else, a voice shouting at him, making everything else disappear from his mind. She's my friend, my partner, my anchor. She's the one keeping me on the surface, when the tides get tough. She's someone worth dying for. Kaz answered with the outmost casualty.

"She's a girl worth fighting for." But before he could completely disappear from Raffiel's line of sight, he spoke up with a small smile.

"Find me when you believe she's worth living for."

Age 17: "I always noticed you"

The heist got royally fucked up. The guards decided to change posts a second earlier, the rain didn't stop before midnight, and they were low on weapons.

Y/N, once again, was Kaz's secret ace up his sleeve during a robbery with Inej and Jesper. The latter two got told to go straight back to the Slat, preferably unnoticed, while Y/N and Kaz were running for their lives.

Actually, it was Kaz who was running, with Y/N flying above him in the form of a crow. They neared Fifth Harbor, when Kaz was attacked and abruptly pushed to the ground. The man was almost twice his size and thrice his age, but Kaz fought him with great strength that lied beneath his skinny frame.

Y/N quickly flew to the back of the attacker's head and began pecking it and scratching the man's face as hard as she could, making him wave around with his hands, trying to get her off of him. When he suddenly punched Y/N, she fell to the ground and briefly saw the man pushing Kaz into the deep water.

As if she were guided by some primal instinct, she attacked the man in an instant and scratched his eyes. The man was shouting in pain as one of his eyes began bleeding and stood up to face the bird.

Y/N turned back into human without a second thought, and continued what Kaz started. The fight went on for longer than she would've wanted, and it made the worry in her grow by each second. She finally sliced the man's throat, before jumping into the harbor after Kaz. The ice cold water shocked her body, and it only made her go faster. She knew what the water represented for Kaz, and it broke her heart that he was currently sinking in those memories.

When she felt her hand touch Kaz's coat, she clutched it firmly in her hands and began pulling themselves up. Her muscles felt like they were on fire, but she didn't dare to stop. She wouldn't let Kaz sink, not now, not ever.

When she finally broke the surface, she took a big gulp of air like it was her first breath. She held Kaz close to her chest as she started to swim to the docks on her back. When she reached it, she quickly braced herself for the power it was going to take to pull Kaz on the dock above them.

It took her several attempts to finally bring the both of them on top of the wooden surface. She quickly turned Kaz onto his back and checked his pulse. It was faint but it was there. Her worry turned into panic as she let go of the ice cold skin under her fingertips.

"Sorry." Y/N whispered to him, as if he could hear her. "I'm so sorry," she repeated as she quickly pulled Kaz's coat apart and began the chest compressions. She counted each compression, but after thirty, the numbers left her brain, and she began something she stopped doing many years ago.

She was sending a desperate prayer to the Saints she once believed in, hoping they had not yet turned their backs on her. She knew it wouldn't change a thing, but still she sent prayer after prayer as the seconds turned into minutes. She didn't notice when she started to speak out loud, but she didn't stop.

"I beg of you, please bring him back!" Y/N pleaded as her eyes filled with tears. She fought to keep them from falling. "Wake up Kaz! Please, wake up for me!" She said and stopped the chest compressions to gently shake his shoulders. "I know you don't need me, but I need you! I need you to wake the fuck up and look at me!" She shouted at his face but the response never came. "Please, I want you to look at me," Y/N whispered as the tears escaped her eyes and clouded her sight.

"I don't know if you can hear me but I want you to know, that I, that I don't hate you. No matter how hard I try to. What I do hate, is the fact that even now, you can never turn your face at me. And yet I-," Y/N scoffed as she looked away and continued. "Yet, I tend to forget about that whenever I look at you. Whenever you think you're slicked back into the shadows, I know you're there, because somehow I'm always able to notice you. Funny, how we can deceive ourselves in the most ironic way possible. I saw you, but I never saw my true feelings, until recently. I'm so fucking oblivious," Y/N's words turned into a whisper at the end, like she was afraid someone could hear her admit her feelings.

"But I know for sure that you don't feel the same, because if you did, you would give me some kind of hint outside of your usual glares. I just wanted you to see me, to look at me, to-"

"I always noticed you." Kaz said as he coughed up some water. Y/N was quick to help him sit up, so he'd be able to cough up the rest. After a few seconds he stopped, and spoke again. "I always looked at you," Kaz whispered as he lied back down on his back, closing his eyes for a second before opening them.

When he looked up into Y/N's eyes, he felt his heart stop. As the midnight moon shined down from behind her back, it drew a faint gloria around her head. Kaz didn't believe in Saints any more than he believed in the afterlife, but in that moment, he could swear he found his religion.

And he would try every day for the rest of his mortal life to be worthy of the love showed his way.

"What?" Y/N asked in a confused tone. She didn't know if this was a dream or a hallucination. "If you took some time to really look at me, you would know that I spend my every free minute watching you. I can't find the reason why." Kaz said the last sentence with some frustration, before he continued, this time making sure to keep looking at Y/N and not turn away.

"You make me want to know more and more about you, and it makes me frustrated that this curiosity won't leave me alone, not even in my sleep," Kaz told her and abruptly sat up. The movement made Y/N realize she was still holding Kaz's waistcoat at his chest. When she noticed it she pulled away, but was stopped by Kaz's hand, which gripped her hand and squeezed it for a second, before dropping it.

"You occupy my head even when I don't want you to, and no matter how hard I try to erase you from my mind, you manage to sneak your way back in by simply existing. It's fucking annoying." His words came out as a threat, but Y/N learned long ago how to read between the lines. And what she found made her heart swell up in her chest.

"Can I ask, how long have you been... annoyed by this?" She asked as naturally as she could, and thankfully Kaz didn't catch the excitement she tried to hide. "The night we got the tattoos. Everytime I catch a glimpse of the Crow and Cup, my thoughts get drowned by you. It's irritating and I can't put an end to it." Kaz said and Y/N fought hard to keep the serious look on her face, but eventually she gave up.

She sweetly smiled at Kaz, to which he looked back at her with raised brows, question in his eyes. Y/N took a deep breath before she spoke up. "You're an evil man, Kaz." She whispered and Kaz's lips turned into a slightly wicked smirk.

"That never stopped you before." The statement lingered in the air for a minute, before Y/N spoke with confidence.

"And it never will."

Present: (Age 19)

The two days after Inej woke up were pure torture for Kaz Brekker. It was hard for his brain to focus on the map of the Ice Court longer than 10 minutes, and he was starting to consider asking Matthias to crack his skull open. He was certain the Fjerdan would most definitely enjoy his request.

There were also other pleasant things occupying his mind: thoughts of him ripping his eyes out so he wouldn't be able to look at Y/N, or cutting his ear off, so he wouldn't be able to hear her voice or laugh. While she took care of Inej along with Nina, she didn't really talk to him, or look at him, or even stayed in his presence for too long, not to cause any more suspicion in the others. And it was slowly driving Kaz mad.

Ever since their almost kiss got interrupted by Nina (who Kaz cursed in his head everytime he saw her), he couldn't get a grip on his emotions. On the outside he remained cold and serious, calm even, but on the inside Kaz was fuming with rage and an emotion he never thought he'd experience: desire.

The desire to kiss and kiss and kiss. At first, when Kaz thought of kissing Y/N, he got nauseaous about the idea of putting his lips against someone else's. But curiosity got the best of him, and one night he pressed a small kiss on her jaw. The action made the adrenaline rush through his veins. He realized he wanted more. That is why he tried to kiss her a few months ago, even though it ended with him shaking in the corner.

He had been craving her ever since. For the past almost three months, Kaz wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to do anything else. He wanted to finally kiss her, and after that, kiss her day and night, until their lips were sore. He never knew he was capable of feeling such strong emotions, and it made him crawl out of his skin.

Hearing Y/N laugh, hearing her voice, seeing her walk around on the ship meant no good for Kaz. He fought hard to hide even a glimpse of his thoughts, whenever Y/N put on one of his shirts. Of course the others didn't notice this because the shirts were usually hidden underneath her vest, but it was something that made Kaz's heart speed up just a little. He reminded himself that he had to be extra careful, now that there was a Heartrender on board. Ghezen forbid she began guessing about his relationship with Y/N.

And if all of these didn't make Kaz want to tore off his skin, than the smug look on Y/N's face certainly did. She didn't know the reason behind Kaz's frustrated behaviour at first, but when she did, she did everything to make it worse. With her actions she sent a message to Kaz, a bet. She wanted to see if he'd give up his composed facade before she did. Without words, he reassured her that he won't back down, no matter how hard she might try to break him.

The days ahead of them were going to be painfully long, since neither of them liked to lose. And the tension around them could burn down the entire ship, if they werent't careful.

#grishaverse #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #six of crows #kaz brekker #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x reader #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader

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ghcstpyre · 25 days

Text

eddie munson x gn!reader

eddie helps you make your first dnd character.

content: eddie & r are friends, no descriptions of r's appearance, no pronouns used for r, no use of y/n, mutual pining, fluff, mentions of smoking weed

word count: 1.8k

( yes i used the 5e rules for this because i'm lazy, please don't come for me for not being 100% time period accurate lmao )

hellfire club banner by @/strangergraphics

"So I have to roll these dice to determine my character's stats?”

The paper of your character sheet crinkled and Eddie's shitty mattress creaked as you leaned over the Dungeons and Dragons books splayed out between you to reach for the only regular dice apparently used in this game. The Hellfire boys assured you that you'd get to grips with all the different kinds of dice in no time, but you begged to differ.

Eddie had finally convinced you to have a go at playing DnD with him and the other boys from Hellfire. You'd lost count of how many times he'd begged you to give it a try, but it was only a matter of time before you caved to those big, doey, brown eyes of his.

Much to Eddie's delight, the day you finally caved came and you were now in his trailer, sat cross-legged across from him on his bed with sheets of paper, books, dice and pencils cluttering the space between you as he helped you make your character. The faint sounds of W.A.S.P could be heard playing quietly in the background through his record player.

"That's right; roll four of these guys six times and remove the lowest result each time you roll." Eddie explained, dropping the normal dice - or the D6s as he insisted they be called - into the palm of your hand. "Add each roll up and then you can assign them to the stat you want.”

You sat back down, your character sheet crinkling again with your movements, Eddie's black and red ombre dice clutched in your hand. As you prepared to roll them onto the large, hardback Player's Handbook in the middle of the mess of paper, a crease appeared in your brow in confusion.

"But...what if my rolls are, like, really shit?" You asked.

That signature devilish grin crept its way across Eddie's face, paired with that usual mischievous glint in his eyes. "Then I guess you'll just be playing on hard mode.”

You shot him a pointed look and he laughed, that wonderful sound filling up his little bedroom.

"I'm kidding. Obviously if all of them are shitty I'll let you reroll, I'm not a complete sadist."

The furrow in your brow disappeared, instead being replaced by a small, amused smirk as you raised an eyebrow. "You so are."

Eddie gasped and reeled back dramatically, clutching at his chest as if he'd been shot in the heart. You shoulders began to shake as you giggled at his dramatics and that familiar fluttering sensation began to bloom beneath your ribcage while Eddie tried to regain his balance. He leant forward again, his pointy elbows resting on the little parts of exposed knee peeking through the rips in his jeans.

You'd been aware of these budding feelings for Eddie for a few months now. At first you thought the giddy feeling that bubbled within you whenever you saw him was just joy over a new friendship, but as time passed you began to realise that, nope, what you were feeling was actually the beginnings of a crush.

A crush you were very much convinced was unrequited.

Before said crush could get a glance at what you assumed was some sort of lame, lovestruck look on your face, you squashed that fluttering feeling down as best you could and began to roll the dice.

Eddie watched closely as you shook the dice in your hands and rolled for your stats. His chocolate brown eyes studied your face as they usually did when he knew - or was pretty damn sure - you weren't looking. The slope of your nose, the curve of your cheeks, the cute little Cupid's bow in your top lip, and the tip of your tongue that he could just spy poking out from between your lips as you concentrated on adding your rolls up and jotting them down in your doodle-ridden notepad.

A few stray hairs slipped down into your face as you hunched over your notepad and it took all of Eddie's restraint to not reach over and brush them aside to tuck them behind your ear. There were times he thought you harbored the same feelings he'd hidden away, but he'd always had a nasty habit of second guessing himself when it came to people he was attracted to - especially when it came to you.

Eddie was painfully aware of the fact that if he made his feelings known to you and you didn't reciprocate, it would put a strain on his friendship with you, if not ruin it completely. Although Jeff had assured Eddie when he sought out his friend's advice that he was "pretty sure" you liked him back, he was simply too much of a coward to put himself in such a vulnerable position.

It wasn't until you said his name for a third time that Eddie was pulled out from his own messy head and back into his messy bedroom.

"Huh?" He willed the heat rising to his cheeks to kindly fuck off, embarrassed that you'd caught him staring at you.

The corners of your lips quirked upwards as you spied that rosy pink hue blooming across Eddie's cheeks and you automatically reached a hand up to tuck those stray hairs back behind your ear, your eyes flicking back down to your character sheet. You were pretty sure you'd caught Eddie checking you out and just the thought of it being a possibility had your heart thumping hard in your chest.

"Um...I finished rolling. You said I'd want my wisdom stat to be the highest for a druid, right?" You asked, meeting his gaze again.

“Uh, yeah that's right. Gimme a sec,” Eddie chuckled nervously and was quick to grab the Player's Handbook, very much eager to move on from the awkwardness of being caught. He was relieved you didn't seem too weirded-out by it. If anything, if his eyes didn't deceive him, you seemed almost…into it?

He chalked it up to wishful thinking on his part, though Jeff's words did start to ring a little more true than they had done before.

The two of you got to work on building your character - stats, skills, equipment, gold and spells. You were pretty satisfied with everything, save for maybe your Armour Class which left something to be desired.

“Aaand I think all that's left to do is your hit points. You'll want-” Eddie flicked back a page or two in the Handbook. “-Ah, eight plus your Constitution modifier, then for every level above first you can either take a five plus your con, or gamble and roll a D8 for something higher.” His warm, brown gaze rose from the book to meet your own and he cocked his head to the side, some of his unruly dark curls falling in front of his shoulders. “What d’ya wanna do?”

You pondered for a moment before grinning. “Well obviously I've gotta gamble.”

A bright smile broke out on Eddie's face, those familiar little crow’s feet forming at the corners of his big round eyes. If it could, your heart would've leapt out from your chest and right into his hands.

“That's the spirit!” He clapped his hands together and the thick silver of his rings clinked against one another. “But be warned, I won't allow any re-rolls this time so you'll have to take whatever you get.”

You were pretty sure that a D8 was the small, diamond-shaped one. As you reached out to grab the dice, Eddie did just the same. Your hands brushed against one another, sending tingles right up from where your skin touched his, through your body right to the tips of your toes. You heard Eddie's breath hitch and your heart skipped a beat at the tiny little sound.

For a moment it seemed like neither you nor Eddie could - or wanted to - move, and the longer you sat there, frozen, the more you felt your face get hotter and hotter.

Before you could say or do anything, Eddie took your hand and flipped it over so your palm faced upwards, plucked the D8 from its place amongst the plethora of dice and placed it into your hand. When you managed to finally tear your eyes away from your hand in his to look up at him, Eddie's own gaze was already fixated on your face, a small smile on his pink lips and a red hue dusting his pale cheeks.

The corners of your lips twitched upwards as you began to pull your hand away, but Eddie caught it before it could go too far.

“H-Hey, uh…” He stuttered, gathering up his courage. “...I know you only came over here to make your character but, uh, did you wanna carry on hanging out afterwards?” His hand was slightly sweaty, but you didn't mind it. “We could have a smoke, watch a movie and order pizza or something - y'know, if you want to?” His voice cracked halfway through asking. Eddie wasn't a religious guy, but if you rejected his offer he truly would start praying for his shitty mattress to swallow him whole, especially after a his voice cracked like he was fucking 16 again.

It felt like a mini explosion of butterflies had gone off in your tummy. “Really?”

You looked absolutely star struck; raised brows, glittering eyes, pink cheeks and lips slightly parted. The only other time Eddie had seen you with that look on your face was the first time you'd seen him shredding on his guitar and he knew there and then that he was absolutely fucked. Seeing it again now while you were sat just a mere few feet away had him wanting to pull you in by the hand he still held and kiss you.

“Y-Yeah! I mean, my uncle’s working the night shift tonight so we'd be able to chill out without him hanging around. But no pressure or anything, y'know.” He let go of your hand to scratch the back of his head, chuckling nervously.

The word date hung heavy and unspoken in the air between you.

You closed your fist around the D8 sat in your palm and pulled your hand back towards you as you nodded, smiling brightly at Eddie while your heart hammered in your chest with excitement. “No, that sounds really nice. I'm down for that.”

The giddiest grin broke out on Eddie's face and you were sure if eyes could sparkle, Eddie's would've been the source of a golden-brown disco ball effect as the orange light of the sunset shone through the open blinds over his window.

“Cool! Cool cool cool cool.” Was all Eddie could think to say as the adrenaline rush filtered its way through his body. He fiddled with the thick silver ring on his index finger, unable to keep that grin off his face. “So we'll finish this up and I'll roll us a couple of joints then?”

You returned Eddie's grin. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #c: eddie munson.#w: drabble.#hello sorry this took so long :')#i am VERY rusty when it comes to writing but i feel like this is something!#reblogs and comments are v much appreciated!#i really wanna get better at this so please lmk what you think :)

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aristocratic-otter · 24 days

Text

Hey y’all. It’s been a rough month, so thank you to all of you who keep tagging me in spite of my silence. And for those of you waiting for new chapters to one of my WIPs, please forgive me. The good news is, I have a week off of work, and I’ll be able to put out new chapters of at least two of my WIPs, as well as the first post from one of those below that you haven’t seen. So stay tuned!

Thank you to : @thewholelemon, @youarenevertooold, @nausikaaa, @wellbelesbian, @cutestkilla, @monbons, @artsyunderstudy, @ileadacharmedlife, @hushed-chorus, @prettygoododds, @whatevertheweather, @angelsfalling16, @noblecorgi, @ic3-que3n, @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @alexalexinii, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe,and @blackberrysummerblog for the tags over the last several weeks.

On to the snippets!

From Saving Simon Snow: (slightly more than six sentences)

I don’t know what I expect when I look at him. Recriminations about my family? I’d deserve them. My father and aunt have been vicious and abusive towards my now-husband. I’ll never be done making that up to him. Or maybe he wants to actually talk about the events of the day? Yesterday, I mean, since the clock has clearly ticked over into a new day.

Whatever I expected, it wasn’t Simon’s blue eyes intensely boring into mine as he says, “Can I kiss you?”

From the Heart in the Well

“You–” I start, and my voice is a croak. I swallow, despite my horror at the liquid still laying on my tongue. I try again. “How could you?”

Simon looks apologetic, but his chin is jutting up nonetheless. “Baz, you needed it—” he begins.

“You’ve made me into a monster!” I cry.

From Snow Fox–nothing new this week. I'm researching my next chapter at the moment.

From TikTok Dancer:

Normally, by now I’d be giving coy glances to my chosen partner of the night. I like to have made my choice at least an hour before we quit for the day, so I can make my interest known. It’s a bit of a dance in itself, this small courtship.

Tonight, unless I find the courage to approach Baz again—why do I even remember his name? Most of the time I forget their names minutes after they say them—I’ll be going to bed without any release. Because nobody in the crowd has drawn my eyes today, despite several pretty people making eyes at me.

I’ve only got eyes for Baz.

I don’t understand this.

From Stars, Flowers, and Children,

One of the tools we rescued from the ship before it sank was a hand axe, and it’s honestly been worth it’s weight in gold. Half the building I’ve done in the last few years would have been impossible without it. I don’t need Davy’s voice in my head growling, “you break those tools, boy, I’ll break you.” I’m constantly aware of the fragility of the life we’ve built here. If I break an axe…no more building out of wood. If the island suffers a dry year, no fruit on our plates. If one of us gets sick…no doctors

From Cupid’s Shield:

My aunt Fiona loves recounting the time he showed up at Watford’s Valentine ball when she was a fourth year. She wasn’t old enough to attend, but she’d snuck into a secret passage that passed the ballroom to spy on her friends, who were fifteen because their birthday (they were twins apparently) was just before the deadline to attend. Reading between the lines, I think Fi was sweet on one of the pair and wanted to make sure he wasn’t making time with some other girl at the ball.

According to my Aunt, Cupid just materialized in midair beneath the great chandelier, and, with a wicked grin, began shooting incorporeal arrows at every mage in sight. Fiona took great pleasure in recounting just who was compelled into snogging their sworn enemies or the girlfriends/ boyfriends of their best friends. Apparently the event was a source of endless drama over the next several months, and my aunt lives for that shit.

Of course, my aunts’ maybe-boyfriend escaped unscathed, or I think she wouldn’t have found the whole thing so amusing.

From my COBB project:

“Director,” I say, “It’s good to see you.”

“And it’s wonderful to see you, my boy. In fact, your return just at this time could not have been more fortuitous.”

I know all too well what that means. My heart sinks into my shoes. I just got back…I haven’t even unpacked yet…

“Sir?” I question, directing every fibre of my being towards hoping the director is not about to say what I think he’s about to say. Of course, I’m not that lucky.

“We have a situation, Simon,” he says, letting his face fall into graver lines.

Tagging: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed, @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @raenestee, @tea-brigade, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @upuntil6am, @whogaveyoupermission, @messofthejess, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @krisrix, @shemakesmeforget, @larkral, @confused-bi-queer, @rimeswithpurple, and @mooncello, @theearlgreymage, @j-nipper-95, @facewithoutheart, @best--dress, @nightimedreamersghost

#co/ws/awtwb #six sentence sunday #snowbaz #carry on through the ages #carry on reverse bang #cotta 2023

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lumineskies · 1 year

Text

ATTENTION - 35.5 meeting

wc: 0.5k

cw: spying, account holder reveal!!!!! ni read more cause its pretty short

it's chilly in the morning at hybe high, students who are eager to get on campus as soon as it opens are usually the ones who either have club activities in the morning, or the ones heading to the library to do a little bit of extra studying.

soobin was neither, rather he was here for information you could say. it was six am currently, small rays of sun could be seen, but the sun wouldn't fully rise till an hour later. it was perfect.

although caps weren't allowed on campus, soobin wore one anyway. no teachers were parading the hallways and the students didn't really care. to them, he might just be another student trying to warm up to an extent.

cap down to hide his face, soobin checked the time. it was 6:08 am already. the meeting will start soon, he should get ready. from his spot in the library, he moved to where the library computers were. he sat at the furthest one away from the entrance, and turned it on.

the computer emitted a blue light as soon as he logged in. soobin pushed in a usb on the side of the computer, and headed towards the files. yesterday after classes, he had sneaked into the meeting room and hacked into their cctv footage. this way, anything that they say or do, will appear on this computer.

the footage shows the meeting just starting, right on time. soobin eyed the time displayed at the bottom of the screen 10:10 am. they should be starting soon.

the meeting, as meetings are, was a bore. displays of respect and displaying money was the main theme of the meeting, not the actual contents. throughout most of it soobin yawned, but his ears caught alot of things, important things of course.

like how the school was willing to pay 3 million to get rid of him and his account, and how the parents had a temper tantrum after realizing the student council were in fact, children and not mindless robots who would do anything they wanted if they threw enough money at them.

his only source of entertainment was beomgyu, who was so obviously bored. had the meeting went on a little longer, he would've fallen asleep for sure. he tried his best to stay awake by pinching his arms and widening his eyes, but none of them worked. he dozed off for most of it, and the parents noticed.

beomgyu was the starting point of the temper tantrum, but before he could get berated any further, you jumped in and defended him. the fight between you and that random father was an epic one, if he could say so. insults coated with sugary words were thrown in a sad attempt at keeping the peace while still trying to get their point across. there was a reason why you were president, and it showed in the meeting.

realizing he's been in a trance, soobin reawakes. he has to do something before the council can het their hands in his account. just as quickly as he came, soobin shut off the computer and pulled his usb out. pocketing the usb, he pulled his cap down further and walked towards the back entrance of the school. the school lobby was filling quickly with students, if he didn't hurry, someone might recognize him.

previous masterlist next

notes! gasp it was soobin all along!!!!! r u guys surprised or like did u guys guess it cause i added a few hints lol but not a lot soooo

synopsis! when the school president of hybe high mysteriously dies, a spot in the student council is now open. and to the overachieving students of hybe, its now or never. choi beomgyu, the bad boy of the school decides that its time to change tactics, after all who wouldn't want the attention of the whole school?

taglist! (open) @flrtsbin @ashxxkook @feline4txt @terrylvr @woncheecks @ioszzn @baekberrie @zhaixiaowen @zaeeeee @dazedgye @sahubreaths @angeltetae @jinjccns @milkycloudtyg @wccycc @bnhaikyu @vanillamilko @bluebearybeom @luvsoobs @yeppeudau @tae-ology @unclassifiedwhore @millksea @jaxavance @sansluvr @mingiholic @yhawnnzz @simplygyuu @thisisnotjacinta @ilovechanhee @ghostfacefricker6969 @beeomgui @openingssequence @totallynotbella @rionah @ikaeryn @qluvrv bolded could not be tagged

#beomgyu smau #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu au #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu socmed au #kang taehyun #choi soobin #txt #beomgyu x yn #beomgyu scenarios #attention lunaavity!

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rafesapologist · 5 months

Text

the set up — rafe cameron; part eleven

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

warnings: angst

As your friends turned their gazes toward you, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern, the weight of recent events clung to you like a heavy cloak. Their expectant smiles dimmed, replaced by furrowed brows and questioning eyes, as they sensed the solemnity in your demeanor.

In a flat, defeated tone, you broke the heavy silence. "I did it," the words escaped your lips, laden with the weight of compliance and defeat, echoing in the room. The defeated admission lingered, casting a shadow over the otherwise buoyant atmosphere among your friends.

Their expressions shifted, registering a mix of surprise and concern at your defeated confession. Unspoken questions hung in the air, their curiosity piqued yet tempered by an unspoken understanding that delving deeper might unravel complexities beyond the surface. The heaviness of the moment remained, leaving a silent tension that begged for explanation yet seemed to weigh down any further inquiry.

As JJ observed the room, concern etched across his features, his gaze fixed upon you, his best friend. The usual camaraderie that defined your bond had been strained by a recent disagreement, yet beneath the rift, his concern for you remained steadfast.

He noted the sadness etched into your expression, a furrow in his brow signaling his genuine worry. Despite the tension between you both, his concern eclipsed any personal grievances, his heart aching at the sight of your evident distress.

A flicker of conflict danced in his eyes, torn between wanting to bridge the gap between you and respecting the boundaries you'd set in your disagreement. His unspoken longing to offer comfort battled against the silence that hung heavily in the room, leaving an unspoken yearning that mirrored the complexities of your relationship.

You, attempting to veer away from the evident heaviness, interjected with forced casualness. "So, how did things go with you guys? Were you successful?" Your voice strained to mask the underlying sadness, attempting to divert the conversation away from the palpable tension in the room.

Your friends, taken aback by the sudden shift, exchanged puzzled glances, their expressions reflecting confusion and uncertainty. Caught off guard, they found themselves momentarily at a loss, their reactions muted as they grappled with the abrupt transition from somberness to what seemed like normalcy.

In their shared hesitation, their gazes met in silent inquiry, seeking guidance in navigating this unexpected shift. Each held back their words, sensing the unspoken turmoil lingering beneath the surface but unsure of how to acknowledge it without diminishing the weight of your emotions. The room lingered in an awkward pause, the unspoken tension enveloping the space, leaving everyone grappling for the right words to bridge the unspoken divide.

"Oh yeah," John B coughed, attempting to shatter the uncomfortable silence enveloping the room. "We got in and out pretty quickly. Sarah distracted Ward, and we got our stuff and left."

His words sliced through the tension, offering a lifeline to redirect the conversation towards a more mundane topic. There was a palpable sense of relief in his tone, a subtle attempt to lift the weight of the atmosphere by focusing on the successful mission.

The mention of their recent undertaking brought a semblance of normalcy to the room, a welcome distraction from the heavy emotions that had lingered moments ago. Yet, despite the shift, a trace of unease still hung in the air, a reminder of the unresolved emotions that continued to simmer beneath the surface.

"That's good, I'm glad," you replied in a dry tone, your words lacking enthusiasm as you tried to engage in the conversation without revealing the emotional turmoil within. Your gaze remained averted, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room.

Your response, though attempting to maintain the facade of normalcy, held a hint of detachment, an indication of your struggle to engage while grappling with the weight of your emotions. The room remained steeped in an uncomfortable silence, the unspoken tension palpable despite the attempt to steer the conversation toward a lighter topic.

"Y/n, are you sure you're okay?" Sarah's voice carried genuine concern, her eyes reflecting worry as she observed your withdrawn demeanor. You responded with a slight, unconvincing nod, reluctant to disclose the emotional upheaval from the revelations of what transpired with Rafe the night before.

Your gesture masked the whirlwind of emotions swirling within, a shield to conceal the inner turmoil you weren't prepared to unpack. Admitting the revelations from the prior night felt daunting, leaving you hesitant to reveal the intricate complexities that had unfolded in the intimate moments with Rafe.

"I'm gonna go lay down for a bit, didn't get much sleep last night," you announced, excusing yourself from the room, your words a veiled attempt to distance yourself from the mounting curiosity of your friends. As you departed, their exchanged glances held a collective air of puzzlement and concern, further intrigued by your sudden departure.

JJ, in particular, fixated his gaze on you, observing with an intensity that hinted at his lingering worry and a desire to understand the hidden layers behind your solemn disposition. His unwavering focus followed you as you retreated into one of the bedrooms, leaving the others pondering the unspoken events of the night before, intrigued by the cryptic nature of the situation.

You stepped into the room and collapsed onto the bed, tears welling in your eyes as you gazed up at the ceiling, recounting the events with Rafe from the night before. Attempting to stifle any sounds, you bit down on your lip, hoping to conceal the incoming rush of emotions.

Despite your efforts, a surge of sorrow and guilt overwhelmed you. Your resolve shattered, and silent whimpers escaped your lips, swiftly escalating into uncontrollable sobs. The weight of your actions washed over you, an avalanche of regret and sorrow flooding your heart.

As you lay there, the burden of toying with Rafe's emotions and the sensation of a lost opportunity bore down heavily on your conscience. The tears flowed freely, a testament to the remorse and heartache consuming you, leaving you feeling broken and distraught over the pain you might have caused.

Internally, a storm of self-reproach raged within you as you cursed your actions and words from the night before, grappling with the weight of your choices. The regret gnawed at your insides, a relentless barrage of thoughts tormenting your conscience.

Your mind fixated on Rafe, wondering how he might be feeling in that moment. The worry and guilt intertwined, forming a tangled knot of concern for his emotions, as you tried to envision the impact of your actions on him. The uncertainty of his state left you feeling restless, your heart heavy with the weight of remorse and the unspoken turmoil between you both. The impulse to reach out and apologize to Rafe surged within you, an earnest desire to mend what felt irreparably broken. Yet, a wave of hesitation washed over you, the realization sinking in that a call might only exacerbate the pain.

As much as the urge to apologize clawed at your conscience, a voice of reason prevailed. You reasoned with yourself, acknowledging that reaching out at that moment might only reopen wounds, adding further distress to an already tumultuous situation. The prospect of causing him more pain held you back, compelling you to reluctantly stifle the impulse to apologize, despite the ache of remorse festering within.

Amidst the whirlwind of tears and internal turmoil, a soft knock resonated through the room, interrupting the overwhelming flood of emotions. Your heart skipped a beat, the sound piercing through the chaos of your thoughts. Trying to compose yourself, you hastily wiped away the tears and cleared your throat, the remnants of distress still evident in your trembling breath. "Yes?" you called out, your voice betraying hints of recent emotional upheaval, as you awaited a response from the other side of the door.

"Y/n, it's just me." With a small sigh of recognition, you acknowledged JJ's voice from behind the door. Gathering yourself, you made an effort to compose your appearance, wiping away a few stray tears and taking a moment to steady your breath before approaching the door. With cautious steps, you crossed the room, the weight of recent emotions still lingering within. As you reached the door, you unlocked it and turned the knob, allowing JJ's entry into the room. You tried to muster a faint smile, a feeble attempt to mask the lingering traces of distress that clung to your features.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," JJ expressed, his concern evident in his tone as he observed your demeanor. "You seemed pretty upset out there." You met his gaze, a mixture of gratitude and reluctance flickering in your eyes. His genuine concern softened the edges of your distress, yet the weight of your emotions remained palpable. You attempted to offer a reassuring nod, hoping to alleviate his worry while simultaneously shielding the depths of your unrest.

"I'm fine, JJ," you stated in a dry tone, attempting to downplay the intensity of your emotions. "Just didn't sleep much last night, is all."

Despite your attempt to reassure him, JJ sensed the falsehood in your words. Your best friend knew you well enough to recognize the facade you attempted to maintain. He furrowed his brow, contemplating the reason behind your evasiveness. The conflict between your words and the emotions radiating from your eyes left him perplexed, wondering who you were trying to convince with your falsehoods. Your eyes, a window to the disturbance within, betrayed the sadness and guilt you attempted to conceal. JJ pondered the intricacies of your emotional distress, unsettled by the disparity between your words and the truth that emanated from your gaze.

"C'mon, Y/n, you don't have to lie to me. You know you can tell me anything," JJ pleaded softly, his voice carrying a gentle plea for honesty. He moved closer, an unspoken gesture of support, silently urging you to confide in him, to offer even a glimpse into the reason behind your somber state. The sincerity in JJ's words tugged at your heartstrings, tempting you to unburden yourself. Yet, a part of you hesitated, grappling with the weight of the unspoken truths you weren't ready to reveal. The conflict within you was mirrored in JJ's unwavering gaze, his earnest plea for your trust amplifying the turmoil within.

The room lingered in a pregnant silence, the unspoken hovering between you both, as JJ patiently awaited a sign, a shred of vulnerability, anything that might offer insight into the heavy emotions weighing you down.

"It's nothing you need to worry about," you deflected, brushing aside JJ's concern with a forced nonchalance. Crossing your arms, you held yourself as if to contain the turmoil brewing within, a physical shield to guard the emotions threatening to spill out. Part of you longed to confide in JJ, to unburden the weight that pressed upon your heart. Yet, you felt like a tangled mess, grappling with emotions that words alone couldn't unravel. The situation had surpassed the realm of simple explanations; it was a complex web of conflicting emotions.

Your heart ached, torn between the anguish of the way things unfolded with Rafe and the overwhelming guilt of keeping secrets from him, all in allegiance to a promise made to your friends. The weight of these emotions felt suffocating, leaving you on the brink of emotional collapse, unsure if your heartache stemmed solely from your dealings with Rafe or from the layers of deception that weighed heavily upon you.

"Look, if this is about the thing with Rafe, you really don't have to—"

"Stop, okay? It's alright. I'm okay. I have to do this for you guys," you interjected, cutting off JJ's attempt to probe further. The firmness in your voice masked the battle going on inside of you, an attempt to halt the conversation from delving into the depths of your conflicted emotions.

Your words, though intended to reassure, held an undertone of inner struggle. The weight of your loyalty to your friends juxtaposed against the ache in your heart, a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made to uphold a promise. The resilience in your tone masked the fragility beneath, a silent plea for the conversation to steer away from the complexities that burdened you.

JJ's expression softened with a mix of sadness and a sense of helplessness, feeling a partial responsibility for the emotional turmoil you were experiencing. He recognized the facade you presented, contrasting starkly with your usual vibrant self, now replaced by a reserved and quiet demeanor.

Standing in silence, JJ observed you with a compassionate gaze, acknowledging the pain etched in your eyes. He sensed your avoidance of eye contact, a silent plea to hold back the floodgate of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

"You don't have to do this, Y/n. Look at what it's doing to you," he spoke gently, his voice carrying a quiet concern. His words held a plea for you to reconsider the sacrifices you were making for the sake of others, a heartfelt desire to alleviate the burden that weighed heavily upon you.

"Just drop it, JJ," you snapped, the sharpness in your tone piercing the air before you softened slightly. "Look, it's fine. I'm fine. I don't need you to worry about me," you asserted, your voice tinged with assertiveness, a shield against the vulnerability you were struggling to conceal.

Your conflicting emotions towards JJ added tension to the already strained atmosphere between you both since the disagreement. His expression fell, a mixture of frustration and helplessness clouding his features. The sense of hopelessness at breaking through to you battled against his stubborn determination.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on," JJ declared firmly, a steadfast insistence in his voice despite the emotional barriers that stood between you. He refused to yield, driven by concern and an unshakeable loyalty, even in the face of your resistance.

"JJ—" you began, interrupted as he pressed on, his voice filled with earnestness and concern.

"I mean it, Y/n. You're my best friend, I care about you, you know?" JJ's words were laden with sincerity, a heartfelt plea cutting through the tension between you both. His genuine worry overshadowed any remnants of the past disagreement. "Look, you can be as mad at me as you want for what happened before, but all I care about right now is making sure that you're okay, which clearly you're not, despite lying to my face that you are."

His words were a plea for honesty and a testament to the depth of his concern, revealing a vulnerability that mirrored the genuine care he held for you. Despite the rift between you, JJ's unwavering loyalty and concern for your well-being remained steadfast, urging you to drop the facade and confide in him.

You sighed, finally relenting to JJ's unwavering determination. "Rafe told me he loved me last night," you blurted out quickly, the confession tumbling out of you, your throat tightening with the weight of the admission. "It came out of nowhere, and I-I couldn't say it back, JJ. Sure, I've spent all this time with him and played this game for you guys, but I have to draw the line at that, right? I can't play with somebody's heart like that."

Your words carried the burden of guilt and conflict, the turmoil you had been grappling with now laid bare. The abrupt confession revealed the emotional turmoil you faced, torn between loyalty to your friends and the moral dilemma of toying with someone's feelings. The complexity of the situation weighed heavily on you, leaving you in a state of emotional disarray.

"Do you love him?" JJ's question, posed quietly and almost feebly, pierced the charged air between you. His piercing blue eyes searched yours, seeking some semblance of an answer, any hint of truth hidden within. You hesitated, grappling with the weight of JJ's inquiry. The intensity in his gaze demanded honesty, yet the answer seemed elusive, lost amidst the tangled web of emotions within you. A moment of silence stretched as you wrestled with the turmoil in your heart, struggling to articulate a response to JJ's poignant question.

"I... I can't answer that," you replied, your gaze faltering and drifting downward. The weight of your words hung heavily in the air, a confession that left JJ reeling with a tumult of emotions.

Your response struck JJ like a sudden blow, sending a sharp pang through his chest. The hesitation in your answer stirred an array of conflicting emotions within him. If you truly felt nothing for Rafe, the immediate response would have been a straightforward "no." Yet, the lingering uncertainty unsettled JJ deeply. He grappled with the notion that perhaps you harbored some sentiment for the person he considered an adversary, and the mere thought sickened him.

A battle waged within JJ, torn between self-reproach for inadvertently guiding you towards someone he deemed his enemy and an inexplicable ache that gnawed at his heart. The unexpected surge of emotions left him grappling with a sense of unease and turmoil he had never experienced before.

"You do love him," JJ stated flatly, answering for you, his voice devoid of its usual vibrancy. He gazed at you with an empty expression, his words falling heavily between you, laced with a tone of defeat and resignation. In that moment, you witnessed a look in JJ's eyes that shook you to the core—an almost tangible sense of his world crumbling around him, as if his entire essence was fractured.

"No, JJ, don't do this. I didn't choose this," you pleaded desperately, shaking your head in denial. Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as a rush of emotions surged through you. Your voice trembled, quivering with the intensity of the feelings you struggled to contain. The sight of JJ's shattered demeanor pierced your heart.

"I know you didn't, Y/n. I'm not blaming you. You can't choose who you're in love with," JJ spoke softly, his tone carrying a compassionate understanding. His gaze lingered on you, as if lost in contemplation. His eyes traversed every contour of your face, observing your saddened yet undeniably beautiful features.

Internally, JJ admired you, silently acknowledging the depth of your emotions and the complexities of your heart. He couldn't help but think about how fortunate Rafe was to have someone like you who cared so deeply. Amidst the turmoil, a pang of longing tugged at JJ's heart, a desire for a similar kind of affection for himself. He contemplated the unspoken wishes and the intricate layers of emotions that lay beneath the surface of the moment.

"It doesn't matter now anyways, because I ruined it," you uttered through tearful sobs, your voice cracking with anguish. Looking up at JJ, your eyes reflected a profound sadness, a vulnerability laid bare for him to witness. "I should've said something else, I should've told him how much I care about him, I-"

"Shh, Y/n, it's okay," JJ cooed, enfolding you in a tender embrace, offering solace in the warmth of his arms. He planted a gentle kiss atop your head, a gesture of comfort amid the emotional turmoil. "You didn't ruin anything. Just give him some time right now. If he's as obsessed with you as half the guys on the island are, he's guaranteed to come crawling back," he remarked softly, his attempt at humor breaking through the somber moment. Despite the weight of the situation, JJ's attempt to lighten the mood offered a glimmer of relief, a touch of his familiar light-heartedness providing a brief respite from the heaviness of the emotions swirling between you.

Amidst a tearful laugh and a sniffle, you questioned, "Do you really think so?"

"I know he will. He'd be a fool not to," JJ reassured, mustering a weak smile despite the ache in his heart. His attempt to comfort you masked the sadness he felt within, his own emotions echoing the heartbreak of the moment. Gently, he ran his fingers through your hair as you nestled your head against his chest, seeking solace in the warmth of his embrace. Slowly, you tried to regulate your breathing, the rise and fall of JJ's chest offering a calming rhythm in the midst of emotional turmoil.

"Thank you, Jay," you expressed, meeting the gaze of the blue-eyed boy with a small but genuine smile of gratitude. He reciprocated with a subtle hum, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your temple. The touch lingered briefly, as if savoring the warmth and softness of your skin.

"Feeling better?" JJ inquired softly, his concern palpable in the gentle tone of his voice as he sought assurance that his efforts had brought some comfort to your distress.

"Yeah, I do. I think I'm just gonna lay down for a few, though. Wasn't lying when I said I didn't get much sleep," you admitted with a faint smile, grateful for JJ's comforting presence but still in need of some time alone to gather your thoughts and emotions.

"Understood. Get all the sleep you need. I'll be out in the living room if you need me," JJ responded with a small laugh, offering you a reassuring smile before gently releasing you from his embrace, allowing you the space you sought.

Taking solace in the quiet and the solitude of the room, you nestled back into bed, relishing the opportunity to collect your thoughts in peace. In the stillness, you found yourself fixating on your phone lying on the nightstand, its screen a silent invitation. Contemplation wrestled with your impulses, a conflict raging within as the desire to mend things clashed with the looming prospect of potential regret. Despite the uncertainty, an eagerness to take action tugged at your thoughts, urging you to reach for the phone and potentially take a step you knew might carry consequences.

Despite the attempts to suppress the impulse, you found yourself disregarding the swirling doubts and uncertainties. Pushing past the "what-ifs" and potential repercussions, you finally yielded to your longing and reached for your phone, succumbing to your impulses.

"Y/n?" The husky familiarity of the voice on the other end of the line sent a surge of butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach, a mix of nervousness and anticipation flooding your senses.

"Rafe," you breathed out, mustering courage, "we need to talk."

"I don't know if that's a good idea right now," came his uncertain response.

"Please, Rafe. This is important. Just trust me," you urged, a note of desperation seeping into your voice, hoping to convey the gravity of the situation and the necessity of the conversation you felt compelled to have.

"Okay, yeah," you heard Rafe sigh on the other end of the line. "When and where?"

A small smile graced your lips at Rafe's willingness to consider your request. A glimmer of hope flickered within you, grateful for the opportunity to address matters. Internally, you felt a surge of gratitude for this chance to navigate the conversation that held such importance.

"I'll be at your house in twenty," you confirmed, decisive in your tone, setting the time and place for the conversation you knew held significant weight.

⎯

The drive to Rafe's house felt like an eternity, each passing second adding to the mounting anxiety that gripped your chest. Your grip tightened on the steering wheel as your mind played out a multitude of potential scenarios, each one more daunting than the last.

The scenarios were a relentless reel in your mind—what if Rafe had reconsidered everything? What if his feelings had shifted drastically overnight? The uncertainty of his response clawed at your thoughts, igniting a storm of doubts and fears that thundered through your mind.

The quiet road seemed to stretch endlessly, the passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows across your face as the weight of the impending conversation settled heavily upon you. You wrestled with the anticipation, the car's interior filled with a tense energy that mirrored the turmoil in your mind.

The worst-case scenarios seemed to play on a loop, painting vivid pictures of rejection and misunderstanding. Each imagined conversation left you breathless, contemplating how Rafe might react, fearing the possibility of shattered hopes and unspoken words left hanging between you.

Your heart raced in tandem with the passing mile markers, the quiet hum of the engine providing an eerie backdrop to the cacophony of doubts echoing within. The nervous anticipation clawed at your resolve, as you fought to steady your emotions and prepare for the conversation that lay ahead.

Approaching Rafe's front door felt like traversing a minefield of emotions. Every step echoed the thud of your heart, the gravity of the impending conversation adding weight to each movement. The crunch of gravel beneath your shoes seemed unusually loud, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside.

A lump formed in your throat, making it difficult to swallow as you stood at the threshold. The polished wood of the door seemed to stare back at you, a silent barrier between uncertainty and resolution. The porch light cast a warm, inviting glow, yet it did little to soothe the nerves that coiled within.

You hesitated, your hand hovering in mid-air, fingers inches away from the doorbell. An internal battle raged between eagerness and apprehension, the conflict etched upon your features as you grappled with the momentousness of the impending conversation.

The cool evening breeze brushed against your skin, causing a shiver to run down your spine, a physical manifestation of the nervousness that held you in its grip. Each heartbeat felt thunderous in the silence, amplifying the significance of this pivotal moment.

With a deep breath, you finally pressed the doorbell, the sound reverberating through the quiet night like an ominous bell tolling the onset of an uncertain exchange. The chime echoed, resonating in the hushed neighborhood, signaling the initiation of a conversation that held the weight of countless emotions and unspoken truths.

"Y/n," Rafe greeted, opening the door with a hint of hesitation evident in his expression. His gaze swept over you, assessing your presence with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity. "Come in, we can talk upstairs," he offered, gesturing for you to follow him into the house, the tension palpable in the air.

Ascending the stairs with Rafe, silence settled between you, allowing a moment for observation. Details of his home, once overlooked, now drew your attention—faint family portraits adorning the walls, the subtle scent of his familiar cologne lingering in the air, each detail offering a glimpse into his life beyond what you'd previously glimpsed.

Entering his room, Rafe motioned for you to go in first, a gesture that felt strangely significant. The creak of the door shutting behind you marked the transition into this private space, amplifying the weight of the impending conversation.

Rafe turned to face you, breaking the silence at last. "So, what's up?" he queried coyly, his demeanor masking any internal thoughts or emotions, leaving an air of uncertainty hanging between you.

"I do love you."

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