magnificenteggsfarmpeanut - Tumblr blog

magnificenteggsfarmpeanut · 11 months

Text

Abandon Them Like You Abandoned Me

Immysan

Summary:

Jaime was lord of Casterly Rock for two years now. His confusion on why he was lord and not imprisoned by King Bran had settled a few months ago. Jaime mostly spend his days listening to petty squabbles between common folk, enjoying wine and feeling like shit for being alive. That was until he saw her, Brienne of Tarth, holding a small boy. She greeted the king with a smile so innocent, Jaime could feel himself melt from so far away. She easily walked with her father to their seat near other Stormland lords. They had a very nice view of the field. “Who is that child with lady Brienne?” Jaime asked the man sitting next to him. Tyrion nonchalantly shrugged at his brother. “Tyrion, I only saw a glimpse, but he looks golden.” “Hush, I am unsure what Lady Brienne has done during the two years of peace. It’s the first time since the war I have seen her on the mainland.” Jaime looked over at Brienne. She was lovely. Her hair still straw colored, her shoulders broad and those big hands holding the small boy, taking him from her lap and onto his…. “Who is that?!” Jaime whispered sharply.” “Ah, except that time she went with her lord husband to the wall.” “Husband?” “Peace helps people heal”

——

I as an writer an imploring anyone WHO CAN WRITE BRILLANTLY TO TAKE THIS STORY AND WRITE IT. This is WHAT I WANT TO WRITE AND WILL ACTUALLY STRUGLGLE WRITING AAAAAA

Brienne foolishly gets pregnant by Jaime after. Wanting her child not to be a bastard she agrees to marry someone and goes back home with her husband. Jaime does not KNOW.

Skip two years.

Jaime pov

Jaime is at a tourney waiting for the box to fill with all the invited nobles when he spotts Brienne walking in with her Tarth contingent. Jaime focuses on Brienne who was wearing breeches. She greets King Bran, notices the small golden lion that looks like a younger Tywin, because of paintings and when Genna makes mention of the child being lion like in whispers Tyrion tells them to shut up rudely. Jaime with new found desire for Brienne tries to think up a way to talk to her without making it obvious and giving attention to the child. Tyrion says Tormund is ginger maybe it’s his kid and Jaime scoffs then asked what she married that brute . Jaime finds a moment to talk to Brienne when she is alone coming from the privy and questions the child and she gets annoyed says I have no reason to talk about my child with a stranger or someone who is not family. He says he has rights to his son in a whispers which pisses her off more and she leaves. Mind you I will find a way to have them argue and kiss because they king of cuckolding is Jaime. I am obsessed with Tragedy too. Anyway the first day ends well. In this story lords stay in tents on the grounds during tourneys. Jaime is pacing and angry at everything then sulks that he wants to hold the kid. He never gets to hold his children and it sucks. Tyrion shrugged nonchalantly and uncaring, while Genna insult and gasses Jaime up. There is another talk between Jaime and Brienne which ends bad and she says do not speak to me in private lest tongues wag. Jaime tries to get Sansa to talk but she is also extremely nonchalant like Tyrion, both besties in gaslighting.

Jaime pov

The next day Brienne joined the melee and wins making everyone amazed and Jaime gets hard. He and Tyrion talk in whispers about how great she is. Jaime and Tyrion. Sansa comes to sit with them and gaslights the fuck out of them and mentions how good a mother Brienne is and Tormund is a great father. Which pisses Jaime and he goes to talk with Brienne in the tent that does go good. Jaime is bad with words and was a loser for two years. Brienne tells him you abandoned me not once, but twice. You left me for Cersei then refused to find any information about me. I would have taken you back as foolish as I am I would have, but not now. Leave me. Leave Galladon. She goes away and sits with Tormund who tells her something. A servant comes to tell her something which makes Brienne freak out and Tormund follows with Galladon in his hand. A group of stormland nobles sitting behind Jaime start talking about Brienne. “Ah, her last pregnancy was horrible I heard. Thank the lords, lord Tormund was there with her. He went all the way to the free world for a midwife. Such a good father.” “I am so jealous. If only my husband was as kind.” “Neither of her children look like the good lady.” Jaime ears perked up, then he asked Tyrion. “She bore the beast children?” “Twins I heard.” Jaime groaned. How the fuck was he supposed to win her over when she is mother of two children.

He catches her again and they talk and she is like then WHY DID YOU NOT CONTACT ME DURING THE TWO YEARS?! Gods, Brienne, how was I supposed? Say hey sorry for abandoning you, want to marry me? My sister dead, marry me? I Did look for you, but heard from Sansa you were in Tarth and doing good, nothing more. I thought about sailing to tarth, but again what was I supposed to say? I was crippled, sad, berated and had to pay my dues during the war. That is all my fault...

Okay so rereading on the seventh on Aug I think the starks scheming to get Brinne and Jaime together is bad writing, so that is completely dropped. I will just write it as luck and Sansa being mean, petty and Bran being petty to Jaime. Tyrion wanted to be annoying to Jaime for letting such a good women go, but regrets it when he sees the young child. Hears how Galladon looks like a really young Tywin with sapphire eyes. It's baffling to Genna and she wants Jaime to find away to get their heir back.

It's peace time so you'll hear no drama, war talk or some nonsense about angry nobles. I might talk about grains, spring however I never experience four season.

Jaime pov

Day three: Tormund and Brienne are absent from the tourney. Jaime heard from ser Podrick how one of the twins is sick. Sansa says she didn’t know they had children and that Brienne and Tormund barely talked about their private life. They only came here because after this they would head to Winterfell . To Tormund’s childhood home. She asks Jaime do you still like or love Brienne and he doesn’t reply. He thinks then says yes he does love her. Maybe taking that approach would get him back in her head. Sansa says well stay away from her, Brienne looks happy.

Brienne pov day one.

She greets King Bran and shows him Galladon who eagerly tells him he always wanted to meet a king. Selwyn is older with eagerness. Maybe I should remove Selwyn from the story. Tormund greets him with a bow and very kind nobly words. She says Galladon is weirdly wordy refuses to keep his mouth shut. She takes her seat with the nobles and tells Tormund how boring Tourney’s are when you do not compete yourself. Later she excuses herself meets Jaime and shares her desire that sparked when they argued. She sits with Tormund and listened to the next group. They gossip, mostly her telling him who is who and him adding a catty remark that gets an equally mean reply.

Brienne pov day two

Brienne and Tormund talk at night in the tent about Jaime and how someone saw them arguing. Brienne’s reaction to her daughter getting sick, an old sickness comes back and she wants to leave. Tormund says take the horse and he will follow later with Galladon. It’s only right he tells the king then leaves.

Brienne pov day three

Brienne is worried about her daughter sickness getting worse. The journey to the mainland she was fine, but a little weak, but she survived the journey, She tells Tormund they should have stayed. He says we should have brought Ygritte with us, but curse her and her stupid.. Tormund, it is her wedding month, let her be. He sighs saying he knows, but he got her here incase he or the kids got sick, so she should stay a single sphincter. Brienne laughs at his words and frowns. The maester ensures everything will be fine and it is just a mild cold from the heat. Keep her hydrated, so Brienne does. Brienne waits until the maester is gone to tell Tormund, I always thought Talysanne would get sick first or often, as she does latch on my breast. Tormund shrugs and sits next to her. He takes her hand and says most of the children in this one village never latched they drank horse milk and were very healthy. I am sorry I can't do much. Brienne lowers her head. You did more for me than anyone during the two years. Because you refuse help. He joked kissed her and hand and they get up to care for Talysanne. Do you believe names have curses? Tormund asked suddenly. No, I pray no.

I literally fell asleep writing. Got so tired from the heat.

Jaime pov

figuring out how to see and hold Galladon, so he walks around their wings sometimes, the yards and throne room, when he finally gets the change it is by seeing a Galladon holding a wooden sword and fighting against a tree. Tormund is with him showing him which moves he can use. Jaime comments that the child is adorable to which Tormund replied he agrees. Tyrion appears and comes to watch the kid who then stops and smiles. Tormund tells them if you wanna touch him you can. Jaime gladly touches the kid, rubs his hair and asks if he can pick him up. They talk about children and how they should be raised and Tormund surprises them he has no kids, wanted to raise Galladon like a wildling, but Brienne doesn’t.

Brienne pov

She is caring for her sick daughter with the maester. She had sent Galladon away with Tormund. She knew she should have not brought the twins at barely one years old. She sighs and weeps when suddenly her other baby cries and the servant quickly soothes her. Brienne goes to her daughter and asks what is wrong. She tells the servants to care for the sick one and leaves with her daughter then meets Genna outside by the stairs. She asks if she can walk with her. She agrees reluctantly and they talk about her daughter and asks how it came to be she has twins in a sly way which Brienne says are a husband and wife not supposed to fuck. Genna laughs walks after her and says I just thought he had the decency to know about his child. Why keep it a secret? Why have another set of children when you could be lady of the rock and live happy. Brienne turns and says hurt why does everyone assume I am unhappy in my marriage? Brienne walked up when she saw Jaime holding Galladon in the air. They looked a like and panic soured to her. Galladon was truly a fierce lion reborn. Slowly more familiar faces came into view and Brienne felt awful. This could have been Jaime’s life, him as a father, but here I am no good as Cersei depriving my love of his child. His only heir. Genna and Brienne stepped into the circle. Brienne walked to Tormund side and gave him a nasty look which got a wide eye response from him. “Mama, hold me mama.” Galladon says and Brienne gave little Tarianne to Tormund and took Galladon from a sulking Jaime. “Does Galladon not like me?” Jaime teased the child. “I like being in mama’s arms, people must look up to me when I am in my mama’s arms, like the little lord I am.” That made everyone laugh and Genna whispered to Jaime “just like Tywin.” “When was he born?” “August 6th.” Tormund answered. “Oh my, my brother was born in august.” Genna replied delighted. “He should have been named Tywin.” There came some laughter, little awkward. Tarianne fussed and giggled, she pulled her fathers beard and giggled louder. Tormund asked if she was sleeping earlier? No, her nanny was playing with her. Tormund leaned closer and Brienne listened ignoring the others for a moment then smiled. I agree, you can. King Bran said “His name day will be in a 3 months. Will you celebrate big and invite us?” “Of course, we’ll be north by that time, your majesty.” Tormund said. “It’s been planned since the twins birth.” Brienne nodded. “Only if Talysanne feels better will we travel. For now we can only wait.” “She is a strong girl, she’ll be fine.” Sansa reassured. “I trust the maesters will help as best they can.” “Tsk, a wildling can cure children illnesses better.” “Not again.” Brienne replied. “Later we can argue all you want.” “Tsk tsk tsk, it’s not arguing when my advice can have our girl healed quickly.” Brienne looked away. “The maesters won’t fail us, Tormund.” “Indeed, I have the best maesters in the castle right now. All of them are looking over your daughter now.”

The group goes to eat their last meal of the day together. Brienne and Tormund head to bed and talk about their day then daughter. She gives him a smile then leaves for her chambers. Tormund goes to his. Brienne lies awake for an hour Pickering about her daughter then sits by her bed and ask servants to watch her well.

Jaime pov

Okay so Jaime thinks up ways to see Brienne alone and the perfect opportunity arrives when Tormund is busy with hears of Arya sailing here. Tormund leaves with Sansa to the harbour. Jaime, Tyrion and Brienne talk about the peace and being lords. Galladon is playing with a sword. He calls his mother to look at him often. Podrick joins them too and they start reminiscing about the past fondly. The past and future were good. Podrick is like I am glad you got to fulfill your wish. Jaime agrees and reaches for her hand and says he never meant to hurt her. Galladon shouts and walks up the group and berates them for not watching him beat his opponent. Brienne pulls her hand away. Jaime asked if Galladon if he saw his mother fight often and he says she doesn’t beat anyone. To which Jaime says I beat her many times. Galladon says proof it. Brienne smiles says I stopped holding back since Galladons birth. Tyrion comments with laughter and Podrick says you were a strong force before! They spar and sparks fly. Jaime is sure she still likes him and asks for just one conversation in private. Brienne refuses, takes Galladon and excuses herself. The twins need her. Brienne’s heart races. The journey was a bad idea. She checks on the twins, sits with them for hours then goes to eat supper. She hears Tormund’s voice booming and meets the Starks. They exchange pleasantries. Arya says she wants to see the babies. She can’t believe they never said anything about babies. The women go to her room and meet the children. They ask her point blank why she hasn’t even invited them for the twins, why the secrets and Brienne blushed says I forgot. Tormund wanted to say something but left it to me and I just forgot. Raising children is heard, even with help! Later that night Tormund sits on her bed and they talk about how big Arya became and he starts commenting about Galladon future, saying he won’t mind where the child goes and suddenly says if you wanna divorce me I won’t mind. This makes Brienne’s smile falter and she remains quiet. Tormund says Brienne? Again, again, then stops asking. He gets up and bids her goodnight and leaves. The next day Brienne breaks her fast with Galladon says little Tarianne is still sick and she does not get why. She never dealt with sickness like this. Usually it takes a few days to break. Sansa comforts her. When Tormund walks in she stiffens looks away, but he just comes to her side greets everyone nicely and takes a happy Galladon shrieking for his father. He says the boy should finish his meal with his father. Sansa says he is making things up to spend more time with Galladon and Brienne says you should him at home with Galladon. A spoiled brat of a father. Jaime strolls in with a fuming Genna and they see Galladon. Genna greets the boy quickly while Jaime greets everyone then Brienne, Sansa, Tormund and Galladon. He asks about the sick girl and they both say it’s not going as well as they hope.

NOW HOW DO I GeT JAIME AND BRIENNE TOGETHA?

Why is Genna angry? Genna invites Brienne to teatime with Sansa, and Arya in the garden at ten am. Brienne agrees against better judgement. The teatime goes. Jaime watches from a far for a moment trying to listen but gives up and goes to look for Tyrion and asked what he thinks of everything happening right now. The child that should be his heir and future lord of the house. Tyrion says he knew she had a child, but no one but people on Tarth saw him. They called him the sun's son, but that was all. They boy was not his to claim and you, Jaime were so sad about your love's death, your children's death, the broken heart from leaving Brienne, I could not go and talk to you about rumours. I could not go barge into Tarth demand to see the child, hidden away from everyone, even King Bran, Queen Sansa and Jon snow. What rights did I have? What rights do I have now when he has a father. Jaime groans. He should be calling me papa, Tyrion, He should come to me for sword advice, be in my arms and demand the lords bow to him, make stupid idioms of lions being brave. I have nothing now. Tyrion laughs. You choice nothing, Jaime. You choose nothing for two years. Jaime groaned he had no choice in choosing. It was the baby in Cersei or the woman he loved who could have been killed. Could have could have been. There was a different presence now.

Brienne pov

Genna jumps Brienne with the why's and how she deprived the small child of a very amazing title, he would be the future lord of casterly rock. Brienne scoffs, so I should have carried the tittle Kingslayers whore and bastard mother for two years? Genna says not what I meant. You could have told Sansa or me about the pregnancy and I would have definitely gotten you out of the war, brought you to casterly rock and a lady, Jaime's fiance. For so long we waited for Jaime's marriage. I can see how your eyes drift to him. You still love him, so why do you torture yourself and your son. Brienne does not reply. Sansa said I heard rumours your marriage with Tormund was bad, but seeing you two interact I see something differnet. Brienne are you truly happy? Brienne looked over to the flowers and still remains quiet. Genna scoffs. You will age horribly if you keep all your emotions pent up inside you. At least share with me why you are stealing Galladon's future? Brienne looks back. I am stealing nothing. Nothing was offered duting my pregnancy. I want for nothing. although Tartth is not rich, it has done well for nearly three years, Galladon is the future evenstar, lord of Tarth and ship guide for every ship that sails. He is happy and I am happy. Tormund is trying. He adapted and I should not talk about my husband behind his back. What can you or Jaime offer that I do not already have? Nothing, lady Genna. Lady Sansa, forgive me for not keeping you updated as I promised, but I was scared someone would intercept the letters and tell Tyrion of Galladon's birth, of when he was born. I have grown so accustomed to privacy I forgot sharing news of my twins. Tormund wanted to travel to winterfell earlier, but I hesitated, until the summons for a tourney. We will visit your wonderful kingdom later this year. Genna frowns is there nothing that will make you change your mind? Brienne shakes her head and remained quiet.

Later that night Brienne pressed onto her fingers onto hard flesh, rubbed a line down till she touched his upper elbow. "In your culture this is erotic, is it not?"

Tormund nods. "It is, my lady. Mayhaps, you should not touch unless you are wanting a match?"

"You've never won against me, my lord." Brienne replied.

They talk about their day and she confesses that Jaime is a problem in her heart and Tormund again offers a divorce, but say I will say no the first time. I don't want to letyou go, but I want you happy. Brienne gets annoyed, she can't pretend to be asleep and says I will not abandon our family like Jaime abandoned me. To which Tormund whispers brokenly It is only me, the twins I can visit, can I not?

Brienne gets out of bed. Checks the twins and stays there. Tormund groaned and keeps his eyes shut.

Jaime pov

Jaime says it would be nice if there were no other kids and she could easily divorce the her husband, then with no problem I could make her my wife. Tyrion agrees it would be nice, the young boy is too much as a lion to be growing up under a brute Northman. Jaime is not classist, he's just jealous. When he hears the child is still sick he wonders if it is his negativre thoughts that manifested the sickness so he shuts up.

It's been nine days since the tourney. The child is still somewhat sick, therefore Jaime rarely sees Brienne with Galladon. He was sitting wiith Tyrion on a balcony overlooking the western garden when he saw Brienne walking out of the building holding a baby. A baby. Tyrion says ah, that must be Tarianne She stands in the sun with the child. Galladon walking behind holding her dress and speaking. They stand for a long time soaking the sun. Jaime says she might never give this up for me. Tyrion thinks the humans are strange and will do anything for love, maybe like you she can break their marriage oath, what is a man who worships the old gods?

He meets Brienne by chance in the hallway, she is staning by a window, taking in the view and sighing. Jaime comes by her side and asks if they can talk, so they do. Jaime walks with Brienne to her room and they talk about sword styles, fighitng, his hand and how it is to be a lord. She suddenly smiles proudly that tarth is doing great. He goes in, she continues talking when the door closes and Jaime and Brienne look at each other in shock. "Ah, it is not what I wanted, Entering your chambers without permission is not what I wanted."

They kiss by sheer attraction, fiercely and Jaime sees how she becomes red, tells him to go and Tarianne is still sick. Jaime goes, hoping no one saw him. The attractoin is there, so it might work. They might fight against their feelings, but attraction, desire and pure human emotions can't keep them apart.

Brienne pov

She tells Tormund about how Jaime and her kissed and he looked at her completely taken back and then he laughs saying ain't nothing he did not expect and Brienne is offended. He says he was wondering why his room and hers were seperated. It was not like other stormland nobles had seperate rooms, some shared one chamber and them knowing they were married should have given them the same room and he wonders if maybe someone is hoping she goes back to Jaime. If she wants Jaime then he is fine with her, it might be the insecurity talking but Brienne I don't mind much, I want you happy and Brienne gets so angry at him. She says stop trying to save me, Tormund. Stop assuming I still need savng from my emotions, from the craven me I was two years ago. I won't do anything to horrible to Galladon, to our twins or you. Tormund stands holds her hand and says I am not saving you, I am offering you a choice, one that was not given to you two years ago./ I assume he regrets it. I assume by the looks that he throws your way that he regrets everything, that it is eating him up and I know hi-

And me, Tormund? Where do I falll in your speech of choice?

I am getting there. I know his name is still on your lips as you say your prayers to the seven. Brienne, Gods my lovely Brienne, all I desire is your happiness, your true happiness and I think i can only achieve seeing you happy with Jaime. He would raise the twins as his own, just like I would. You could always send them my way.

You and him are both fucking selfish bastards. Sleep in your own bed, Tormund, I want you far away.

Tormund said he doesn't want to, but he will. He leaves.

Brienne angrily cries and is sure everything is this stupid castle fault. She chekcs on her kids sees them still sleeping and goes too bed.

There comes good news the maeter says the girl is doing good and the sun has done her good, some color in her skin. Brienne is glad, she enjoys silence in the gardens with the three kds and the nanny, when sansa strolls up with Tyruin and they talk. Arya is sparring with some knights in the yard and beating them. Tyrion and Sansa say they can take Galladon to watch but she says no. Do not take my son anywhere. Sansa is taken back the vicicousness and asks if she is okay and Brienne is like sorry, Galladon do you want to go see them spar? She takes his hand and carries her daughter to the yeards where they watch in the shade. She sees Jaime sparring too and it brings fond memories back. God, never deprive yourself of a person when they feelings were hatred, you will focus to much on it and when you see them again it is love. Jaime stops walks over and greets Galladon with smiles and asks if he wants to fight too. Brienne says stop asking him to fight.

Galladon agrees and plays with Jaime and Brienne grows annoyed by everything. how stupid, make it obvious I carried a bastard and pawned him off to another man. She turns to the septa and whispers for her to take the twins. THe septa does and she calls Galladon back. Offers him a toy and leaves, Jaime follows and says he will be leaving two days later, escorting Genna back and he needs to do some lordship things. When are you leacing? When mt daughter feels good. I think when the weather is good.

Jaime nods and leaves her be talks to Tyrion.

Jaime pov

Jaime prepares for his leave, escorts Genna halfway, meets his advisor and tells him his words, signs a letter and goes back to the castle with high hopes. Foolishly high hopes.

When he arrives it is Sansa and Tyrion waiting for him. They bring him somewhere quiet and tell him the child Tarianne passed away, so he must keep his words less and watch what he says./ Brienne is mourning and Tormund is in a foul mood terrorizing the squires in the yard. They are waiting for John. They go back to the gates and see John approaching. He hugs everyone and they tell him what happened. Jaime asked if Tyrion did anything or someone poisoned the kid, but no none of that. Children fall ill then grow sick fairly quickly. Brienne and Tormund are arguing in their room when they knock and he hears them talking about how the funeral should proceed. Sansa says Brienne wants the burned in Tarth, while Tormund wants her buried in the north with his ancestors. Sansa knocked and they crowded in. Tormund leaned against the wall near the window and Brienne was standing holding a necklace in her hand, she rubbed the bead of the necklace and asked what they wanted.

They noticed Bran in the room with a solemn smile. He said he came with an option for them, but they are arguing so much he barely had time to say his piece. something like that.

They give their condolences. Bran whispered to John they agreed to let me adopt Tarianne as my daughter and have her buried here, but are fighting for no other reason than throwing the blame at someone.

Brienne pov

The funeral happens and Brienne is crying in Tormund's embrace and he has tears tolling down his face. Galladon is talking to Bran. Talysanne is asleep i her septa's hands.

Okay where should I go with this story now? Hhmm maybe a sweet moment of Brienne crying to Jaime and telling him how much she missed him in a moment of weakness.

how she would have dropped everything for him. She tells him she hated leaving Galladon alone, hated leaving him with Tormund too, it was when he was sick and cared for him, brought Ygritte a witch that helped remove the slime out of his throat that she felt she could trust Tormund. here Jaime is giving me sweet words, telling me of a future that could have been. Everything could have been, Jaime. You could have died many times, been a father many times, I am sure you would, but no, you aren't because of choices. I am a mother of three. All three were unplanned, but I kept them because I wanted to be a mother, I wanted to give them a chance and see myself happy as a mother, show my dad his heir. Did you ever see me as your wife, Jaime?

I did I saw you as my wife many times, beofre I knew of the baby and I hated how I left you alone, i was a coward, thinking hightly of myself, thinking there was only one way to protect you. Clearly there were more ways, options, but I was a fool. gods, Brienne how can I rectify my mistake? How can I get you and your children back in my life? I don’t know, Jaime. I don’t know. she gets up from her seat next to him, wipes her tears and leaves.

John pov.

John is with Tormund sitting on the balcony overlooking the city. He sighs and holds Talysanne carefully and looked over at John sulking. “will you stop being so sad, John?”

”I can’t help it. The first time I hear and meet my niece is when she is being buried. I am sorry, I was insensitive.”

”no, I understand. I get… my god I should have never waited to tell you or any stark. Even my brothers do not know about my children.”

”why?”

”I saw the fear in her eyes during Galladon’s growth. BRIENNE was paranoid, someone was out to get Galladon, yank him away from her and it was a fear coming from Jaime demanding the son he did not know about. You think she will leave me?”

”no. Should BRIENNE?”

”God, no. I ask, because I told her two times she can.”

”Talysanne?”

”Gods, I am unsure. I see her sad eyes and just want to see them turn bright once more. I am in love, John. So foolishly in love I would let my love choose hers, just so I can see her happiness. She called me selfish. A pig and fool.”

I really think killing Tormund is weak so prepare for a separation so cruel you will hate me for it.

Brienne pov

Brienne smiled at her reflection in the mirror, she was practicing for when she met the others. It's the second day after the funeral. She was sitting in her room, tear stained. Big muscular hands wrapped around her shoulders and she felt a kiss on her cheek. Tormund's beard tickled her and she made a comment of it. "How are you feeling, my lady? Don't answer. I wanted us to eat supper on the beach, but when I went to see what the beach is like here I was agash by the filthy smell, so no beach for us. I told the staff to prepare supper on a boat. But that would take to long and we'd grow hingry."

"How sweet of you, Tormund. I pray you have not let our food become cold by planning."

"I have!" He turned her towards him, kissed her on the lips, then said. "I hope you don't mind it's just the two of us."

"Who will care for our children? Surely you can't expect to leave them alone?"

"I asked John if he'd not mind."

Tormund brought Brienne to the gardens where they would eat their supper. It was lovely and he stood while she sat, kissed her hand, said how he loves her, enjoys her, wants her to be happy and more. He makes mention that Galladon and Talysanne will become fine nobles, because of his teaching.

Brienne squezes his hand and says you are leaving me. I know you are, so say it, instead of talking about love!

#Tragedy #romance tragedy #brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #jaime x brienne #Jaime x Brienne fanfic #Marriages #Forced marriage #bastard child #Brienne is a mother #Draft for a story

5 notes · View notes

magnificenteggsfarmpeanut · 11 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 5)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 4, Part 6

summary: You deal with the aftermath of last night. Lyla has a party.

warnings: very suggestive. mentions of sex, vulgar language, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this is so so so self indulgent i cannot express it enough. probably ooc asf: you've been warned.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 8.5k (i'm on a strict plan and had a lot to get through lmfao)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

and they were good.

Eventually, you're bundled into your room in a fit of giggles and with shaky legs. Even in Miguel's hoodie, insisted upon by the man himself, the sheets feel a little colder after he leaves. Initially, he had collapsed on top of you; smothering you with the heat of his bare skin and the sweats that ride down his hips, dangerously low. You're pushing him off, or trying to, heavy and leaden-limbed. Whether it's the weight of that orgasm or the remnants of that blunt that turns your arms to jelly – you don't know.

Honestly, you don't think you care. He's resorted to laying his head on your chest in mock sleep – clearly still high as fuck – and stretching out on top like a housecat. He's warm on your lap; so you bring a hand to card through dark brown curls that rest on the flat of your sternum.

You'd never have known it: Miguel has a playful side, beneath all the sarcasm and red tape.

In the morning, he's gone - with only his hoodie as proof that something happened. For you, it's a hazy memory - warmth tinged in the lazy light of last night's high. It comes and goes like the tide on a quiet beach: remembering how he touched you, the feel of bare skin on bare skin, the way it burned when he kissed your shoulder….

And it's gone, again. You're left tracing the hickey at the base of your neck, and it aches . A little moment like that, fooling around like teenagers on prom night, and it shouldn't feel as intimate as it does. Groaning into your pillow, you burrow into the expanse of your roommate's hoodie. With a busy week incoming, you can't afford to be distracted – not like this.

And so, you bury the urge to knock on Miguel's door, and put your lips around the words that mean… more. You want more. It feels greedy to verbalise it, as if you've seen too much of him already. The irony; humping almost fully clothed and yet, feeling so bare. It leaves a strange taste in your mouth – blood, maybe. Maybe he's finally done it: stuck the knife between ribs to find out what colour you bleed. Miguel's a scientist after all; prone to making things go pop and snap , slicing into specimens with a steady hand.

It's too much, too close for comfort and you can't afford it: affection and intimacy in any shape or size was a fatal wound , especially after last time. Instead, you let the morning waves crash over its outline left in sand. A body – blood and gristle and guts – washed away by the tide.

You find yourself pushing down dangerous feelings. After finally getting comfortable with Miguel, all that progress seems for naught; bumbling around the apartment like a deer finding its legs. The first morning, you're spared a confrontation as he's already gone from the apartment. Earlier than usual, and you hand-wave away that little voice in your head that says: he's avoiding you .

He's not. He can't be. And you know it because he's able to look you in the eye. Briefly, but it's much longer than you can last. You have a whole conversation when he comes home and it only makes you want to rip out your eyeballs a little.

You're on the sofa, hands in your lap and antsy. There's a stupid soap on the TV, but you can barely concentrate; head too full of cotton to make sense of the screen. You're so lost in thought that when the door clicks open, you jump half a foot into the air.

"Shit." You turn, watching Miguel kick his shoes off at the door. Flashing him a nervous smile, you wave limply and turn around to cringe.

"Heeey," God. You burrow into the cushions.

"Hey." He's got a plastic bag in hand. He drops the rucksack on his back, and goes straight to the kitchen.

You call out. "Takeout's in the fridge."

He hums, and you hear clattering from the doorway. Turning, you watch; sleeves rolled up in a smart shirt. You can see the muscles in his back from here; the ripple of hard lines under cotton. Craning your head, you can't help but be curious.

"Stop sticking your nose in."

You're halfway off the couch, and stop dead in your tracks.

"M'not-"

He peeks out from the doorframe; catching you in the act.

"You're not allowed to look."

It leaves you spluttering, getting off the sofa like a spoilt child. He's telling you not to look, and like clockwork you're itching for it; padding towards the counters. Miguel must have superpowers the way he catches you, leant against the doorframe with his arms crossed across his broad chest. You're on your tiptoes and trying to get a glimpse into the kitchen. He shifts in the way, tight-lipped and shaking his head.

"Meant it. It's a surprise." You cock your head, like you can't believe what he's saying.

You step to the other side and he steps along with you, blocking your view.

"... Miguel ." You say it slowly, incredulous. You're stepping closer, ever so slightly, but he stays stony-faced and resolute.

For the first time in 24 hours, since you basically fucked him in the room next door, you're looking each other in the eye. Squinting, you hold his gaze but he barely cracks a smile.

"Sit down." He says it sternly, but his voice is soft. "Please."

With a flourish, you bring your hands up in surrender and inch back towards the couch. It's the usual chopping and thudding of cabinets being opened and closed. It takes everything not to look back, but you force yourself to concentrate on the TV.

Finally, he places a bowl in front of you before flopping to your side. He's still in his work clothes, adjusting the waistband of black slacks and popping off the buttons at the top of his shirt. You're trying not to stare, not to drool at the way he just melts ; sinking into the seats like a lolly on a hot sidewalk. When he brings his bowl closer, that's when you inspect the contents of yours.

"Is this…?" You start, and he hums; taking a healthy slurp of noodles in the process.

You shake your head to no one in particular. It's the very same instant ramen you've stopped buying, after constant complaints and lectures from the man himself. There's enough salt in here to banish a demon, he'd spit. In retaliation you'd bite back, saying, maybe you'll fuck off where you came from, and retreat to your room to eat in peace. It's your favourite flavour; perfectly salty and flavourful and definitely not good for you. In the broth, there's the milky white and yellow of an egg, with spring onions and fresh veg breaking the surface. Even before you've taken a bite, you feel that warmth at your chest, again.

He doesn't even look at you, pointing a finger at the screen instead.

"I thought Jenny was dead?"

You clear your throat of that lump, rising up like a fishing boat spit up by the waves.

"That was her twin sister, Jane."

"...I thought Jane was dead." He frowns.

"No, no, Jane faked her death in the mining accident; and ran off with all that inheritance money… were you paying attention last episode?"

"No, you watched it without me."

"Yeah, but you said you hated this show–"

" –only because it's a total rip-off of La Patrona ,"

"And yet, you're begging me not to watch without you–"

"Begging seems a little strong–"

He's kept his sharp tongue, and you're too occupied with arguing to notice the hand wrapped around the back of the sofa; how you're both inching closer until your legs come to rest on his own. You're focusing on his lips, drawn in by a pull that seems stronger than gravity.

He's saying your name, and you snap out of it. Blinking up at him, a deer in headlights, you remember yourself and look away. Tension pulls at the both of you, a string as thin as fishing wire that snaps with your realisation. You like the way he looks, flushed and flustered after a long day. You could make him feel even better, right now, if he wanted it. You'd drop to your knees and wrap a hand around his cock, pulling those beautiful sounds out of him – the very same ones you'd fucked yourself to the thought of, not so long ago.

If, being the key word. And with the way he shifts back, away from you, you're not too sure if last night was a flash in the pan or something more.

Everything about Miguel screams dangerous; flags in deep scarlet that are telling you to stay the fuck away. He doesn't commit, sleeps around; refusing to define or put a label on any significant relationship in his life. He won't even admit, say the words, that he's fucking a half-dozen girls right now; even when you've got concrete proof in the form of messy lips and banging on the walls. Okay, maybe half a dozen is a stretch; but three girls, on three separate, multiple, occasions for sure. Probably; you haven't technically seen anything but if the precision of last night was any indicator – the terrifying speed at which he made you fold like a lawn chair – he had significant experience. He was a fucking veteran; dedicated to the sport for the love of the game.

You find yourself caught in his web all the same; kicking yourself at your naivete. He's turned away now, seemingly unfazed, making little comments at the show you've got on TV. It's becoming increasingly clear where you stand: caught in a game of chicken with your roommate – a man with balls of steel, if last night was any indicator. You're ill equipped to deal with such levels of conflict avoidance, despite years of hands on experience.

The question remains, stuck in the gaps of your teeth like udon, thick and dense and chewy: how exactly does he feel about you? Where do you belong?

~~~

It's been quite the week and a half, mostly spent trying to make sense of Miguel. One minute you're at each other's throats, and the next, he's talking you through rate laws and kinetics equations. Apparently , you've got a lecturer he used to have, and he insists on sidling up to you on the dining table; prodding at your paper and liberally crossing out errors. His inconsistency has you irate ; and it means you get petty, picking fights and laying easy bait. Frustratingly enough, all it does is make that tension worse; thick and choking ; in your little apartment.

The only thing you have to look forward to is the party at Lyla's; of which you've volunteered to help set up. It means food, and drink, and a couple hours of respite, hopefully.

On the day, you get to Lyla's early. Miguel's at work, promising to be there in a couple of hours, and so you take the subway instead. Yet again, walking up to her apartment feels like another world – one of marble and faux fur and lots of animal print. When she lets you up, you're left with only your thoughts and the quiet hum of the elevator. In the mirrored wall, you take stock of your outfit: snug denim and a little shirt. Admittedly, your wardrobe felt a little lacking – jeans and a nice top being your go to. Right now, your only hope is that the dress code would be more forgiving.

The door swings open and Lyla's pushing you towards the living room, chattering away at a mile a minute. It's overwhelming as you're dragged into the light, half a dozen boxes and its miscellaneous contents strewn onto the floor.

"–and Jess has the nose of a bloodhound, so if anything seems even a little off, she'll know… "

You nod slowly as Lyla squeezes your arm with so much force, it cuts off blood supply.

"Like clockwork. We need this to run like clockwork."

Fingers numb, you watch as her features set; a wide smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and shadow that cuts her face just so. Overcast and dramatic; simply put, it's terrifying.

There's a loud Pop! from behind, making you jump.

"... sorry !" Peter's voice rings out, and there’s a tangle of brown hair and dark eyes peeking over the kitchen island.

Walking over, you can see he's splayed out on the tiles, balloons littered all over the place. A balloon pump, long discarded, sits in its packet at barely an arm's length. More importantly, though, he's got a bundle of red hair and freckles in his arms; little May, sniffling and whining with what's left of a balloon between chubby fingers.

"Might need some help, over here…" He says it softly, rocking the little girl in his lap.

Lyla rolls up non-existent sleeves, face scrunched up in concentration. She closes her eyes ; fingers dancing as if typing on non-existent keys.

"...okay, okay, change of plans." She turns to you, eyes wrenched open and hands clasped together – Machievellian in nature. You suppose; with the sheer extent of her party planning skills, able to pull strings this way and that; it fits. "We've got exactly 3 hours and 23 minutes before everyone else arrives, plus about 17 minutes, give or take, before Jess does."

"How do you kno-" You start, but Peter presses a finger to his lips. She's in the zone, he seems to mouth.

“I need you and Pete to get these balloons done, and then we can set up the archway. I’ll call Ben, ask him where the fuck he is, and then we’ll see if we can get some banners and streamers up…. God , and the food…. think I need to threaten someone at the catering company, give me a sec,” She stalks off, muttering something that sounds important. Pete shrugs, kicking over a box of balloons; black, white and gold, a lot fancier than you had expected. May is eased off of his lap, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She sniffles, holding her head up bravely. It's probably the cutest thing you’ve seen all year.

“I give her 5 minutes before she realises Miguel’s going to be late.”

“...and God help us when she does.” You finish for him, settling down on the cool marble.

You make a start on the balloons, opening the untouched packets and pulling out a shiny pump.

“How long have you known each other?” You busy your hands by stretching the neck of a deceptively small balloon.

“Oh, Lyla?” He frowns. “A couple of years, maybe. We met because of Miguel – same with Jess and Ben, actually.”

It's your turn to frown. Miguel was the glue? It’s a picture that doesn’t quite match up with the meet-cute that you were painting in your head. If they met because of your roommate, it must’ve been a contentious group project, or someone rear-ended in the parking lot, that brought them together: something with a lot of shouting and arguing, you decide.

Maybe Pete sees the surprise on your face, because he adds, “I’ve known Miguel for longer, though… and he’s a lot nicer than people give him credit for.”

“...I didn’t say he wasn’t.” Nice? Not a chance.

“But you were thinking it. Promise, once you get to know him–”

He’ll give you a mind-numbing orgasm and pretend it never happened. Or something like that.

“ –he gets less confusing?” You grumble. “I’ve seen enough, I think.”

“So maybe he’s a bit of a prick. But under that cold, stony exterior; buried deep, deep, deep…”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Deep down , somewhere, he’s got a heart.”

“I just,” You pause, choosing your next words more delicately. “I didn’t expect his friends to be like you guys. Fun and–” …a little batshit, and… “ – spontaneous. He’s so stoic sometimes, it’s worrying. Like, he’ll just blank out on the couch–”

“–frowning in the corner like the wall’s pissed him off personally? Yeah, I’ve seen that one a few times.”

“He’s just so hot and cold! Sometimes we’re good and almost friendly, and then all of a sudden he’s avoiding me at all costs, holed up somewhere. A-And then he’s making me breakfast, like that blip didn’t even happen… did I do something wrong? Has he said anything to you? I-I just want him to–”

The man besides you chuckles. And then, you flash him a violent look that has him flattening his features in a hurry.

“He just… takes some time to warm up, s’all. He’s changed – changing. I mean, we went to highschool together and I didn’t even realise ‘til we met again in college.”

“You went to highschool with him?”

“Yeah, but I was like, 2 grades ahead of him. We didn’t really talk except… we were both in this robotics club afterschool.”

“Robotics? Wires, and circuit boards, and–”

“ –robots. Honest-to-God, hand-on-heart, stupid little robots. And being teenagers with way too much time on our hands, we’d build ‘em, and then make ‘em fight to the death. Miguel… he took it way more serious than everyone else there. We’d mess around with goobers and battlebots – hell, sometimes we’d skip to get food. He was.. He was always there, though, hunkered down in the corner and tinkering away at something.”

“Now, I wasn’t popular in highschool, at all – I went to Robotics Club , so I think that about sums it up – but I remember… no-one could really understand him. Top of his class, always up for awards, but people thought he was a little weird. Come rain or shine, he’d always be in that corner seat with a screwdriver basically glued to his hand. And we didn’t have a clue what he was building.”

He seems wistful, thinking back to that time.

“When I finally asked him what it was, at the end of maybe… 2 semesters,” He smiles, one that deepens his dimples and brushes the corners of his eyes. “He finally told us. It was a… a fucking arena for all the stupid stuff we built. He’d really thought it through, too: all our equipment would get jumbled up, so he made little boxes and sections to separate them in. There was an LED pad he’d programmed to keep a scoreboard. It was made out of this… self-healing vinyl so we wouldn’t need to replace it too often. He got so excited when he was explaining it all; about how it folded up so we could bring it with us when we changed classrooms, and… honestly, I think they still have it there.”

He sighs. “I think that’s all he knows how to do, y’know. That’s the language he speaks, the only one he really understands. Taking care of people, giving them what they need. You’re barely friends with Miguel, then all of a sudden he’s giving you hangover cures cooked up in his kitchen, and cussing you out in the morning, ‘cus you went a little too ham after a breakup. Or…he’s bringing pizza to your apartment at 3 in the morning, ‘cus he knew you were lying about being okay after your Uncle’s funeral.”

He’s got a faraway look in his eyes, an absentminded hand in May’s. Her stubby fingers curl around his, and then he’s back, snapped out of that distant daydream.

“Give it time. He’s been through some shit. Miguel’s got layers, like–”

“Like an onion?” You offer, weakly.

“No, no. Like one of those cheese wheel things that May likes so much. With.. with the wrapper and the waxy red stuff on the..?” He handwaves it away. “Forget it. MJ knows what they’re called.”

~~~

You put your back into helping set up. You don't quite get the theme, but Lyla explains it all whilst you hang the contents of those boxes on the wall: a maximalist, hedonistic mish-mash of food, drink and decor. She wants it to feel like if Gatsby three raves, and actually fucked that sad twink – whatever that means. The visual representation of an orgasm, but classy, she says. More, more, more; and if your back doesn't hurt by the end of it, then it's not enough.

She's got you hauling ass across her front room, draping fabric and moving furniture like it's your job. Ben arrives and between the four of you (five, if you include May clambering on decor), it's all done. You can't help but think she's done a great job: the whole room decked out to look like the cover of an expensive wedding in Vogue – excessive but in a way that's only classy when rich people hire someone else to do it. Lush fabric in lieu of streamers draped on the walls, balloons sculpted into arches and tastefully dotted around the floor. The theme is black and white, with hints of gold, and gentle strings of pearl hang from ceilings and walls. It looks good, because it has to; Lyla's made you move everything around about a million times.

Gleefully, she rubs her hands together, turning to all of you. "Food's going to be here in 10, I think. You guys get changed and I'll double check when Miguel's bringing the cake."

Peter and Ben disperse into various rooms – with Peter noticeably rubbing his back, May on his arm. You're left with Lyla, awkwardly looking towards her for guidance.

"...get changed?" You look down at your woefully casual outfit. It seems you've come completely unprepared.

"Yep. Miggy didn't tell you about the dress code?"

…it's becoming increasingly difficult to cut your roommate some slack. With everything that's happened, rather conveniently, he's neglected to make any mention of a dress code.

Sheepishly, you start, "I didn't know, shit –"

Lyla cuts you off and brings a hand up to silence you. Bouncing on her toes, she's almost giddy with excitement.

"I know exactly what you can wear!"

She leads you upstairs to her room. You perch on her bed; and whilst you grapple with the fact that she even has an upstairs, you lose her in the deep depths of a walk-in. Lyla rummages through almost cartoonishly; wading through fur and leather and giant coats like an explorer hacking through dense forest. Eventually, she resurfaces, waving a bundle of white fabric. She hands it to you with a grin.

She gives you some room, pushing you through the double doors of her closet to get changed. The dress feels amazing on: well-made, thick fabric and endlessly snug in all the right places. In the mirror, you marvel at how such a simple garment transforms you: a silky slip that stops about mid thigh, draped beautifully on your shoulders, and hugging your hips like a glove. There's a little slit at the side that stops just a bit higher than you'd usually be comfortable with, but… it works. Incidentally, your makeup and hair compliments the look; soft and pretty and–

You hear a small gasp from behind the door. Lyla's got her head peeking out into the room, and then she's at your side with a gentle hand on your arm. She spins you around in front of the mirror.

"You look…" Her eyes light up, marvelling at you. " Gorgeous. You have to keep it."

"No, I can't… I won't . I was already underdressed, and this must have been expensive. I can't."

"No shit, of course it was expensive. But that's not a good enough reason… I barely wear it, and I've got more than enough clothes. Keep it ." She's smiling, head just over your shoulder in the mirror.

"It's not too much…?"

"Honestly, babe, it's not enough." She giggles. "D'you like it?"

It feels weird to look at yourself like this, dolled up and pretty – contrasting how you've felt in the past few months. It feels like you've been in survival mode; exhausted and perpetually tired. On, all the time, and sick with worry about one thing or the other. You've forgotten to take care of yourself, and as a result, this feels different.

Lyla notices: the way you stand up a little straighter and adjust your hair; the way you try your hardest to clamp down a smile. Do you like it? Slowly but surely, you nod.

"You're allowed to like it, y'know," She says, softly. "You look happy. You look good. "

You believe it, when she says it. You let that feeling carry you down the stairs; one hand on the railing and Lyla babbling away with an arm looped around yours.

~~~

Miguel is late – really late .

He was meant to be at Lyla'a about an hour and a half ago, which means he's rushing to get the cake. For once, at least that goes smoothly; and he picks up a little red velvet affair, piped to perfection and with " Happy 27th, Jess!" written on its face. It keeps him company on the way to the party, sitting snug on the passenger's seat as he drives more carefully than before. He figures it's better to be safe than sorry; already this late, there's no need to add cake smasher to the list.

The day's been draining, and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed with his favourite podcast. He knows his friends like the back of his hand, and knows that when Lyla says a small celebration for Jess, just a house party ; what she means is going the whole 9 yards, an excess of food and drink and disgustingly expensive decor, all for the sake of a birthday. He's had a glimpse of the guest list, and recognises about half of the people there – Lyla's too friendly for her own good, he thinks. He'd tried to talk her out of it, knowing Jess would be more than up for a smaller dinner, but she had her mind set. And it's impressive, what she's no doubt managed to achieve in the past few weeks of meticulous planning.

Nevertheless, it's not something he has the energy for, right now. Work had been a slog; and he'd had a couple hours of lectures before a meeting with his thesis supervisor – where she had ripped his outline to shreds, frankly. He's still sore from that verbal lashing, but fears the one he'll get from Lyla more, if he doesn't come.

And… and there's you, headstrong and stubborn and insisting on attending; even though he had made it abundantly clear you were under no obligation to do so. It must be out of spite, he thinks. But with the dress code, he can't help but daydream as to what you'd look like; maybe, a pretty little dress on, hair done a bit different, and… ohhh fuck. He didn't tell you about the dress code.

He's gripping the steering wheel, annoyed at himself for such a little slip up. And it's not just the fact that he's forgotten; but he knows, considering the past few days, you might take it the wrong way. He's not stupid ; he knows he's been wishy-washy, all because it's hard to decide how he wants you or if he should. More than anything, he feels guilt; getting you high and oh-so close to fucking you, just the way you deserve, and then… he can't. It's hard to explain, and even harder for him to wrap his head around. That logical part of him screaming: you can't fuck your roommate without consequences. But he's already had a glance into Pandora's box, a taste of that sweet fruit – of temptation , strong and heady.

It's that taste left in his mouth, of something sweet, that lingers when he walks into the party. The door's open, but even from down the hallway he can feel it: the rattle and shake of pumping music. He squeezes himself in, dodging the mass of bodies packed into the main room. The lights are low, music loud and the celebration well underway. More than anything, he's hoping it's so busy he can just show his face for a bit, and then slip out.

He towers over other people, shuffling past, giving a nod or hello to all the people that slap his back and greet him. A scattered chorus of 'Hi' s and 'S'up, Miguel's, and then he's placing the cake on the counter, pushing past half-empty drinks and beer bottles. He snatches one up, looking around. He's watching for the furred collar that Lyla's no doubt wearing, or mousy brown in the neon lights; but with the pumping mass of bodies, he can't see much.

He's ready to check upstairs when the crowd parts, and he sees you ; swirling in the mass. It makes his chest bloom with heat; you're gorgeous, dressed in white like an angel and smiling in a way he's never seen before. And then, his heart stops as someone else comes into view: another man, somewhat taller than you. There's an arm wrapped around your waist, and the man dances up against you in a way that makes something cold and bitter flare up within him. Miguel stays glued to the spot, for some reason, unable to take his eyes off of you: illuminated in the light, beautiful and flowing like a spectre. And like nails on a chalkboard, all he can do is watch as you dance up against someone else.

His mouth goes dry, and then he's making a beeline for the double doors at the back; a glassy entrance to a balcony tucked away. The air is stifling in there, but when he's on the balcony, finally, he's able to breathe.

There's someone nursing a brightly coloured drink, in its corner. Jess, big hair braided back and a velvety red jumpsuit on. She turns at the clatter of the door opening, before bursting into a wide smile.

" Miguel!" She cheers, enveloping him in a hug.

"Hey," He smiles warmly, sinking into her arms. "Happy birthday, Jess."

"Thank you, kindly." She curtsies, producing a faux southern twang and laughing all the same. Then, she wags a finger at the man in front of her. "You're late . "

He rubs his temples. "I.. I know."

"Lyla's gonna fucking kill you. "

"I know."

She gives him a playful punch. "You okay, over there?"

He gives her a rueful smile. "Yeah, Jess. Of course. When am I ever not okay?"

"I've got a list, big guy, but we'll be here all day."

She laughs and Miguel glances over through the glass; drawn to you even now. The song's changed, a bass line that rattles the panes, and you're still glued to that guy . Just as quickly, he looks away.

With a front row view to that display, Jess raises an eyebrow. She follows his gaze, connecting the dots.

" Oh. " Her voice is gentle. "S'that her?"

" Her?" Miguel echoes.

" Her . Your roommate. The one Lyla says you're fucking."

"You and I both know– "

"Okay, okay, maybe she didn't say those exact words…. but there's something there, for sure."

"Not possible . " He says it plainly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She leans against the railing, taking a careful sip of her drink.

"Xina says you're doing stupid shit to impress her. Peter says you're making heart eyes whenever she's in the room. Ben says– "

"Xina? What's she got to do with anything?" He's deflecting, Jess notes. Miguel, usually so quick with the sarcasm, and he's refusing to touch the other half of what she said.

"...you're tutoring half of her classmates."

He purses his lips. "Yeah, but I didn't think –"

"...you didn't think girls would talk?" She splutters. Of course it sounds stupid, when she puts it like that.

"Yeah, well, Xina's still not talking to me , so…" He trails off, shaking his head.

"It's almost as if you broke her heart into a million tiny pieces, Mig." She rolls her eyes. "Get your head out of your ass, man."

She turns to face the city and Miguel does the same, with a heavy sigh. It's quiet for a moment, with only the sound of cars below and dull thrum of speakers behind to keep them company. He's always liked this, he thinks. A moment of calm with Jess, the only sane person for miles around. They're able to sit in comfortable silence, in a half-minute that transcends words.

He reaches into his front pocket, pulling out a little parcel that's wrapped up in red paper. He nudges Jess, handing the present over.

"Happy birthday."

She smiles, tearing into the little package. Then she stops halfway, heart melting at what peeks through.

" Miguel… " She coos, a hand on his arm to steady herself. Out of the packing paper, she produces two little boots; red and blue and made of soft wool. "How did you…?"

"It wasn't obvious, but… sick in the mornings, switching to soda when we go out to a bar…" He allows himself a smile. "And I asked what's-his-face, just to be sure."

"See, I can't tell if you actually don't know my husband's name or–" She cuts herself off with watery laughter. "F-Forget it. Fuck, I'm gonna cry all this makeup off,"

He takes a sharp intake of air. "They were… mamá made them."

"Thank you, oh God . I know how much this–"

He cuts her off with a hand wave, as if to say; don't worry about it. "Sorry I couldn't come to the wedding. Your husband seems nice, and he treats you well. Although , he's kind of–"

" Corny . Yeah, we get that a lot." She's half laughing, half crying, fanning her face to stop her mascara from running.

He wraps a big arm around her, pulling Jess into his side. Happy tears, he hopes as she blubbers.

"I think m'getting too old for this… we don't see each other enough, lately… a-and I would've been happy with the dinner, then Lyla told me there was an emergency over here–"

"She did good. Really good. Don't tell her I said that, though."

She nods, bringing a finger to her lips with a smile. "And you don't tell the other's about…"

"Of course not. When you're ready, Jess."

"I love you, man." She grins wide, and Miguel returns it with one of his own; an increasingly rare megawatt smile. It quickly falls with her next words.

"If you ever tell anyone I said that, I'll break your kneecaps and blame it on the hormones."

She grabs his beer, opening it with her teeth, and hands it back to him. A little scared, Miguel takes a healthy swig.

"Oh, shit. " Jess exclaims, batting his arm. "I completely forgot. Lyla's got some stupid games on, upstairs."

"Who with?"

"The usual suspects, Mig – though Peter's long gone and… I don't even know where Ben goes, actually. But you can bring your girlfriend up, if you promise not to eyefuck her across the room."

" Gross , Jess."

She raises a hand up in surrender, leading the way back inside.

~~~

Miguel's here all of a sudden, and in a moment you thought would be more of a bang ; you lock eyes with him as Jess herds you upstairs. It's less of a sharp pain at the ribs and more of a crescendo; pooling warmth spreading to fingers and toes. He's still in his work clothes: crisp white shirt with a couple buttons undone, and black trousers. A little formal, and yet, he doesn't feel out of place; wearing the monochrome of the dress code, and looking twice as good as any man in the room. Somehow, you've forgotten how tall he is; lumbering over everyone else as he cuts between the crowd. He snakes behind you, giving you a strange look as you walk up the stairs. All of a sudden, you're weary of your dress, tugging down its hem as best you can. Miguel stays behind you, a gentle hand at the small of your back.

"You're okay," He whispers, sending shivers down your spine. " I've got you ."

He doesn't mean it like that , but it's too easy for you to close your eyes and imagine what it could be; words he kissed into skin when you're on top, struggling to take his length.

You ignore that coil tightening at the pit of your stomach, choosing instead to focus on Lyla stumbling through the door, trademark pink shades slipping down her nose. Behind her, there's a little sitting room; plush furniture and a massive tv – with quite a few consoles in the corner, you note. She shouts your name, barely audible over the music.

" – oh, and hi, Miguel!" She's too drunk to be mad, and you don't notice Miguel visibly relaxing. She takes your hand, calling over to Jess just behind you. "We saved you a mocktail, J."

Taking your seat, you settle down next to Lyla; perching with your legs crossed on the seat. Miguel sits some way away, on the opposite side of your makeshift circle, clearly trying not to make eye contact. Jess elbows him, and he turns to her, before having a heated argument; all hushed whispers and hand gestures. It's the most animated he's been in the past week, for sure…

"We're playing Never Have I Ever, Jess! Like back in college."

The woman in question rolls her eyes, giving a flash of pretty dimple. Back in college, Lyla says, when they'd drink cheap beer and spill their guts in dive bars – a tradition Jess wasn't too upset to see go. She didn't have the stomach for it then, and she doesn't now; but it probably wouldn't hurt to relive some of that fun.

It's a warmup round, so to speak; a strong drink thrust into your hands. You take turns going around the circle, starting off relatively tame. First, it's Never have I ever skipped a class. Everyone, all college aged or older, drinks to that one. It's practically a given. And then someone chips in with Never have I ever broken a bone . Again, most people drink – taking advantage of the freebies to get a little tipsy.

It's Lyla that throws out the juicy ones, after a couple of duds.

" Never have I ever faked an orgasm." She says it from behind her glass, giggling.

Less people drink, this time. Sheepishly, you raise your glass, taking a healthy gulp. Lyla takes the opportunity to gasp, clutching at her chest and fanning her forehead dramatically.

You're whispering back, half laughing and half telling her off, "That's not that weird, Ly. Hasn't everyone…?"

"Not me. How's your partner meant to know it's shit if you fake it?"

It's her sincerity that makes you laugh; wide-eyed and completely incredulous. You're clamping down the giggles when you look around, immediately locking eyes with Miguel. He gives you an odd look, as if amused.

You're up next, and roll up metaphorical sleeves. "Never have I ever had a threesome. "

There's murmuring around the room, and a couple of people take a drink. Lyla does, with glee, and someone else you don't quite know the name of. What surprises you, however, is when Miguel takes a swig; eyes locked onto yours.

You feel heat rising, blinking away as best you can. You still feel his gaze, of course. That game of chicken, the one you've so desperately been trying to avoid, rears its ugly head. You think Miguel is winning.

The questions get more and more provocative. Never have I ever been pegged… or pegged someone else. Lyla drinks, Jess takes a gulp of her fruity mocktail…. and so does Miguel. Never have I ever been cheated on. Most people drink to this one, including yourself. A shitty teen relationship barely counts, you suppose; but you're taking every opportunity for a drink right now.

Never have I ever cheated on someone. One or two people drink, and at least they have the decency to be ashamed. When Miguel drinks, however, you shift in your seat. Something settles within you, discontent. Yet again, your image of the man in front of you changes. For someone who sleeps around, maybe it's not too much of a stretch for him to cheat ; but the word feels so final, too cruel. It doesn't match up, for some reason, with your Miguel, who brings you piping hot noodles and hot water bottles on a bad day.

This time, he doesn't meet your eye.

Lyla decides she's bored, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"New game – truth or dare!" There's faux groans from around the room. Lyla sticks a tongue out, ignoring them, and continues. "Jess, as the birthday girl… you get first pick."

Jess lights up, gorgeous , with the hoops at her ears swinging to and fro when she looks around. You haven't spoken much to her, but she seems like good fun; making a whole song and dance of picking the first victim.

It's obvious, in hindsight, who she'd pick. There's only one person in the room visibly squirming, almost sweating , at the idea of something so out of his control.

" Miguel," She says, turning to the man sinking into cushions. "Truth or dare?"

He gives her a look, and she combats it with one of her own; the kind that could melt steel beams, and says It's my birthday, don't be a dick.

" Dare ." He grits his teeth.

"I dare you," She pauses for dramatic effect. "...to show us your porn watch history."

Imperceptible, his eyes flash towards you. You notice , mouth dry. He groans. "We're not 19 anymore, Jess. It's childish. I'm a grown ass man–"

" Truth or Dare , Mig."

"Truth." It's quick – which is very reasonable, considering her tone.

"When was the last time you fucked someone?"

Everyone turns to Miguel. He's looking at you, of course, wincing at the words he's about to say.

"I don't…" He's swirling the beer bottle in his hand, and then he shrugs noncommittally. "I don't know. A… month, maybe."

" Bullshit!" Someone whisper-shouts, and then there's some laughter.

Jess' eyebrows jump up, and Miguel bats her concerns away, whispering something under his breath. You can't quite catch it but his body language is clear: don't ask. He downs the rest of his drink, lips around the bottle, as some liquid trails down the side of his jaw. You're watching, unrepentantly obvious, and he catches your gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he swipes a finger to the liquid and licks it up.

Heart racing, you force yourself to look away and try to concentrate on the next few dares. The circle seems to have moved on, more interested in whatever juicy shit they can drag up in the next poor victim.

You've all but zoned out when it's the turn of Jun, egged on by a couple of friends. You frown. He's that guy you were dancing with earlier, caught up in heady music and swirling lights. Jun is handsome, in that famous starlet kind of way; square-jawed, pretty eyes, and dark, cropped hair. Boy wonder is lean-lined with a nice smile; the very same that had reeled you in on the dancefloor. Maybe it's the liquor, but you think he's looking at you now; raking sharp eyes over your figure.

"How do you know him?" You whisper to Lyla.

She cups a hand to your ear, more than halfway to being absolutely wasted.

"Used t-to work with him. He's nice enough, I think…? There was a rumour around the office; and apparently, he's got a massive di-"

"Truth or dare?" Someone says.

"Dare. Obviously." He flashes a smile in your direction.

You squirm, and Lyla shines with realisation.

"Oh my God." She whispers, and then she's interrupting before you can stop her. "Makeout with the hottest girl in the room. A proper one, tongue and teeth and–"

You elbow her, square in the ribs. Thankfully, she takes the hint. Jun cocks his head, as if mulling it over. He gets up.

Your head spins with the drink, and you're concentrating on keeping your sneakers flat on the ground. Head down, you don't notice the man walking over. He crouches, tapping your knee.

"Oh." You say, blinking up at him. "Hi, again."

"Hi, again." He smiles. It's like you're the only two in the room, and with the way he looks at you, eyes darting to your lips… "Can I kiss you?"

The words get caught in your throat, so you nod, fumbling.

He places a hand to your chin, gently pushing you closer and then you're kissing; sweet and gentle. You separate, and you open your eyes to find his blown . You've got tunnel vision: his lips are pretty and wonderfully swollen – you just can't help it.

You go back in again, parting your lips to let him in. He's cradling your jaw, tracing a hand up your thigh and it feels good. Closing your eyes, you sink into the heady haze of booze, grabbing at his shoulders. They're not as broad as Miguel's, and Jun isn't as clean shaven. When you snake a hand to the nape of his neck; it's rougher than your roommate's hair, cropped into a boyish cut instead of Miguel's gentle curl. Sighing, you both come up for air, and you're almost disappointed at the distinct lack of red-brown blinking back at you.

Nails on a chalkboard, and you're back in the room. You look around to amused faces, catching Lyla wide-eyed besides you. Jun's cheeky, placing a quick peck to the side of your mouth before sitting down. From your vantage point, you're scared to look, to really look , in fear of what you'll see.

Miguel, in the corner, with a white hot grip on his beer bottle. Catching that stormy gaze, something just clicks. Something resembling power, absolutely intoxicating, that heady rush you got from kissing someone else. Or, more accurately, getting a reaction from your roommate. Notoriously unwavering, and yet … he reveals a gap in his armour. A silent swipe to the ribs that doesn't kill, but draws blood.

People are dispersing now, growing tired of the games. Lyla darts off; with the attention span of an excited pomeranian, and the excessive alcohol, she's already lost interest. You take a breather, sinking into plush cushions and catch Miguel's eye. In the commotion, he's tossing his beer and walking up to you, as if gearing up to say something.

Someone sits into the seat besides you: tall and handsome, but definitely not Miguel. It's Jun, who smells like fresh flowers and cut grass, nudging your side.

"You're good at that," He says, with a little smile.

"Good at what?" You say, confused.

"That kiss." He seems a little bashful, probably sobering up. "It was… good. "

"Not…" You're distracted, eyes flicking over to find Miguel. He's gone. "Not my best work, I think."

He stretches an arm around the back of the sofa, caging you in a little closer, and all you can do is blink up at him.

"....you want to try again?"

He's handsome. He's flirting . And he's present; able to give you clear signs that he wants you. It's more than a certain someone can provide, and you're left with a deep-seated need that no-one else seems to be able to fulfill. Four words ring out in your head, clanging around like pinball. You. Might. Get. Laid.

It's enough to have you leaning up against Jun, a hand tracing circles in his thigh and fluttering your lashes as best you can. Hopefully it's a look that's says seductive, and not pink-eye. This far into the night, you don't quite have the energy to care.

Heavy petting and drunk giggling; you spend God knows how long in that little room, whispering stupid shit to each other. You introduce yourself, and so does he. A brief overview of your life; and you find yourself desperately trying to skip the small talk. Jun works with computers. You're a student. Jun is very good with his hands. You're a visual learner. Everything seems to fall into place.

Soon enough, you're swapping numbers and leading him out the door to somewhere more private . His apartment ; you find yourself hoping, as you make your way downstairs.

He's draping a jacket on your shoulders, and you wade through the crowd. The lights are spinning a little less, you find, holding onto Jun's palm. In that great big room; people packed in like black and white sardines; all you're looking for is something to tether yourself to – or someone. Relationships, you've learnt, were overrated. You're young, and single, and gorgeous ; able to bag whoever you want. And what do you want? A hookup, clearly; something simple and uncomplicated, without the mess of feelings to untangle yourself from in the morning.

There's a commotion from a corner of the room, and Jun pulls you back; craning his head to see. A jumble of people, crowded around the epicentre. He nods towards the bustle.

"Isn't that Miguel?" He shouts over the bass, and your eyes widen.

You push past, trying to get a better look. Flashing lights, pumping music. In the red and blue and black, he's there ; hand wiping a bloodied nose. He's saying something; and a couple of guys surround Miguel, giving rough shoves and shouting something you can't hear. Someone throws a punch and he takes it, barely shifting at the continuous blows.

It's a sobering sight, and you're worried; looking left and right at the onslaught of bystanders.

"Why isn't he fighting back ?" You say, barely audible. No-one's doing anything but watching; one or two even pulling their phones out to record. The sight makes you sick, and you're shouting his name, trying to get closer. Like a gunshot, sudden and sharp and cutting through the noise, he locks eyes with you. His eyes dark, with that same look he gave you not too long ago.

Another cruel kick, and he's down on one knee, clutching at his stomach. You notice the broken glass, the blood in his shirt. He's goading them, and still , he refuses to fight back. 250 pounds soaking wet and at least 6"5; he's a fucking killer – and everyone knows it. Why won't he fight back?

There's a pounding at your skull, and something deep and dark and complicated that twists around your insides, threatening to rise up – and then.. and then…

The lights are turned on, and the music stops. Lyla's at the stairs shouting obscenities; telling everyone to get the fuck out, or I'm calling the cops.

People disperse out the doors, but only a few rush towards Miguel. You do, of course, and then Jess is by his side to help him up. He must look worse than he feels because despite the bruising and pouring blood; he pinches the bridge of his nose like he always does, as if it's just a headache. He's laughing ; the smug bastard; incisors sharp and dangerous and flashing pearly white. Your heart's still racing; betraying complicated feelings. As the last dregs drip out of Lyla's apartment, you're all left to deal with the aftermath.

Jess looks shaken, Lyla's sobering up; and you're holding Miguel's hand, elbow deep in the oil spill.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

1K notes · View notes