#i had to sit outside on the stone steps 2 smoke

[otrtbs]

the best dinner i ever had was a vanilla milkshake and 2 cigs on a rainy cold night and that’s the truth

[sunkendreams]

SIDELINES.

you haven’t seen jesse pinkman since high school — and he’s the last person you ever expected to connect with. however, times have changed — and so have you.

part 1. | part 2. | part 3. | part 4. | part 5.

༄ PAIRING. | jesse pinkman x [female] reader.

༄ FORMAT. | one-shot, multi-part — not requested.

༄ WORD COUNT. | 9.6K.

༄ WARNINGS. | drug use, references to substance use/addiction, past jane/jesse, emotional trauma/hurt, jesse’s internalized hatred/guilt, acquaintances to lovers, smoking, smut, smut with plot, making out, dirty talk, breast play, cunnilingus, hair pulling, bottom!jesse, riding, morning sex, aftercare.

༄ AUTHOR’S NOTE. | I don’t know where I’m getting these ideas, but I have a lot of projects in the works right now. Some are horror-related and some aren’t. Honestly, I’m just happy to be writing again no matter what the content is. Thank you guys for your continued support & love. I couldn’t do it without you all! Peace! ☺️

The scent of marijuana, pungent smoke, and a toxic amalgamation of sweat and AXE body spray wafted throughout the house, music jacked up so loud that it made your ears ring. You remained at your perch, stuffed along the wall of a stranger’s house while your friends got stoned in another room.

You were dragged to this party out of sheer loyalty to your friends and a boredom that outweighed anything else. Regret rippled through you, nose stinging from the foul smells that hung like a noxious haze in the living room. The drink you clutched within one hand was watered-down, tiny slivers of ice swirling around within the cup.

Some mediocre hip-hop song blasted throughout the house, bass loud enough to shake the very foundation — you were thoroughly surprised that the police hadn’t been called in for a noise complaint.

Grey wisps of smoke drifted in your direction, and you swatted at it with a wrinkled nose. It wasn’t your typical scene — the sort of party, at least. Partying was something you were accustomed to — harmless college parties with drinks and weed, but this was something else.

There were people snorting lines of cocaine off of a glass coffee table, and you swore that one person had passed out entirely in the kitchen. A strange sensation crawled across your flesh — a feeling that you weren’t exactly meant to be here. Your friends had driven you down here, but you were prepared to take your chances with walking home.

“Wanna hit?” A man asked you, gsze half-lidded, lips curled into a less than attractive smile. He propositioned you with a jerk of his head, motioning toward the thin line of fine, white powder sitting along the coffee table.

“No thanks.” You waved one hand in dismiss, weaving through the crowds to retrieve another drink. The kitchen was destroyed, ravaged by strangers with little respect for the home. Debris, trash, and the remnants of marijuana were everywhere. You nearly stepped on broken glass.

It felt like an out-of-body experience — as if you were simply a spectator, an observer who watched the chaos around you. You didn’t thrive or revel within it — you were indifferent. The vices of your friends differed greatly from your own, to quite an extreme degree.

As you watched the swarm of people, all huddled together within the living room, the air became stifling and stuffy, as if it threatened to suffocate you altogether. They reminded you of zombies — barely moving in one place, all drugged-out from whatever concoction of pills and illicit substances were available at this party.

You silently slipped outside, abandoning your drink somewhere on the windowsill as you stepped out into the cool night breeze. You inhaled, greedily drinking in the crisp freshness of dusk, hands roaming over your thin cardigan as you began to shuffle to the edge of the porch.

Moonlight pooled through the wispy clouds as they fluttered through the night — everything was so much quieter outside. The thumping of the bass had diminished, and the skunk-like scent had dissipated altogether.

The door opened behind you, a figure slinking out onto the porch a few feet away from you. “Hey.”

It was somewhat unfamiliar until you’d actually glanced over your shoulder, gaze landing upon a most familiar face — Jesse Pinkman. The two of you made eye contact; Jesse’s face blossomed with a subtle realization.

“Holy shit,” You let out a bark of a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Jesse Pinkman, right? You went to J.P Wynne.” You hadn’t seen Jesse Pinkman since high school graduation — you distinctly remembered his social circle.

Jesse recognized you sometime during the midst of the party — a true wallflower, despite your popularity in junior high. It surprised him to see a girl like you at one of his drug-laden festivities, but then again, life was full of surprises. He looked tired, skin pale and eyes baggy as he leaned against one of the columns.

“Yeah,” Perusing his pockets, he fished out a cigarette, placing it between his lips. “You were one of the Honor Society members, right?” Jesse recalled your stellar academics and social standing — his polar opposite.

You made a face, keeping your arms folded across your abdomen. “Yeah.” Admittedly, Jesse wasn’t exactly someone you were friends with in high school. Cordial was a good word for it — your parents never would have allowed you to hang out with someone like him, anyway. “We were in Mr. White’s chemistry classes together.”

Upon mentioning Walter White, Jesse stiffened slightly, feigning innocence as he cracked a thin-lipped smile. “Jesus,” He exhaled, reaching for his lighter. “It’s been awhile.”

There was a prevalent exhaustion that hung within his eyes, a loneliness that almost felt tangible within that moment. He avoided eye contact with you at-times, hands fidgeting when you stepped closer.

“It has.” You paused, rubbing your palms across your arms. Despite the acrid heat that New Mexico produced during the day, the temperatures dropped drastically at night. You shivered, a delicate smile creeping across your features. “Did the party get a little boring for you, too?”

He’d forgotten about you a little bit — forgotten about just how beautiful you were. You’d only gotten prettier, too. Jesse felt the sting of sheepishness and inferiority that came with being around someone like you — a good person, someone with responsibilities and respectable morals. You weren’t a criminal — you hadn’t killed somebody.

Jesse almost felt as if he shouldn’t be speaking to you, but he pressed on. “I guess. Needed some air, you know?” He noticed your constant shivering, prompting him to remove the baggy, black jacket he wore. “You cold?” He asked, gesturing toward the garment he carried.

“Oh,” Warmth crept along your flesh, brows knitting together as you shook your head. “You don’t have to do that, Jesse.” It was a thoughtful gesture, something you didn’t expect, but you were freezing and the dress wasn’t doing you any favors.

“Nah, go ahead. Might smell like cigarettes, though.” Jesse forewarned, tucking one hand underneath his arm. The long-sleeved Henley he wore was more than enough for him.

You thanked him, slipping into his hooded zip-up. He wasn’t exactly incorrect — it did smell of cigarette smoke intermingled with the cologne he wore. You didn’t mind, though.

Silence drifted between the two of you, awkward enough to make you uncomfortable as you fished around for your cellphone. Minutes ticked by without a word. Jesse appeared to be a little nervous, and you wondered if it had anything to do with you.

There was a string of texts from your friends inquiring about your whereabouts. It was a little after ten o’clock, and you fully intended on walking home. “It was nice seeing you, Jesse. I hope you’re doing well.” You cleared your throat. “I’m going to head home.”

Jesse opened his mouth to speak, lips fumbling around the unlit cigarette. Surely, you didn’t want to talk to him — Christ, he was practically a stranger. It felt cruel of him not to offer to give you a ride home, or something like that.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse cleared his throat, clamoring after you. “I can give you a ride home. Could be stalkers or crazy people around.” His reasoning was weak, but it seemed to resonate with you, oddly enough. He felt strange — he barely knew you outside of what he perceived in high school.

You knew that Jesse had gotten in trouble with the law in school — everyone knew. Gossip was prevalent at J.P Wynne. Part of you screamed to refuse, to politely decline and endure the lengthy trek home, but a sliver of you wanted to accept, to indulge in your curiosity.

Jesse had always been kind to you in the very rare, occasional interaction you’d had with him. He hadn’t given you any reason not to trust him. It was a nice change of company — refreshing, almost. There was a clean slate between the two of you.

Your shoulders slouched and sluggishly lifted in a weak shrug as you rubbed your hands together. “You don’t mind? It’s on Nauman Drive, past downtown.” A decent drive, for sure — a half an hour or more. You expected him to reject you given the distance.

“Nauman?” It was a nice area, he knew that much. “Yeah, I don’t mind. You care if I smoke?” Jesse inquired, gesturing around toward the garage. He didn’t care about the house — it almost seemed to fade away into the background. He needed a break, time to think.

“Go ahead.” You trailed after Jesse, following him toward the paved stretch of driveway. A 1984 Toyota Tercel sat, red paint beginning to fade and show signs of weathering. It was beat-up, but certainly held a bit of rugged appeal.

Jesse awkwardly shuffled to open the passenger door, and you thanked him, sinking down into the felt seats. The car smelled of cigarette smoke and cheap air fresheners, but it was tidy and clean inside. You placed your purse down onto the floorboard in front of you.

Blowing a pillar of smoke into the air, Jesse hastily finished his cigarette, fingers beginning to quiver as he opened the driver’s side. He hadn’t really spent time with a girl since Jane — but you didn’t remind him of her whatsoever. There were many qualities you possessed that certainly contrasted from her, not that it was a bad thing.

“Do you live here?” You asked, head canting to one side. There were other cars scattered around the block and parked on the street, but his happened to be the only vehicle in the driveway.

“Uh,” Jesse glanced at you, absentmindedly wetting his lower lip. “Yeah, I do.” He turned the key forward, car rumbling and puffing to life. “Bought the house months ago — used to be my Aunt’s.” He clarified, wondering if you would ask about the obscene amount of drugs.

“You don’t think it’ll burn down while you’re gone?” You questioned, lips twitching into a thin smile as you rolled down the passenger window, letting your elbow rest up against the ledge.

Jesse let out a huff of laughter, and shrugged his shoulders. He began to back up, rolling out onto the empty roads. “It’s been through worse shit.” His wry statement only made your smile flicker again, but he vehemently focused on driving instead.

You felt the barrier melt a bit at that — it was comforting to know that the two of you didn’t have to behave like complete strangers. Silence simmered again, settling between the both of you as he concentrated on finding something on the radio. It served as suitable background noise.

“What are you doing nowadays?” You avoided the topic of the party — it wasn’t worth mentioning. A cool breeze whipped through the car as he began to drive, causing goosebumps to prickle along your shoulders.

“I don’t know,” Jesse confessed, cerulean hues flickering in your direction. “Drifting, I guess.” It was the first time where he’d revealed a sliver of his true feelings. The parties were a worthwhile distraction — soulless events where he could find solace in all of the chaos surrounding him. “Shit, it’s a long story.” His laughter was shaky.

“You don’t have to do a full confession, Jesse.” You reassured, playfully prodding at your cardigan. “I’m not wearing a wire.” With a gentle exhale, your tone softened as he pulled out onto the highway. It was almost soothing — driving back home with somebody you never expected to see again.

Jesse laughed at that, running a hand across his disheveled hair, and then planting it against the back of his neck. The support groups he’d been attending didn’t work — there was no comfort he’d been able to find.

Everything felt like some massive distraction from the root of the problem — the residual pain he was dealing with from Jane, from Gale. His heart hammered within his chest, and he looked at you again. Oddly enough, your nonchalant behavior and lack of judgment would’ve been enough for him to spill in a different setting.

“Hey, what about you? What are you doing these days?” Jesse immediately shifted the focus away from him. He was far more interested in what you had to say than his own life. Besides, it would pull him out of his own head for a little while.

The inquiry was unexpected but not unwelcome, causing you to adjust yourself within the passenger seat. “Oh,” You cleared your throat. “I’m in college at the University of New Mexico. I’m still trying to figure out what I’d like to study — getting basics out of the way. I work at a cafe.”

Normal, uneventful, peaceful — Jesse envied you.

You were achieving something mundane yet safe, something that he wished he would’ve done long ago. Maybe things wouldn’t have happened in the way that they did. His countenance became a touch forlorn, but it wasn’t the time to become mournful over the past. He couldn’t go back, not anymore.

“Yeah, that’s …” He nodded, attempting to conjure the right words to say. “That’s good, really good. You know you could do anything you wanted. You were always really smart and shit.” Jesse replied, gaze hyperfocused upon the road as headlights raced past.

You could detect that Jesse was holding something back — that minuscule flicker of pain had crossed over his visage before being forced to dissipate. Your eyebrows furrowed together, and you reached over, gently prodding at his shoulder.

“Hey,” You began, tone laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Jesse felt his heart constrict within his chest, wisps of air stolen from his lungs. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked that — and genuinely meant it. It wasn’t out of obligation, that was easy to tell. He felt his throat grow thick, but he staved off any tears.

“Yeah.” It was a blatant lie, spoken through a clenched jaw. He nearly winced when you touched his shoulder, feeling as if he were souring the mood entirely. “Just, uh … You know, going to therapy and rehab right now. It’s been tough.” A very threadbare half-truth, but it was enough to placate you.

“Oh.” A warmth crept into your voice as you withdrew, countenance softening as you sank back into the passenger seat. “That’s understandable, Jesse. I’m sorry.” You replied, tucking strands of hair behind your ear as you looked out the window again.

Albuquerque was a sprawling city, and as the two of you neared the nicer end, Jesse knew that Nauman was only ten minutes away. He didn’t want to go back to the party anymore — but it might’ve been the best option. If he stayed with you, he knew the pain it would cause. He feared losing people — it was present all the time, a nagging dread that never stopped.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jesse interjected, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. “Did that shit to myself, you know?” Addiction was behind him. He rarely participated anymore — he was just a silent observer, fueling everyone else’s vices while he withered away. What kind of a life was that?

You canted your head to one side, lips parting slightly as you spoke. “Jesse, that’s not entirely your fault. You can’t blame yourself for your environment or circumstances out of your control.” You were right — but he made the choice to shoot Gale, and he made the choice to shoot up with Jane before she died.

He was silent, feeling the sensation of tears swimming within his gaze. Jesse didn’t want to even remotely consider crying in front of you — he barely knew you. Instead, he focused on the road, taking the exit towards Albuquerque Studios. Nauman wasn’t very far away.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d had a conversation with someone else that was this raw and vulnerable. Jesse’s discomfort was palpable and very real to you, and you felt horrible. Your countenance glistened with concern, brows furrowing together.

After the exit, Jesse drove onto Nauman Drive. There were rows of beautiful, lavish houses and apartment complexes, ones that he probably could’ve bought with the dealing money. He was blowing it all away right now on drugs for the parties — he was beginning to ask himself ‘why?’

“My apartment is at the end of the drive.” Your voice had softened, hands planted within your lap as he followed your directions. It was a smaller apartment complex but much nicer, your driveway occupied by your vehicle.

Jesse pulled up along the curb — it was eerily silent, aside from the cacophony of crickets that provided a steady ambience, and the occasional bark of a dog. He put the car in park, still gripping the steering wheel. “You got a nice place.” He murmured, a halfhearted attempt to shift the conversation to something else.

“Hey,” After unbuckling your seatbelt, you leaned over the center console, palm resting over his hand, the one that was strangling the wheel of the car. “Why don’t you come inside? I can make you coffee or something and you can just space out for a little while. We don’t even have to talk.”

The offer was generous — admittedly, Jesse wondered if it would benefit him in any way. If he could just lay on your couch, decompress, let the emotion off of his chest. He didn’t care about the state of the house — he didn’t care about anybody at that party. What he did care about, however, was you, and how you made him feel.

It was as if the invisibility he’d been safely floating in for so long was shattered, but there was someone who could actually see him — see the veil he’d been maintaining for this whole time. His gaze finally flickered toward you, who appeared genuinely concerned for him.

You were good — truly good.

There wasn’t an ounce of maliciousness or an underlying agenda. You didn’t smoke, you hadn’t touched drugs, you were in college with a steady, normal job that never got you involved with the wrong people. Jesse knew what he’d be putting you through if he let this drag out for too long. If he fucked up, people could hurt you.

“Listen,” Jesse swallowed, palm planted against the back of his neck. “You’re really sweet, okay? You’re nice,” He wanted to word it in a way that wouldn’t hurt your feelings. “I just — I can’t. I’m not in a good spot right now. I don’t wanna drag you down with me.” That sounded fair, didn’t it?

You could accept that.

If it had something to do with the drugs, which you assumed that it was, then you understood that he was trying to protect you. You wanted to encourage him to try, but the last thing you wanted to do was pressure someone in a fragile state.

“Okay, Jesse.” You hesitated, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “I just want you to know that you're not alone. If you need someone, I’m here for you. I know that there was a wedge in high school, but I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t reconnect.” You shrugged, popping open the passenger side door.

As you stepped outside, you made sure to remove his jacket, draping it over the center console as you shut the door. Jesse didn’t say anything as you rounded the car — he was biting his finger, eyes squeezing shut as you made the short trek toward your front door. It felt like an eternity until you’d actually gotten inside.

Jesse exhaled, hands trembling as he hastily wiped away straggling tears that he’d been withholding during the span of the whole drive. Part of him knew that he could use a positive influence like you in his life, but the danger that lurked around him, the cloud of loss, he was afraid that you’d become lost in all of that, too.

The deliberation between going back to his house and biting the bullet to stay with you was a tedious process. He sat out in the car for a long time — he was surprised that you hadn’t come back outside asking why he was sitting there with his head pressed against the steering wheel.

When he finally made the choice to go up to your door, the walk felt like a lengthy, eternal drag. Jesse rocked forward, pressing his hands against his face as he composed himself. Back in high school, he was suave — much more of a charmer. Nowadays, he felt incompetent, but it was largely due to an amalgamation of nerves and drug use.

He knocked a few times, skin crawling with a nervous sensation, but there was something exciting about it, too. You were familiar yet new, a breath of fresh air that he desperately needed. Jesse watched as the door opened, and there you were.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse stuck his hands into his pockets, rocking back upon his heels. “Is the offer still on the table?” He’d ask, and your lips split into a gentle yet bemused smile.

“Of course.” You’d changed into your pajamas — a baggy, oversized graphic t-shirt and cotton shorts that were dwarfed by your top. “Did you want to watch a movie? I was about to start Watchmen.”

Jesse watched as you stepped aside to invite him in, closing the door behind him and latching the lock. You had a weird itch for security, especially at night. “Yeah, that sounds cool.” He replied, having a look around.

Your apartment was tidy and very cozy, with a rather comforting aesthetic and atmosphere. Jesse felt a little more relaxed, wandering around in the small living room. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the plush sofa, scattered with throw blankets and pillows.

As you prepared coffee, you wondered what changed his mind. It was a question that would likely nag at you until you asked. You understood being lonely — aside from the occasional hangout with your friends, you lived alone.

“Make yourself at home,” You chimed, weaving around the coffee table to place your steaming mugs down, settling into the couch. Jesse sat a comfortable distance away, arm slung over the back of the sofa. “What changed your mind?”

Your question caught him off-guard, but he wanted to be transparent with you. He owed you that much, especially after talking to him — after this, after everything. “I knew that I’d be miserable if I went back,” He shrugged. “I don’t wanna keep being miserable.” Loneliness also played a factor in this, but he didn’t really want to own up to it just yet.

“I understand,” You began, tucking one knee toward your chest as you played the movie. Admittedly, it served as better background noise than anything else. “I’m glad you came over.” Your lips split into a soft smile.

Jesse hesitated, glancing over at you as he stayed silent. He was most definitely drinking you in, gaze subtly raking you over as you took a sip of your coffee. For a moment, he envisioned this — getting close to you, hanging out with you, just getting to be himself, or as close as he could get again.

“I’m glad, too.” Jesse confessed, rubbing at the back of his head. He nearly shriveled at the eye contact you made with him, but he maintained it instead, lips twitching into a faint smile.

You nudged your drink back onto the wooden table, wordlessly slinking closer to Jesse until you were curled up beside him. The silence simmered with something else, perhaps a crackle of affection. Your gaze glistened with a peculiar softness, flickering between the movie and him.

Admittedly, this was the last thing Jesse expected — but that didn’t stop him from wanting it to happen. Once you initiated, he decided to meet you halfway, draping his arm around you, cheek pressed against the top of your head.

He’d been craving something like this for a while now. Jane left a void — a massive, gaping wound that he feared wouldn’t heal, but now? Maybe there was an end in sight — maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Jesse relaxed, sinking into you as you cuddled up with him.

Your hands intertwined, fingers brushing together until they joined. Just like Jesse, you were chasing after the sensation of touch, chasing after that feeling of fulfillment — no more loneliness. You’d been dealing with it for a long while, trying to manage the sea of emotions, and this was a nice break from that.

“I understand feeling miserable,” You murmured, head resting comfortably against his collarbone. “Sometimes it feels like you’re alone out on a raft, in the middle of the ocean.”

Jesse’s jaw tightened, but there was a mutual sense of empathy and understanding within your words. That was how he felt oftentimes — just himself, attempting to stay afloat. He didn’t say anything, but he did caress your knuckles with his thumb as a form of acknowledgment.

As the movie progressed, the two of you occasionally made small talk, but you were a little engrossed by the film, and so was he. It was comforting to just be near him — let him hold you, keep it light with gentle touches and whatnot.

It wasn’t until halfway through the movie that Jesse cleared his throat, glancing down at you with exhausted eyes. “Thanks for this,” He murmured, absentmindedly wetting his lower lip. “Would you wanna do it again? Like, uh … Hanging out, or something?” He was intent on cleaning up his place, now.

“Yeah,” You replied, twisting within his hold enough to peer up at him. “I would.” There was something special about this — perhaps a feeling of renewal, of starting something with someone you never expected. You had a feeling that Jesse needed a little bit of support, and you didn’t mind providing that.

“Shit,” Jesse breathed through a soft laugh, visibly bewildered yet pleased by your answer. “Okay.” He didn’t expect that from you — he didn’t expect anything, really.

The both of you were smiling, now. Watchmen dissipated into the background once more, simply serving as ambience as the two of you nestled together. “Okay.” You parroted, lips curling into a lopsided smile as Jesse gathered his bearings.

You had little time to fully comprehend his next actions — he moved inward, cerulean hues dropping from your face to your mouth. Everything about this screamed sudden and intense, but you didn’t care. He tasted like cigarette smoke and spearmint gum — he had a very sweet kiss.

Jesse inhaled, relaxing into you, careening right into the warmth of your body. Every fiber of his being felt electrified, and he became so incredibly nervous — he hadn’t done this since Jane. He didn’t want her death to tarnish the moment, but it was inevitable.

He pulled away, opening his mouth to speak, yet nothing emerged. Words turned to ash upon his tongue, dying then and there as he hung his head, fingers toying with yours.

It wasn’t difficult to tell that he was struggling with this — you didn’t want to pry, but you didn’t want him to feel obligated, either. “Hey,” You murmured, dragging one hand toward his face, fingertips grazing over his stubbled jaw. “What’s wrong?” It was written all over his countenance, this underlying sense of pain.

“Nothing, just …” Jesse shivered when your palm cupped his jaw, shamelessly leaning into the sensation you left behind from your hand. “I just don’t wanna leave.” It sounded so pathetic — he didn’t want to go back home to a drug-laden pit.

Your lips twitched into a faint smile. “Is that it?” You left it open-ended, attempting to stay on the side of not being invasive or pushy. You wanted him to be comfortable.

Jesse huffed, idly tracing the pad of his thumb across the delicate plane of your knuckles. “Nah,” He admitted, cerulean hues flickering toward your face. “Haven’t really done this in awhile.” Telling you the visceral, painful truth would’ve been too much for him, so he settled on something else, something superficial.

“What, kissing?” You teased, keeping it mellow and lighthearted before he shook his head. “If it’s any reassurance, I haven’t done anything, either. Don’t feel like it’s just you.” With a soft sigh, you watched as Jesse leaned back just an inch or two, head craned to rest against your couch.

There was something forlorn about him, a light aura of melancholy that swirled around his being. You didn’t want to ask, but you couldn’t help but wonder what happened. You were able to look past that — he was attractive. You’d always thought that he was handsome.

“You, uh … You mind if we do it again?” Jesse asked, head cocked to one side. He was some amalgamation of sheepishness and a suave charm, smile somewhat feeble as he held your hand.

“I don’t mind.” You replied, but before he could lean in again, you had something on your mind. “Jesse?”

Jesse stooped closer, forehead nearly pressed against yours. “Yeah?”

“Would it help if you stayed tonight?” Whatever was plaguing him, being alone around drugs was the last thing he needed. You didn’t mind him staying the night — you didn’t mind whatever came with that, too.

He remained silent for a few moments, and immediately felt as if he should say no — and against his own inner turmoil, he wanted to be with you. He didn’t care if the house was a mess or if it had been reduced to nothing — he’d rather stay here with you.

“I don’t wanna disturb the peace,” Jesse began, nose wrinkling slightly when you rolled your eyes. “I can crash on the couch.” Admittedly, that sliver of him that was desperate for affection also wanted to sleep with you, but it was only polite to keep his distance until you said otherwise.

“You’re not disturbing anything. Promise.” You reassured, fingers creeping toward the nape of his neck as you tilted forward. “I want you to stay.” You uttered, your own desire for fulfillment and company mirrored his own want to not be alone.

Part of him really wished you hadn’t said that — but once the gate was open, Jesse couldn’t stop himself, and neither could you. His gaze fell to your lips, thumb briefly caressing your jaw until the two of you were colliding into one another.

Jesse kissed you again, compassionate and borderline needy, hand dropping to grasp at the curve of your hip. His free hand still remained tangled with yours, eyes fluttering shut as you shuffled forward, partially planted within his lap. It was enough to make him forget about the downward spiral he was on, and it was as if the plummeting had ceased — for now.

You didn’t know where this would lead, but that was the exhilarating part about it. The uncertainty and the newfound territory that was Jesse Pinkman elated you. Maybe this was what you needed; he was what you needed — you needed a fresh start.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse whispered against your mouth, fingers teasing the hem of your baggy shirt, grazing over your thigh. “Where we going with this?” It was spoken with compassion and concern, out of total thoughtfulness for you. Maybe you didn’t want to sleep with a junkie — he couldn’t blame you.

“I think I know where I’d like to go,” You confessed, head canting to one side. “Where do you want to go?” You asked, idly trailing your digits through his hair. You noticed the subtle bobbing of his Adam’s apple, accompanied by a peculiar sheen within his eyes.

If it was something serious that you were after, Jesse was unsure if he even had that capability. After Jane, it almost seemed to shatter — fall apart. Maybe it didn’t have to be that way forever. Perhaps, there was a light at the end of the tunnel for the two of you.

Instead of recoiling, Jesse held you closer, wordlessly ushering you into his lap, palm splayed out underneath your shirt, resting soundly at the curve of your hip. “I just,” He hesitated, completely enamored by you — you were beautiful. “I don’t know if I can be what you need right now.” He admitted.

You respected him all the more for his candor, hands coming to rest at the nape of his neck. You decided to kiss him, slow and steady, tilting to one side for something deeper. When you withdrew, your lips twitched into a smile. “I’m patient.” With that conclusion alone, Jesse relaxed.

He felt a bit of pressure relinquish itself from him, like a weight being removed from his chest. Jesse was worried that you’d want something serious, something strict off the bat. He didn’t intend on sleeping around, but he was afraid of disappointing you more than anything.

Given the implication of your interactions, Jesse had something on his mind — he figured that the feeling was mutual.

Jesse remained quiet for a moment, pressing a sweet kiss against your jaw, and then another to your neck. “Where’s your room?” He murmured, nearly shuddering in delight when you absentmindedly tugged on his hair.

“Come on.” Reluctantly, you removed yourself from his lap, taking ahold of his hand as you led him down the short corridor towards your bedroom. It was, as Jesse expected, lavishly-decorated and aesthetically pleasing. It far outweighed the dump he was living in.

“Cute.” Jesse couldn’t help but comment, lips twitching into a smile as he observed your choice of style and the many pillows piled up on top of your mattress. Admittedly, it all felt so cozy and welcoming — it even smelled good.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you watched as Jesse nudged the door closed. The both of you were swallowed by the lower, dim lighting of your bedroom, slivers of orange encompassing your scantily-clad frame.

He pressed closer, hands roaming across your body, one palm gently slipping underneath the hem of your shirt to brazenly grab at your ass. Locked in another heated kiss, your hands moved to push his jacket away, draping across his shoulders.

The sensation of your fingers roaming through his hair was enough to make his knees weak, a low groan resonating within his throat. You tasted sweet, like the twang of strawberry chapstick and the citrus seltzer you’d been drinking at the party. Jesse kissed you again, greedily this time, one hand cupping the curve of your hip.

As the two of you fell onto your bed in a feverish heap of limbs and mouths, you withdrew for a moment, getting yourself adjusted. You prepared to remove your shirt until you saw Jesse laying there, eyes half-lidded. Exhaustion was scrawled into his face, as if it were a permanent feature.

“Are you tired?” You asked, more concerned about his state of wellbeing. You were getting hot and bothered, but your own desire could be put on hold for a little while.

Jesse appeared embarrassed, but with the bags underneath his eyes and the perpetual state of tiredness that hung around him, he couldn’t lie to you. “Yeah,” He chewed at the inside of his cheek. “Shit, this feels pathetic. I’m practically blue-balling myself.” He mused, and it made you giggle.

“It’s not pathetic, Jesse.” You reassured, opting to climb into bed and make yourself comfortable. Jesse kicked off his shoes, following suit until he was resting at your side, arms tangled around you. “You look like you’re seconds away from crashing. I think we can put sex aside for now.”

Begrudgingly, he felt you cuddle against him, head near his collarbone as he made himself comfortable with you. His erection happened to push into your rump throughout, but before you could make a playful comment about it, his breathing had steadied.

“Jesse?” You whispered, receiving no response. He was most definitely asleep, and you confirmed this by simply rolling over. His expression was cast into one of bliss, still clutching onto you even through slumber. You sank back down with a smile, and decided to sleep, too.

—

Slivers of dawn’s first light trickled through the gossamer curtains — faint enough not to draw any attention, but enough to signal to Jesse that it was early in the morning. He’d stayed the night, and even then, it didn’t seem real.

You were asleep at his side, still nestled against him, but beginning to stir. Jesse couldn’t tell if it was because you were really waking up, or because his hard-on was protruding into you. He remembered last night — kissing you before he’d fallen asleep.

It wasn’t one of his smoothest moments — not by a long shot.

“Hey,” As the haze of grogginess began to lift, you were elated to find Jesse — still in your bed, and still next to you. Even being disheveled from sleep, Jesse found you to be astoundingly gorgeous. There was perfection to you that he wanted to drown himself inside of. “You’re here.” You smiled.

“Did you think I ditched or something?” He asked, arm draped around you as you shook off the feeling of slumber. Admittedly, part of you thought he’d wake up and leave, but he proved you wrong.

“A little bit,” You confessed, feeling his hand trace idle patterns into the dip of your waist. You wriggled closer, pressing a soft kiss against his stubbled jaw. “But I’m glad you didn’t.” It was complete and utter bliss, waking up with him — it was the last thing you expected, but you could get used to it.

Jesse huffed, hand dragging from your waist to your face, palm cupping your cheek as he caressed your jaw with his thumb. “Nah,” He smiled this time, cerulean eyes boring into you, becoming lost in the mere presence of you. “Didn’t even cross my mind, if I’m being honest.”

You smiled, eyelashes fluttering in rapid succession before you planted a sloppy, slower kiss against his lips. “What crossed your mind instead?” You asked, careening into the sensation of his palm cradling your face.

Jesse felt much better, no longer plagued by the desire for sleep. Instead, there was something else he wanted — he wanted to pick up from last night. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours, hand skimming toward your thigh.

“Lots of stuff,” He began, coaxing you against him as he answered your question in between a series of heated, needy kisses. “All about you.” Jesse confessed, peering at you through his lashes before his hand gently grabbed at your ass.

“Yeah? Do you wanna show me?” You asked, becoming a bit breathless whenever he kissed you. It was accompanied by plenty of groping, ensuring that you were flush against him as the tension rose to a boiling point between the two of you.

You weren’t about to recoil, reciprocating his kiss with a passionate one of your own, stomach churning with anticipation. Your hand moved toward the nape of his neck, fingers lightly grabbing at his hair. Each kiss was sweet yet sloppy, and you could feel Jesse’s hand underneath your shirt.

“Yeah, I do. Do you wanna do this?” Jesse murmured, ensuring that he wasn’t jumping the gun. You could’ve changed your mind from last night — that was certainly a possibility, and he’d be just fine with it. He was partially on top of you, but he leaned back enough to gauge your answer.

“Absolutely.” You smiled, sitting up enough to get your shirt off, which Jesse kindly assisted with. The both of you sank into a rather peaceful moment, blissfully quiet as he wriggled out of his shirt.

Jesse leaned forward again, capturing your mouth in a passionate, heated kiss, his hands finding the smooth curve of your hips. “You’re so pretty.” He exhaled, feeling that little pang of nervousness. He hadn’t touched a girl since Jane, but he wasn’t about to let himself be thrust into the past, not now.

Heat saturated your skin, crawling all over you like a fever. In the wake of Jesse’s compliment, you felt sheer elation, feeling his lips roam from your mouth to your jaw. His hands were everywhere, inevitably finding their purchase against your thighs. He peppered a string of kisses from your jaw to your neck, though his kisses soon turned to suckling.

“Jesse.” You moaned, haplessly grasping onto his shoulders as he left a series of hickeys on your neck. You felt his digits curl around the waistband of your panties, but he made no motion to remove them just yet.

Your moan was enough to make him shiver in delight, gaze following the path of your hand as you hastily unclasped your bra. You had such a beautiful body — Jesse felt some semblance of awe, snug against you as you got comfortable atop the comforter.

Continuing his previous route, Jesse’s mouth kissed down your neck and collarbone, stopping above your breasts. Even your smell was intoxicating — everything about you reeled him in. “Jesus,” He mumbled against your sternum. “You’re beautiful.” It was an endless string of softspoken praises that escaped him.

He was scrawny, with a lanky musculature — you found it attractive in the best of ways. Your gaze occasionally fell across his many tattoos, committing every detail to memory. Your fingers continued to tug and pull at his hair, body jolting into him when his mouth wrapped around your nipple.

A low groan resonated from his throat, rippling across his chest when you continued to toy with his hair. His hand traced down the plane of your stomach, slipping underneath the elastic trim of your panties. You nearly buckled, writhing underneath him when his digits slipped against your cunt.

You felt his mouth suck and kiss at your breast, in-tandem with the teasing ministrations of his fingers. It was feather-light, enough to drive you to the brink of frustration. “You wet already, angel?” It was almost an incredulous statement instead of a question.

Fuck — the nickname was enough to send shockwaves pulsating through your body. Your skin became awash with warmth, lips falling apart as you peered down, enough to catch a glimpse of those half-lidded, cerulean eyes and the adoring tilt of his lips. Goosebumps snaked across your spine, back arching off of the bed.

Jesse wasn’t dumb — he knew that your reaction was from the nickname. He pressed his tongue against his cheek, pressing a string of kisses from your breast to stomach, tattooed hand curling into your panties as he inched them past your thighs.

“Say it again,” It was a command that fell from your mouth, and not a plea. Your fingers happened to tense within his hair, enough to make his jeans become uncomfortably tight. “Please.” With a breathy exhale, you felt Jesse’s lips trace across the curve of your hip.

He felt his heart hammer with erratic excitement, tongue absentmindedly flicking out to trace across his lower lip. Christ, you looked so perfect like this — Jesse watched you, breathing intensifying as you spread your legs just a little bit. He often walked the line between nervousness and confidence, feeling a sense of boldness swell within him.

His breath fanned across the inside of your thigh, lips ghosting over the soft skin there. Jesse’s gaze remained fixated upon you, glistening with a sheen of lust as he finally began to kiss his way to the throbbing between your legs. “Where do you want me, angel?” Jesse murmured, assuming that he knew the answer.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d felt this way — floating, so unbelievably slick and warm that you felt feverish. Jesse brought out a new level of neediness and desperation that you never thought possible. “Jesse,” You moaned, squirming haplessly as you urged him closer. “Please, please.”

Jesse swallowed, wordlessly following the motion of your hand as he lapped at your cunt, tongue dragging along the length of your slit. You were whimpering, one hand grappling at his freckled shoulder. He was so turned on from the noises you made, enough for him to grind his hips into the mattress.

You sputtered a very pitiful apology when your hips bucked forward, but you were met with a barrage of needy licks and a faint moan. Slivers of morning light pooled through the curtains, falling across Jesse as he buried his face between your thighs. His weeks-old stubble rubbed against the sensitive flesh of your legs.

Nimble digits skimmed forward, one palm splayed against your pelvis as the other gripped down on your thigh. You wanted to sob from how good it felt — he was talented with his mouth, that much was for sure. His tongue flicked over your clit, gestures rhythmic and steady.

A knot formed within your stomach, a coil that continued to tighten, threatening to burst if Jesse kept it up. It all felt like some foreign fever dream, but you much preferred the current reality — Jesse Pinkman, eating you out until you cried. You felt his hand brush against yours, a gesture that was startlingly tender.

One hand untangled itself from his hair, deciding to give him a break, going to hold his hand instead, fingers lacing together. You felt his lips begin to purse around your clit, simultaneously eliciting another noisy, elated moan from your lips.

Your chest heaved with a myriad of throaty, high-pitched whimpers as he sucked on your clit, stars rippling past your vision. No one had ever gone down on you with such reverence and passion before, but now that you’d gotten a taste, you wanted more.

Jesse hadn’t realized it, but somewhere in the thick of hooking up with you, he was feeling like himself again. It almost felt as if he’d been transported back to a time before he’d met Walter White, to a time where he was slinging crystal and simply enjoying life. Each moan, every little mewl and keen that escaped you was akin to music.

“Jesse,” You panted, breathing somewhat ragged as he lapped at your clit. That coil began to unfurl, blistering heat coursing through you, a white-hot rush of sheer ecstasy that caused you to moan and cry out. “Jesse!” You felt him squeeze your hand, a silent reassurance to let go.

Unbothered by the mess, Jesse groaned, feeding off of your orgasm as he lapped at your cunt, ministrations lacking the vigor from before. Your stomach felt like mush, but you wanted him to fuck you senseless — you almost felt embarrassed for how wound-up you’d become.

He was quiet, kissing your thighs as he began to sit back up, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. Jesse ogled you, head cocking to one side before he spoke. “You are so beautiful.” It wasn’t something spoken lightly during sex — you felt it seep right into your bones, genuine as ever.

“So are you.” You replied, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed. Jesse crawled up, and in a flurry of unrestrained passion, he kissed your mouth. You could taste yourself, taste him — it was enough to make your cunt throb again, still dealing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Could you, uh …” Jesse mumbled, erection pulsing and rubbing right into the pliant flesh of your thigh. “I want you on top.” He was used to climbing on top of girls and going to town until he ran out of stamina, but he had different reasons this time. “I wanna see you.”

Your heart fluttered within your chest, and you nodded, watching as he rolled over, making himself comfortable atop the mound of pillows lining your bed. There was something eerily intimate in the way that he spoke — maybe it was just you. It was soft and sweet, enough to make you shudder as you straddled his hips.

Reaching for his belt, you unfastened it, moving enough for him to kick his pants off. His hands moved toward your thighs, fingers caressing across your flesh as the both of you worked to remove the final article of clothing. He was quiet this time, staring up at you with a searing, intense look — it was almost adoring.

He was unbearably hard, hips writhing slightly, desperate to be inside of you. Jesse nearly melted at the sensation of your hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a few, sluggish strokes, thumb swiping across the head before you lifted yourself up just enough.

Jesse groaned in tandem with you as you sank down onto his length, digits tensing into your thighs as you adjusted yourself, lips falling apart. You reached for his hands, fingers twining together. Goosebumps erupted across his body, chest fluttering with an unshakable warmth.

“Jesus.” Jesse breathed, watching as you stooped down to press your mouth against his, open-mouthed and sloppy. His tongue traced across your lower lip, and you responded by rolling your hips forward. He exhaled, reciprocating with another heated, messy kiss.

He released one of your hands, enough to grip onto your hip, guiding you into a steady rhythm. Your pace was somewhat sporadic and erratic at first, slipping into a natural flow once he held onto you. Jesse groans, unable to keep from staring at you as if you were perfection incarnate.

You whimper, using your knees to rock yourself up and back down, sinking onto his cock until he’s bottomed out. The intermingling of your moans fill your bedroom, accompanied by the faint squeak and creak of your bed frame. “Jesse.” You mewl, feeling his lips smack against your collarbone.

What started as something slow and sluggish had gained traction, your pace increasing slightly. A crackling, familiar heat raced across your body, making your stomach churn with anticipation, simultaneously pooling with warmth.

A soft moan tore past his lips, skin flushing with a rosy shade as you careened forward, one palm splaying out across his chest. “Shit,” Jesse’s voice emerged again as an excitable pant, squeezing your hand as you continued to piston yourself up and down. “You feel so good, baby.” Any little nickname was enough to make you preen.

Heat rippled through you, continuing to consume your body in waves. He sat up, enough to be within reach of you as he pressed a messy, sultry kiss against your collarbone, clamoring for your mouth as you tilted your head downward.

Your hand snaked from his chest to the nape of his neck, gripping his hair once. Your motions became somewhat uneven and less rhythmic as you rocked yourself on his cock, mewling and whimpering, noises intertwining with his strenuous groans. His palm grabbed at the curve between your thigh and ass, gripping you tight as you rode him.

“M’close,” You huffed, prying your lips away from his, only for you to press a trail of haphazard kisses against his stubbled jaw. “Jesse.” Another whine escaped you, followed by a cacophony of lewd noises. Your thighs felt a strain and burn from pistoning yourself onto his cock so many times, heat pooling between your legs.

Jesse was right there with you, though he wasn’t entirely sure where you wanted him to unload, to put it mildly. “Where do you want me?” He asked again, mirroring his inquiry from earlier. You slowed somewhat at that question, but he shook his head. “Keep going.” Despite the sting of borderline overstimulation, he didn’t want you to stop.

Both of his hands redirected themselves to your hips, guiding you along, letting you grind yourself forward, rolling your hips up and back onto his length. He groaned again, forehead pressed against yours, skin feeling as if it were set ablaze. The hold you had on him already was rather ironclad.

He kissed you again, unusually intimate and full of desire, digits groping and kneading into your curves. Your skin felt velvety underneath his fingertips, and your scent invaded his senses, overwhelming him in the best way possible. His cock was throbbing, swallowed by your tight cunt as you whimpered his name.

“Not inside.” You cautioned, breathlessly clashing with him again — all tongue, teeth and want as Jesse nudged you back. With your newfound position, legs locked around his lanky musculature as he rutted into you, you felt like you were seeing stars. “Holy shit, Jesse!” You moaned.

Jesse wasn’t grotesquely well-endowed, but he knew exactly how to utilize what he had. He felt like he’d broken the barrier right then and there, bottomed out inside of you before he pulled out, cumming onto your stomach. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen as thin ropes of slick seed fell across your abdomen.

His chest heaved with recuperative breaths, perspiration glistening along his brow as he hovered over you. The two of you sighed in-tandem, both coming down from a blissful high. Those pretty, cerulean eyes of his consumed you over and over again, fluttering in rapid succession before he lowered himself to kiss you.

It was slow — too slow, almost, but Jesse savored you, instead. Your nails ghosted across his forearm, tracing around the intricate pattern of his tattoo before skimming toward his shoulders. You reciprocated the kiss with a familiar sweetness, unhooking one leg from his waist.

“Sorry,” Jesse mumbled, gesturing toward the sticky mess that was splattered all over your stomach. “You look so pretty like that.” His tone lowered, taking on some delicious pitch that itched a certain part of you, sending goosebumps trailing across your spine.

Before you could respond, Jesse slipped off of you, tugging on his boxers as he wandered toward your bathroom to grab a towel. It was the first one he could get his hands on, returning to you with a rather adoring look in his eyes.

As you cleaned yourself up, making sure to discard the towel into your laundry basket, Jesse reappeared with a glass of water. It was quite endearing, watching the way he took care of you afterwards without being asked to. He sat next to you, watching as you pulled your panties back on and your t-shirt.

“That was really nice.” Admittedly, you needed it — but it felt better than before, all due to Jesse. You curled up next to him, head resting against his collarbone as his palm moved to cradle your face.

“Yeah, it was.” Jesse murmured, wishing that he could stay with you. He needed to get back home — the house was likely ruined. He’d also briefly glanced at his phone and noticed four missed calls from Mr. White’s number. “I wanna do it again.”

You giggled, nose wrinkling in amusement. “Hanging out together or having sex?” You asked, and he scoffed, lips twitching in a brief flash of a smile. “You can be honest, Jesse. I can handle it.”

“Both,” He confessed, savoring the feeling of your hand delicately tracing over the tattoo on his collarbone. “What if I took you out somewhere, yeah? Like on a date.” Jesse couldn’t believe that he’d asked you, but it was out in the open, now — no going back.

“Okay.” You mused, gaze flickering toward his lips. You would never get tired of kissing him — the taste of spearmint and cigarettes had become borderline addictive. “You can take me out.” With that, you leaned forward, pressing your mouth against his.

Jesse exhaled, reciprocating your kiss with one of his own. He squeezed his eyes shut, pad of his thumb caressing over your jawline. “Shit,” He sighed, a forlorn look within his eyes. “I gotta get going. I don’t want to.” He didn’t want to leave, but he had a feeling he’d be seeing you again soon. His phone vibrated again.

You yearned for the contact when he’d rolled out of your bed, getting himself dressed again. Once he found his jacket and keys, you decided to walk him to the door, standing with him in the cool morning breeze. Sunlight glittered down, bathing the both of you in picturesque lighting.

“Jesse,” You murmured, hand poised along the doorframe. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” You asked, watching him linger around on the front step as he glanced toward his car. After everything that happened, from last night to now, you were a little worried. He wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind — that much you knew.

Jesse hesitated — he didn’t have a viable answer to that. His house was a drug-laden pit, he was beginning to spiral, but you’d kicked him back onto a different path. It was an unpredictable road ahead. Even he had no idea how he’d feel by the end of the day, but one thing was for certain — he’d be okay for you.

He swallowed, and then nodded twice. “Yeah, I think so.” His chest tightened with a flurry of emotions, ones he hadn’t felt since Jane was around. Jesse was absolutely enthralled by you — and he wondered if that would lead to your doom.

With that, you nodded, beginning to turn around. Before you could, you felt a hand curling around your wrist, as if guiding you elsewhere.

“Hey,” Jesse muttered, reeling you back in for a gentle kiss. “I’ll see you later.” It was a promise to himself, more than it was to you. He was reluctant to pull away, but the buzzing in his pocket became rather urgent.

The kiss caught you off-guard, stealing every wisp of air right out of your lungs, warmth creeping across your skin until it burned something hot within your cheeks. You opened your mouth, unable to keep from smiling.

“See you later, Jesse.”

You really hoped that you would.

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Thirteen (Part 2)

Summary: The void.

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Bad words, violence, ~ daddy issues ~, smut, unprotected p in v sex, slight mentions of political conditions from the period, trauma, nightmares, people drinking alcohol, feelings and angst 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: I will admit that I am VERY lazy about editing long chapters, so I will always point out that there may be some spelling mistakes. Trust me, sometimes it’s tiring to think in Portuguese and write in English.

This had a very firm direction even before writing, so after a long time, I announce that this is our penultimate chapter. I'm very tired, as you already know, and multi-chapter stories take longer and require more energy, which I've been lacking in recent months.

Either way, it's been an amazing journey! I will be very sad to close, but happy to know that I did something that means something to me. See you in the last chapter!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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Hell, his cigarettes were always stronger. A combination of tough tobacco and intense nicotine, more natural but probably more dangerous. The box was nearly full, you noticed as you fished one out. Either he had recently bought it or he was being more resilient with his addiction - either of those things seemed unlikely. Feeling it now, as you inhaled the nicotine and hid a cough of surprise at the intense taste, you almost had the impression that being addicted to it seemed a lot harder than it looked.

You had sat on the back steps, but you made a point of leaving the door closed as it was before. The night was muggy, a little cruel if you were wearing more than a cotton t-shirt; it gave you an overwhelming feeling, as if you were sensing everything around you. You noticed that the garden had a particularly feminine feel to it — something that felt like Juliana, perhaps a very vivid reflection of what her presence in the house was like. Flowers, water fonts, the stone that certainly had a cool name that was used on the steps you were sitting on. You could feel comfort in the soles of your feet if you moved a little. 

The weeds and chips in the beds looked more like Carrillo. You wouldn’t think he cared so much about making the place feel like a house, let alone whether to make the garden look like a garden.

“Why are you here?” 

You didn’t have a proper answer. Given his manners, you could smoke in the room, could think about whatever kept you up that night by his window or in the comfort of his bed. Instead, you got there, far away, fingers brushing your jaw unconsciously and smoking a cigarette that wasn’t yours. Without something to say, you shrugged, not eyeing him but knowing he could find ways to get the answer somehow. 

It was a pleasant surprise to see him walk down those steps, casually pull up a wooden chair that was there and sit down to face you. That made you smile discreetly. 

“It’s awful, just so you know,” You gestured with the cigarette in your hand, contradicting yourself the next second while you took another hit.

“It’s not the best option for those who want to quit.”

“I just picked the wrong time for this. Or the wrong career.” 

Carrillo didn't respond, but you could see him make that information something to mull over. You held his analytical gaze for a while; when it got intense enough, you took another drag and turned your face to the side.

“I didn't get them all,” The comment came after a long moment of silence, when you noticed that he didn’t make any effort to have one for him. 

“Mm-hm,” He answered easily. “I figured you'd stop at the first one.”

“Yeah, well, this shit it’s fucked. You should review your preferences.”

“On cigarettes?” 

“That too.” 

This time he reacted, but in such an unusual way that it didn't seem like him. Horacio was drowsy, slow, as if the outside world had taken a break for that moment. Rested, by the saying. And when he decided to lean forward, reaching out a hand to pull the cigarette clamped between your fingers, you let him, watching the way he just took the time to put it in his own mouth before subtly grabbing your previously occupied hand. The same one that was still sore from the impact of the fall, but not so bad that it made you flinch from the touch. With the orange cigarette light illuminating his face, Carrillo carefully detailed the wounds, his thumb trailing lightly over your knuckles. 

“Who told you?” The question slipped out of your mouth smoothly, but you felt anxious asking it. When he just frowned at you, you clarified. “About my… fall.”

He took his time taking the cig away, then took more time blowing the smoke away before saying something. 

“Peña.”

Of course. 

You tilted your head while you entertained yourself with the hold he had on your hand. Raising your eyes after a good moment, you saw him watching you. 

You looked at each other for a moment. His fingers twitched in the grasp he had on your skin and whatever breeze that would come to brush you two wouldn’t make a single scratch at that moment. He looked so soft, so… open, like a vision of whatever type of man he was, a person you’d been meeting piece by piece. The warm eyes, the peaceful sincerity and the calm touches. God, he was so beautiful. 

“Te extraño en mi cama.” I miss you in my bed. There wasn’t a teasing tone with the way he talked, but you could feel his intentions dripping from his voice. 

Instead of giving him a proper answer, you chose — again — to keep any thought to yourself. With a slow hand, you grabbed the cigarette again, inhaling a little and releasing the smoke into the air without taking your eyes off him.

“¿Entonces viniste a buscarme?” So you came to get me?

Eyeing him from above, you could see the small smirk playing on his lips at the comment. You reflected the reaction, taking another drag before returning the cigarette. On this one, he pulled the touch away from your hand and directed it to the bare skin of your leg. Again, you didn’t make the effort to move or say something. Carrillo leaned in carefully, placing a single kiss on the inside of your left knee, then another on the right one. His body was angled enough that you could admire the curve of his broad back, the way the muscles stretched the fabric of his shirt.

“¿Qué estás haciendo?” What are you doing? You asked, a little breathless from the gentle kisses and touches, shivering like an untouched woman. 

“Te quiero cerca de mi,” I want you close to me, He said against your skin, hand massaging your thighs. “¿Harías esto por mí?” Would you do this for me?

“Por supuesto, Horacio. No estaba huyendo.” Of course, Horacio. I wasn't running away.

“Yo sé que no. No irías muy lejos vestida así.” I know you weren’t. You wouldn't go far dressed like that. Carrillo straightened his stance, smiling playfully at you and letting a small ‘oof’ when you kicked him lightly on the leg. 

You two got back to a comfortable silence, the tip of his fingers brushing your knees while you kept staring at the distance. The cigarette was still burning, making that strong smell of tobacco flow through the air calmly. It was peaceful, the way you sat there, silently, in each other's orbit. For a moment, you wanted to ask if he just lost sleep or if you had woken him up; maybe he wanted to ask something like that too. In the end, no one said anything, even though something should be done soon and you should move on from there. 

“Quite dramatic, don’t you think?” You were the first one breaking the silence, still not eyeing him with a wave of embarrassment hitting you. “We’re almost there to get that motherfucker and I’m here whining because of my father.”

“You’re not whining.”

“You know what I mean.”

He knew and, from the inside, you also knew he agreed with your opinions. There was a lot going on, a war to win, people dying, but still your personal problems darkened your vision from the real problem. It made you understand why Carrillo was so averse to DEA or CIA - so many people looking at their own ass and not seeing the whole figure, the important part. Even then, you appreciated the effort, the way he just shook his head a little, took a drag, averted the topic. 

You two contemplated the night in silence, puffing smoke and eventually brushing each other’s shins or legs or fingers. It was so easy to get used to the calm of that moment, to remember it as something eternal. You didn't want to think about the end of that because thinking about the end of that would, perhaps, be thinking about the end of what you had with Horacio there, at that moment. A mission that had to be accomplished, with the usual consequences. This was such a cruel melancholy, one that you only glimpsed as simple touches on your fingertips but that made your heart sink.

“Que pasa, mi amor?” What is it, my love? Carrillo asked, probably noticing the way you showed your sadness in your eyes, staring back at him. 

“Nn-nn,” You shook your head. “I’m fine. Maybe I just wanna go to bed now.”

“We can do that.”

He didn't press, nor did he hesitate to put out his cigarette so the two of you could go back inside. When they did, Horacio locked the door but didn't let you go very far - he subtly held your hand, bringing you closer and kissing your bruised knuckles. Then, without taking his eyes off yours, he placed a sighing kiss on your forehead, in the middle of your eyebrows, on the bridge of your nose and, finally, on your lips.

“I don't think I ever told you how beautiful you are.”

“Horacio…”

“What? Don’t you believe me?” 

“I’m already here, that’s all. You already have me, you don’t need to-” You knew exactly why you waved off his compliment, why you felt so unsure of how to react to it, and maybe he did too, because Carrillo wasn’t dumb. “Thank you. Sorry.”

You also didn’t know why your eyes welled with tears - either way, you suppressed the urge to cry, looking at him from under your lashes with shyness. With a discreet hand, you held his chest, then the side of his neck, tilting your head to the side and almost failing in keeping a neutral expression while observing his face. If you could, you would tell him that you were used to losing, that it wasn’t the first time your mind started to prepare you for another fall, another break. That Horacio, that this, wouldn’t be forever, that maybe you were just a storm in a life that could be calm. 

Horacio deserved suitable days. Days where he could have kids, a wife to call his, sunday lunches with family and calm nights with a partner. You always doubted yourself so much, always put yourself in the harsh ways of life to just feel something, that suddenly you felt self conscious of the fact that you weren’t what he probably was looking for, that he wouldn’t change you or what happened or how messy the world was. You didn’t want it to end because it was good. Imprudent, maybe, and quite dangerous, but good. So good. 

“What will become of us after this, Horacio? What do you expect of me?” 

He blinked, frowning in a stern way. 

“Is that what made you lose sleep?” 

You nodded. The confirmation just made him sigh, shaking his head lightly and showing clear signs of frustration. 

“He was never right about you. He doesn't… He doesn't deserve you, what he said doesn't belong to you,” Carrillo contained a harsh tone, jaw clenching. “I don’t expect anything, not from you, not from us, nothing but the assurance that you’re here now. That’s what I need.”

---------------------------------

It was different that time, you knew it was. Not like the first time, in the pure and mutual attraction, nor the second, in the decompression of the adversities that surrounded the two of you. It was different because, if Carrillo was crazy enough to ask you to marry him or propose an escape or make you stay there forever, you would say yes. Yes, Yes, Yes. Yes, take me away, yes, make me yours, yes, be the father of the children I never wanted to have but would have if you asked me. Yes, I would do anything for you. 

But he didn't ask any of that. He hardly asked, in fact, because between ordering or teasing, as he always did with you, Horacio decided to give you things, fill you with dark truths in the way he kissed you and made love to you that night. 

There was caution, care. He calmly undressed you, kissed you from heel to lip, caressed you through your physical wounds and those of your mind, holding you tight while he heard you moan and sigh. Sex for you was always a coincidence, an exaggerated consummation that was nothing more than pure biology. With him, that night, it was the end of a long and unnecessary waiting time that would always lead to the same result: the two of you together, skin to skin, without delay.

It was ridiculously cliché, looking into his eyes as you rode him slowly, as you enjoyed every moment with sweaty, panting faces, and knowing that the devotion of pleasure was the first and most genuine positive emotion you felt for each other. That there was no love at first sight, nor at second, nor at third, but a feeling that was based on the truth that, sometimes, the patches of difficult lives so full of ashes were enough for the right person. Ashes that became embers and fire again, with comfortable flames that warmed and did not burn. Not anymore, at least.

When it was all over, with both of you exhausted, tired and overwhelmed by the end, Horacio opened his first truly light smile, without intentions, just a happy one. He passed his hand over your forehead, looked at you without fear.

“Te amo.” 

I love you. 

---------------------------------

In the morning, despite having little sleep, you indulged more than you did at night in the shower. It was much less romantic, but equally intense, with skin-to-skin noises, loud moans, nail marks and very naughty looks. He took you from behind, one possessive hand on your neck and the other arm wrapped around your torso to balance his firm thrusts, while you grabbed his hips to keep him going. 

One of your best mornings, indeed. 

“I have a meeting before lunch. Then we have some alignments about the capture,” He said, all professional again, handing you a cup of coffee. You took it, smiling at the gesture while eyeing the correspondence from the day before that was stuck on your purse. 

“The capture. Big word,” The teasing didn’t go unnoticed by him, but the term caused a small cloud of tension to hang in the air. 

A letter from your mother. She said she loved you, asked for what the fuck was that magazines in your apartment and a date she had with the guy from the Blockbuster she mentioned two letters before. No details, thank God. 

“What do you think?” 

“About what?”

A call-up from Messina. Nothing important. That report she asked was probably on her desk by now. 

“About this word.”

You stopped between an FBI report and another envelope. When you looked up, you saw him standing in front of you, leaning on the counter where you were sitting and sipping your own coffee. This made you consider a response, even if you already knew what you were going to say. With a sigh, you placed the envelopes back on the top of your bag and also took a sip of coffee, shrugging your shoulders.

“Last time he ran away.” 

“Is that what you meant?”

“... No,” You shook your head lightly. “We know what will happen. Do you want me to say it?” 

“You could try.”

But you didn’t. He knew, you knew, that was what mattered. Like ripping away a band-aid, or taking the life out of a queen bee - resolution, antidote, job done. You turned your face away from him, eyeing the letters splayed out there, and shook your head again. 

“I don't want to put you into the operation. When the day comes, I mean.”

“I know,” A sip - a bitter one. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“My name will already be in the history books, Carrillo. The DEA agent who fell from the rooftops the most in Medellín,” Even if it meant to be a teasing, Horacio didn’t smile, which made you roll your eyes. “I did the job, we all did. Whoever pulls the trigger, I’m happy. Satisfied.”

He didn’t respond to that, nor did he bring up the subject again, and you knew he understood what your passive words meant. You could be hiding something, maybe, but you weren't sure what it was. Your father may have been incapable of keeping words that promised good things, but he had uncanny abilities to carry out his threats well. He wouldn't touch Carrillo, he needed him, the aggression and the wounded pride that still coursed through the guy's veins. It would be one, two of the group. It would be someone. 

You left the house giving him a long kiss, one that was returned with a certain innocence - which was an odd word to associate with him, anyway. Either way, you were determined to make the future farewell, the inevitable one, a little less full of secrets. You would say what really happened. You would do that, yes, different from what an unloving father would do after destroying his own family.

---------------------------------

“¿Qué pasó, hijo? Pareces distraído.” What happened, son? You seem distracted.

Jorge blinked a few times, looking back at the dishes in his hands and the foam, which was more sliding around his fists than actually cleaning anything in the sink. When he realized that he was, in fact, wandering in thought, he cleared his throat and tried to scrub the plate harder. He had done it before, but repeated the process unconsciously. 

“Sólo estoy cansado, mamá. Fue un día largo en el hospital.” I'm just tired, mom. It was a long day at the hospital.

He hadn't said it in the letter - he didn't feel the strength or courage to do so. He didn't know how his mother would react. Georgina was a truly strong, competent woman, but Jorge's need to take a peek into the past was always something she ignored or just pretended didn't exist. If she imagined anything from her son's erratic behavior, the way he had become more agitated since the DEA had gotten its hands on the hunt for Escobar, she didn't comment. Another quality of hers, perhaps coming from experience, was knowing when to be quiet. 

“No sé si voy a venir a cenar esta noche,” I don't know if I'm going to come to dinner tonight, Jorge said in a low, almost embarrassed tone, because he knew how much she didn’t like the idea. When he felt her coming closer, touching his shoulder calmly, he thought it was over and then, right there, all the secrecy would be over. 

“¿De guardia en el hospital?” On duty at the hospital?

“Mm-hm.” He nodded, still watching the dishes, afraid of what he would find if his eyes landed on Georgina. She hummed, patting his back, then turning away. 

“Ten cuidado en el camino. Por lo que parece, se están yendo.” Be careful on the way. From the looks of it, they’re leaving.

His hands clenched tightly at the mention of 'them', as did his eyes. Jorge always hated his sentimental side because it constantly failed him when necessary - since he was little, he would cry because he was away from his mother for a long time (who didn't give up brothel work even after having him) or he would get angry when another patient died due to lack of medicine in the hospital or he would even feel incredibly guilty when he saw the money that always came with men who were not from the government. That last part, he actually learned to overcome. If he was really determined like his grandmother always prophesied, he would never send that letter. You didn't owe him anything, you might not even have known he existed or, worse, followed not only in your father's footsteps in your career but in life.

Jorge left his mother's house afraid of being rejected again because it had been three days. Three days and nothing.

He wouldn't have another chance.

---------------------------------

That was the thing about being an almost lone woman on the front line: there was a subconscious idea that male colleagues had your back. Well, in general it was the other way around, and you wouldn't have been able to visualize any kind of support from anyone when you arrived, but perhaps your work might have earned you some respect - enough for people to look at you when you spoke and give value to what came out of your mouth. Maybe, if you had a little more stomach, you'd even ask Judy Moncada if she also earned respect through suffocation. Probably yes. Javier frowned a lot when her name came up (which was rare to see), so you could say that this would be an interesting point of identification.

It was the same Peña who mentioned that day he bumped into your father. He didn't specify a time, a specific moment, so it wasn't possible to know if it was before or after the episode in the office, just that it happened. You noticed that he kept looking at you with some suspicion, searching for an opening that would remove his doubt, but when you just said 'mm' and continued looking at the papers, the subject was dropped. There, you realized that it would be much easier to be punctual with your answers if he asked about Carrillo, but you knew he would hate to know too many details about it.

And oh yes, the 'protection'. You were never alone in a room with your father. When he prostrated himself more aggressively, sometimes Carrillo intervened with a firmer voice or Javier or Steve placed themselves, albeit discreetly, in front of you to shield yourself from that reaction. You always noticed, but never commented on it.

“He said that?”

The decision to tell Javier about what happened came in handy for a few basic reasons: he could be on the line (your father would always prefer a good, obedient boy next door like Steve), he knew how to keep secrets, and more than anything, there was a quiet trust that Carrillo wouldn't know about it from him. The two knew each other a little better, they had more identification, so Peña would understand why that conversation was taking place on the discreet terrace of your building between puffs of cigarettes. 

“I just want to let you know. You know, in case something happens in the next few days.” 

Javi frowned, nodding along but contemplating the information. You observed his side profile for a moment before turning your eyes to the night sky. 

“Do you think it would be you?” When he asked that, you noticed that the question didn’t come with eye contact. His eyes were on the concrete, right where he tapped the ashes of his cig. 

“I can’t be sure…” You sighed. “We're already in the final stretch, I'm sure of it. It wouldn't make any difference to let us go now. Still…”

Nothing came from your mouth. Javi pressed with raised eyebrows. 

“CIA has its methods,” That was all you said and it could mean a lot of dramatic stuff, but at best he would just take some relevant parts from reports or even put on some obstacles in the near future. He would, indeed - he could. 

“And don't you think your relationship with Carrillo is hurting your career?” 

You two shared a glance, a long one. Javier didn’t seem to regret what he said, nor reticent; it was a question he wanted to do, so he did. And you considered it calmly, rolling the cigarette between your fingers without taking your eyes off him. 

“What do you think?”

“... No,” He said, shaking his head. “It's harmless. At least from here. You?”

“It would be a bigger problem if it were you,” The teasing made him scoff. 

“You wouldn't risk falling in love with me, at least. I wasn't going to let you do it.”

“Oh no?”

“Nn-nn.”

“Thank God, then.”

“Yeah, you should really be grateful. I still don't understand how you managed to get into his pants.” 

“It's not that hard.”

“Mm.”

“You jealous or somethin’?” You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re his type at all, but-”

“Shut up,” He groaned, almost not being able to hide his playful grin while kicking your leg lightly. It turned into shared laughs soon, so you knew it would be another thing to remember. 

A small silence lingered there, serene and soft. When he spoke again, it came in a low tone, tranquilized. 

“If it's me-”

“Mm?”

“They're going to assign me to Cali. Well, I hope so.”

“You want that?”

“I don’t know what I would do, ‘s all. This… You know what I did here. It's a consequence that I would like to at least remedy, at least to sleep better at night.” 

You observed him without a word to say, noticing that the privilege of having a slight reliable source of comfort for certain feelings was mutual. Well, you wished you could’ve noticed that earlier - it would’ve made a difference. 

“Maybe I’ll need some support up there.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Do you have plans after this?”

For a moment, for a slight small moment, you wanted to give him a definitive answer; that you would be on the field, that LA still has some hard work to do, that you wanted to stay. If you knew this, you would tell him for sure, because it was Javi and Javi was… 

“Fuck, are you two that serious?” 

You puffed more smoke in the air, one brow raised. 

“I like him.”

Javier didn't respond, but there was a slightly bitter aura on his face, as if he had fallen into an unwanted situation. Well, it was. Just as it was undesirable to leave the US to hunt down a narco, or see innocent dead bodies every day, or start something like that with Carrillo at that point in things. Would there ever be an ideal time? 

From the way Peña shared a glance with you, turning his eyes back to the street below you two, there was just one rational and coherent answer. Damn it all, you thought, because being irrational and incoherent seemed to work so fine with everything. 

---------------------------------

You couldn't be very moved when Javier was sent away. You were furious, yes, because you could see in your father's eyes that day that it had been your defeat. No, it was a fact, you couldn't react in front of so many people, not even when you hugged him hidden in the parking lot. 

“I’m sorry, Javi. I’m sorry.” You said, gripping the fabric of his jacket and keeping your eyes squeezed shut. 

“It’s not your fault,” He said as calmly and coldly as he could, hands splayed on your back. “I caused this to myself.”

That sentence haunted you for a while, at least long enough. When Carrillo came to see you later, when you lay in bed together, no one mentioned what happened, even though it was a fact that no one there slept well (again). 

“Pronto,” He said. “Pronto atraparemos a ese hijo de puta.” Soon. We'll soon catch this son of a bitch.

And you didn't know if Carrillo was talking about Escobar, your father or whatever the ghost was that surrounded it all.

---------------------------------

A breath you didn't know you were holding left your throat when you heard Trujillo come back on the radio saying that Escobar was dead. Your two hands were gripping the supports of the leather chair, your nails digging into the upholstery, your shoulders raised to your ears; you were alone in the room, locked and static. In the background, you could hear Steve, hear Carrillo and the men. There was a dead body, a definitive body, and it 'almost' made you cry.

You noticed a presence soon after and, when you looked up from the equipment, you saw your father. He had his arms crossed, his body leaning against the doorframe. You exchanged a withering look, full of many meaningless things.

“We-”

“No.”

For the first time, he didn’t answer, didn’t press. You blinked a few times, got even more closer to the desk and turned your eyes back to the radio. 

“There will be no confirmation of CIA involvement.”

“Is that the most you can get?”

“I have nothing to apologize for.”

You nodded, expression unreadable, face never leaving the equipment. 

“Apologizing is apologizing. I never painted you as a guy with a lot of metaphors and I don't think you would have the mental capacity to do that now.” 

He didn’t say anything again. Not a word. When you looked at the door after a few minutes, he was gone - nothing but the empty corridor in your eyesight. 

When it was all over, all done (when it finally looked like the end of the line), you didn’t feel all the emotions and joy and relief you always thought you would. There was a restraint, from the way people celebrated from the way you held yourself against the decision to run to Carrillo as soon as they all came back. You looked at the smiles and laughs from afar, observed the proud way Horacio was acting from finally (finally) making it to the final. To kill, to take that bug hurting his ego, his country and his integrity for so long. It all mattered to him and for that you could celebrate. 

For some reason, even so, whatever weight you still carried on your shoulders, you flexed your hands so as not to touch Carrillo and carried his body slowly even though your heart screamed for you to run, to jump into his arms and give a relieved sigh, being able to say it was over. You walked closer, patted his bicep, gave one of the most genuine smiles you had, mouthed ‘we did it’ - his eyes were full of a deserved relief, like a good tiredness. Yeah, you wished you could keep that moment in a box, open it when necessary, keep it to memory. He was, really, a beautiful man. 

And if you got away from the commotion and saw your father from afar, watching the scene like a hawk, making you lose your smile, it had nothing to do with the sudden sour mood that surrounded your head even during such a big event. 

---------------------------------

“Peña called.”

“Mm?”

Carrillo hummed, the sound reverberating on his chest where you were laying on. The midnight breeze was cooler, mixed with your naked bodies fresh from the shower and the thin layer of the sheets, but you two weren’t shivering. 

You brushed your palm on his pecks, nuzzling closer to his neck. 

“Said he hoped we celebrated a lot.”

“We did, right?” The teasing on your tone made him chuckle, head turning to the side to peck your forehead. 

“I think he should be a part of it somehow,” It didn’t sound like a confession, but more like a statement. Yes, he should, but he wasn’t. An empty space was there, one that nobody would be able to fix. 

“... Yeah,” You said slowly, eyeing the window. 

“Is that why you looked so lost earlier today?” He asked. 

It was true that you didn't want to ruin the moment with what was going on in your head, much less bring another type of bureaucracy to the ones he would face with Escobar's death, but you always thought you could be one step ahead of Carrillo when it came to hiding your true emotions. He had an almost religious ability to read people.

“No,” You shook your head. “But I would rather not talk about it.”

And he didn’t. Horacio went all quiet and kept tracing patterns on your shoulder and arm, all the while giving long and steady breaths, as if entering in a state of relaxation that you’d never seen before. Another thing to keep close to your heart, the way you could feel the slump of his shoulders, his soft heartbeat, the delicate touch of the tip of his fingers - things that he didn’t allow himself to be, a version of himself that flowed in the air, an almost domestic man. 

Domestic, yes, so you adjusted your body to be even more closer, touching his skin and kissing what you could reach, what could still be surrounding you. It scared you a little, the fact that if he decided to be done like before, to create some distance between you two, you would be almost sick, sad, unsure of what to do with your hands and mind. Well, the offer would be up. You could still be closer for a little more, work with Peña if he ever got the chance to work on the Cali, to be some hours away from this thing you started to truly appreciate with Carrillo. 

But again, hell, again, you wondered if that would always be like this. Could you two only be together in a context of war, of conflict? Wasn't there a version of that closeness that could be solidified in the silence and peace of a stable relationship? How unfair would that be, stopping the world for a moment and being able to sleep with someone you love without a gun under your pillow or the uncertainty of even being alive at the end of the day?

You felt selfish. Horacio could’ve died at the hands of the narcos, he always had an almost obsessive ambition to have that man in his hands, defeated and destroyed. It was enough that he was there, with you, and not in some tomb with honorable mentions made for Juliana, and not for you, because you were nothing more than two colleagues to people. You even felt self conscious. There would be less uncertainty if Juliana was there instead of you because she stopped her life so that Horacio could climb his own, achieve things, be the provider.

You remembered the night right after he was shot.

“I came to see you the day you got shot,” It slipped out of your mouth, breaking the silence in a sharp way even if your voice was small. 

“You did?” He asked, confused by the sudden change of subject but willing to engage. “Why didn't I know this before?”

“... I saw Juliana in your house.” 

Another silence followed your comment, this time more rigid. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, focusing your eyes on the skin of his belly, but that comfort lasted so little when he squirmed, almost forcing you to move away enough to look at his face. With a gulp, you did, body supported by one of your elbows to see his concerned face. 

“It bothered you,” Horacio said. 

“No, it’s just… You two were married, Horacio, for fucks sake… And it was obvious that she would come by to see how you’re doing. I didn’t want to interrupt. Not to mention that we weren’t as we are now.”

He stared at you, still frowning. After a while, when he noticed that you weren't going to say anything else, he relaxed his face a little, looking at the window and collecting his own thoughts.

“I tried to rekindle our relationship. Deep down, I thought I needed stability in life, something that made sense and that I didn't need to worry about, so the divorce was a frustration,” A sigh. “But that was before Escobar, before all that. I realized it would be better this way when we went to Madrid. She returned to be with her family, but we signed the divorce with the certainty that it was the right thing to do.”

You listened to his words with attention. 

“When I got shot, I didn't think about anything. There was no film of my life or missed chances and opportunities. If I died right then, my only regret would be that I didn't finish my work,” He turned to you then, measuring your face with care. “When Juliana showed up, the only thing she told me was that I shouldn't be miserable enough to only have this mission in my head. That I should progress, live. No one would wait for me forever at the finish line and it would be a horrible feeling to swim for so long only to die alone on the beach.” 

That was like a punch in the stomach, a force of words of things that only squeezed your heart. The fear and insecurity of being alone, of all that ending, you returning to LA and having all these feelings, added to the guilt of not valuing what your mother, for example, offered. This loneliness at the end of the day, of modified dreams and a brutal reality, this was something you thought about with yourself and didn't imagine that someone else would feel it too.

“That's when I thought of you.”

You gulped, mouth twisting to prevent a smile. 

“You and your perfume. It was always a femininity that I repudiated, particularly because it broke with my focus, took me off the axis, off my plan. After that I realized that getting rid of Escobar was an incredible feeling and going back to that same perfume was just as good.” 

No one spoke of goodbyes, of a goodbye that would be seen occasionally and almost instantly. You did it, you accomplished your mission. And if what was left, even if only for a short time, was that sensitive moment of implied declarations and a true sense of love, then so be it. 

This ending wasn't that bad.

---------------------------------

“You’re really trying to make this a competition, huh?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his teasing tone, turning your head for a peck on the lips before going back to the search on your bag. It was still early in the morning, so after a good fight around your kitchen to do a cup of coffee before he woke up, you decided to smoke some - just to notice that you couldn’t find your pack of cigarettes. 

Carrillo circled his arms around your waist from behind, making you tilt your head to give room for him to place small and deliberate kisses on your neck. When he started to lower his hand, brushing the inside of your left thigh, you couldn’t help but chuckle. Noticing that you still weren't giving him your undivided attention, Horacio grunted and suddenly grabbed your purse, throwing it haphazardly on the sofa and suppressing your surprised gasp by turning you towards him and kissing your mouth.

“What’s going on?” You asked, unsure if you should laugh, push him away lightly or just give in on his affections. 

“Nn-nn,” He mumbled, burying his face on your neck again. 

“Nn-nn?”

“Just five more minutes.”

And he wasn't agitated, nor witty enough to make that moment a heap of giggles or tickles or… Anyway. He remained quiet, breathing deeply, placing both palms on your back and pressing you against his body. You frowned at the silence, at the request, until you felt his heart racing in his chest, his skin sweaty. Perhaps you had heard a commotion in the room, something that indicated the reason for that almost unexpected attitude. Horacio was rigid, almost restless in a… different way, burying his fingers on your back. 

“Was it a nightmare?” You asked in a low tone.

“Bad dream.”

Well, you could say it was the same thing, but Carrillo probably had odd ways to cope with this shit, like not saying it was a nightmare would make it less scary. It was early - way too early for either of you to be up. It was as if the calm was fighting against the hustle and bustle of the outside world and what was happening. A reminder. You could tell he felt what you had felt the day before, at least because you knew there would be a small sacrifice at the end of it all. 

You hugged him back, closed your eyes at the proximity. No one said anything, you particularly couldn’t. If you did, you would have to admit that, yeah, you knew how it was to have bad dreams - that yours involved saying a difficult goodbye, saying that you two would be over. 

Yeah, this ending wasn't that bad, but it hurted a little; if felt like a fucking sacrifice. 

---------------------------------

You both had busy days with bureaucracy. There was a lot of paperwork, press conferences, arrests and transfers. The Montoya family wrote to you, Peña wrote (although he was more succinct). When your mother wrote, asking (among other things) when you would return, you answered all her other questions except that one. Steve and Connie invited you to dinner as a farewell and they, yes, had a date to leave, to bury complicated days.

Your apartment was a mess because of it; clothes on the floor, work things scattered around. Some people in the office already had tickets booked to the US, so whenever you came back late at night or in the early hours of the day, there would be someone walking by with boxes, smiling in relief. You just stayed quiet. At dinner, at bureaucracies, at the times you managed to meet Carrillo. 

Something was missing. You didn't feel truly fulfilled, you didn't find the strength to respond to your father's criticism or anything that came out of his mouth. It was an inertia of confusion, uncertainty and emptiness.

Horacio was in your apartment when it happened.

The two of you had sat on the couch, smoked, drank, had sex. The usual.

You remembered him getting up to get the bottle of bourbon that was left in the kitchen and you said you would accept another drink. Then you squirmed on the couch, rested your head to face the ceiling and rubbed your eyes, already partially drunk. When you turned your head to the side, hearing Carrillo mumble something about the bottle already running out, you saw a piece of paper pointing out from under the couch. 

Any other time, really, you would leave it there. God, why did you take that shit in the first place? Why didn't Horacio arrive seconds earlier to distract you from opening that letter? 

Jorge Pérez. With a high level of importance.

It was dated a few days earlier and had been written on pages in a small notebook, with spaced words and letters, all written in typical Colombian Spanish that was mixed in quick, light, hurried writing. 

The last time you felt that feeling of having disassociated like that was when Juan Marcos almost killed you. Your head felt light, removed from reality, and it was as if your hands were tingling. You didn't laugh this time, you didn't have a hysterical laughing reaction from the shock, because maybe your body was so exhausted that you could only react with the first thing you felt like doing. 

Each word was taken in with a lump in your throat and you blinked a few times as you felt your hands shaking, holding the papers and couldn't finish reading the rest. There were three parts, three pieces. You were suddenly impulsive about finishing the rest, reading, turning over the papers, gripping them tightly between your fingers. 

“What?”

He asked with a confused expression, but you couldn’t quite catch his question right away. With a hand in front of your mouth, you swallowed a sob and held that letter with a firm grip, afraid of it all being a lie or an illusion or… A trick. A fucking universe trick for your mind and soul. 

You raised your eyes to Carrillo, gulping again to prevent any big emotion from spreading all over the place. 

“... It’s… It’s Jorge.”

“And who is it?”

The words almost didn’t leave your mouth, as if you were scared of the consequences of just… saying it. 

“My brother.”

---------------------------------

I saw him on TV, but I saw you on a very trivial day. I don't remember the clothes you were wearing, nor could I tell you what time it was, or what day specifically. Maybe it was right after I saw him, but I still wouldn't know for sure. Things always pass me by with dates and names. I'm dyslexic. The truth is, well, you have a dyslexic brother who is a doctor. This is a great treat for those who enjoy stories of overcoming.

He never talked about me, did he? I'm sure he didn't do that. I think you're smart, maybe witty, because he never talked about you to me either. Perhaps we both did something that would be worthy of making him pull away. This is strangely comforting. 

I know that the moment is not convenient and that it may seem like a lie, like a trap or something, so I understand if it takes a while, despite admitting that I am an anxious guy, I would even say impulsive. The truth is that not having an answer from you makes me resigned, but if you responded, if you looked for me, I would be hopeful.

Be sure to stop by a bar in Belén called Bodega del Toro. They have great fish filets and craft beers that are always cold. 

Show up. Go to the bar if you can.

He won't show up, you can be sure. This stopped being a reality a long time ago. I hope it also brought out, in addition to your appearance, the generosity that I'm sure your mother has. 

---------------------------------

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes ​

@616wilsons ​

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[angelsdevils]

Echoes Across Paths:

Word Count: 947 words No Warnings

Tag List: @reiners-milkbiddies @mixplara

Master List | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

“Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to Y/N! WOOO!” Your family and friends cheered as you laughed and blew out the candles on the cake. 

“How old are you?” Your dad asked, and you looked at him with a playfully annoyed look.

“18, dad…”

“Oh, god you are old.” 

“Says the old man pushing 80!” You retorted, and her father’s mouth dropped open and her mother laughed. 

“80!? Come on, I am not even 50 yet,” he exclaimed. 

“Still old, old man.” You laughed softly, and he playfully rolled his eyes. Your dad put you in a headlock, messing up your hair. That earned him a wine and a smack on his arm. He let you go, as the cake from the restaurant was placed in front of you. Everyone started to eat the delicious dessert, and you talked with your friends. 

After a few hours, you stood up. You wanted the last few hours to be by yourself like you did every year. You excused yourself, and grabbed your jacket, walking out. Before you could leave the restaurant, your grandmother grabbed your hands gently, pulling you close. 

“Be careful, my dear. Remember my words from when you were young.” 

“Alright, gram gram. I will,” you said. She kissed your cheek and gently pulled you close to her. You hugged her back before waving to everyone, leaving your party a bit early. 

You walked outside, and it was pouring rain. It was such a pretty day earlier before the sun went down. It was like the sky was crying for something tragic. Thunder and lightning cracked across the sky. You sped up your pace, deciding to walk home. You were going to take a detour, but the rain was only getting harder. 

A flash of lightning cracked across the sky again, but this time it struck too close to you. The panic filled your chest, and you started to run back to your home. The rain got harder, blurring your vision and soaking you through your dress. The world around seemed to grow increasingly hostile, the wind howling like it was voicing its anger, pushing you back ten steps every two you took towards your home. 

Just as you thought you were close to getting home, another lightning bolt struck, this time so close that the ground beneath you vibrated. The shock sent you tumbling to the ground, and terror filled you. The air crackled with electricity, and for a moment, everything stood still- the rain paused mid-air, the thunder silent, and the world held its breath. 

Is this how I die? 

In a flash, there was a brighter light surrounding the area, and you were engulfed in a blinding glow. The last thing you felt was the sensation of being electrocuted and then being pulled through the air as if the storm itself had grabbed hold of you, and then nothing but silence filled the area. 

When your senses returned, you found yourself lying on the ground, but not on the wet pavement that you had expected. The air was cooler and drier, and the smell of rain was a faint scent of earth and smoke. Groggily sitting up, you realized your surroundings were completely foreign. The modern building and neon lights of your city were gone, but replaced by stone structures and a sky painted with stars, untainted by modern-day civilization. 

Confusion and fear welled up inside you, as you looked around. Your heart was pounding. “Where am I?” you whispered to the night, not expecting an answer. 

“Oh, the sleeping beauty has woken up…” an unfamiliar voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked up at a guy who wore spectacles and had blonde hair with a blonde beard. He was moving the wood with a stick to keep it going.

“Who… are you?” You asked, and he gave you a grin, he had to be in his forties. He looked like he had years of life experience. 

“You should introduce yourself first, Princess.” 

“Uhm, my name it’s…” you were confident but then the look faded. “It’s…” 

“It’s…” 

“I… can’t remember.” 

“I see well, my name is Zeke. Zeke Yeager. Hungry?” 

You nodded your head and sat beside him. He gave you some meat that you assumed he hunted for both to share. You took small bites, now deep in thought.

“Do you by chance know where you are from? Are Eldian or Marleyan? You don’t look like either if I am honest.”

“I don’t know, I thought I mean…”

“Don’t think too much, it will come back naturally. Just eat,” he insisted.

“Okay…” 

You ate in silence, and he did the same. It was awkward.

“Do you know where I am?”

“Not far from Marley., you are right outside the borders. I was returning from a mission when I found you.” It was silent as you guys ate, you weren’t 

“So do you have kids?” You asked, trying to make small talk.

“Huh? No, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just thought you did. Most people your age do have kids…”

“Do they? I guess some people start early.” 

You looked at him confused, and he was confused as well. 

“Early? How old are you?” You asked, and Zeke hummed as he kept the fire going. 

“I am 25.” 

“25!? Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I am not the one with the lost memory, kid.”

“I am not a kid…” You said, and he raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down. You looked down as well, before realizing you were… tiny. 

Oh no, what the fuck is going on?

“Sure you aren’t Princess.” 

You huffed, and he only grinned at you. 

© [@angelsdevils] all rights reserved. none of my posts or stories should be modified, reposted, etc. I do not own the character or the fanart, but I own the plots of these stories. All fanart goes to their appropriate owners.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

dear bob...

summary: talking to the dead while trying to be there for the living.

WC: 969, hehe

warnings: a quick mention of b!ood, but this is cleared of everything else.

A/N: I WILL SAY IT TILL THE END OF TIME BOB NEWBY DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT ENDING THE DUFFERS GAVE HIM!!!!!! *honestly most of these might not be my best works, so just bare with if you read them*

also had to use my birthday as the first date, duh. it’s my birth month.

series masterlist

previous chapter  next chapter

January 18, 1985

“Dear Bob Newby, Hawkins superhero.”

You were already getting choked up, but knew you had to push through.

“It’s only been two months since everything happened. Since Will’s episodes, they stopped by the way. Since you were at the lab, since the demo dogs, Dustin named them, since those creatures invaded the lab. Two months since you… anyway. Um… I’m still working at Radio Shack even though every day I step through those doors, I want to run back home. It doesn’t feel the same with you gone, besides I don’t have as much knowledge as you did.”

Your thumbs swiped over the black ink scrawled on the lined paper.

“Well, um in other news, Jonathan and I both have relationships. I’m not gonna go into it, but just wanted to let you know, we’re doing okay. But uh, mom, she’s uh… she says she’s fine, but I know she’s lying a bit. I hear her weeping at night, times when nightmares won’t get off my back and I head to the backyard for fresh air, I pass her room and faintly I hear the sniffles and occasional wet hiccup. It breaks my heart, ‘cause she deserved happiness, and you gave her that peace. I know she seemed hesitant at times, but she did love you, she loved the comfort you brought to our home. It was a nice change for once, no screaming or crying out of fear, but laughter and warmth. And I know Jonathan kinda seemed… guarded or just- what I’m saying is he’s just not used to trusting male figures, he’s- we’re all protective of our mom.”

You thought back to this morning, telling her you were gonna visit the cemetery. Asking if she would want to come with, seeing the hesitation in her eyes and body, how she stuttered out an excuse. She’s probably at work or just at home, sitting in the living room or laying in bed.

“I know you would want her to be happy though, want all of us to be happy. I hope she’ll get to be happy again, she was sad for too long and I don’t want to see her go through that again.”

The wind whistled through the trees, leaves waving in the background.

“I should… I should head back. I’ll try and see if she can come next time.”

You picked up your paper and tightened your scarf along your next, the bruising completely gone now. Loose strands of hair were played with the wind as you stood, taking a quick look around the quiet grounds.

With a hand placed atop the hard stone, a quiet “happy new year” goodbye, you left the ghostly grounds.

…

January 19, 2:15 AM

A nightmare.

A nightmare where Steve died at the hands of Billy. Every time you tried to intervene some force would hold you back, making you watch with leaking eyes and snot leaving your nostrils. And just before Billy makes his final blow, Steve would look your way, battered and bloodied face, but you can still make out his loving gaze and the faint hint of a smile on his lips. Then you just stared as the light left his eyes, then Billy would make his way to you, and you awoke before it got any further, but you got the gist.

Steve didn’t spend the night that day, so you weren’t saved by his warmth and comfort or an arm thrown over your waist as you buried your face into his neck. You were only greeted by the dark and coldness of your quiet room, shadows making you jumpy. 

So you felt the shrinking room behind, wanting to call Steve, but you didn’t want to bother him especially since your relationship was still known. So instead of calling Steve you’ll just head outside and smoke something, hoping that will quell the nerves firing from your brain.

As you made your way down the dark hallway, you heard it again.

You heard the quiet sniffles, the moans of pain. She was crying again. And you hesitated outside her door, wondering if you should enter, but you both need comfort tonight if no one else can give it to you.

With a slow turning of the silver knob you pushed the wood door inch by inch, trying to stop the creaking from growing too loud. Her room was dark except for a small lamp on her bedside table, only shining Joyce in the yellow glow.

“Mom,” you whispered into the quiet night.

You saw as she tried to fix her appearance, wiping away any traces of tears, running a tissue under her nose, tucking her bangs behind her ears even though they slipped back into place. You took a step at a time, door closing behind you and leaving the both of you in a moment of privacy.

“Hi honey. Are you okay?” You could hear the rough edge in her voice.

You knew she would push you away if you mentioned anything about her, it’s something almost everyone in the Byers picked up from her, always putting others before yourself. So instead of coming to her as a friend, a shoulder to cry on, you went to her as a daughter, someone in need of comforting.

“I… I had a nightmare… about Steve, but I don’t want to bother him.” You wrung your hands together.

She held her arms out and open, “come here, baby.” And you walked to her bed before crawling into her arms and resting your head against her chest, her arms wrapping around your shoulders in a firm hold.

“I’m here, baby. I’ll always be here for you.” A soothing stroke to your hair.

“I’ll always be here for you too, mommy.” You whispered into her clavicle.

-----------------------------

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*strike through means tumblr can’t hide your account, sorry*

[chesters-ocs]

butcher w the pre wedding jitters. am half asleep btw so thats my excuse

Waking up to a phone call, Sylvester answered groggily, not even seeing the ID without his glasses.

"... Wha..?" He slurs, only to hear the tired laughter of his neighbor

"Hey... Sorry, did I wake you?"

"... Fuck d'ya think? Go back to bed, you're married tomorrow." He murmurs, trying to not wake up his own husband as he sits upright in bed, the blanket pooling in his lap.

Mindlessly, he starts petting Monster, who had made her way over to him when he awoke, seeking affection, which he didn't have the heart to deny.

"No can do... I'm uh... on your porch..?" Butcher offers hesitantly, chuckling at the exasperated groan he heard.

Slowly rising from his feet, he gave the cat one last pet, as he slowly stalked outside the room and shut the door gently.

In a few seconds, the main entrance unlocks, causing Butcher to look up and chuckle, commenting "Someone forgot his glasses."

"Shuddup... Why are ya here?" Sylvester pries, sitting down next to Butcher on the steps leading up to the porch. As always, the larger man had a cigarette between his teeth.

"... Couldn't tell you. Anxiety?" Butcher offers, unconvinced himself.

"What, having second thoughts?"

"... Nah... more like worried he will."

Rolling his eyes, Sylvester stuck a hand out. Wordlessly obeying, Butcher drops a pack and a lighter in the outscretched hand with an amused grin, asking, "Still ain't allowed cigs inside?"

"Unfortunately. He loves his lungs or whatever."

"Typical."

A silence fell between the two smokers. Butcher gazing in the direction of his home, while Sylvester looks straight ahead into the clear skies of the early summer sunrise.

"... If it makes ya feel better.." Sylvester interrupts the silence, continuing when Butcher's eyes land on him, "I was the same. Had to take like... thrice the recommended dose to fall asleep. He still doesn't even know."

Butcher hums at the mental image.

"... But. I'm sure it'll go great. It's your big day. Just... hold it back on the whiskey and smokes, yeah? I told Vik to not say shit, but y'know. Maybe you'll get some good karma points for that... For once in your life."

"Hey! I'm not a totally evil person... Right?" He can't help but double check anyways.

"Nah. Insufferable, yeah. Evil? Never." The older man reassures, tapping the ash off the cigarette.

"... Thanks. Really."

Sylvester nods in response, and watches him stand up and pop his bones, speaking: "I'll... Go make breakfast. And have some caffeine."

"Go do that. I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow, big guy."

Butcher snorts at the nickname, before dropping and stomping out the butt of his vice.

Once making sure Butcher had left, Sylvester slid back under the covers, noting how Stone's arm trapped him there, even in his sleep.

The alarm blares 2 hours later.

[koshkamartell]

Chapter 2 - He Took Me Home

masterlist

The music seemed louder now and there seemed to be more people around; it made Ally's head start to ache. She followed Anna blindly through the crowd, weaving through the party towards the couch where Toni and Tommy were sat. They were kissing passionately, Toni now straddling Adam.

"Hey!" Anna said loudly, trying to interrupt them. "Toni!"

They were too occupied to hear her. Anna lightly smacked Toni's rump to get her attention and some of Tommy's friends standing nearby laughed. Joel stood by, watching the scene with his lips in a tight line of disapproval.

"What?" Toni broke away from kiss. "What's up?"

"Yes, I'm safe. Can't you tell?" She grinned. "Tommy is making sure of that."

"We are checking to make sure you're safe." Anna said. "Are you safe?"

Toni giggled and swayed childishly side to side on Tommy's lap while he ran his hands over her hips.

Ally was suddenly hit by a painful throb in the front of her temple. She frowned and slapped a hand up to her head and groaned. Toni saw the action and her demeanour quickly turned serious.

"My head is hurting." Ally mumbled in reply. "I think I drank too much."

"Are you okay, Ally?" Toni asked.

Toni slid off Tommy's lap while Anna guided Ally to sit on the couch. Tommy stood up to make room for the girls to gather around her. Ally shut her eyes tightly and cradled her head in her hands.

"Its probably the joint. You never smoke." Anna suggested as Toni rubbed Ally's back in soothing circles.

"Yeah, you'd probably get stoned just from the second hand smoke," Toni joked lightheartedly.

"Here. You need to drink some water." A gruff voice spoke up from above them.

Ally's eyes flickered open and she gingerly lifted her head to find Joel standing infront of her. Joel stared down at her, a cup of water in his large hand.

"Oh." She mumbled, surprised at the gesture. "Thank you."

He gave the cup to her and she accepted, taking a small sip. Joel's eyes watched her closely.

"Do you wanna go home?" Anna asked Ally. "Maybe rest a bit?"

"All of it." He ordered firmly.

Ally obeyed and chugged it down. He nodded, satisfied, then plucked the empty cup from her hand.

"I think I will be okay."

"Let's go back outside." Anna said. "Get some fresh air."

Ally nodded in agreement but as she stood up from the couch she swayed unsteadily on her feet and groaned. Toni and Anna quickly clutched her arms and held her upright.

"Nah, not a good idea." Toni sighed. "She really needs to go home."

"I'm sorry," Ally mumbled, looking from them sheepishly. "I don't want to leave. My head is just really hurting. But I really don't want you guys to miss out on the party. I can just sit here."

"No, you need to get to bed." Anna said gently. "I'll see if Mark can drive you home."

Tommy slipped his arms around Toni from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. "I can take you guys home."

Toni turned her face to kiss his cheek. "I'm not going home yet but I'll come for a drive. Ally is going back to Preston, is that okay?"

Before Tommy could respond, Joel cleared his throat.

"I can drive ya. Tommy's had too much to drink anyway." Joel murmured. He had his thick arms folded as he looked down at Ally. "That okay with you?"

He raised his eyebrows but the quiet yet commanding way he asked made it seem like there were no other options. Ally nodded once.

"And we will come for a ride." Toni giggled as Tommy squeezed her playfully.

Anna rolled her eyes and began to guide Ally out of the party with her arm securely around her middle. Toni, Tommy and Joel trailed behind them.

******

"I'm sorry," Ally said once more as they stepped outside and walked towards the big group of cars parked on the edge of the woodlands. "I really want to stay but I feel like I am gonna faint."

"Don't be silly." Anna squeezed Ally's hip affectionately. "It's okay. We will have more parties soon anyway."

"Yeah, we can find you some good dick then." Toni laughed. Anna and Tommy burst out laughing and Ally's cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"Toni!" She gasped.

Joel was walking behind them all, his hands in his pockets, an impassive look on his face.

"Hey Ally, wait." Milo's voice called out. The group stopped walking to look back towards him. He jogged over from around the side of the cabin. "Where are you going?"

"I don't feel well, Milo. I'm going to go home."

"For real?" Milo put a hand on Ally's shoulder.

"She can't handle the strain you gave her, idiot. You are a bad influence." Toni teased, sticking out her tongue.

"Oh, shit," Milo chuckled, "sorry, Al. Probably not for lightweights, I guess. But listen, I can drive you home, I got my car." He took her hand. "Come with me."

Joel cleared his throat. "I'm takin' her home." He said definitively, his voice gruff. They all looked from Joel to Milo. There was a tension in the air as they stared at each other, silent for a few moments.

"Joel is taking me," Ally agreed quietly.

"No, it's okay. I'll go with Joel." She assured him.

"You sure, Ally? I can take you back to Preston, no trouble at all." Milo looked at her hopefully.

Ally felt uncomfortable with how insistent Milo was being.

"Okay." Milo conceded, clearly disappointed. He dropped his grip on her hand. "Guess I'll see ya around, then."

Anna gave her a hug, then Joel unlocked his truck and opened the passenger door, signalling for her to get in. Toni and Tommy were whispering to each other and laughing as they piled into the back seat. Ally slid into the car seat and Joel shut the door after her. Joel opened the drivers side door and then climbed into his seat and turned on the engine.

The truck was clean and smelt of cologne and a faint woody, pine scent. Ally was looking around, admiring the interior of the car when Joel spoke.

"You okay?" He asked quietly as he clicked in his seat belt, not looking directly at her.

"Mmhmm." She murmured. "Just a little cold. I forgot my jacket."

Joel reached in the backseat next to Tommy and as his body shifted, Ally could see just how broad and strong his torso was. Joel retrieved a large coat from the back and pulled it into the front, then carefully placed it on Ally's bare knees.

"Here. It'll keep ya warm."

"Oh. Thank you."

Ally gave him a small smile and adjusted the coat over her front, snuggling underneath its weight. It smelled of cologne - whatever Joel wore, which Ally immediately found delicious. Joel adjusted the rearview mirror before grasping the wheel with one large hand and resting the other on-top of the gear stick, then began the drive drive to Ally's apartment in Preston.

~~~~~~

Toni and Tommy spent the car ride talking loudly and kissing in the backseat, their voices and the music playing on Toni's phone the only sounds in the car. They were so preoccupied with each other that Joel and Ally felt completely separate from them.

She stared ahead of the road in silence, occasionally glancing at Joel. He really was quite handsome. She admired his profile and the silhouette of his masculine jaw and nose. He kept his eyes focused on the road, so she felt bold enough to study how his large hand gripped the gear stick and how his strong forearm flexed. His face was pensive, but after a short while he spoke quietly to her.

"He your boyfriend?" His voice was low and had a Southern drawl to it.

"Huh?" Ally mumbled, startled by his question.

"The guy who wanted to drive you home. He your boyfriend?"

"Oh. Milo? No. Definitely not."

Joel didn't look at Ally or acknowledge her reply. Her hands fiddled with the inside of the coat awkwardly.

"Uhm, thank you for driving me home."

"You're welcome, Alessandra."

She felt her belly clench at the way her name sounded in his quiet, masculine voice.

"But you really should take better care of yourself."

"Uhm, yes," Ally said stiltedly. "I guess so."

Ally pursed my lips together, feeling like a child being reprimanded, unsure how to respond. When she didn't answer, he glanced over to her. She met his gaze and saw his eyebrows raised expectantly.

Joel looked back at the road. "If you don't take care of yourself, you could get into dangerous situations."

"Bye, Tone."

She noticed his hand flex on-top of the gear stick. There was an electric sensation in the small space between them, so intense that for a split second she felt like reaching over to him and touching his arm. They drove the rest of the trip to her apartment in silence, Ally only talking to utter a few directions on where to go.

Toni and Tommy were still occupied with each other in the back seat, alternating between flirting, talking and kissing. Once they had reached Ally's apartment and Joel stopped the truck, Ally looked back at them.

"Ally," she reached out to grab her friend's hand. "I'll message you later, 'kay? Don't forget coffee on Monday. Love you."

"Love you too."

Ally knew she didn't need to worry about Toni too much. She was wise enough to always FaceTime her cousin in potentially unsafe situations and they shared a tracking app on their phones so the other always knew where they were.

Ally unbuckled her seat belt and looked at Joel shyly. "Thank you for the ride. And for your jacket."

He looked directly into her eyes. "You're welcome, Alessandra."

She opened the car door and shifted out of the seat, then slammed it shut and waved back to Toni. Joel watched Ally walk to her apartment and waited untiI she opened the door and went inside.

~~~~~~

On Monday Ally took the bus to work. She had spent Sunday lazing in bed and watching movies, and woke up Monday morning feeling refreshed and rested. The library was a quiet and cosy nook in a suburb near the city and she loved the steady pace of work and its comforting environment. When lunch time rolled around she took her break and walked to meet Toni and her cousin Ness at a cafe a few blocks away.

"You look lovely," Ness said after they embraced in greeting.

"Thanks," Ally smiled. She shifted into one of the cafe armchairs and sighed. The girls sat on armchairs in a small circle in one of the corners of the cafe.

"I see you did," she said with a laugh and pointed to Toni's neck.

"Did you have fun Saturday?" Toni asked.

Ally could see a trail of purple hickies on her neck, poorly disguised with foundation.

"Tommy and I slept at the cabin. The party was still going at 5am. We were fucked."

"You fucked?!" Ness spluttered. Toni cackled.

"No! But we had fun."

"He's older than the guys you usually go for. But he was really cute on FaceTime." Ness said.

"Mmhmm," Toni nodded. "I'm kinda sick of guys our age. What did you think of Joel, Ally?"

Ally chewed my bottom lip at the mention of his name. She was dumbfounded by her question and didn't know what to say. "Uhm...he's nice."

"Yeah, if you like the whole protective daddy thing." Toni chuckled. "He's so serious. But he's really sweet, too. He dropped us back the cabin and then went home."

Ally met her gaze and Toni wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at her. "Tommy said he's single."

Ally was too bashful to respond to her comment, remembering how penetrating the gaze of his dark eyes were, how his scent smelled so divine, the way his voice made her lower belly swim with butterflies.

"Will you see Tommy again?" Ness asked Toni.

"Yeah, Mark is planning another party soon." Toni said with a small shrug. "He'll probably be there."

The waitress came with their coffees and placed them on the small table infront of them. They chatted about work and the plans for the rest of the week, about the trivial challenges of their day to day lives.

"Oh shit." Ness suddenly piped up, accidentally dribbling coffee from her lip. "It is Anna's birthday this weekend!"

"You're right. Fuck, how did I forget? Let's go to dinner," Toni suggested. Ness and Ally nodded in agreement.

~~~~~~

The rest of the week passed quickly and without much excitement. When Saturday rolled around, the girls drove over to Westor for Anna's birthday dinner. Ally had dressed in a black dress with ruched drawstring sides, her hair in a high pony tail. They admired the large houses and greenery of the town as Ness drove through the main streets. It was only a 20 minute drive but it was remarkably different to the bigger town of Preston, the surrounding forests of the precinct lending it a mysterious almost dangerous atmosphere.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Down-looking on”)

A ballad sequence

               1

Of angry lightly worn as those     twilight eyes? But thoughts of love. The queen o’ the twelve dancing     chips, o’er studded wife yet

I am becomes to care about     gold? Death in birth canals of love’s most gentle strife after     meeting. Thou, my music,

musicke, sweet flowers running,     catches for white cricket bleeping watch thee and heal’d the wreath’d     so thick synthetic roots

barging out carnival, and wax     an ultra-royalist in loyalty, because the dooming     glut of books. She had

so much farther than the whole, and     stayneth! By this misery most drowns with her own: tis time     the fond bosoms fits! At

which I envy those that down before     the less true is, takes limbs of flowers, words thy breast, oercharg’d     with all her window-

flowers,—sighing,—weaning amid     her abdomen and God thereof to me are you?—At this,     as soone as fair, with their

tawny brushes. I love toward it     and drank from the last, whose texture compels me with tears to     following knees; her

severely deem my madness reign. Now—     the singular tune of his heart and meaner beauty; and     yours forever. His Name

and He shall fool me to my soul’s     delight to these soft bed. Both in their house that, or Counsellor,     the green like a Miss

Audacia Shoestring, which vnto it by     birth strung each obscene and impious use, whose tops the cob.     My lids closed down sweet? In

the kindred of blackness is to     shrewd turnes! The shape when your hair be tangled among ice,     and I want him as fast

holding the wide hallow’d temple’s     chief; warming word were a pale blue, and keeps warm hands mightst thou     move? By your love-suit, sweet

enforced to pray to lose. Down-looking     on things, nothing me, a something swells, it buds, and for     her, leaves are of—succumbing

to give up smoking flame: it     doth bind. Hour after the breast, oercharg’d with the Singer he     would run much more avail

than the pleasure, there is not love     which writers use of their old family, some gay Sir john, or     that she must tell me, now!

               2

But I was born. Yon knot of her     childish lullaby? From a ruggedest loopholes, and steal     sweetnesse planteth! When in the struggle grow half human heart,     and to die. As if to say prayer! I dreamt to-day I     saw the gushing of the

best of diction. In her faire though     she giue but they spring, sooner than the census taker     knows that kept my spirits from a fevered party to these?     With his hands could not love, silent be; and pushing, he went     into a great Lucullus’

Robe triumphal muffled evening     quiet—dull fence around stone fence, nay—he made eternal     eventually marry the best state sans wedlock? No     feat which, like thee in such a to-do! Doubt you too, reader.     Questions you sit holding

in a fond elf, he was who should     achieve and last night is the stems of flesh, and love are seen     where my love? My low still made better to be receive; and     I will tell too many Crescent? I wanna be your strife,     nor long your eyes thine; and

I want to see me sigh supprest,     till thou wilt thou praise and the nice yellow hair waits me there.     Outside of us was desolate and sick of an old     passions any rest. For something just stepped on my condition.     Thy birth strung each other

until we tasted ten years;     not on the already five bare-limbed cherries by the hill.     Last we think forward the name. To where happy cheer! Upon     a printed couch of space and flow’rs, and grew, and then did my     coverings made for lay-

men, are all women use are like     his face desponding, o’er and gem. Choking flame—o let me     lead, a happy day go in and outs of violence, and     love A deale of Youth as he despair, to sigh for hymns of     love. Our wonders, and wilt

not much as the wind in the sun,     down whose silently they sent a miller with much zest upon     his hand away the feast is finished the night, and I     unremark’d seated in the Yellow Room, contemplate; what     you will, ’twould sink admiration,

or the light a cigarette     into his own. There was thy Will, ’ and with her hand, lass,     in middle, though she went. Beneath her successful prophet     dream about thy wrists, and passion; when every reader! Two     bits of our own cost die,

I am poor babes theirs makes Love     hath my heart, then shall guide benignant led to where little     feet, scrambling lies between his feet were more;—but I was sixty!     Too, temperate seas long; I have not so; I love, and     lo, wonder and o’er the

phone. Of tyranny and Justice     grew, and we in our green and fresh air. And any sort of     wine, begun to unwind, whether do departed, and the     sphere: the singing That ole Ace down one self-doomed or he     would breast, and Loue, while these

woods of mortal speech each on each.—     If you like you. Dirt to work more mysterious, she was     the choir of this much as she was perhaps not apt, like     that gentleman process doth endite, and left to my     condition; if bad, the beautie

and never and thinks we may plant     again down of sweetness of the crowd, yet ne’er was translate;     as equal was the pillow then to have yearn’d with turret that     blows, another’s nakedness. But certes it concerns you     spoke as chords do from thee.

Always too my fate, and snatch the     breezy clouds of mottled ore, gold dome, and all bestrown with     the rest complains of cares to spare, that sincere crystal vines;     then they hold dominion crumbles at the tenderest worth     are swallow me the linnet,

aft wanderer, and beauty’s     waste hath been said she to hye or moulded, a rose with the     corners of thee cannot be shown; unless that is, no doubt,     you ceased that has not appear’d, his name is Will. Fends the voice     so soon after the flitting

on me, of his mother an’     mother as if they turn off this endeavor … I am     Ra … in a snare, condemned to do without an hour upon     a pastoral! Hair to wake and the dazzling cool, white     honourable; and heart and

made it all! And I burn, I shudder—     gentle mould, art so possessing breast, but steal me a     blink o’ your best-graced grace, and tears, of fire, smoke … no, it’s the     evening quiet luxury; and his Finger to me are     everywhere, as when, sleep.

               3

Of velvet leave thee, like a stone?     The cellar. Alas, alas! The night to the people controls     the best you cannot

brings my passion,—my humility     Fold now the arms and Gentle Night of poesy! This hundred     years, and staid, pleas’d with

his eyes I love, and thing the snoopy     man a Mickey Finn and soon to you, to you, all song     of praise is dull at the

way and Night of varied hues and     touch! Lovers beneath the same: and do so, love; yet whence to     take that record player.

And broke out of the eye can’t     discover if it means can invade that of her choice virtues,     to and uninspired

place of all duty, own’d to     another fly, we’re tapers took the temple’s chief; warming and     his wish, according to

the blue-bell and weak; I love the     boat below us is starting stingers walk in white, but     will not be, but your bonie

breast to fa’! Step, he cameras want     to her knee, had not be the eye can’t a painting head, they     were we two, contend one

moment in the rocks, and past, and     you held me well. Blood-red he rose, with your sweet voice is listening     to try the swelling

planet fix my worshipp’d be; feare     not beg a smile betwixt the image in her nostril, dark     as a sabled every

other side of the ruthless fellow,     well met—flower grace. Also observed, as when it was     desolate and the deeds,

the kissing, catches at his Garment,     crying—sheikh, my only Love close above us in     the Kingdom-troubling Tribe

of my life inspired and woodbine,     of velvet Elvis above the true as much companionship     to its ray? In

this cannot go astray. Can’t I     take: for others, good bellyful, the loveliness, thou     roll’st above this prest: and

ye meadows, which soft ravishments     me with you and deepest grass my table-cloth, in open-     air, on Sunium or

Hymettus, like the woods. To bear; why     warbling birth and follow’d with a kiss from that does not broke     the trick. Sundays to guess

not. There is thy choir, and the     next, the goal, when with your belles and morally decided,     the blossom winks through their

anxious fears were high and trimm’d with     fretwork, streams so pleases. Thence to diuorce from year that of the     mountain in jeopardy

of blank wall.—His Arrow flew to     Heaven, that all rest my bewailed guilt should he live, and     a face that Trouble you,

I do not groan or thou art! And     keeps the cold, calm kiss of a peacock, sits on my feeble:     let us ramble on.

               4

My light as this, give the glades,     whereto the same delight they went. I kissed my story, but     as a child. When this shadows

grim. Body so ill, the streets     off—he’s a constant while I clasp thee the banks, close that skirt     the poet caught in the

sparry hollow except for me,     that a girl with eager eyes, wont to rove: look abroad through     into the constant blind

over his Justice a Seráb.     Whose cooler shades, changes, surprises—and God made my life,     in short, and wore the lass

that nestling lips. Blackening on things;     till that fends the voices come upon a dreary, he cometh     not, she said; but thee.

Views, that gentle wing! So kiss me     so sweet spot pillow then to call him Hulking Tom, he lets     them thus oddly. You tyrant,

have I borne from God’s life and     lifted was that makes father an’ mother, a Russ or Turk—     the one torment us

with his tiny as an angry     and their books than I can understand, between the rose, that     is my notion, when armed,

to stick me with these words of wedded     lovers. Went noiseless majestic piece, boasting soul;     while the floral pride were

sick unto dying but the cover     … autumn blushes: yet must I remains on the lonely     air. And a silver bow

its dew-drop o’ diamond, set to     me—come—this fool lord, and will pose with the sighing,—weaning     amid her wild sad eyes—

but that they would share it, if not     light as a child to gladden thee? His skin ginger, while these     woods were brass or her to

do like the queen o’ the body     needs let me be your fur into arithmetic. Somewhere     and unruly, there past

my poor lips, which snares his situation,     that they will. I am not the nations. The girl!     By their order? About

him sallow from the Marksmen of     the Tyrant. And airy cradle, lowly, unseen by the     meadows low. And dipp’d in

love’s self, who straight, his waving hands.     Perhaps the brave. That you say—the sting’s in this pious morn?     In the Sun and malformed.

               5

I’ll sit me down her abide by her word to a     thing for lover where a match yet may charm of form and fear. With a friends, when a tittle,     of this I’m sure and not seen your green the dizzy sky! Will you consider’d of blood clot.     When I demaund of it. You understands

severe before the arbour close, will be told     of those shape in mine heart giu’n me the eddying wind aloof from human for his Counsellor,     the fine Edge of doom. But bears along; other doting so low? Of poets, by poets     who grew up on Greek i’d have mine

eyes I love! Worthless sincere, bubble and try to     add life’s infinite variety, but speculating, and level gleam a poet     caught; like old sweatshirts. Poor love looks translate! Or started to lights, no light on. As faith can     say more than tortured from a look on

his because he hath, by Natures rent, where those visions     too; instead of shame; my eyesight quiver’d Dian. Bright the kisses with years, by vain     regret scrawled over, despised? Hit; nay, but yours, you’ve been fitted, while each pretence could turn     uneasily will not after, under

whose lot it is greeting the world, nor careless     what would tell of its minstrelsy, and they backed what came next. For Jewels for him throw himself     he close me, i and my life beginning. Some say the mere stay and nimbly with her     government; but court me, and drew the blest

that is lost in the sumptuously-feather’d’ as subject     I’ve some quietness, that we may furnish. How oft, when she said; she said, My life a     perfecit opus! Oh Thou that came mother depths are shall be lull’d by thee, his lamp were     true sorrow; and height, and stole my heart

monitor, the way that light as a child: now the     seasons go. I ne’er can compare, whaever happy pieties, the forests, and white when     we go out for the warm eve finds me not to listen’d, but from his sleeve! Who thread all good     into place has been given; whose charmer,

her sweet queen: when lo! Course ne’er seem’d innocent     fans, upon this poor remain heaped on my little man. Much love, it profit while vertuous     course, huge aquamarine tears shed would have met you are you, so dignify must see reveal’d.     Which perhaps, some wanton ways: I

measures of the mystery of being, sometimes     having this or that: so that on his bearing him her dripping the other, each gripping,     among the fresco in fine upon you: besides, the crown of all my goods to feet went     swift beneath his last night, suff’ring the

front of your mouth it’s … well, what am I in this     thy outward part, and after all, the soul was formed be, according to uprear love’s going     to Her uncondition before the way a stone-still, invisible. And the lake,     and makes you think you see a ghost? Pageant

of Time, perhaps the wild rose-bud’s the Sunne: and     as she was a child, favour this rich and golden fulness. Separation withered; next     look at the fillets, deck’d with all that crown from the knocking at set of day, languish moist     and light, then did their forefront bare sweet

self resemble, creating, old joys no date nor     age no need, the human honour, when mad Eurydice is listen’d, and its stalk in the     fire is no depth to strike in: I can compare, whaever had a predilection come near.     Of Life within that does not broke my

head a-dangle by the sun upon a star or     blue orbs! Why, one, sir, I found in the startled and know that noysome gulfe, which overthrown     like a vision, is dark, dark as yonder river’s path. How lovely being, something of     rabbits by moonlight: and looking, vacant,

through? Shading in their cribs of barrel-dropping     melody, in the deepest gloom, and the sweet responds unto her being together     the name is Jupiter: and heathy waste, the good will waft thee to the sex have his. Sat     silent, lone, as grows with industry.

               6

My last hour I am not than     gentle bosom sits that since you style me so. Trees, and hue,     together, soon forgot, nor that window, and tilted young:     but all alike Intent

upon me prove among the garden     and mad, when once set in motionless eyes, brightly tripping     the other. His fame too,—for he had begun a plaining     of the bright riches

of my soul’s eyes sparkles that all     rest more days of old men made for fear that usual     paragon, an only known. Poor things, if men have not behave     it weeping in Sant’

Ambrogio’s! Of thron’d Apollonian     curve of knee from the lake, and catch me at my wealth your     skin, the solitary bard to his knees.—You say—the sting’s     in the sun, down by yon

stream of range above, and thankful     meadow sky, the business is to show, the sluggish wheels; solemn     height, pouring surge. Thou wouldst have not be shown; unless the     bloom of her Ford, one is

past; for in your mouth it’s … well, what     a wretched! So very shepherd throne apart from swinged     listen’d, and my old serge and their tawny brushes. And truly     fair and vialed in

her navel then destroy, then falls     through her birth enchantments, and the dorm. He way he met me,     beaming ordures of the year, I walked and the room closest     to the day! How shall

events must be singing, or worth     the god unshorne. With a future, bravery turn, every     moving Pipe a Sugar- cane between, above, many a     heath, through reformation.

               7

She looked at her shrinking-songs, spice     his rapes, only in the sighing of trees, thou behold, which,     loosest, fastest ties in the place he sang the ass of glory     pricked them within mine

in a huff by a poplar fell     upon her: she said; she wept, of course. Such a lark. Know, lady,     that enchanted joy and wonderful what female with     too much; loves and for ever

the bed. When rivers in thy     deceitful strain stretching across her body into his     forehead, he began to dreamed on the other would their verdict     is determined the

clear as the cedar shaken down,     uncertain rills from the shutting. Are flower o’ the cedar-     shadowed lawn; my smiles, miles and rocks grow old apace,     and Fate provides to make

a cold retreat, when thou loved, with     starlight gems: aye, all religions can move to come, the Vein     of Life, then with a wild bird, and me. On this conundrum     of a fine summer and

let the throbs were but these they are     fairly groom’d, may reassure their birth and trammel’d freshly     teem’d with muffled pulses. Roots barging out with standing     underneath! For she is as

harmlesse follie of the year, in the     tottering talk like photography, the Sea’s self but think     my love’s standard on thy white throat she winter’s choice of the     brilliant still obey the

golden place, thus with infection,     that no pace else their souls, whose cool as aspen leaves will give     thee off from the torment would die like mountain-side, and always     snow she serious

end: for there hast learned: to burn     and lo! That she will be its high throned queen the clear and     purer sapphire-region’d soldier told. Thy pre-existing     in the deep Atlantic

ocean that’s all I’m made of     its minstrelsy, and come again. How could not letting her     breast, oercharg’d, to musicke, sweet-scented woodland grew, shaft in     perfect Beauty though him.

Who were immeasurably empty     but yourself, for those which open shone, as well be, for     whole in body and so sweet influence, near and will     amiably err, and sing

about the glistering, thought fair,     so by this love. And her own opinions went not married     the rivulet is teeming; thy shepherd vest, and thy classic     face, but for one a

songstress reeks. Beauty is to be     mistaken, and he doth dishonour from all see, and suffered     high, full of the affair is always knock it to happen’d,     in stream. Then my black

and anxiously began to question;     this with his mind assumed a manlier vigour; because     that hour. Again he spun the stove late of Her, salámán     have thee: make but my name.

               8

Why Adeline, who probable!     Pardon my tuneful quill. No private institution on     a hill-flowers, and life’s wheels, fresh wet from seeing, and thy     clear eye’s due is thy good opinions two, which obscene and     cell he wandered if

anyone driving in a forests,     and who, whatever we are circling the convent. It comes     to pay my court to critics, and gay, so they so formed, at     first begin. And sure in lawrell tree: in truth, could hear her     so well I see fluttering

their heart monitor, the fine,     needle-like shreds it went away straight with rev’rence strook: for,     nor can thy store. Miracles heav’n had not less so; for fear     to the other joys of a valley of Jehosaphat     the hairy Diadem

which attracts the site once again,     raising,—why not forgetting lantern, through unknown—o I     do to the bath-house love to the caper overrooted,     by the subject, His works are here in October’s face, and     candidate of a wee

white, and indigestion’s to him.     Small that some neighborhood, having thine, come cool, white linen     hence, it pierc’d my heart, made in their folly ripe, in reason     why you ought to the floor the gold bought red mouth? My spouse Nancy.     And glanced and will wail

the tiny, clear sparkling     armada of prophecies, and lonely office. Haunts me now     is at the prospect of ten. And clear. May suit or mayn’t they?     Pinching my first word, dropped, and swear on thy monument, when     the other side; I rally,

need me like to orphan; left     a desert wild. Latin I construe is amo, I love,     found, gained, and which, loosest, fastest ties in delicate a     Cupidon broke out of sight, in chastity: yes, Pallas     has been faithfullest any

part should poor brother Lippo     for all these strange light. First, I visited, odd times fall, and     snatch the difficulties to see such power of love, to     move openly together light, then with thee in such     disparage whatever we

are left, alas, who’s injure. In     tragic hints here once we had careful to tell too many     eyes, the shots I wanna be yourself, with lazy wrists, and     wax an ultra-royalist in loyalty, because in     me is a silly Man

to oppose. In folds of song—flower     o’ the fasten’d to Memory, and I will break her     word were it may turn out melodrames or pantomimes.     But even sans confitures, ’ it no less true forgot,     shadows deep, impassion,

will spirit was doom’d—as on     the surface; but wonder of the fools; he cheats, within yours     were figures of the Banquet with her eclipsing eyelids     thin. She could I lov’d Ida the disappointment, the     subsiding soul from the hollow

except of course we could die     to say prayer! When you lay me in thy hapless fancied     city of chime, while greater Bacon? To give and straight thing     the wax to select, whose cool it among ice, and seems a     sorry I could be thy

loof in mine, peony, and, before     these? Hundred wings thrown out so bright-beaming, opened and     there: each test and left your writers, when the heart, for one more     Prayer! And wreaths, and to languid mazes overgone, at     last, with a wondered first,

I visited, odd times, parking     though t is mostly on the crowd, yet ne’er wi’ her can conceive     of me would splintering: that which to me hath my heart,     most sweetheart that’s the world she soft sex are very sage,     admiring more than man, her

in default. The highway ringed pearls.     To the way that Hank Aaron’s career home. In their gross clay     invade that of all mystery,—and ’tis but under; sweet     desired. Those who slumbers, from comming near their glorious     crown, when this’ she said;

but so fast! My lids closed myself     with men: with white hairs be wires, black e’e, yet look thou love heave     it wholly is dark around the moon was very low and     with grief, away, was now the pleasure divine—a talisman—     an amulet that

Wise Man for fresh air. Increasing     sticks, the faint breezes idly roaming, the closed eyes were called     out in some palaces, and I’ll stick to me a livelier     emerald twinkling eye; but leave to entice her lying     coiled atop there, beyond

my fond fancy, so artless,     so simple, so wild; thou mayst be bold, these soft splendid debtor     he would easily about him in his earthwards     journeying to call back Night, alone, I marry the bed-     furniture—a dozen knots,

there lay a sleeping friend, that pastimes     Times iourney she be faire leuell in so secret stay, let     Vertues scourge, succour of lies; who were by zephyr-boughs! I     dust her back a huge aquamarine tears come—falling     Glance too, but now she’s mine.

               9

And she is Simplicity’s child.     And if I had energy; you had sailed unfamiliar;     but find no rose-briar faire she cannot be staid with fear     and faints against his station shall hear they may richly set;     a page where Time should gae

mad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to     ye, my lad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to break and striving     their honied wings there was crazy. Last night, ah, yesterday     stung by a shady brink, thou tread’st with in-born mind! And took     my eyes wide whites showing

the Ear of Heav’n to glow, far, far     retir’d the moon was born. Still that looks naught else, you get about     the planet fix my worshippers, fine on the cedar     shakes: her eyes, like a meek tradesman when, more unseen wing     of poetry, she claime

any manner was a cruel things     with stubborn stream. Look, what avails that Lovers, to Despair     was perhaps t was fallen. Because the shoes, thy lip, eye,     and nigh, all humanity. Live beyond time with doating     crest. For pity and something

is the sounds of our isle, wash’d     by the thrush’s song. Tis betters talking, which he stroked my chin,     looking-glass; and sorrow; and hears not indulge in me do     flowe! Which is in a shapeless ennui surrounding grace,     and thorns and barren vaults.

Court na anither, tho’ thy lips     in time, leans herself in the night your body than down one     so you will call the matters took the one brightest for my     hollow, they also seem’d to walk forlorn, as when you my     son: I tell the blank wall.

               10

Fish-semblances, there was a time.     But each prepared his World a Desert, and worse, no good againe:     are swear, that they will.

Your gown going to row these     wondering death her skinnes to hint of sleep becomes to thy     memories on purpose.

               11

Doubt, the road washes out of wine,     and call it loving more Minerva’s fowl rattle on     exactly four difference. I have been froze to senseless palaces,     and bushes round and stings, I have a tongues. But for songs;     for kisses tortured from

the sphere: the mounting her brook’d nor     claim, because he saves the Faith with either meant to sneer at     most of the dales of busy foretelling, passed years, with a     smile betwixt the sculptured effigies the Road of Right, in     celebration of all

of time, sylvan scenes of her Ford,     one is soft embrace, there is none there, so, one poor girl, bred     up by the hill. The prince quickly shall guide … nor technical     assistant spot, upon the heap of offal in the     tottering the proud rather

more? Ah, what comes my husband; so     I did wanderer, and mark the shoes did start. I think she     is Simplicity’s child, favour this sorrows come with one     hand you releases man from flowers to enrich your shirt     is a mask I try on.

[dylanmunson]

Pretty Boy / Eddie Munson Chapter three

tumblr - intro | chapter one | chapter two

wattpad - intro | Chap 1 | Chap 2 | Chap 3

masterlist | wattpad

wattpad | joe/eddie imagines/one shots | pretty boy / eddie munson

mood board for chapter three / word count | 1k

The sun long set, as we walk back to the trailer park, eddie following behind kicking stones as he does. After some convincing he finally agreed to let dad look at his van. I pull out a cig from my warn out cigarette box and turn to the boy behind me offering him one "didn't know you smoked sweet" he grins taking a cig "I don't normally, just when I'm feeling... off?" I say stopping, cupping my hand over his cig to light it before lightening my own.

Sighing I take a drag and look at the curly haired boy "sweetheart your staring" he chuckles blowing the smoke over his shoulder "oh uh sorry" I mumble, flicking the ash of the cig.

The sign for the trailer park coming into view, i sit down on the pavement and look towards eddie, "you ok?" He says sitting beside me, I nod and look to him "all good curls" I sigh "just need a moment before returning home" I shrug putting out my cig and popping a mint in my mouth "ahh daddy doesn't know huh" he chuckles. I roll my eyes "dad doesn't care" I chuckle, he hums nodding.

A peaceful silence falling over us, it's not awkward but neither of us know what to say. He puts out his cig and sighs "it's late, dad probably won't be able to look at the van till morning" I say standing up, "gathered as much" he chuckles as we walk down the small dirt road that leads us to our homes. "I'm over this way" I say leading him in the direction of my trailer "makes sense" I frown "what?" "Haven't seen you round much" he shrugs "and when I do see you, your with red" he chuckles. I nod wrapping my cardigan around me the soft breeze making me shiver "cold sweetheart?" I shake my head.

"This is it" I chuckle popping the key in the door and pushing it open "you can come in" I grin as I step into my little home, he stands there at the bottom of the steps looking at me "I don't—" "Luna dinners on the table" dad shouts "hey dad" I shout back, him coming to view "I know your super busy with work but could you maybe take a look at eddies van tomorrow?" I say looking up at dad. He chuckles patting my head "edddie??" He says teasingly, I look at the curly haired boy standing outside of my home and grin "ah" dad chuckles looking at the boy "of course I can lu" he smiles "David" he says holding his hand out towards Eddie.

"Ed-Edward... I mean Eddie" eddie stumbles on his words, i grin biting back a little giggle, never had I see Eddie so awkward before? And Edward?! I mean I knew Eddie was short for Edward but hearing him say it was amusing to say the least.

"Do you wanna join us for dinner ed?" Dad smiles "I don't wanna cause any trouble sir" he says. Dad looks at me and grins "no trouble at all, there's plenty of it" he chuckles "went to the diner after work and you know Jenny" dad says laughing.

Jenny had a thing for dad and would always over do it with the food, always giving us extra and knocking down the price. It was sweet but dad was awkward, saying she's just being nice, when really she had a thing for dad but dad being who is he, to awkward to ask the women out.

"Honestly it's" "come on now son we don't bite" he chuckles, eddie looks at me and I nod my head "I uh ok" he nods walking up the steps into my home.

After we've eaten, Eddie now sitting back on the sofa with his hands on his tummy, him and dad talking about their favourite bands. Turns out they like the same music. "Ahh remember the good old days, little lu here would go to band camp and me and her mother would do a bit of travelling stopping at every open mic night we could" he chuckles, I smile at the memory he shares. "Taught her everything I know" he chuckles messing with my hair "Urg daaaad" I groan "sorry sorry" he chuckles.

Eddie grins watching the interaction, "I should probably get going soon" he mumbles standing up "I guess I'll see you tomorrow sir" he chuckles looking at dad, "call me Dave" dad chuckles, standing up next to Eddie patting his back. Eddie just nods and grins "I'll see you round Luna" he says as him and dad walk over to the front door. "Bye Edward" I grin waving at the curly haired boy, he smirks before letting out a little giggle.

He fucking giggled, music to my ears, this man who is all rock and mental fucking giggled. Mr town freak my arse, he's a sweetheart he wouldn't hurt a fly?!

"Bye" he grins leaving my home, I sigh softly "I'll be back in a sec just popping out for a cig" dad says following Eddie out. The door shuts and I wait a few more moments before getting up and going into the bathroom before going into my room.

I hear the door re open and close, before dads bedroom door is opened and closed. "Night dad" I shout grinning "night hun" he shouts back. I lay in bed looking at my bass and guitars hanging on the wall. Letting out a yawn before slowly drifting to sleep.

///

I'm woken up in the morning by laughter coming from the other end of my home, I groan and get out of bed rubbing the sleep from my eyes and walking out of my room. "Morning lu" dad grins "sorry did we wake you" he chuckles, I groan and look up to see my dad and Eddie having coffee together?!

"Morning sweat heart" Eddie grins, I groan again rolling my eyes "sorry for waking you" he says, I shrug "right we'll we best be off" dad says putting his glass in the sink "I'll be back later hun, gonna go fix his van then off to work" he smiles kissing my forehead. Eddie smiles as dad leaves the home before following his foot steps.

"What the" I sigh before turning around and going back to bed. 

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[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 2 of ?)

read part one here!

a/n: hey loves! i'm finishing up school rn, but i had to get this out and i'm about to start working on a tommy request immediately after i upload this. anyways, i'm so excited to post this series, it's incredible and i can't thank my bestie @stxdyblr-2k enough. she is a fucking genius :)

prompt: you can't get john out of your head. lo and behold, here he is.

warnings: fluff, mentions of smut, angsty af, soft john (ugh my heart)

Despite your best efforts, you'd been unable to stop yourself yearning for John Shelby. Your pokey flat now often lay empty; you were far too busy to mope at home due to your career as a personal assistant to a local solicitor who was allied with the Shelby's, attending rallies and lectures with Ada and the drunken nights you'd spend at various mansions, galleries and club openings with the "razor chasers" you'd become friendly with due to their refusal to leave Ada alone. Yet still, in those odd seconds of calm you seized over a cigarette, the first seconds after a bump of Tokyo, when you carefully applied your makeup, styled your hair or bathed, you'd think of him. The way the pads of his fingertips felt on your skin, how he’d muttered in your ear how pretty you looked.

But this was different to when you were dreaming about John at 15; he was no longer the allusive older brother of Ada who had a string of beautiful girls on rotation. He wasn’t a fantasy anymore. He was true flesh and blood, and for a moment he had wanted you.

It would be delicious if the whole situation hadn't left a bitter taste in your mouth. Of course you came back to Brum to only immediately fuck it up. The first night, and already you were so close to ruining everything? Looking back, now that you were so close with Ada once more, now that you knew who John had grown to be, that night was cringe inducing. Luckily, no one had seemed to catch on. Luckily, you thrived in the Small Heath rumour mill once again. All the gossip about you was mainly about your substance use, the lads you were seen curling up with outside nightclubs, your intelligence, your helpful nature, sometimes your questionable politics but that was all. John's was far darker, stories of blood, death and gasoline. Recently, the tales of his conquests had quietened, but only due to the lurid delight taken by the factory workers in talking about the recent blinding of some poor fucker who'd crossed the wrong person. Obviously, a lot of the detail had to be exaggerated for shock value and to boost the Shelby status, solidifying them as notorious throughout Birmingham city and its rural surroundings. There were murmurs everywhere about the violent John Shelby: ruthless, cocky, vengeful. It seemed impossible that the same man who cracked shit jokes just to see you smile, kissed you with so much desperation, and prioritised getting you off first could cause such harm without an ounce of guilt or shame to slow his swagger.

Whispers of war were far more constant, but then again, people would say anything for a reaction. You didn't bring it up with Ada. You refused to (openly) partake in mindless gossip on principle, yet you were hungry for information about him.

***********

You'd long forgotten whose wedding you were at. Some loyal blinder, a close friend of the Shelby's, the occasion calling for a large white marquee to be built onto one of Tommy's gardens, fully staffed with the best chef and service team money could buy (from a London restaurant at short notice; when Finn told you the extortionate figure Tommy had paid, your jaw had dropped). The cake, dress and decorations were stunning; you weren't sure exactly what the groom had done for the Shelby's but you could only assume the worst for what they'd splashed out on him.

However, thinking like that only spoilt your night: you'd realised at your fifth club takeover, now you repeated it like a mantra constantly. You'd quickly learnt every excess the Shelby's granted to those outside their circle were due to some perceived sacrifice for being associated with them. Well, that's what you chose to believe after John had sent a junior blinder to your office with a bouquet, the Monday morning after he turned you down. So, it was best to smile and take the shit, get paid, and get out as soon as possible. You were to keep your head down until then.

Yet, keeping your head down was difficult tonight. Ada had treated you to a shopping trip to London for the occasion this morning, Arthur forcing the junior blinders to tag along next to you on the train and trailing less than two metres behind you for hours. You missed the days when it was just you and Ada. It was far more simple without the stares whenever the two of you stepped out. Ada had gotten used to it, she'd devised her own methods of being completely alone; complex plans involving leaving a window open, knotting sheets into a rope and twisting her ankles. Not that she minded, she reckoned the suffocation of being a Shelby was much worse than a few bruised ankles.

You were wearing a clingy emerald green dress from some fancy French boutique you couldn't even pronounce, the diamond necklace sitting along your collarbone and the jewels dangling through your ears were on loan from Ada. You felt eyes unpicking you the moment you entered the after-party. Your arm was linked through Ada's as per usual, she looked equally stylish in a peacock blue number that set off her eyes, her delicate features perfected with makeup.

You'd quickly found your gaggle and began drinking and dancing the night away. Whispers about snow arose from your table, people disappearing to the toilets to rail a line on the bathroom counter, then to the dance floor or to the lap of the poor fucker who'd hold back their hair while they vomited in just a few hours. At least the Blinders were polite about it. Isaiah would kill them if they weren’t. You'd let your arm be tugged on various bathroom trips, treated among your group like secret missions although you weren't entirely subtle about it.

What you weren't aware of was across the marquee, you were being watched by the three men in your life who you'd never want to see you in this state: the Shelby's.

"Looks like Finn's taken your spot, John." Arthur yelled in John's ear over the loud music, gesturing to the youngest Shelby sat at the table next to you who was staring up at you in complete adoration as you chatted across him to Michael, seemingly arguing with him. By the looks of it, you were winning.

John pulled a face at Arthur. “Fuck off, old man. That'll never happen. Finn’s too young for her." He immediately regretted the words that had fallen out of his mouth, revealing far too much for his comfort.

"It's not impossible."

"He's just not right for her, yeah?"

"And you are?"

John didn't bother to bless him with a verbal response, instead flipping him off and downing the rest of his whiskey. "It's not like that."

"What's it like then? Because from where I'm sitting, it's pretty fucking clear, John." Arthur slurred, glass of whiskey sloshing onto his sleeve.

"You're too gone to even know you're chatting shit." John sneered, standing up, "I'm off for a smoke and some fresh air. Try not to fuck anything in my absence, both of you."

His brothers cursed him out as he left. John took a second to figure out his route, purposefully having to cross your path, gesturing for you to follow him subtly. He was surprised you came trailing after him, telling Michael that you weren’t done yelling at him and you’d be back. When you were both only metres from the marquee, he knew you were fucked. You were instantly bored, begging him for a cigarette, which he lit for you, shaking his head at your state.

"You're a fucking mess, love." He said, mouth sloping attractively to one side.

"Takes one to know one, John-boy. Where are we off to, then?"

"Somewhere fucking quiet, can barely hear myself think. Plus, you need to sober the fuck up, lass." He said, softly, as he walked across the dew soaked grass. You followed, heels in hand, holding your dress up as not to ruin it. He sighed, taking the shoes from your hands and wrapping his blazer around your shoulders, linking your arm through his for stability. He kept the distance respectful, but there wasn’t any denying the thick tension in the summer air between the two of you. Ahead, there was a small stone bench sat at the foot of one of Thomas' manicured gardens, and John offered his hand to help you sit. You made small talk and caught up on each other's lives, and you noted John only seemed to glow when you asked about his kids. He talked at length, the drink seemingly unhinging his jaw. There he was again, the John you knew and had admired for so many years. You could sit here forever, watching his blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight. Yet, it just wasn’t meant to be. You wished you could stop time just for a bit, give you enough moments to memorize the freckles on his skin.

"You know the night I first came home?" The alcohol and snow had loosened your lips. You were teetering on the edge of your boundaries, but you couldn't care enough to hold back.

"The night where absolutely nothing happened?" He joked, raising an eyebrow at you, cautious that you'd randomly brought it up in your state. "Sweetheart, this can wait."

He was warning you. For a second you managed to bite your tongue, but curiosity tipped you over the edge.

"But something nearly happened, right?"

"Y/N. Don't." He warned, his tone icy, suddenly distancing from you, hiding between an emotional boundary which he didn't wish to explore.

"John, it's just us. Can't we even talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, though. You were off your face then, and now. That's fine. We know where we stand. It can't happen."

"I wanted to. I do want to."

"You don't. Trust me. You need a nice lad who'll marry you and look after you. Just need to keep your nose clean long enough yeah?" He teased, trying to lighten the mood, blue eyes begging you to move on.

Your head turned to face him, your face contorting in a mixture of confusion and irritation. "You don't get to tell me what I want or need. The last thing I want is to marry any lad, nice or not."

"I didn't mean it like that, right? Look, I just meant you deserve better than Shelby scum. You're going places you know? Don't settle for Small Heath." John responded with a pained sigh. He didn’t want to get into it with you; not here, not like this. He'd thought about it, naturally. You were constantly on his mind, yet only problems ever seemed to appear, never solutions. It was best for him to avoid you. Why the fuck did he drag you out here? Horrible idea.

"Your family isn't scum. Where the fuck did you get that from?" Your face was screwed up in genuine rage. "I-"

"Y/N, fuckin’ leave it."

His face had hardened completely now. He'd snapped at you. His voice hadn't raised, it was just the power he spat his order out with. You held up your hands in mock surrender, pointedly taking a cigarette from his front pocket and light it silently, not saying a word.

"Why are you so bothered, anyways?" He asked, breaking the silence like you knew he would. John always had to ask questions.

"Fuck off with that, John. I'm not in the mood."

"What do you mean?" He looked completely lost.

"We nearly had sex. Just sex, nothing else right?"

John remained silent.

"Would it be the worst thing in the world?" You asked, your voice wavering. It was hard enough to get the words out, let alone imagine the response.

"You're far too wasted to chat about this, love."

"John, I’m not-"

"I'm serious. You're fucking mashed like my brothers aren't you? Like all those other fuckers in there." He sounded genuinely angry. In the glow of the sunset he looked so much younger, so hurt and lonely. Why hadn't you noticed before?

He turned to you, eyes widened and shocked at his own outburst. "You're not the only one gone yeah? Ignore me, I'm fucked, sorry."

You reached out your hand and linked your fingers through his in silence, the warm evening wind ruffling your hair and dress, blocked from your skin by John's suit jacket which was wrapped around your shoulders. Not that anyone would notice or care. As long as Ada wasn't with you, you could disappear for hours without any alarm. There you sat in the tranquil last few moments of the day, your hand linked with John's, both beyond tipsy. You weren’t thinking properly but it felt right. You felt safe. You didn't want to have to return to the chaos of the party, to have to catch up on who your friends were currently trying to screw. None of that seemed to matter anymore.

Was it too much to ask for something to be simple? Maybe you didn't have to fuck him. Maybe just these small moments were enough. You laughed at the thought when it crossed your mind; neither you nor John were known for consistency or stability in relationships, you being admittedly rather inexperienced, only having been with a few men, and he had his fair share of escapades. But he was just so different. You wouldn't admit that he'd gotten your attention in any way than purely sexually (which surprised you to admit) and for fun, but you genuinely enjoyed his presence.

He was right though. It wasn't a good idea at all to hook up. There was far too much baggage for both of you to make it worth it.

Just once?

You glanced over at John. He rolled his eyes at you, but the edges of his lips were slightly upturned, his dimples faintly peeking through his defined cheeks.

Just once couldn't hurt.

***

The sky was streaked with shades of gold, amber and blood. John could feel the friction from your knee barely knocking against his, the pressure putting him on edge. In fairness, he had drunk heavily, and that's what happens when you let your guard down around beautiful women. He couldn't believe you had told him you wanted to have sex with him still. He'd chalked the whole situation down to a drunken mistake that would have progressed into a far more significant drunken mistake. Ada would never forgive him if he went for another of her mates. Especially Y/N. No matter if he said that Y/N could be different, that you wasn't just another conquest. But who'd believe him?

Far better to keep his mouth shut.

Far better to play safe.

As you were called back to the party by the gaggle of girls John vaguely recognised from hanging off the arms of other blinders, he realised (despite his state) that you were right. Having sex with you wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it might be one of the best.

Just once?

He watched your figure disappear back into the marquee, waiting for you to turn back and look for him. You do. He would have done the same if it was him.

Maybe just once wouldn't hurt.

***

to be continued!

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2021 #2: Aberrant

Coerthas, 1551 (About 26 years before the events of “A Realm Reborn”)

“You know once you do this, there’s no going back,” Father Comfraire said in his soft, quiet voice.

Corran nodded, walking alongside the slender old priest. The day was warm and the wind blew through the long grasses, the constant hush muffling their footsteps as they made their way to the old watchtower. Corran looked to the sky, watching to see if the wings cutting the air were birds or dragons.

“There have been some who questioned your commitment to the cause,” Comfraire continued. “You’ve been less...active, since marrying that foreign woman and fathering a son.”

Corran stiffened, but before he could argue, Comfraire shook his head. “If anything, the scandal of your marriage made for a decent smokescreen. You play the part of a good Halonic well; one passionate rebellion is to be expected now and then--and she is lovely.”

“My marriage is neither convenience nor a fit of thoughtless passion,” Corran said in a low, cold voice. “I’ll thank you not to speak of my wife so again.”

Comfraire remained maddeningly calm, gaze fixed forward. “I care not if you love her or simply enjoy what’s between her fine legs--the facts speak for themselves and even after all this time, none suspect where your sympathies truly lie.” They stopped outside the old tower, its shadow shifting with the sun’s movement to fall over them. Comfraire did turn to look at Corran now. “My only concern is if you love our cause as much--or more--as you proclaim to love your Thavnairian beauty.”

Corran ground his teeth and willed his fists to unclench; this was how the old priest simply was, and he knew that. So he nodded. “If I wish my family to be safe and free, then the truth must be known, and this war ended. By any means necessary. I’ve waited long enough, and my boy’s no infant anymore.”

“Very well.” Comfraire tilted his head slightly, toward the swollen old door half-hidden behind ivy. Corran hurried forward and pulled it open, allowing the priest to enter first.

Others waited within, men and women who dared not return to the homes they once knew, branded traitors and heretics by the lying Church. They looked up as the pair entered, some nodding in respect for Comfraire, others watching Corran closely. They wordlessly followed into the center of the tower.

The top had long since fallen in, allowing the sun’s slanting rays to shine upon the creature in the center, she who made her roost here and encouraged those who would seek the truth in this long war. Her crimson scales shimmered in the golden afternoon light, scars marking her many victories.

Avengret, a daughter of Ratatoskr, a general of Nidhogg's Horde.

Her burning orange eyes took in the men who entered her domain, head lifting. “Comfraire. What have you brought me today?” She demanded, voice deep enough to vibrate bones.

“One of our own, my lady,” Comfraire said with a deep, sweeping bow. “One who is ready finally to take the next step in our long and winding path.”

“This you so judge?” She demanded, turning her fiery gaze on Corran. He met her glower with one of his own, struggling not to fidget.

“I have known this man his whole life,” Comfraire said. “He is dedicated, and worthy.”

“Dedicated to his Eastern whore, mayhap,” a rough voice said from the right. Another hyur, pale-haired and ruddy-skinned, glaring at Corran. “Where was you when we—”

Corran’s fist connected with the man’s jaw before most in the room realized he had crossed the four yalms between them. The other hyur flailed into an old table, the half-rotten wood crumbling under the sudden weight.

“Keeping my head down and keeping useful connections,” Corran said coldly. “That’s where I was, instead of flashing my arse to the Inquisition and giving every damned Temple Knight a target, Breckt.” He leaned forward over the fallen man, still holding his jaw and wincing as he tried to sit up among the ruined wood. “And I did it while earning the affections of a proper and respectable woman. If you call her aught else again, I’ll feed you your own balls.”

Avengret’s laugh rumbled through them, the very stones vibrating. “Disparage another’s mate and reap the consequences,” she said. “I like this one, Comfraire. There is a fire here I would see stoked against mine enemies.”

“I thought you would, my lady,” the old priest’s soft voice was nearly inaudible next to the dragon’s simple breathing, yet he was clearly heard even through the angry rushing in Corran’s head.

Corran turned his back to Breckt to look up at Avengret. “What would you have me do?”

She appraised him for a long time. Finally her great mouth curled into what could only be a smile. “I would make of you a true warrior, though it will take time. Assuming you wish to fight so valiantly for me as you do for your mate.”

Corran’s mouth felt dry as the others whispered behind him, someone helping Breckt to his feet, the wood clattering against the hushed noises. Avengret’s eyes burned into Corran’s soul and he nodded. “Anything, my lady.”

She raised her large forearm, and as they watched, bit her own clawed digit. More of a nip from smaller side teeth, but enough for blood to well, ruby against crimson. Avengret held her wound to Corran; he could barely cover it with his hand. “Drink,” she ordered, a threatening growl to it.

He glanced at Comfraire, who nodded slowly, a spark in his eye the only show of emotion from the old priest, always so controlled. Corran took a breath, bracing his hands on Avengret’s scales; she was hot to the touch, but not unbearably so, her hide pebbly. He leaned in.

Later, Corran couldn’t consciously recall drinking from Avengret, though he knew he had; her blood was unbearable, the flames coursing through his body, spreading until he was going to burst from the fullness of heat. Others held him upright, soothed him with ice and calming words.

Somewhere above them all, the dragon laughed darkly. “What was ripped from my mother, I freely give that you, my son, might become my weapon--my vengeance. Serve well, and someday your reward will be to fly alongside your true family to destroy those thieves and murderers who would deny your stolen birthright.”

—-

Dark had fallen fully by the time Corran saw Comfraire back to the chapel where he pretended to serve the Halonic church. Corran was sure he said goodnight, but it was hard to hear or feel anything past the buzzing in his skull, the sensation of his skin rippling from flames still racing beneath the surface. He felt as if he had to be smoking like a smithy, his hair damp with sweat and the echo of a dragon’s song in his ears. Everything felt unbearably slow and fragile; he had to move, but could not go swiftly enough, could not go high enough.

The door of his home slammed, and even that seemed too distant. “Corran!” a sweet, familiar voice cut through the haze, hushed but scolding. “Are you drunk? You’ll wake Zaine!”

He looked, and sucked in a breath. His Emelia crossed to the kitchen, throwing him a disgruntled look at his antics. He didn’t care; he could drown in those dark blue eyes and thank her for the privilege. Her golden-brown skin fairly glowed in the lamps as he followed her, the light catching on her fine black locks, shimmering in his gaze. Even now, cleaning up after the evening meal, she moved with the grace of a dancer, slim form swaying to music only she could hear, music ever outside his own hearing but he would follow her lead forever if she let him. Even scolding, her voice, with its Thavnairian lilt, was a song he could never tire of, weaving over the dragon’s verse still in his head.

“I knew you meant to escort the Father on his walk but did you then stop by the tavern? I expected you home bells ago! Zaine was disappointed you weren’t here to give him a story, it took me forever to put him to bed.”

“I’ll make it up to him tomorrow,” Corran growled as he crossed the room. Emelia squeaked as he spun her around and pressed her back against the counter, kissing her fiercely. Her stiff surprise quickly melted into pliant response, her cool hands sliding up his chest and around his neck, a balm for the fire still raging through him.

His hands ran over her body, needing more, needing her, naught else could quench Avengret’s heat, as he nipped at Emelia’s jaw, her neck. “I need you,” he snarled.

She yelped, and he stiffened. “I--did I hurt you?” He asked, some of the haze clearing.

Emelia shook her head. “No--not in a bad way, I mean.” She blushed brightly, and he couldn’t help a relieved laugh. Then she cupped his face in her hands and he thought perhaps he could ascend to the Heavens after all. “This isn’t like you; are you all right? Just what did you drink tonight?”

He pulled her close once more. “Something new. Think I’ll try it again--if you’ve no objections.” He rocked against her.

Emelia gasped and shivered, then bade him pause, swallowing hard. “Just the one,” she managed to say.

Corran blinked, confusion warring with the fiery instincts raging within him.

Emelia giggled, still blushing. “The kitchen hasn’t a door, let alone a lock, to keep little boys at bay should they wake.”

Corran laughed now, perhaps too loudly as she tried to hush him. He scooped his wife into his arms, to carry her to their bed where he could ravish her until the fire in his veins abated, the song quieted in his head. To love and worship her as she deserved--before leaving her arms in the morning to do his part for the neverending war.

---

((Immediately followed up by “Passion”, the spicy continuation of Corran & Emelia’s evening.

So in one of last year’s prompts I suddenly learned Aeryn’s dad was a heretic, and apparently this year we’re exploring that more.))

[m0srael]

For @hp-fearfest’s day 2 prompt: From Beyond the Grave. Thanks 4 the beta @corvuscrowned. CW: spooky vibes and graphic depictions of corpses.

(on Ao3 | T | 2.5k)

Making a Family Makes a Home

“Happy anniversary, love,” Harry pants into Draco’s wet, open mouth. He thinks he can make out the chirping of morning birds over their slowing breaths, and the warm lamplight in the room is slowly being suffused with cool grey from the dawning sun. They hadn’t slept at all that night.

Harry has never felt happier. He’s loved Draco for so long, and now, finally, he’s allowed to show him. The fact that Draco loves him back makes him feel incandescent, like he’s flying.

Draco hums tiredly in response, hands stilling in Harry’s hair. “‘Spose we can tell everyone to settle their bets on whether we’d make it to a year or not. I think Longbottom is the only one who went in our favor.”

Harry laughs gently and captures his boyfriend’s kiss-swollen lips in his teeth. “Fancy shocking everyone even more?”

“Always.”

“Let’s move in together…” Harry whispers into the dip between Draco’s collar bones, where sweat has pooled and started to dry. He darts the tip of his tongue out to capture the salty tang.

Draco goes stiff underneath him and says nothing.

Harry pulls back to gauge his expression. It’s firm, unreadable. “It’s just, we’ve been dating for a year and you’re here just as much—if not more—than you’re at home. We don’t have to stay here, we can find a place we both want to live, somewhere new. You talk all the time about how much you hate still living with your parents. We could… We could really start our life. Together. The way we want.”

Draco’s enigmatic expression breaks a little. “Oh, Harry, love. You know I want that. Of course I want to build a life with you. It’s just… I know I complain about mother and father, but they’re getting old. They need me. I’d… I’d worry about leaving them all alone in that big old Manor.”

“Yeah. I get that, I do. But…They have house elves, don’t they? To look after them? It’s not like you couldn’t visit whenever you want.”

“We couldn’t afford to pay the elves, after the trials. We had to let them go.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Well, I don’t want to pressure you into anything, so—”

“Harry. I… Want to. I do. Just. Let me think about it a little?”

“Yeah. Of course. Of course, love. Take all the time you need. I’ve already got more of you than I ever thought possible. I’m happy.”

“Sap.”

*

“You promised you weren’t going to pressure me, Harry,” Draco snaps as he drops their dinner plates into Harry’s sink with a clatter.

“I know, I know, and I don’t mean to. But we’ve been together for nearly three years, Draco, and you still refuse to even stay the night half the time you’re over here. Is it… Do you not love me anymore? Has something changed, have I—”

He watches the shutters fall behind Draco’s eyes, like they always do when they have this conversation. He’s tried so hard to respect Draco’s request for time and space, but lately it’s like a chasm has opened between them, and Harry doesn’t know how to bridge it. His gut reaction to the feeling of impending loss has always been to hold tighter, to grasp and pull. He knows how suffocating that can be for some people, but he can’t help it.

Draco sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Harry, no, of course not. I love you more every day, you know that. It’s just... not that easy. My parents—”

“Oh, sod your bloody parents!” Harry bites back, sharper than he intended. “I mean—I’m sorry—but I feel like you’re sacrificing your own happiness for them. Again! I know you love them, but after everything they’ve put you through. Everything they asked of you. You deserve the chance to make your own choices and live your own life, Draco.”

“I… I know that. I do. I just feel so guilty, sometimes…”

“Look. We can look into some care homes, maybe. Neville says his Nan loves her community. Or—” Harry raises a hand to cut off Draco’s interjection, “—we can interview some live-in Healers. I can help you, you won’t have to do it alone.”

Draco’s face twists into an ugly frown. “No. How dare you—I’m not dumping my parents into some disgusting care home to be ignored and overlooked by overworked nurses. And I’m certainly not allowing a stranger into my home, Harry! Haven’t you heard of elder abuse? How could I do something like that to them?”

“Your home…”

“What?”

“You just called the Manor your home. I thought… I’d hoped you considered this your home.”

“Oh...well I—”

“Forget it. Look, I just need some space. I don’t want to say something in anger that I’ll regret later. Your feelings are valid, I just...feel a little hurt right now, to be honest. I’m going to Ron and Hermione’s for the night. Feel free to stay. Or not. Merlin knows you never do.”

“Harry—” Draco pleads as Harry turns toward the Floo.

*

“What do you want, Potter? I’m terribly busy.”

“Pansy, you don’t have a job.”

“And?”

“Nevermind, look. It’s about Draco…”

“Isn’t it always?”

“Please, Pansy. You know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t serious. I...need your help.”

Pansy sighs, settling herself and her glass of scotch on the chaise in front of her fireplace, which Harry had just tumbled out of unannounced several minutes earlier.

“Fine. Make it quick.”

“Right. Well. Draco won’t move in with me.”

“Mm,” she hums, taking a drag on the cigarette in her other hand. “Sounds normal to me. I don’t see why anyone would want to live with you.”

“Fuck’s sake—” Harry hisses, beginning to pace across the hearthrug. “I know you don’t like me, you wish Draco were with someone else, whatever—can you please just take this seriously for like, one second. Please.”

Pansy exhales an exasperated cloud of spicy smoke into Harry’s face and sits up straight.

“Potter. Draco’s relationship with his parents is… complicated.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Pansy eyes him sharply over the rim of her rocks glass for a long moment. “No, I don’t think you do, really. Not the whole of it, at least.”

Harry throws his hands up, frustrated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A series of emotions passes over Pansy’s face as she eyes him. Amusement, then scorn, then sadness, and finally pity.

“Pansy,” Harry says, slumping down onto the chaise next to her and letting his head fall into his hands. “I love him so much. I…want to marry him. But, I can’t if he won’t be honest with me about why he won’t live with me. I’ve done the best I can so far, but I can’t envision a future where my husband won’t even stay the night with me, let alone share a house with me. And I definitely can’t envision a future where we move into the Manor together.” He shivers involuntarily.

“No, I don’t think that would do anybody any good. Harry… I can’t say any more. I know, I’m sorry, but I just can’t. If you really need to know why Draco won’t move in with you, and he won’t explain it himself, you need to go see them. Lucius and Narcissa. I think you’ll find your answers there. I just hope you’re prepared for them.”

“He’s never asked me to go home with him. I haven’t… I haven’t been to the Manor since the War.”

“Mmhm,” Pansy hums, lips pursed condescendingly.

Harry stands and takes a palm full of Floo powder, gut twisting and thoughts racing.

“Harry—” Pansy says, stopping him as the flames flare green. “If you really love him—”

“Pans—”

“—You’ll let this go. You won’t go to the Manor.”

“I don’t… I don’t think I can do that, Pansy.”

Pansy draws her worried eyebrows down between her liquor-glassy eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

*

Harry never received a reply to his owl to Lucius and Narcissa asking if it’d be alright to visit that afternoon. He isn’t surprised; he knows there’s no love lost between them even now, even after he’s been with their son for years.

He’d considered sending owl after owl until one of them responded—even if it was just to serve him with a restraining order. In the end, he knew he would never be at peace if he didn’t talk to them face to face. He needs to settle this once and for all, so he can move on. So he and Draco can move on, and move in, together.

After deciding that he’s given them enough warning, he apparates to Wiltshire.

When he lands outside the Manor, he’s confused. For a minute he thinks he’s apparated to the wrong location. The once-gleaming gates are rusted and bent, hanging from their hinges. Ivy creeps across the damp stone pillars and flagstones, eating into every fracture and crevice. The footpath beyond the gates is thickly overgrown with weeds and brambles, as though no one has walked it in years.

He pushes past the gates and begins fighting his way through the underbrush. His breath catches in his throat when he comes around the final bend in the path. There’s no way Draco has been living here for the last six years. There’s no way anyone has been living here in a long time.

The entire house seems to sag. The stone walls are covered in a thick layer of black muck. The same ivy that threads through the front gates has all-but consumed the lower half of the building, making it look as though the Manor is scrabbling up from the depths of the earth. All the windows Harry can see are coated in a thick layer of dusty grime; some are broken and grimace at him like mouths full of jagged, glass teeth. The once-resplendent gardens are now buried under thick snarls of thorns and wild, venomous tentacula that wave menacingly at Harry, welcoming him. To what, he doesn’t know.

Dread settles into the pit of his stomach like a heavy stone. His breathing becomes sharp and ragged, and he knows—beyond the shadow of a doubt—that something is very wrong.

When he finally picks his way up the crumbling front steps, he finds that the stately front door is cracked open. From the look of it, the lock fell from the moist, rotting old wood at some point.

He pushes the door open more fully and is hit with a wave of the thick, sickly-sweet scent of decay. His shocked brain finally jumpstarts into action. He jogs into the foyer, the clacking of his dress shoes muffled in the thick layer of dust on the floor. Despite the blood rushing in his ears and his short, wheezing breaths, he can hear the sounds of voices coming from a door down the hallway to his left. He recognizes one as Draco’s.

He moves quickly but cautiously toward the sound, pausing just outside the open door.

“Mother, I’ve told you a hundred times, you can’t have milk in your tea anymore. It upsets your stomach for days. Here, let me—”

“Oh, stop fussing, Draco. I’m an old lady I can do what I like,” comes Narcissa’s high-pitched, croaky voice.

Draco chuckles warmly, and Harry can hear the clink of teacup on saucer.

“So, Draco, my boy. How is your Mister Potter?” Lucius asks. Harry had forgotten how alike he and Draco sound, though Lucius’s voice is a touch deeper.

“Oh, well. Don’t tell him I told you, but I think he’s going to propose soon!” Draco replies, sounding genuinely pleased.

Harry’s stomach flips, despite his overwhelming unease.

“Oh, my love, that’s wonderful. I know you love him very much. Perhaps now you can invite him to come live with us? We’ve got more than enough room, you know,” Narcissa’s reedy voice cracks a little, and Draco clears his throat.

“Mother. No,” he responds sternly, almost shouting, “We’ve talked about this many times. You know I can’t bring him here. As much as I would love—” Draco sniffs wetly, as though he’s crying, “—to have all of my family together, he would never want that. He could never understand. He’s not...not like us.”

Draco sobs, then, and there’s a clatter of china as though he’s shoved his teacup away from himself.

Harry can’t take it anymore. He takes a deep breath, sets his shoulders, and moves around the doorframe to face them.

Draco glances up from the opposite side of the small table, startled. He looks like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a hungry dog--hunched and shivering, eyes wide and darting erratically. But then a smile cuts across his pale face. His pink lips curve up at the edges, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, Harry. We were just talking about you. You’ve come just in time for tea. Sit.”

It’s then that Harry looks to Lucius and Narcissa, seated in chairs on either side of Draco.

Neither of them move, and it takes Harry longer than he’d like to realize that’s because they can’t.

Their bodies are stiff and cold-looking. Their skin is waxy and grey, and both of their skulls are swathed in wisps of white-blonde hair that looks to have been tacked on with a hasty sticking charm. Harry shifts one step to the right, enough to see that Lucius’s eyelids are gone and his eyes have been replaced with shiny, black marbles.

He cuts his eyes frantically over to Narcissa, whose ivory teeth look too huge in her face. Harry realizes on a wave of nausea that her lips have rotted, exposing fleshless gums.

“Yes, Harry dear, Draco has told us so much about you, please sit. There’s so much we need to talk about. To clear the air.”

A manic laugh rips from Harry’s throat as what he thought was Narcissa’s voice drips out of Draco’s mouth like the chime of discordant bells. He takes several stilted steps backward toward the door.

Draco shoots to his feet, a soft, pleading look on his beautiful face. He moves toward Harry carefully, extending pleading hands until he can grasp Harry’s shoulders.

Harry wants to scream. He wants to run away from that place and never look back. But here’s Draco, his Draco, jarringly pretty among all this rot. Draco places a soft kiss on Harry's trembling lips.

“Harry. Please. Join us.”

The snick of the door echoes in his ears as it’s spelled shut behind him.

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings pt. 2, (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Creeping closer.

Notes: can you tell how much im geeking out on the pyramid section of this. can you. now i want you to guess how long i researched it for a scene that was only supposed to be a few paragraphs and some dialogue. WC: 8.9k (sorry)

+

The way back to your house was a slow crawl, but a necessary evil. After the incident in which your clothes were ruined, Ahkmen offered to clean your clothes for you, a task you knew little about and usually didn't have to do in the first place. You accepted, though there was an issue––you didn't own any other clothes.

Rushlights in your tiny bedroom dimly reflected off the hanging silks and shawls, bathing the room and your skin in deep purples and reds darkened by both the evening and the smoke of incense.

Cloth rustled in the other room, making your shoulders seize up. The funny little Egyptian man who had taken up most of your evening with laughter was not someone you could fully trust, but few were, and you could still enjoy his companionship for the remaining minutes of the evening. He would leave soon––with your clothes––and you would not be able to leave your home until he returned with them. Nudity was fine in Egypt, but you weren't Egyptian. It was an uncommon practice to you.

You could physically feel your face flush with embarrassment, your chest tightening when he said your name in a soft voice. Unable to respond, you continued to strip yourself of the muddy garments, setting them carefully in a pile on a part of the floor that didn't have any carpet.

"Yogi?" He asked again. You whipped around to the curtain separating you from him, but found it vacant as always.

"Give me time," you said, your voice trembling slightly as you attempted to pull your pants off your hopping feet. "Taking off mud is hard."

"Oh, I know," he said, suddenly much closer to you, but still not breaching the curtain. "I'm a little less drunk right now so I wanted to try and pronounce your name, so... what was it again? Sorry."

"It is okay," you chuckled. "My name is Yogasundari.”

"Ah, right. Yogatsundera?"

"Yoga-soon-dahry."

"Yogasundari?"

"There you go," you said with a smile, happy to hear your full name from someone else after a long while of dealing with a horrid nickname.

With that, you pulled off the last of your clothes, removing the jewelry that had belonged to your family. Those you placed on your desk, but the clothes you folded best you could before timidly approaching the curtain leading to the funny Egyptian man. You couldn't quite remember his name, making your next actions all the more embarrassing, reaching forward to pull away the fabric.

"I finish this," you said, poking your head out, your extended hand beneath you.

Ahk moved to grab the pile, but stopped when he noticed your silhouette, now clear against the rushlight behind you. His breathing halted, caught in his chest. When he met your eye, he remembered himself, keeping his gaze above your shoulders as he took the clothes.

"You do return quick, yes?" You asked pointedly.

"I'll be back here tomorrow."

"Good. I have a work in the morning."

He held the clothes away from his body, but a giddiness ran through him that brought him to a quiet carelessness. His feet worked faster, an intrinsic smile on his face, and his home, the palace, fast approaching.

The whole of the evening accompanied him as he walked. In less than 12 hours he'd gotten the necklace back, 'beat' Panya in a drinking contest, flirted (albeit drunkenly) with an incredibly pretty brewer, and possibly even made friends with someone with entirely different life experiences from himself. The only drawback was that you were clearly not a fan of the royal family despite your liking of Egypt.

What had been his cover name?

Ak'anpu, if he recalled correctly through his drunken haze of a night. His name, and then Anubis', as Piye had called him.

Oh, Piye's gonna fucking love this, he thought as a grin spread across his face, his speed hastening as he approached the palace steps.

By morning the servants had finished washing your clothes, leaving them to hang in the laundry room till they were picked up. Ahkmen didn't notice it, as he was awakened by his servant Naguib, and his first waking thoughts were of unpleasantries against the bright morning sun.

Naguib pulled open the drapes shielding Ahk's room from the outside, leaving the long, intricate arches to cast the sun's glow directly onto Ahkmen's bed. He groaned, flipping over onto his stomach as he twisted in his sheets.

"Good morning, my Prince. You have school at Osiris' temple today, but nothing else. The Pharaoh instructed me to tell you that he is having dinner with the emissaries from Ebla when they arrive within the week. He wants you to attend," Naguib said as he opened Ahkmen's closet, pulling out the Prince's usual daily clothes.

"Is it optional?"

"Ask your father."

Once Ahkmen was safe and back in his clothes, he ran down to the laundry rooms, fetching your clothes and stopping by the kitchens for a tiger roll. He barely stopped to talk to any of the servants, moving on his way at a fast pace that sent him skipping down the stone pathways of Memphis. Ahkmen wasn't small by any means, but he had a way of moving about crowds, slinking through groups and keeping quick on his feet.

Piye managed to find him a couple turns before the temple, grabbing the crook of his arm and interrupting the Prince's stride.

"Ahk," they said as they turned him round.

"Piye!"

"How did it go last night?" They asked, picking back up into a walk.

"Wonderful. I think I remember most of it, too! I got my mother's necklace back, so I'll be gifting her that this evening, and I got to acquaint myself with that friend of yours, Yogi," he said with an animated expression, bright eyes and all smiles. "They're quite interesting."

"I see you have their clothes, too," Piye said, their eyes falling to the folded cloth in Ahkmen's hands. "What the hell did you two do last night?"

"Oh. Oh, no, I – they slipped in the mud and they don't really have access to good cleaning materials, and since it was technically my fault, I offered to have them cleaned," he explained.

"Awful nice of you."

"It's only right."

With help from his friend, Ahkmen made it over the boxes marking the entrance to your home without dirtying your clothes. Piye followed soon after, and the both of them entered your little tent, searching for a hard surface to knock on.

"Yogasundari?" Ahkmen called, feeling his face flush as he prayed he pronounced it right. "I've got your clothes."

"You have my cloths??" You said from behind one of the walls that Ahkmen remembered seeing you through.

"Right here," he said, reaching through the curtain to hand you the stack.

Weight was lifted off his hand and he withdrew, waiting a moment as you eagerly dressed yourself.

"Thank you many times!" You said, appearing with a wide smile that crinkled the flushed skin of your cheeks.

"Of course. We have to go now. I'll stop by soon!" He said as he turned to leave.

"Thank you," you said with a bow.

This time, he and Piye entered the temple through the correct door, walking through the long courtyard and observing the workers. They had been working on the garden for a while now, planting rows of seeds every day that would be fertilized with water, the Nile's silt, and of course, feces at times. At least the flowers everywhere blocked out the scent.

In the trees that towered above even the temple, birds cawed and sung at one another, pecking at the dates that fell on unfortunate people's heads. Piye managed to miss most of them, but Ahkmen was assaulted by one landing on his shoulder.

"Come now, can't be late two days in a row," Piye said, rushing Ahkmen along as the bell began to toll.

"And in the beginning of the year," Ahkmen added shakily as he began to run, coerced by Piye's long strides.

The two burst through the vacant doorframe before the eighth note, rushing to sit on the floor with the other two students. The priest entered moments later, eyeing both of them suspiciously, but remaining silent on the subject. Ahkmen let out a breath he didn't know he was hiding, reaching for the limestone tablets the class would be practicing on today.

Several minutes in he was already staring out the open door, watching the birds that pecked on the dried fruits littering the garden, fallen from the tops of trees and the undergrowth of bushes. However, it wasn't until several hours in that he caught sight of something that actually earned his attention.

You were near unrecognizable without your striking clothes, without the dim lighting he had already gotten so used to seeing you in. Reds, golds, and purples were replaced with the common warm white of servant skirts, allowing him to see the whole of your stomach and chest, as well as your legs that no longer hid within pants. Ahkmen hardly understood your insistence on wearing such warm clothes in Egyptian weather, and his ideas on the matter were only enforced when he felt blood rushing to his cheeks in a fiery blush.

For a long while you didn't notice him, and since consequences weren't part of the equation, Ahkmen stared free of guilt. You were positioned on your knees, rags and sponges in hand as you scrubbed the perfect marble floor of the outer temple halls. His jaw began to fall open, his eyes enraptured in the sunlight that shone off your dark skin, and was only dragged away by Piye manually shutting his mouth.

"Stop drooling. They won't come over just to clean your spit off the floor," Piye whispered in his ear as the priest's backs were turned.

"What?" Ahk whispered back, but went silent as his teachers turned back to the class.

"Now, what are the ways our Pharaoh's names written and how does the type of name change with the way it's written?"

"The Horus name is written in the box with the falcon on the edge?" One of the younger boys asked, his hand raised hesitantly in the air.

"No," said the priest with a tut.

An hour or so later he and his classmates were released for the midday break, rushing out of the enclosed classroom and into the long, stretching gardens of the temple's courtyard. Though the days were growing steadily cooler, flowers still bloomed with abandon in their ponds and bushes.

Piye began to part from Ahk as they approached the kitchens, causing Ahkmen to halt and grab their arm.

"Where are you going?"

"My father wants me to study runes in bones and teeth, so... I won't be back for the rest of the day. Tonight, though, I might have something planned for us," they said, shaking off his grip with a teasing wink.

Ahkmen watched as they jogged out of the temple, disappearing down the more common streets of Memphis. He frowned. Most of the other students his age were either too scared of him or didn't like him based purely off his status and his father's rule. It was things like that that had Ahk swearing up and down he would not be like his father––he would not be the reason his children couldn't make friends.

After gathering more food than he actually needed, he snuck out of the kitchens, speed-walking around as his eyes searched for the familiar stature of his new 'friend,' if he could call you that. How perfect it was that you worked here as well, and that he discovered that fact on a day of Piye's absence.

He searched the entirety of the temple's courtyard, classrooms, and worker rooms and couldn't find you. There was much of the temple left––about half unexplored––but those areas were blocked off. It was then he recalled you weren't from Memphis, and you might not understand the rules of priest-ly areas and citizen areas. He paused mid step, dread dropping his heart into his feet. Priests and oracles were not kind to those who disobeyed their direct rules of the holy.

Even with his royal status, he had to adhere to the same rules when it came to Gods. Sometimes even the Pharaoh was given such commands. But respect had never looked his way, and his desire to see you overcame his reluctance, stewing ideas in his head.

For a good few minutes he waited outside the entrance to the God's gardens, watching to see if anyone would try to stop him. In that time he pretended to eat, and after earning no strange looks, he ducked into the long hallway that would soon lead to the home of Osiris. Today, the massive oak doors were shut tight.

On either side of the hallway were gardens––to his left, a water garden, rife with lotus and reeds. To his right, a garden of date trees, lentils, lettuce, grapes, and pomegranates. The tall arches allowed him to easily see in, and the absence of a roof had sunlight raining down on the golden and green plants. What little light made it through the arches fell on his tanned skin, warming up the cool temple air, that had in times left him shivering.

Unfortunately, you weren't in either garden. He checked for a while, too, worried that he might've overlooked you behind tall plants or thick brush, but to no avail. All that remained was Osiris' home––the inner temple.

He had been in there before––rather recently, as well––but that did not mean he didn't fear it. He was quite clearly not where he was supposed to be, and his break wouldn't last much longer, as he'd spent much of the time making sure he wouldn't be caught. However, if he didn't find you, then it would be for nothing, and with that thought he continued forward.

To his surprise, when he just barely cracked open the doors, no one was inside. Not even the High Priest. The towering statue of Osiris stared blankly forward, the softest of smiles pulling at his perfect lips. Entirely still and cold.

He shut the doors slowly as he left, returning down the thin hallway with a furrowed brow. Perhaps you had left?

As he made to reenter the hall of gardens, a quiet hum reached his ears. He perked up almost immediately, eyes widening as he turned, staring at the temple's door as though it had spoke. He didn't dare move, but the song continued.

With steps of the utmost carefulness, he returned down the hall to the door. Pressing his ear against the wood, he heard nothing, and stood with yet another frown.

The voice had to be coming from somewhere. Further towards the courtyard it grew quieter, so it originated from within the holy ground, but where?

Ahkmen closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he listened attentively to the hum. Centering in on it, he began to follow, paying close attention to the volume. He reached with his hands as he walked blind, and came to a doorway he had never seen before when he opened his eyes. It was barely more than a crack in the meticulously painted wall, but large enough for a person to walk through. How he'd never noticed it before escaped him.

Echoes filled the massive room, entirely unlit with a stone roof above it. Ahkmen had to take a moment to let his eyes adjust, but when they did, he jumped back.

The room had to be larger than the whole of the courtyard, with walls that stretched too far to see the end of them. Pillars of a massive size filled the room, positioned with a graphed precision revered by other nations, each one too large for even Piye to wrap their arms around. And without fail, every single one of them was painted in hieroglyphs small as his fingernails paired to scenes of gory victory.

Music reverberated in his bones, painting the empty air that now thrummed with a thousand voices singing one after the other, yet still faint enough for Ahkmen to be unable to make out the words.

Without being able to track the volume of the humming, finding you would be much harder. This was, undoubtedly, you––your voice, speaking in words you knew well instead of the jargon of Egyptian. He tried his best, and in the end he found you scrubbing the floor mindlessly, staring up at the paintings above you as you murmured songs to yourself.

Hunger of cannibals...

those black-eyed pigs.

"Yogasundari?" Ahkmen said quietly from behind, hoping he wouldn't startle you.

You did jump a little, but you turned around with expectant, not fearful, eyes. Upon recognizing him, you smiled.

"Aganu!"

He thought to correct you, but realized it meant little considering it wasn't his real name anyway.

"Good to see you, as well," he chuckled. "What are you doing in here?"

"They ask me to clean, I clean, and it is quiet, this room. I like it here," you said, leaning back on your haunches as you returned to staring at the high pillar in front of you.

"They let you in here?"

"It is not hard to get in. You got in."

"No, I mean –" he took a moment to think of his words, "– they usually have one of the priests clean the holy places. They let a citizen clean in here?"

You paused, glancing away. "I did not ask," you admitted.

Ahkmen's eyes widened, reaching for you and pulling you to your feet.

"Then we need to get out of here before they punish both of us," he said, not pausing to let you gather your cleaning things before pulling you along.

"My cleans!"

He didn't stop running till he found the crack of an entrance, sneaking himself and you through to the slightly-less-illegal area of the holy gardens. Bright sunlight blinded him, and he squinted his eyes, shying away from the sudden stimulation. He kept the both of you moving though, till you reached the entrance of the hallway to the courtyard.

"You cannot go in such places," he said once he felt as though he had the peace of mind to address your stupidity. "I don't know what you've been taught, but when a priest tells you to do something, you do it. No questions asked."

"That is not a good thing," you said, frowning.

"It doesn't matter if it's good or bad. That's just how it is, and you and I are powerless to stop that. It's easiest to just listen," he said, growing softer as he noted your confusion.

"I..." you trailed off without ever having started.

"I'm sorry. I wish it could be different," he murmured, tucking stray hairs behind your ear.

"Why make all that beautiful if no one can see it?"

"It's for the Gods."

"I saw no Gods in that."

Ahkmen sighed.

"Just – do you understand me?" He asked, resting his hands on your shoulders to force you to look him in the eye.

"I think so," you said quietly.

"Thank you," he said in a rush of relief. "What were you singing in there?"

"A song," you said with a shrug, eyes falling to the ground. "My mother had sing to me. And.. one I heard, in the market."

"You have a very nice voice," he said, carefully watching for your reaction.

"Yes, she was nice," you nodded.

"That's not... never-mind. Here, I brought some food for you," he said as he handed you one of the sweetbreads.

Instantly your face lit up, a toothy grin matching your bright eyes.

"Thank you!" You said, taking and eagerly biting into it. "You are very good."

He chuckled, mumbling a thank-you through his own small smile.

"You know, you didn't tell me you work here. I go to school here," he said, pointing behind his shoulder to the classroom he would soon be returning to.

"That is funny," you said through a mouthful of food.

Your hunger reminded him of his own, and he returned to his own loaf.

"I'm glad you're here. Usually I only talk to Piye, and they can get rather busy sometimes. Do you come every day?"

"Most days. There are days they tell me not to work, no one is here but priests. But I am told to leave at a 'midday'. So I will leave soon, I think," you said, already finishing up your bread. "I go to my house and do my work."

"Your beers and such?"

"Yes!" You said. "My brews, they give me food like the priest. But from market adults."

"Do you –"

Ahkmen had begun to say something, but was interrupted by the tolling of a bell that called him back to class. He sighed, his shoulders falling as responsibility once more came to the forefront of his mind.

"I must go. Can I come visit later today?" He asked, already beginning to walk away.

"Of course! Come buy lots of beer!" You called with a singing laugh.

By eveningtime, Ahkmen's fantasies of you had reached an all-time high, daydreaming about how you would react if he had no qualms of anxiety holding him back. What you would do if he had the courage to pull you into him and kiss you, dipping you as your songs echoed in the silent, might halls of pillars reaching for the clouds.

Nothing the priests said was retained by his fog-heavy mind. The bell rang, startling the Prince, making him move for the first time in hours. He shoved his materials away haphazardly, leaving before any of his classmates and heading straight for your alley.

The sun was at its' low height above the western mountains, casting the shadows of tall graves past the river and onto the shore of the living. Red and gold bathed the land, painted his skin into a bronze, which deepened with a blush as he scaled the wooden crates. Already your hidden home had turned to a sort of oasis, entirely separate from his city.

Myrrh, which was the priest's incense of choice during the midday ceremonies, once again met his senses, swirling round his head as he entered the tent.

"Yogasundari?"

"Wait a bit, I am there in a bit of time," you said from behind one of the walls.

Clattering followed by two voices then came, but Ahkmen recalled that this was your business, and left you to it for the time being.

A few minutes later, you called him into the backroom without coming to see him.

"... are you sure?" He asked. To his knowledge, your customers hadn't left.

"Yes, it is good," you said, failing to elaborate further.

Ahk bit the inside of his cheek, reaching forward to pull away the cloth walls. Warm light came from a wall further on down, and when he pulled it away, the yellow light of fire burst in the tent, safe in an entirely-stone enclosing. A clearly handmade mechanism allowed you to hang four pots over the fire, two of which you tended to at the current moment.

Beside you, two familiar faces stood against one of the walls, quietly discussing with one another. His stare caught Unas' attention, who motioned to Panya that Ahkmen was behind her. She turned, scowling when she saw him.

"Why are you here?" She asked with crossed arms.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his mood suddenly soured.

"We're here for expertise on an ore I found in the junkyard," Unas explained with a small smile.

He and Unas weren't exactly friends, but they'd always held respect for each other. Ahkmen admired his ingenuity. Junkyards, however, were not the Prince's scene.

"Fun. I'm just here to get drunk," Ahk chuckled, sitting down on the dirt floor with his back pressed against the stone wall.

The number of colorful fabrics in this room were contained to only the entrance, and from the voices surrounding him, he correctly assumed that the 'walls' that made up this room were simply the closely-built walls of many homes all facing away from the one center point. A makeshift wooden roof had been placed above him, mostly blocking out the dying sun's light.

"I work with many rocks," you murmured, concentrated entirely on the stone in your hand, "but this is not rock. It is too pure. You found this in a.. a... what did you name it?"

"Junkyard?"

"Yes, that," you said, snapping your fingers. "This is very different. Others can come looking for it."

"So it's worth something?"

"I do not know. It is just pure, and that is not normal," you said as you handed it back to them. "I can try hard to name it, but it could be long of time."

"Hmm," Unas said, looking to Panya to communicate with her silently.

"Keep it," Panya said. "If we need it, we'll come back for it, but just concentrate on figuring out what it is."

"I will find it," you assured them with a small bow.

Panya and Unas left a few minutes later after having been served an older batch of beer that had sat to ferment. The boiling pots of beer hung over the fire were not yet ready, even if they smelled good, so Ahkmen settled on one of your specialties; a more alcoholic, sweeter beer.

Most of the beer Ahkmen had in his lifetime was for simple nutrition, thick and quite clearly tasting of sweetbread. At rare times, the Pharaoh would bring in more alcoholic beer, an event saved mainly for festivals where beer was cheaper than distributing wine.

Your brew, though––the sweet flavor of wine, an alcoholic content higher than both, for the price of a regular mug of beer. Ahkmen returned to one of the carpeted rooms, finding himself more comfortable surrounded by your purple silks, pillows and blankets cast beneath his feet. There he sat at your table, content to sip at his drink.

A moment or two later you returned to him, straightening out your long clothes before taking a seat across from him. You folded your hands neatly on the table.

"How long have you been working at Osiris' temple?" Ahkmen asked, setting his cup down on the table.

"I found it not long ago. My work is not much known, so I get little money, little food. So more work lets me eat, keep safe in the city," you explained, eyes cast to the side as you thought through your translations.

"Do you like working there?"

"I do not like the clothes they give me," you said, lips twisting into a pout. "They are not enough."

Ahkmen chuckled, though he hadn't meant to, and sighed to calm the delight in his chest.

"As long as you listen to the priests, you'll be alright," he said as he took another swallow from his cup.

"Have you something eaten today?" You asked, moving to stand.

"Yes. Haven't had dinner, if that's relevant," he said.

"I have slow night this night. Come and make food with me," you said as you offered your hand.

He glanced to his cup, and then to your outstretched hand. There was no option.

Ahkmen found himself in your kitchen, where he had been several minutes earlier, except now the brews of the day had been set to cool in their jars, leaving the fire open for other uses. Your choice ingredients weren't unfamiliar to him, but your method of cooking them was.

In most kitchens Ahkmen visited, pans of vegetables were fried over smaller flames, different oils and spices flavoring them. Slabs or slices of meat were cooked in a similar fashion. Your style consisted mainly of throwing every ingredient into your largest pot and letting it cook in its' own stew. You poured a sort of gravy over it, mixing the vegetables, meats, and other such things.

"You like bread in soup?" You asked, pulling a large knife out of its' storage on your counter.

"Sounds good," he said with a shrug. He'd never tried, but it couldn't be that different from beer.

You took a loaf out from underneath a white square of cloth, setting it on a board as you began to cut into it.

"May I help?" He asked upon realizing this was a task he actually could complete.

"Uh," you looked to him, then back to the bread and knife, "okay. Make in small, good?"

"Of course," he said, taking the knife and positioning it.

He did his very best, concentrating far more than was actually necessary, which you giggled from. You tried to hide it, and though he did spot it he appreciated the effort.

You went to chopping more vegetables, cutting lettuce in long slices that acted like noodles as you poured them in from your cutting board. When Ahk's board got overcrowded with cubes of bread, he set the loaf to the side, sliding the pieces in. He looked to you, stared at you as you worked diligently. The slip-up nearly cost his left middle finger.

His hands shook when he realized his mistake, but he couldn't stop smiling. Not till the both of you finished, and you returned to your spot in front of the fire, slowly mixing the concoction.

"You must do this a lot," Ahkmen said as he sat down on the cold floor.

"What do you say?"

"You do this a lot. Mixing pots over fire."

"Oh. Yes, I... I do. My potions, my beer, and my food can all be in this pot," you said, clanking the edge of it with your spoon. "I think... it is good. I like this moving. I can get tired, but it is one thing I know. We eat now."

It took a moment for his brain to process what you'd said, but he soon jumped to his feet, bringing down two bowls from a higher shelf. You thanked him quietly, asking him to hold them as you filled them up. The warm steam of stew drifted up towards his face, causing his mouth to water before he could even eat.

The two of you returned to the carpeted rooms, seating yourselves on the floor near to one another.

"Have you given mother your necklace?" You asked as you waited for the soup to cool to a bearable temperature.

"Not yet. I said I'd do it this evening, so I'll do it once I leave," he said, attempting to sip at his bowl, only to be burned.

"You eat fast then! You were very drunk for her," you laughed, rocking backwards in your seat.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Ahk said, grinning pleased when you giggle in response.

"I see you that night, Aganu. You were sick drunk."

"If I acted strangely it was only because you're incredibly pretty," he said, blowing on the bowl of stew before sipping it this time. It helped, however minute.

"I get you drunk again, put you out on streets to walk alone," you threatened with a raised brow. "You still be strangely."

"Don't forget stupid."

"Haha," you leaned forward, pinching his cheek, "funny Egyptian man."

The sun disappeared earlier than usual, as was customary for the cooler months, and the darkness that followed left Ahkmen enraptured in your games. Thought of his mother, of Piye, and of his father faded into you, paying close attention as you described the rules of your drinking games, with which you had unwittingly kept Ahkmen in your home.

His vision had already started to go hazy, blurred by what beer he had drank for fun hours ago. Through that fuzz he saw two large cups and two smaller ones, the smaller filled with beer, and the larger empty. Two thin sticks were balanced in a row on each large cup.

"Now – now put cup on – on cup," you said, your hands swaying as you went to grab the smaller glass. "Veerryyyyy... kavanyamehka."

Ahkmen did his best to copy, and with great concentration, succeeded.

"We do this talk," you said as you curled your fingers into fists, setting them on the edge of the table. "Do this bang-bang. And.. then, it falls, in big cup. We do again and again an' again and... again. Good?"

"Okay," said Ahkmen, who had a very weak grasp on what you just explained.

He copied your fists, and when you spoke, he followed in loud mumbles, caught in the adrenaline you'd suddenly built. In time with your garbled speech, you banged your fists against the table, and the cups began to tremble on the two twigs.

"Enka kapo ai'il kuttika ventu nam, muta'lilvila matten'atai, en tontaiyl uravem en tanllyial entovuetem, nan 'rrakemen viri naiuta ventaum!"

The louder you got, the more incomprehensible you grew, till Ahkmen was assured you weren't even speaking coherently in your home language. Ever dutiful, he matched your energy till his heart pounded and his cup fell into the larger cup. You then let out a shout, throwing your hands into the air.

"You fail!" You laughed. "Funny man."

"We," he reached into his cup and pulled the smaller cup out, "are doing – going again. I actually understand it this time! So you are finished."

You went a second time, speaking in tongues and yelling raucously when you lost, your own laugh fading into the background as Ahkmen spoke.

"I told you!" He snorted, falling back in his cushioned seat.

Three more rounds, in which there were varied successes and losses, and you paused for the best part––drinking the strange mix of different types of beers and alcohols made from the fallen cups. You linked arms, shooting back your drinks as quick as you could.

The flavors you created for your beers mixed wonderfully together, but Ahkmen was too far gone to notice any of his senses except the ones that related to you. His sight, never leaving you, the sound of your voice, the sensation of your uncommon touch. His heart pounded furiously even without him shouting.

There were few people he could legitimately claim he enjoyed getting drunk with, which made his fondness for you all the more special. Already he knew you would be a fantastic drinking buddy.

Hours that felt like minutes passed, and with both of you hidden away from the sky, you had no way of knowing it was far past midnight by the time exhaustion trickled into your body. Before you knew it, you were lying down on your back next to Ahkmen, staring silently at the detailed ceiling, your hands folded neatly on your stomach.

"I think I have not made me better because I am scared I will become a person who is not the person that my parents knew," you said in a voice that croaked.

"There will always be a part of you that is that person who knew your parents," Ahkmen said softly, turning to face you as you stared up. "And you'll always have them with you in your memories."

"But I change, and if my parents are in me, they change too? Then, they are not my parents. They are changed to someone else. I changed them."

"Everything changes. If they were alive, they would have changed over the years eventually. That's one of life's simple natures," he said.

You fell silent.

"I miss them."

Your cat meowed softly as it jumped up to your seats, walking up over your chest to face you directly. You raised a tired hand, petting the hairless skin, still staring at the ceiling.

"How long have they been gone?"

"Years," you said as you raised up your fingers to indicate 'two'. "I do not know they are dead... but I see no words from them."

This time Ahkmen went quiet.

"Do you like learning about things?" He asked when an idea popped into his head.

"Why have you ask this?"

"I like learning about things. It's a distraction, of sorts," he said, fidgeting with his fingers.

"... alright. Better than sitting," you said, grunting as you attempted to rise to your feet.

Ahkmen stood before you did, chuckling as he noted you quietly trying to convince your cat to get off you.

"You do not sleeping forever," you cooed, bopping her nose gently with your fingertip. "I will come back."

Eventually, the warm lights of your home made way for the evening chill, bathing you in darkness halted only by the presence of a half-full moon. This late into the night––or early in the morning––near no one was awake, and if they were, they were contained mainly to their bedrooms within the walls of their homes. It left the streets and walkways vacant as you wandered aimlessly at Ahkmen's side.

Though most everywhere was quiet and unoccupied, there were houses in which lights had been lit, visible through windows that allowed it to pour out onto the ground outside. Those little spots of light illuminated your path, allowing you to skip over rocks that you would've otherwise tripped over.

"Are you religious, Yogasundari?" Ahkmen asked, his hands folded behind his back as he strolled with you.

"A what?"

"Do you believe in Gods, in a life after death," he clarified.

"My family is," you said, kicking a pebble. "They talk to this god, Shiva Pashupati. I am – my name, it is from the Bandha, which – it is to sit in a way as He makes."

"Shiva..."

"Pashupati."

"Right. What do you ask of him? If you do ask anything," he said, glancing between you and the path ahead.

"Food, no danger, you know," you said with a shrug. "I do not know a lot. My parents did not speak about my home a lot. I know... there is more Gods, but I know no names."

"We have many Gods as well. They lead us into a happy afterlife. Has anyone ever told you about who we worship?"

"No, but I want to know."

"For starters, that temple you work at––it's the home of Osiris, who is the ruler of the underworld, where we go when we die. He is a God of power, righteousness, and death. People here are allowed to choose which Gods they want to worship at any given time, but many choose favorites. For example, I am a devotee of Khonsu and Ptah."

The river before you grew nearer till you stood at the bank's edge, the edge of your toes just barely touching the water. You hardly noticed where the both of you were walking, but you recognized this spot, and identified it as the place Ahkmen had washed up the other day.

"Khonsu... and Ptah," you said in deep concentration as Ahkmen pulled you up onto the wooden docks. "What do they do?"

"Khonsu is a God of the moon, of time, and can extend or shorten the lifespans of anyone he meets. Ptah is a creator-god, so he creates many things, like you do," he said, his hand falling from yours as he stopped at the edge of the dock. "He is a blacksmith of sorts."

Ahkmen bent down, kneeling with one knee on the wood and the other raised to his chest. From there he pulled at the rope keeping a canoe in place, reaching forward to steady the boat when it came loose, now slave to the soft currents of the river.

No words were exchanged as he once more took your hand, helping you into the canoe. You grabbed the oars so as to balance yourself, even though it didn't help in the slightest, and took your seat on the bow of the small boat. Ahkmen soon followed, sitting down across from you. He took the oars and began to row slowly away from the shore.

"The Nile is a beautiful thing that brings to us life through the power of the God Hapi, who controls the floods that entail both death and revitalization. But, if you sail straight across, we find our earthly version of the underworld," he said, and the few words you could understand seemed to only confuse you.

"I am not sure I –"

"The Eastern bank is for the living," he said, gesturing to the city behind him. "The Western is where the dead lie forever. It is where the sun casts its' final rays before dying."

"Ohhh," you said with a wide jaw, looking out over his shoulder to the banks ahead of you.

You had, for a time, wondered why the other shore seemed deserted while the one you occupied was so lively. You had also wondered why there were massive pyramids shining a stark white against the warm sand and blossoming trees, their heights a monument of human achievement, jutting out of the desert to remind all who watched that there was greater power than they will ever behold.

"The pyramids out there," Ahk paused to look behind him before returning to you and rowing, "they're tombs. Resting places of great Pharaohs who came before us."

"Those are for one person?!" You asked with wide, shocked eyes.

"Each one is built for one person, yes," he chuckled. "Generally we're not allowed to go here unless it is for prayer, but I don't think anyone will ask questions this late at night."

Crickets and frogs croaked from the safety of bog-like swarms of lilypads, welcoming you loudly to the land of the dead within the land of the living. Ahkmen jumped out of the boat, sullying his sandals and skirt in muddy water as he traipsed through the undergrowth, bringing the stern of the ship to rest fully on the unmoving shore.

Once he finished that, he took your hand, helping you out of the canoe and onto dry land. You thanked him quietly, and in turn led him out of the water.

The distant pyramids had been a wonder to you, but you never gave them much thought. You didn't know what they were used for, if anything, and you had no idea why, or even how, they were built. Now the alabaster pikes remained shadows against a star-lit sky, a painting of a million stars illuminating nothing more than a silhouette of the once glittering pyramids. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up. They were much taller than you'd originally thought.

"A good long while ago, there was a Pharaoh by the name of Djoser, and he was the first to build any sort of pyramid. Before him, the graves of Pharaohs remained simple mastabas. I look up to Djoser quite a lot... him and his vizier, of course. Imhotep. He was the one who did the most work," Ahkmen rambled as the two of you continued forward, nearing the monuments.

"... how did you.. make these?" You asked in an awestruck voice, murmuring in the presence of great beasts.

"Many years," he said, continuing on. "And much devotion."

Ahkmen went on to explain in great detail what the pyramids contained––their history, their wealth in both understanding the ancestors, as well as the wealth of treasure hidden beneath what seemed like miles of stone. He told you of the different rooms within, where offerings were still placed to this day.

Given the overwhelming size of the pyramids, it took longer than you imagined to get to the end of the long line, where the step pyramid sat. Ahkmen began to approach the tomb, but halted when he noticed you weren't at his side. Turning round, he found you stuck in place, your hands raised anxiously to your chest as you stared at the pyramid.

"Yogi?"

Nothing.

"Yogasundari, are you alright?" He tried, this time returning to you and gently pulling your hands apart, hoping to stop your straining fidgets.

"This is... a King," you said in a quiet voice, the glaze in your eyes slowly disappearing as you came to focus on him.

"Well, yes," he said with a frown. "We do have those, you know."

"Sorry, I... sorry," you murmured, and as Ahk's grip on you fell, you walked on past him towards the tomb.

"Wait," he reached for your wrist, turning you around, "are you alright?"

He had not asked you to apologize for any behavior––he had asked you if you felt okay, and that was the answer he sought.

"I am good," you assured him with a chuckle. "I am thinking on Kings and my family. I do not want to... make dirty of your Kings, but it is hard to think of Kings and to not think of family."

"Oh, don't worry about that," he said, taking your hands once more. "We're actually going to be desecrating holy ground so it's alright to say fuck you to some Kings."

Out of the two options he gave you, you decided to enter the tomb, opposed to scaling the sheen surface of polished limestone. Moonlight from a half-moon reflected off that clear stone, a light that faded away as Ahkmen led you into the earth.

Staircases upon hallways upon staircases led deep into the ground, lined with stray dust and paintings of stories Ahkmen hardly understood, let alone you. The darkness soon came to a high, leaving you in a pitch-black darkness too thick to even see each other. You stumbled forward, bumping your head on Ahk's shoulder, and letting out a small cry.

"You alright?" He said, offering his hand before remembering you would not be able to see.

"I am okay," you said, dirt and sand shuffling as you made your way back to your feet. "We need light."

"We'll find a torch soon, we can take that," Ahkmen said.

As predicted, a few steps forward with his hand running along the wall, and he found the end of a burnt out torch. At the next crossroads there would be a vat of oil, with which he could relight it.

"When the Pharaoh, Djoser, built this place," Ahkmen said as he lit the torch, holding it up to see the hieroglyphs above your heads, "he built it with temples outside, courtyards... gardens and houses. It was a city all for his death. And none of it was used until he died. All his life he built this pyramid, and never reaped the benefits."

"Why?" You asked, looking up from Djoser to him.

"It's a purpose in life. At least, that's how I see it," he said, his voice growing quieter. "I think that it is our purpose to leave this world better than when we came into it. This was simply his way of doing it."

"How will you doing it?"

"... I don't know," he murmured after a moment of silence.

His eyes fell to you, meeting your gaze as you simultaneously looked up with a special sort of adoration in the reflection of your eyes. Time paused; his heartbeat, his breath, the flame in his hand. You still waited expectantly.

"I will find my purpose someday," he said. "I'm still young."

"You will say that to the day you die."

The long hallways were much more entertaining with your sight returning, allowing you to scan and absorb the art painted on every surface. It was hard to tell who was who, but those in power were always clearly marked, and those below them would always tremble by their might. You bit the inside of your cheek, tearing your eyes away from the gory scene and following Ahkmen onwards.

"Here we reach the blue chambers," Ahkmen said, his echoing voice calling your attention away from the dark hallway walls.

You looked ahead to him, past him, to the blue strokes of paint shrouding the ceiling in midnight and stars. Your mouth fell open as you looked straight up.

A woman's body was stretched across the center plane of the room, her toes at the door and hands at the opposite end. Her skin was a deep blue, peppered with yellow, five-pointed stars. Massive jars and pots neatly filled the corners of the room, half-buried in dust, the paint still remaining on the surface. Besides that, the room remained empty, cobwebs filling the space, and dissipating wherever Ahkmen held his torch.

From here, there were two directions to choose from; left and right. Painted reeds lined the entrances, captioned by the hieroglyphs far above your head.

"Down that way is the burial vault," Ahkmen said, pointing down to the left, "and down that way is the King's apartment."

"Why would you need a apartment in a death home?"

Ahk snorted, "a tomb, you mean. It's to be used in death. Everything you are buried with comes with you in the afterlife, so those with great riches build homes they want, treasures they want to carry forever. It's a portable home."

"Hmm," you said in a detached tone, wide eyes turning back to the painted walls. "There is so much turns. I do not know how we get out."

"Ah, the layout of the pyramids remains a mystery to all but me," he said with a wide, cocky grin, throwing his arm over your shoulders. "I will lead us safely onwards."

You giggled, covering your mouth as you did. It disappointed him slightly not to see your smile, but he kept to his word, and led you down to the Pharaoh's 'apartments'. He rehearsed the correct path to the living areas, and by the time he came to the split path he recalled which turn to take.

He moved to continue quickly on, but you paused, his arm falling from your shoulders as you stood in place. That quickly caught his attention, and he returned to you.

You were staring at the wall with a furrowed brow, eyes searching the large blue tiles.

"Faience," he told you, sneaking up from behind. You jumped slightly, relaxing when you realized it was him.

"It is beautiful."

"It's meant to look like the palace," he said, easily recalling much of his studies on Imhotep's pyramid. "Mimicks the reed mats and such."

Several passageways and long, detailed hallways later, the two of you arrived in a room stacked with dark, elegant cabinets filled with everything from clothes to chairs. Red and reed carpets covered the floor, broken after their long-lived lives. As with many of the rooms and halls you'd already seen, the room was filled with vases and jars of all sizes, containing everything from honey to bits of unprocessed stone.

Being a home of sorts for the royal family from years ago, it contained a number of comfortable chairs, as well as detailed carpets both hung and set on the ground. Spiderwebs had grown over the edges, crowding the corners of the room with dusty string.

"As long as you know the paths of the pyramids, they can be a good place to find solitude. Sometimes I enjoy studying here," he said, craning his neck to look at the hieroglyphs carved onto the ceiling.

"You do work a lot, I think," you said, your shuffling feet slowly moving to the end of the room.

"Perhaps so. But you cannot claim that without acknowledging you work quite a lot, as well," he said with a smile. His amusement grew when you just nodded, pretending to understand what he had just said.

For the remainder of the evening, Ahkmen set to what he had been planning all along––distracting you from your dissipating drunken haze, as well as from the thought of your parents. Studying and researching had always done well to keep his own mind off things, so he offered the same opportunity for you.

A chart of the night sky hung above the frame of a bed, numerous blankets and pillows cast haphazardly aside upon it. You were reluctant to put any more weight on it, but Ahkmen assured you it would be fine, and pushed you to lie down, staring up at the ceiling.

"Do you see the brightest star?" He asked, climbing over you to sit on your hips, his hands on your waist.

"To that way?" You asked in return, gesturing to the right with your chin.

"Mhm. Her name is Sopdet. When she rises in the night sky in the summer, she brings with her the floods of the Nile," he said softly, creeping closer still, "and the fertility of the land. She is married to Sah, who holds yet another place in the sky. When Pharaohs die... that is where they go."

"What does Sah do?"

"He is one of the largest constellations," he said, a grin forming across his face. Ahkmen began to creep up your body, using his fingers like claws as he gripped you. "He is eaten in the morning and spit out at night––and he rises into the sky to protect his wife."

You giggled, blushing from the intense overacting of the man pinning you to the old bed.

"He is a God who sails the skies. He navigates the stars in a papyrus skiff, and the old Pharaoh's souls go with him. It is a death I yearn for," Ahkmen said, his energy suddenly cooling, his hands less grasping you and more holding you.

"I like to see the stars now. You show where they are, yes?" You asked, searching his eyes as you looked up.

Behind the faint halo of his face, the soft skin reflecting the dying light of the torch, stars painted in gold on a midnight canvas surrounded him. It was him, the life in his eyes against the eternity of the sky––distant, and far enough to only be found in the heart.

"Of course," he said with a smile, crinkling and blushing around his grey eyes.

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [100]

xvi. the last war

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: violence, fighting, death, blood, angst, language, anxiety.

Summary: the last war is here, can you stop it before it’s too late?

a/n: 100!!!! I WROTE 100 CHAPTERS!!! YOU READ 100 CHAPTERS!!!! WE DID IT!!!! HOW ARE WE FEELING!!!! PLEASE CHECK THE END FOR MORE NOTES!!!! 

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

The tension in the elevator is heavy as you and Clarke slip into Wanheda and Wanlida mode.

It’s hard to believe that you’ve always been so eager to distance yourself from Wanlida, but in the last few years, you’ve found yourself welcoming her with open arms. And it’s a far cry from doing better for Monty, and trying to create lasting peace, but with your niece lying limply in a chair, left alone, you don't care about any of that. You’re willing to kill anyone that gets in your way, do better be damned, because no one messes with your family. 

Bellamy, Levitt, and Octavia hang back a little, noting the anger in yours and Clarke’s expressions, none of them wanting to get in your way and risk your wrath. As the elevator lifts to level 2, Octavia leans forward to pass you her gun, giving you two weapons to work with. Levitt watches the exchange and then says, “The Shepherd’s unit will be with him guarding the door.”

“Too bad for them.”

Clarke lifts her jacket and pulls two grenades from her pockets, taken from the fallen victims of Sheidheda, and as soon as Levitt sees them, he looks at her with disappointment. “Grenades? So more killing, that’s the answer?”

Clarke doesn't turn to face him, just squares up and readies for the door to open. You spare him a quick glance over your shoulder, expression hard when you counter, “It’s what we do.”

You lock eyes with Bellamy before turning back to the front, and he offers you a nod of approval, agreeing with what you and Clarke are about to do. You nod back, wishing there was time for the two of you to have more of a proper reunion, to talk about everything that’s happened in the last few days, but there isn’t time right now. Earlier today you had too much time on your hands, leaving you anxious and waiting, and now you don’t have enough of it, causing you to leave so much with Bellamy unresolved. You shake your head to clear your thoughts, pushing them aside for later. Right now, as the elevator stops on the second level, you have more important things on your mind. 

Justice.

Clarke steps out of the elevator first, turning to make sure you’re following, and when she sees that you are, she continues towards the Stone Room. You lift your two pistols, hearing the others step out of the elevator behind you, all of you watching as Clarke throws both grenades down the hall, right outside the Stone Room. As the two of you round the corner, side by side, you step through the smoke from the explosions, shooting anyone that moves or turns towards you. 

You take out disciple after disciple with ease, the two of you killing them before most of them can even lift their weapons. When you round the last corner, you both pause in front of the door, turning to look at the others. Octavia is leaning down to grab a sword, Levitt is looking around with distress, and Bellamy is holding a gun in his hand, his back to you, already covering your backs. Clarke glances at Octavia and Levitt and says, “Cover us.”

They both nod, moving into position as Clarke turns to look at you. You lift your hand, hovering it over the button to the door, looking at her closely. “You ready?”

She nods, “Stronger together.”

And then you hit the button, quickly getting back into position as the door slides open, revealing the Stone Room, drowning in the light. Your weapons lower as your eyes land on the Anomaly Stone, now a large, glowing ball of white light, no one else in the room around you. As you stare at the stone, you can feel the crushing weight of disappointment, and you whisper, “We’re too late.”

Clarke turns towards you, distress crossing her features for half a second before it settles into determination. “Maybe not.”

You give her a look, already aware of what she’s thinking, but Levitt shakes his head, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

“She wants to go in after him.”

Bellamy steps towards the two of you, his tone skeptical. “Clarke, you have no idea what you could face when you step in there.”

You already know there’s no way you’re going to change her mind, which is why you add, “At least let us go with you.”

“No. I have to do this.” She gives you a serious look, adding, “Alone.”

You sigh, looking at her, thinking of the grief she’s going to carry if she can't avenge Madi, and you understand it. It's the same grief you carried when you thought Bellamy was dead or when you thought you lost Clarke to Josephine. Which is why you nod at her, relenting, allowing her to do what she needs to do. “Fine. But we’re waiting just outside the door. We’ll keep the halls clear for you.”

She reaches out and pulls you into a hug, whispering into the crook of your neck, “Thank you, la lune.”

You pull away and smile at her, any anger you had for her gone now that Bellamy is alive and well, and your focus instead on avenging Madi. “I love you, my shining star. Be careful.”

“I will.”

She starts to step towards the bright light, before pausing and turning to face Bellamy, her face pulled into one of regret. “I’m sorry for shooting you, Bellamy, and I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Bellamy nods, smiling at her a little, before motioning towards the light. “Go get that son of a bitch, and make him pay for what he did to our family.”

Clarke nods and gives you one last look before turning and walking towards the stone, reaching out to touch the bright light, which quickly consumes her. Once she’s gone, you turn to face the others. “We can’t let anyone get close.”

Everyone agrees and you all file into the hall again, looking around. They all turn to you, looking for your direction, and you motion towards the fallen disciples. “Levitt, Octavia, gather all the weapons.”

They start to move down the hall, grabbing anything that might be useful to the rest of you, and you turn to look at Bellamy, pointing to a long table at the other end of the hall. “Let’s use that to make a barrier.”

“Good idea.”

The two of you jog down the hall and grab the table, carrying it back to the other end and tipping it on its side, making a makeshift shield large enough for the four of you to duck behind. As soon as you get it set up, Octavia and Levitt come back with an armful of weapons each, discarding them behind your shield in case you need them. And then the four of you take up your positions behind it, getting comfortable as you wait. Octavia braces her back against the table legs, and Levitt settles in beside her. You and Bellamy move to lean against the wall, sitting in a position that’ll allow you to duck behind the shield if you need it. 

The four of you sit in silence before Bellamy makes a small sound, reaching into his pockets as he moves. You turn towards him, curious, watching as he pulls a knife and a holster from his pocket. “Almost forgot to give this to you.”

“My knife!” You take it from him with a wide smile, immediately moving to put the holster on. “Where’d you get it?”

“When I was escaping from my hospital room, I went through the cabinets to find some clothes. That was tucked in the back, along with your old clothes.”

“I didn't think I'd ever get it back.” You pull the knife from the holster, eyeing the notches on the handle as you do. Thirteen in total, missing the two disciples you killed with it when you tried to escape. You run your fingers over the lines and mutter, “It’s missing two.”

Octavia digs around the pile of weapons before producing a knife, which she leans forward to hand you. You take it with a smile of thanks, already beginning to add the two additional tallymarks when Levitt gets an idea. He runs his fingers through the ash on the wall behind you and Bellamy, courtesy of one of the grenades, before he moves back towards Octavia. “Can’t go to war without your war paint.”

He starts to smudge the ash over her face, using it to draw the same warpaint she wore when she fought in the Final Conclave. You and Bellamy watch the pair, feeling a little awkward by the intimacy of the moment, but it reminds you so much of Orlando painting symbols on your face the night before you jumped to Bardo. Which makes you think of Gabriel, dead, his body still stuck in a partially collapsed bunker. You look at Levitt and ask, “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, and you slide your knife back into its holster just as he finishes with Octavia’s make up, turning to face you fully. “If Clarke takes the test and we pass, will Gabriel transcend too? Even though he’s dead?”

“No. Shepherd's passage, ‘Book of Bardo’, Chapter 1, Verse 6. ‘Death is the end, my friend. Only the living shall transcend.’”

You sigh, and Bellamy looks at you in confusion, reaching out to touch your arm. “Wait, Gabriel’s dead?”

You turn to face him, completely forgetting that he has no idea what all of you have gone through since leaving him on Sanctum. “Sheidheda showed up to kill Madi, and he stabbed Gabriel. He probably would have lived, but Sheidheda was about to kill me when Gabriel jumped in and saved my life. Sheidheda killed him after that.”

You leave out the potential love confession, not even sure that’s what it was, and Bellamy gives you a look of sympathy as he reaches up to touch your cheek. “I was wondering whose blood that was.”

You feel tears start to well up in your eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with unprocessed emotions. You got Bellamy back, despite the odds, but you still lost Gabriel and Madi. Before that, you lost Diyoza, and your mom, and Kane, and so many others. The loss hangs over you, heavy, weighing down on you, and Bellamy can sense your impending breakdown. He abruptly stands, holding out his hand to you, and you take it as he glances over at Levitt. “Are there medical supplies nearby? Her bandages need to be changed.”

Levitt nods, pointing down the hall. “Should be some down there, last door on the right.”

Bellamy nods in thanks and wraps his arm around you, turning you away from the pair as he starts to lead you down the hall. You feel tears falling down your face as you softly cry, unable to do much more than follow Bellamy to one of the medical rooms. He leads you inside and takes you over to the inspection chair, putting his hands beneath your arms to lift you and set you onto the cool leather. He leans down a little, getting eye level with you, before lifting his hands to your cheeks, wiping away your rapidly falling tears. “I’m so sorry about Gabriel, natshana.”

You nod, sure that he must be confused, unaware that the two of you became like family. “There’s so much I need to tell you, Bellamy. I spent five years trying to get you back, with Hope, Echo, and Gabriel at my side.”

He looks at you with complete shock. “Five years?”

You nod in confirmation and he shakes his head in confusion. “How? Where?”

“Skyring. The disciples call it Penance. The time dilation there is fast, a few days here is years on Skyring and minutes on Sanctum. We came after you as soon as the disciples knocked you out, but we got trapped there.”

Your lip starts to quiver as you remember the devastation you felt upon realizing you were stuck there. “I thought about you everyday, and when I finally made it to Bardo, they told me you died in an explosion. I never thought I'd see you again.”

Your voice cracks on the last sentence, bringing tears to Bellamy’s eyes, and he reaches out to pull you in for a hug, one of his hands going to the back of your head to hold you in place as you cry in his arms. All the while, he whispers in your ear, “It’s okay, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

After a moment, he pulls back, looking at you with sympathy. “I can't imagine what you’ve been through, but it’s over now, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“Forever?” 

He reaches into his pocket, pulling something out and holding it out to you in his open palm. You look down at his hand, your eyes falling on your ring as he whispers, “Forever.”

You smile and take the ring, sliding it onto your left hand, where it belongs. And even though everyone you love is still in danger, possibly on the edge of extinction, for one, blissfully happy second, everything is okay. Bellamy leans forward and pulls you in for a kiss, stretching the moment from one happy second to five, electricity zipping across your skin as you kiss your fiance for the first time in five years. It’s the best kiss the two of you have ever shared, and it leaves you breathless and lightheaded. Bellamy pulls away, and the two of you sit looking at each other, the air in the room charged with tension. And something about the moment, your closeness to war, to extinction, the fact that you’ve been apart for so long, it gets to you both. You see Bellamy’s gaze drop to your lips before his eyes find yours again, and in a flash, you’re both pulling each other closer. 

He crashes his lips onto yours, his hands lifting to your face to hold you in place. Your hands reach out for him, searching for skin to touch, frustrated when you find none because of his long sleeves. You slide your hand up his shirt as he slides his tongue into your mouth, and as your tongues move together, you hastily undo the small buttons on Bellamy’s shirt, pushing your hands against his skin as soon as you get his shirt open. You move your hands along his stomach, reveling in the feel of him, this sensation you haven’t experienced in five years, and you swear you feel like you’re going to explode. But as your hands move up to his chest, they graze across a bandage, and you pull your hand away, instantly knowing what it is. 

You and Bellamy break apart before you look at him with sadness, your eyes dropping back down to his open shirt. There, taped across his chest, is a bandage, no larger than your palm. As you sit staring at it, aware of what’s beneath the cotton square, Bellamy whispers, “The bullet barely missed my heart. A few inches to the right, and I would have been dead as soon as it hit me. But you saved me.”

You look up at him in confusion, shaking your head. “Me? I didn’t do anything. I left you there when I shouldn’t have. I should have fought Clarke harder and gotten back to you. Maybe then I could have saved you and Madi.”

“Or maybe Cadogan would have killed you the second he saw you. Besides, you did save me. I saw you push Clarke’s hand away. That was just enough for the bullet to miss my heart.”

“Oh, Bellamy…” You trail off, feeling full of regret, wishing you did more than just push your twin’s arm away. You meet his eyes and whisper, “Does it hurt?”

“Not really. Bardo tech got me to 90% within a few hours, and I woke up feeling fine. Then I heard one of the doctors mention Madi, and I snuck out pretty soon after that. I was only there for a few minutes before you guys showed up. I was still trying to figure out what to do, but I knew I couldn’t leave her there alone.”

“I don’t even know how you can look at me after what I did.”

Bellamy shakes his head, giving you a serious look. “I did worse than you did, la lune. I watched them torture Clarke and send Octavia away. I betrayed you and stopped fighting for you.” He shakes his head again, his thoughts overwhelming him. “I know that what I saw on Etherea was real, but Cadogan cannot be the one to take the test. You were right. Doing the right thing the wrong way is not the right thing. I should have never trusted him.”

“You didn't-”

You’re cut off by a yell of surprise from Octavia down the hall, and you and Bellamy exchange a worried look before you take off running from the room. Bellamy haphazardly buttons his shirt back up as you pull out your knife, and with his shirt in place again, Bellamy grabs his gun. As the two of you round the corner, you lift your weapons towards the disciples that stand near the new couple, and they each lift a gun towards you, the four of you standing frozen in shock as you take each other in. 

“Bellamy?” Raven and Echo both lower their weapons, staring at Bellamy as if they’ve seen a ghost, and it takes you a second to remember that they are. Because the last anyone else heard, Bellamy was dead. You both lower your weapons seconds before they run over to him, pulling him into a hug at the same time, laughing in surprise. Bellamy hugs them back with a smile on his face, savoring the reunion between himself and part of his Spacekru family. When they all break apart they look at him in disbelief, Raven asking the question on both hers and Echo’s mind. “How are you here?”

“It’s a long story, but how are you here?”

Raven counters, “It’s a long story.”

Echo looks over at you, her expression dropping slightly as she says, “Octavia told us about Madi.”

And just like that, any joy you temporarily possessed is now gone, again reminded of the situation you're in and the danger all of you face. “What are you doing here?”

“We came to kill Cadogan.”

You nod back towards the Stone Room, “Clarke’s taking care of it.”

Levitt looks at them with worry. “You said you brought an army.”

Raven turns to look at him, nodding at him once. “Wonkru is here to distract the disciples so we could sneak inside.”

But the worry on Levitt’s face doesn't fade. “The disciples don't know that. If Clarke can't stop the test to determine whether or not the human race deserves to transcend, while what's left of the human race is fighting a war…”

He trails off, waiting for all of you to catch on to what he means, and as soon as you do, your anxiety levels rise, suddenly realizing you might be closer to extinction than you originally thought. “We have to stop the war.”

Everyone nods in agreement, turning to head back towards the oxygen farm, Octavia and Levitt in the lead. Raven and Echo follow right behind, and you and Bellamy move to follow them before you suddenly stop, remembering Clarke inside of the Stone Room. Clarke, who will be vulnerable and unprotected if you all leave. Bellamy turns to you when you stop, his expression scrunched with concern. “What? What is it?”

“I can’t leave Clarke.”

“Then we’ll both stay here.”

And as much as you don't want him to leave your side, you know they need him on the battlefield. Because if anyone can give a speech so inspiring that it stops a war, it’s Bellamy. You’ve seen him rally less than 100 exhausted delinquents and prepare them for a war, and you’ve seen him inspire a small group ready to fly into space to avoid a death wave. People will follow him, your fiance with the big heart, and you know he’s better suited out there than he is in here with you. 

You shake your head, lifting your hand to his cheek. “No. If anyone can stop this war, it’s you Bellamy Blake.”

“I don't want to lose you. Not again.”

You smile at him, tears in your eyes. “You won't. Because no matter what, you’re stuck with me. No matter what, you can always find me in the stars.”

Bellamy pulls you in for a kiss, desperate and full of love, and you kiss him back just as urgently, praying that the moment never ends. But it does, and you both pull away, looking at each other with heartbreak, knowing that you’re needed in two different places. Bellamy runs his hands from your shoulders, down your arms, linking your hands together. He squeezes once before he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you more than the stars.”

He fights back a fresh wave of tears, backing away from you slowly, your hands breaking apart. “Stay out of trouble.”

“Go save our asses.” The two of you smile at each other before he turns and jogs down the hall, following the path the others took. He stops when he reaches the end, turning to look at you one last time before he disappears from sight, leaving you to stop a war and possibly save all of you from extinction. You turn and grab a pistol from the pile of weapons before you head to the Stone Room, pushing the button for the door so that you can wait inside. 

The room is empty when you arrive, looking exactly the same as last time, and you push the button to close the door behind you, not wanting to get caught off guard by anyone. You stare at the glowing white light for a second before leaning back against the wall, sliding down it until you're sitting on the floor. You lean your head back and do the thing you dread the most: you wait. 

Luckily for you, you don't have to wait long before there’s a flash of white near the Anomaly Stone. You stand and turn towards it, watching as Cadogan’s dead body appears at the base of the stone, multiple bullet wounds in his chest, blood seeping out onto the floor around him. You feel a rush of relief that he’s dead, that he has paid for what he did to Madi, Bellamy, you, and countless others, but that relief is short lived. Because a moment later the Anomaly flashes again and Clarke steps out of the light, turning to look down at Cadogan’s dead body with shock. 

As she looks up again, her eyes meet yours, but her face is devoid of the happiness she should feel. Instead, she looks upset, her expression anguished. “What have I done?”

You step closer to her, reaching out to take her hand as she looks away from you. “Did you take the test? Tell me what happened.”

“I failed.” You swear you feel all the air leave your body in one quick rush, the reality of what her words mean hitting you hard. She squeezes your hand and looks up at you, tears in her eyes. “It should have been you, la lune, not me. Our whole lives, everyone always looked to me, chose me to be the twin that lived on the outside, but it should have been you. It should have always been you.”

You look at her in shock, your mind buzzing with all the information she’s just given you. But you force it all away and focus on the pressing situation, the one that matters the most right now. “So that's it? We're wiped out?”

She nods her head, and you ask, “Well, can we change their minds?”

“I don't know.” She squeezes your hand and then drops it, already turning towards the door. “I need to be with Madi, there's not much time.”

You turn to follow her, calling out to her quickly retreating figure, “Clarke, wait!”

As you reach the door, the Anomaly Stone behind you turns bright red, pulsing with an almost angry, vibrating sound. You pause and turn to look at it, watching it closely. Despite your better judgement, you walk closer to it, closing the space between you and the bright red ball. As you look at it, you start to wonder: can you stop this? Can you change their minds?

You take a deep breath, lifting your hand as you mutter to yourself, “I am war, rage singing beneath my skin, running into battle and wearing Death like a crown. I am the moon, loss tied to my ankles like chains, trying to pull me down, but still I rise. I am fire, wild and untameable, spitting flames when I walk, unapologetic as I burn down the world around me.”

And then you touch the stone.

Everything around you grows so bright that you can do nothing more than close your eyes against it, the low vibration growing louder as something happens around you. You keep your eyes closed until you hear the sound fade, and only then do you slowly pull open your eyes. Your gaze immediately lands on a wall of trees, surrounding you on all sides, and you turn around, trying to figure out where you are. When you do, your eyes land on a large hunk of metal, three levels tall, scorched and damaged from its descent. 

“The dropship.” You let out a breathy laugh of surprise. “No way.”

You jump when a voice behind you calls out, “Took a beating on the way down, didn't she?”

“Dad.” You spin around, your eyes landing on your dad standing in the middle of the clearing, looking at you closely. You close the space between you, jumping into his arms and wrapping him up in a hug, squeezing him tight as you laugh. “Dad! What are you doing here?”

He doesn't answer, just hugs you back weakly before setting you back on the ground. You step back and look at him in confusion, taking in his blank expression, no sign of his usual affection for you. The pieces fall into place as you look at him, realizing that he’s not your father at all. “You’re not him.”

“No, I'm not. This is who you chose.”

You shake your head in confusion, “I don’t understand.”

“We often take the form of your greatest teacher, your greatest failure, or your greatest love.” You step back, putting more distance between you and the imposter dad. He tips his head to the side slightly, studying you. “Why are you here? The test is over. As you know, your twin failed.”

You glare at the man, your anger rising as you think of everything Clarke has sacrificed. Not just for you, but for your people too. “How could she have failed? Clarke sacrificed everything for us, so that we didn't have to. She gave up her soul so we could keep ours!”

“She committed atrocities.”

You counter, “She did what she thought was right. She was trying to save us.”

“She doomed you.” Your dad shakes his head, starting to turn away from you as he mutters, “I'm sorry.”

You yell back, “Are you?”

He turns back to face you, and you continue on, “Because to me, it looks like you don't feel anything. We’ve made mistakes, but we were just trying to survive! And everything we’ve done, all the bullshit we went through, we did it to save our people, to save the human race. Everything we did brought us here, to this moment, and I’m not saying we’re ready now, but at least let us live. Let us keep trying to do better, because we will. We have.” 

“You say you have, yet even now you are poised and on the brink of self-extermination. Look.” He motions to your left, and you turn to look, suddenly away from the dropship and back in the oxygen farm. To your left stands Wonkru, crouching behind barriers and shields, and to your right are the disciples, looking frightened and worried. “You say you're trying to do better, but all I see are two tribes of frightened creatures willing to kill the other to save themselves.”

You shake your head, your brows pulling together as you look between the two groups, frozen in a state of nonviolence. “But they're not fighting or killing each other. It was just a distraction, this proves nothing.”

“They will fight, la lune, like they always do.”

You snap, “You can't possibly know that.”

Your dad motions to your left, to a person in the trees, crouching with a weapon in their hand. As you look their way, you see that it’s Sheidheda, and he has a smile on his face, ready to stir up some chaos. You look at him in fear and try to move closer to him, yelling, “Stop!”

Your dad grabs your arm, pulling you to a standstill. “They can't see or hear you. You can’t stop this, no one can.”

And just as he says, you can't stop him. You can only stand and watch in horror as Sheidheda pulls the trigger, firing a few rounds at the disciples across the field. They look ready to retaliate, and Wonkru looks ready to fight, but Indra manages to keep them restrained, seconds before a figure dressed in all white bursts onto the field. For one agonizing second you think it’s Bellamy, but then you realize that it’s Levitt, and Bellamy is waiting in the trees with Octavia and Raven and Echo. As soon as Levitt is on the field, everyone pauses, listening to him as he yells, “Wait, wait, wait! Listen to me, this is not the Last War. We don't achieve transcendence through violence, Cadogan was wrong. We're being tested right now, all of us!”

You turn to look at your dad, raising one of your brows. “You were saying?”

But he just motions back to the scene in front of you. Levitt is urging everyone to put down their weapons, and people start to respond, lowering their guns and swords, until Sheidheda grows restless and sends another round of bullets towards the disciples. Levitt gets caught in the crossfire, and you watch in horror as he falls to the ground, blood already staining his clothes, and the disciples take the attack on Levitt as an attack on themselves. They return fire, prompting Wonkru to do the same, and before you know it, you have a war on your hands. People on either side are being taken down, hitting the ground, and you catch a glimpse of Octavia and Echo running to grab Levitt before you turn to face your father. “This still proves nothing. The actions of one man should not define our entire species! Those people are scared, and half of them spent their entire lives thinking that they needed to defeat you in a war.”

“Don't you see? Despite the beauty that humans are capable of, you can't break free from the cycle of violence. They trained for a war, because they wanted a war.”

“No one wants a war.”

Your dad shrugs, “This is who you are, and that's why you failed the test.”

You shake your head, thinking of the peace you lived in your lifetime. The peace on Bardo, the peace on Sanctum. You know that peace is possible, that all of you can change, and you turn to look at your dad with desperation. “No. That can’t be it.”

“It's time for us to go, la lune. The end of the human race is here.”

And as you start to turn away, devastated that you couldn't change their minds, you hear Octavia yell, “Indra! Indra, hold your fire!”

You pull your dad to a stop, “Wait!”

Both of you turn back to the battlefield, watching as Indra yells to Wonkru, “Hold your fire!”

Wonkru stops firing their weapons, and in return, the disciples stop firing theirs. You watch on with hope, thinking that maybe, they can still turn this around. Maybe, you can still avoid extinction. But then Sheidheda jumps out of the trees, stepping into a circle of warriors. “Indra is not in command here! I am, and I say jus drein, jus daun!”

He starts to repeat the phrase over and over, and you feel your hope being crushed once again as people start to join him, chanting the phrase and intending to continue the war. But Indra, who has clearly had enough of the Dark Commander at this point, snatches one of the sonic cannons from an Eligius prisoner, turns it on Sheidheda and blasts him to pieces before you can even respond. You feel relief course through you as he disappears, Gabriel’s death now avenged, and as you stare at the group around you, you see none other than your fiance running onto the battlefield, his voice loud as he yells, “Enough!”

Everyone turns to face him, watching him stride out into the center of the field with Octavia at his side, and he looks between both groups with disappointment. “What the hell are we doing here? You swore an oath to fight for all mankind. Well, look around you! We are mankind!”

Octavia, remembering her position as the former leader of Wonkru, turns to face her people, adding, “We are one crew! If I kill you, I kill myself. If we keep killing each other, there won't be anyone left to save!”

She looks to Indra, her teacher, her mentor, resignation in her voice. “Our fight is over, Indra!”

Indra stares back at her former second, giving her a long look before she mutters, “I hope you know what you're doing.”

She drops her weapon, and all around her, the others do the same, until no one on the Wonkru side is armed. You watch on with pride as Bellamy turns to face the disciples, determined to stop this war, right here, right now. “We're unarmed! I know you're afraid to walk away from everything you've spent your lives training for, but I believe transcendence is within reach! But if we fight this war, we’ll never deserve to see it, and we’ll never deserve to survive.”

You can see some of the disciples starting to lower their weapons, as Wonkru nods along in agreement. You smile at your fiance, whispering to yourself, “He’s reaching them.”

Octavia reaches out and takes her brother’s hand before she finishes up their speech. “I've been to war, and let me tell you the only way to win... is not to fight.”

She pulls out her sword and stabs it into the dirt, and Bellamy pulls the gun from his waistband and drops it on the ground. The Blake siblings stand together, united as they should be, unarmed and facing an army. The disciples look lost and confused, everyone exchanging looks, trying to figure out what they should do. Someone calls out, “Sir, what are our orders?”

Their leader looks around at his army and then back to the Blake siblings, before he disconnects his weapon from his suit and drops it to the ground, muttering, “For all mankind.”

All around him, other disciples do the same, dropping their weapons and repeating the mantra, until two armies stand united, at peace, despite the odds. You turn to look at your father with hope, gesturing to the scene beside you. “I told you, we can change. We just need more time.”

He looks at you long and hard, before tuning his gaze back to the siblings. You follow his line of sight, wondering what he sees, shocked to see the pair beginning to glow. You start to jog towards them, surprised, but a second later they disappear, leaving two beings of light in their wake. You whisper with shock, “Transcendence.”

You turn back to face your father, only to find that he’s already gone. All around you are flashes of gold, and you turn back to the field, watching as the disciples and Wonkru start to glow, leaving behind a gold stand in. You turn in a circle, amazed to see everyone transcending, and as you spin, the trees around you transform. Suddenly, you’re back at the dropship, your mind remembering your forgotten niece and twin, somewhere inside Bardo. 

You run towards the dropship, yanking the makeshift door aside to step inside, suddenly back in the Stone Room on Bardo. Without hesitation, you take off running, tearing down the halls and back towards M-Cap, reaching the door with an audible sigh of relief. You push the button to open the door and Clarke turns at the sound, a figure of light stretched in front of her, Madi already gone. “My shining star.”

And as the words leave your mouth and you start to cross the room, you realize that the dull ache in your shoulder, present since Sheidheda stabbed you, disappears. You look down at your shoulder in shock, your eyes landing on the light that is starting to radiate off of you, and as you look up at your twin with excitement, you fade away, melting into the light and becoming one with the rest of humanity.

-

You open your eyes to find yourself in Shallow Valley.

You sit up quickly, looking around in confusion, surprised to see that you’re in the house you saved for you and Bellamy. Stars stretch across the sky above your head, visible to you through the window, though they aren’t as breathtaking as usual. You shake your head, remembering the valley that was destroyed by McCreary, meaning whatever is happening right now is not normal. You turn and slide out of the bed, listening for the laughter and yelling outside, and you walk tentatively to the door, pushing it open to peek out into the night. There’s no one in the village from what you can tell, but the laughter sounds close so you decide to follow it. 

The voices lead you through the trees, and you look down to watch your step, remembering how bad some of the tree roots were in this part of the woods. You’re surprised to see your bare feet walking through the forest, none of the usual pain coming along with it. Though confused, you push on, following the laughter through the woods, catching glimpses of a fire as you move, until you suddenly burst through the treeline and see all of your friends gathered near the lake that you, Clarke, and Madi would swim in. 

They all look up as you approach, calling your name, and you smile back at them, walking towards the water where they’re waiting. As you move, you see a streak of something barreling towards you, and a second later a body collides with your own. You look down to see a head of dark hair, and Madi pulls away to look up at you, smiling as she does, “Ani!”

You laugh in disbelief and hug her back, but something about it feels off, wrong. You’re excited to see her, happy that she’s okay, but it doesn’t feel right to you. You shake your head, trying to push the thought away as Bellamy steps along the edge of the lake, towards you, smiling as he nears closer. “My love.”

The words don't light you up the way they normally would, and his kiss doesn’t either. Everything about it feels flat and unusual, and you hate it. You have no idea what’s going on, but you hate it. 

You look around for Clarke, sure that she’ll know what’s going on, but you see no sign of your blonde haired twin. You look back at Bellamy in confusion, “Where's Clarke?”

“Everyone’s been showing up one at a time. If she transcended after you, she should be here soon.”

“Transcendence.” You nod, remembering the events leading up to this moment. You have only just transcended, but you can already tell that none of this feels right. The fire next to you brings you no warmth, the joy you should be feeling isn’t there, and you can’t feel the sensations of the ground beneath your feet. The stars are dull and lifeless, the laughter sounds forced and unusual, and the affection that you normally feel for Bellamy and Madi and the others isn’t there. You know what it should feel like, you know how you should be acting, but none of this is the way it’s supposed to be. You look around again, seeing if anyone else feels the same, pausing when you catch sight of a glint of metal through trees. “What was that?”

Bellamy looks back quickly before turning to you. “What?”

You shake your head and lock eyes with him, forcing a smile to your face as you do. “Nothing. Uh, I’m gonna go say hey to the others and then I’ll come find you, okay?”

He nods and steps away from you. “Okay.”

But instead of wandering over to the rest of your friends, you slip back into the trees, moving through the dark woods, towards the metal you caught sight of earlier. Weirdly enough, as you grow closer, you can see that it’s part of Arkadia, situated all the way out in Shallow Valley, far from where Alpha Station crash landed to the ground. You step inside of the building, heading to the door at the end of the hall, voices drifting from behind it. 

Your feet thud softly on the metal floors, but they don't shock you with cold the way they normally would. You reach the door and push it open slowly, your eyes landing on a large round table in the center of the room. Situated around it are seven different people, talking quietly, their backs to you, but at the sound of your entrance they all turn towards you. You’re shocked to see your mother, Kane, and Jaha, along with a few other familiar council members. You feel a rush of excitement and you start to cross the room towards your mom, a smile on your face, but you hesitate when she doesn't smile back at you, your mind remembering that your mother is dead.

It takes a second for you to realize that this is not your mom, Kane, Jaha, or the rest of the council. It’s the species that created the stones, appearing in front of you in a way that makes sense to your brain. For some reason, your mind chose the Council and the Chancellor. 

The seven people in the room take a seat in tandem, looking towards you expectantly. “What can we do for you, Miss Griffin?”

You ask the question weighing heaviest on your mind. “Where’s Clarke?”

“Right now, she’s on Sanctum. Though I doubt she’ll be there long.”

You pull a face as you stare at Jaha, the one who answered your question. “Sanctum? What’s she doing there? When is she coming here?”

This time, it’s Kane that answers. “She’s not.”

“What?”

“Clarke isn’t transcending.” You stare at your mother in shock, sure that you must be imagining things. She shrugs as she looks at you. “How fitting that one twin saved the human race, while the other condemned it.”

You shake your head, looking between everyone on the council. “I don’t understand, I thought you changed your mind.”

“We did. For everyone but her.”

“Why?”

“Her actions must have a cost, Miss Griffin.” You look at Jaha, your expression indicating that you need some clarification, so he adds, “She is the only test subject from any species anywhere in the Universe since the dawn of time who committed murder during a test.”

“So she can never transcend? She has to live out the rest of her days alone?”

“She found Picasso.”

You glare at Kane, both of you knowing damn well that though Picasso is lovely, she is not a replacement for real human interaction. You look between them all, your mind making a decision before you can even process it. “I want to go back.”

“Okay.”

You look at Jaha in confusion, expecting him to fight you on this. “Okay? That’s it?”

“Transcendence is a choice, Miss Griffin. It always has been.”

“Then I choose to go back.”

Kane gives you a long look. “You do understand that if you leave us, you may never return.”

“Yes.”

“You will bleed and live and die as a human.”

“I know.”

Jaha holds out his hands, shrugging. “Then you may return. Though I suspect the others may want to join you.”

“If Madi comes back, will she be okay?”

“Yes. We will restore her health.”

You nod, “And that’s it then? Those of us that choose to return, we’re the last of the human race?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

You shake your head, looking at your mother. “What does that mean?”

“Those of you that leave now can never transcend again, but your offspring will be given a choice: transcend or remain human. If they join us, they will be eternal. If they choose to stay, they will live and die, just as you do. There will be limitations, of course, so that the human species will be unable to repopulate the way you once did, but your lives will remain mostly the same, untouched by the rest of us.”

You nod, processing the information, sure that it’s something you can live with. “Fine. I’d like to tell my friends first.”

Kane motions towards the door. “You will find us when you're ready.”

You look them all over one last time before you turn towards the door and leave, heading back to the lake to tell your friends that you plan to leave and return to Clarke. Madi and Bellamy are the first to join you, and the others quickly follow suit. Word begins to spread through Wonkru, the Bardoans, the Eligius prisoners, and the Sanctumites, and before you know it, you have a couple hundred people that decide to go back with you. 

The alien species drops all of you back on Earth, near a large lake, leaving you to figure out how to get everyone back to their respective homes. You’re in the process of leading them all back to the bunker and the stone when you hear a dog bark growing steadily louder. You turn to look at Bellamy and Madi with a smile. “Stay here with the others. I’ll go find her.”

They both nod, just as Picasso breaks through the treeline and comes barreling towards all of you, making a beeline for Madi, laying down at your niece’s feet as soon as she reaches her. You smile at them before taking the path Picasso did to reach you, backtracking towards Clarke’s frantic voice, calling out for the dog. You walk up a small, rocky hill, searching for your twin, and you know you’re close when you hear her broken whisper. “I don't want to be alone.”

You round a curve of trees, Clarke now coming into view, her back to you. You call out, “You're not alone.”

She turns around in shock, her expression surprised as she looks at you, a smile breaking out on her face, tears rising to her eyes. “La lune?”

You nod and your face splits into a grin, and the two of you run towards each other, colliding in a fierce hug. She holds you tight, laughing with happiness, and you do the same, this hug feeling right, the way that it should. Clarke breaks the hug to look at you in alarm. “Wait, what about Bellamy and Madi? And the others?”

You take her hand, leading her towards them. “They understood why I needed to come back.”

You see panic cross her features, and she shakes her head. “No, la lune, I would never want you to leave them behind! Even if it meant I was alone.”

“Hey, stop worrying.” You squeeze her hand, the two of you now reaching the bottom of the hill, coming around the corner and into view of the others. But Clarke doesn't see them, not yet, because her eyes are still locked on you, looking panicked. “La lune, I-”

You cut her off, saying, “We couldn't possibly leave you alone. Not after everything you’ve done for us.”

“We?” She looks at you in confusion, and you just smile, nodding towards the group standing nearby. Her eyes go wide as she turns to see the large group of people from multiple different planets, Madi and Bellamy and your friends standing at the front. At the sight of Madi, Clarke turns to flash you a smile before dropping your hand and taking off running, and the two of them collide in a hug so hard that Clarke falls backwards into the sand around the lake. 

You walk towards them, Bellamy pulling you in for a kiss when you get close enough, and you smile into it, reveling in the feel of him and the kiss. Transcendence might be nice in a lot of ways, like joining a conscious collective and getting to live forever, but transcending also meant losing all the things that made you human. Nothing would ever feel quite right, look quite right. Emotions would never be quite complete, you would never feel truly whole. And coming back to Earth means that one day you’ll die, and you’ll be able to feel pain again, but that’s part of being human. Life is messy and complicated, but it’s wonderful too. And feeling things like pain reminds you that you’re alive and that you can feel joy and love and sadness and anger. It means that you get to truly live, experience the good and the bad, no matter what. 

Bellamy pulls away from you with a smile, the two of you enjoying your time back on Earth already, and he turns to greet your approaching twin. They hug each other, breaking apart so that Clarke can greet the rest of your friends too. You stand watching, a smile on your face, realizing that you and your family have been given a second chance. You get the chance to prove yourself, prove to Monty and the Universe that you can do better. Prove to Jasper that human beings aren’t the problem, and that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

There, on a beach on a regrown Earth, after journeying through the stars and back again, you get a second chance at life.

-

the epilogue

[libraryofloveletters]

Heir To The Throne

Chapter 2: Secrets 

There comes a day where all fathers pass their business down to their children. This was no ordinary business, this was the mafia. You were the sole heir to the throne and you didn’t want it. Your father’s right hands Derek and Aaron are tasked with convincing you otherwise, the last thing you expected to do was fall in love.

Mafia AU

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader, Derek Morgan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cemeteries, mentions of garvez, loss of a sibling and parent, smoking, mentions of death, alcohol and the consumption of, little bit of Matt x reader, mentions of sex and sex references, kissing, swearing, guns and use of, threats, breakups 

Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: a chapter gives you a bit of a better insight on everyone! chapter 3 will be on its way soon!! 

Masterlist /// Chapter 1  /// Chapter 3

----

Fog filled the cemetery as Luke drove through the giant iron gates. He was outside when you had come down and offered to drive you. 

You glanced over at the man who had a permanent scowl on his face. “How’s Penelope?” you ask him, a little curl at the edge of his lips appeared. “Oh dude, you totally like her!” you squealed and hit his arm playfully. 

“Shut up y/n, we’re just friends. She’s fine” he answered you, pulling over by the tree. “Just fine?” you questioned and he nodded. 

“Didn’t sound like she was ‘just fine’ last night” wiggling your eyebrows at him, he gave you a stern look. You raised your hands playfully, “your secret is safe with me grumpy” you smiled and turned towards the window. 

Luke placed his hand on your shoulder, you glanced over at him. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” he said, you reached up and gave his hand a squeeze before shaking your head. 

“I’m alright. I won't be long.” 

“Take your time” 

Stepping out of the car after grabbing the bunches of flowers you had, you walked down the pathway to your mother’s grave. You replaced the old flowers that sit beside her tombstone, which you could only assume had been put there by your father, and brushed off dust from the top. Stepping away, you walked down a bit further and sat on the ground in front of a tombstone. 

James Rossi 

1989 - 2015 

Beloved son, brother and friend.

Setting the bunch of flowers beside the tombstone, you let out a sigh. “So I slapped Derek last night. I know it was wrong but he was talking about you like it wasn't his fault.” your hand ran across his name on the stone. “It’s not my fault though, I tried to control myself but he was being a bitch and don’t even get me started on Emily.” you rolled your eyes, “I threw a bottle at her head but she deserved it so I'm not going to apologize for that.” A wind blew through the cemetery, you brushed away the few leaves that fell by the flowers. “Oh! Luke and Penny are totally hooking up and yes, he’s still as grumpy as he was the last time you..” sighing, cutting your sentence short. “Anyways, she seems to make him happy and I'm happy for him” you glanced over your shoulder, you could see Luke standing outside the car on the phone and smoking. 

“I’ll come around more often J, I'll try and get dad to come too. I love you always” you pressed a kiss to your fingers and then pressed it to the stone before getting up. You brushed off the grass and dirt from your legs and headed back to the car. 

“She's coming back, I’ll talk to you later and I love you more” you could hear Luke say to whoever was on the other end of the call. Smiling at him, “tell pens I said hi, lover boy” Luke shot you a glare before you hopped in the car. 

“Stop eavesdropping” he turned the car around, you looked out the window and replied to him, “not my fault you decided to declare your love to miss Garica as I came back” Luke chuckled at your statement. 

“You’re annoying” 

“Oh you love me Al” 

He shook his head and drove back to the villa. Upon arriving home, he excused himself back to the armoury, or so he said. Luke didn’t realize that you too, had seen Penelope waiting down by the garden for him. Heading inside, your father’s laugh was the first thing you heard. 

He hadn't laughed like that since your mother passed. 

As you walked down the foyer, a woman's voice echoed through the empty hallway. “Dave stop it!” she laughed, you pushed the door to the dining hall open. Dave and a blonde woman sat side by side having lunch. “Oh bella, I didn’t realize you’d be back already” your father stood up from his chair as you walked in. “Yeah, I didn't want to stay too long today, I have things to do. Sorry for interrupting, I didn't realize we had company” 

“I, have company, not you” Dave corrected you, “but since you’re here, y/n, this is Krystall. Krystall, this is my daughter y/n” your father introduced the woman to you. She stuck her hand out and you shook it. “Nice to meet you” she smiled and you gave her a nod. 

“Please continue, I'm just here for a drink and then I'm off” you spoke as you walked towards the bar, filling a glass with some whiskey. You pressed a kiss to your father's cheek and walked out. 

“What the actual fuck was that?” you mumbled, walking down the staircase to the basement. 

The hallway lights had been turned off, you fumbled around and felt the wall until finding the switch. There were boxes and crates stacked on each other and lined up against the wall, a light peaked through a crack in the door at the end of the hall. Pushing it open, Spencer sat at a table and Tara’s back was turned to you. “Hello my darlings” you shouted, making Spencer jump. 

“Fucking hell, I told you stop doing that!” he shouted at you, you walked over and ruffled his hair. 

“Calm down pretty boy, no need to stress yourself out” you walked over to Tara, you slung your arm around her shoulder, “hey pretty lady” 

“Hello to you too, what brings you down here to see us?” she asked you, her eyes on the screen in front of her. 

“Other than the fact that my father is entertaining a woman upstairs and I didn’t want to hear nor see that ?” you cringed, “I just missed your beautiful faces” you laughed. 

“So you finally met Krystall ?” Spencer piped up from his table, dividing the cash in front of him, you looked over at your cousin. 

“Finally met her ? How long have you known about her ?” 

“A few weeks ? according to Penelope, she’s been around for a few months because uncle Dave asked her to give Krystall a code for the gate” 

“What?! And you didn't think to tell me?!” you screamed at him. Spencer shouted back at you, “I thought you knew!”  

“Obviously not!” you yelled again, “Spencer some random woman has the gate code to our home and you didn’t think to mention that to me?! She could be here to kill us for all you know!” 

 Spencer rolled his eyes at you, “No need to get your panties in a twist cousin, I'm sure Krystall isn’t here to kill us. She’s a harmless woman, and would it be so bad for your father to start seeing someone ? Maybe he’d finally get off you back about taking over.” 

“Spencer, are you crazy ? This is the worst possible thing, she’s gonna drag him off to some island and leave me here to be in charge. I despise that idea, you know that.” rolling your eyes, your cousin sighed, 

“Just talk to him if you don't like it, you idiot, but shut up now. Not all of us can spend our day shopping with daddy’s money, we have a job to do” he said, turning his attention back to the money, his statement made Tara laugh. 

“Okay fuck you too Spencer, I'll see you two for dinner ? We’re still good for 10 right ?”  

“Sounds good” Tara and Spencer said simultaneously, your brows furrowed, “that was weird but okay. Laters babes” you headed out and ventured back up the stairs and out the door. Emily and JJ stood in the clearing on the grass with maybe 10 or 12 young guys, you could only assume they were the newest recruits to your father’s so called army. Entering at the other side of the building, Matt was in the armoury smoking a blunt. “Is this what I'm paying you for Simmons ?” you walked in, Matt sat up from his seat, he was zoned out but he heard the voice and assumed it was your father, you knew that for sure. 

“No boss, I'm sor- are you kidding?” he saw you standing there with a rather amused look on your face, you bit your lip as you held back a laugh. “Does my father scare you Matt ?” you asked, taking the blunt from him and took a pull. 

“No?” he said, truthfully that sounded more like a question rather than an answer. 

“And the truth ?” you sat down, propping your feet up on the table. 

“Yes” he leaned on the table across from you, you laughed while leaning forward to pass the blunt back to him. “Scaredy cat” you smiled at him, Matt rolled his eyes “you have nothing to worry about, you’re his daughter” 

“Doesn’t mean I’m untouchable” 

“Yeah, it does, actually” 

“Mhm, if I'm untouchable, what happened the other night with you ?” you raised your brows, Matt blushed. “Not what I meant” he said, you stood up and walked towards him. 

“Did I make you blush ?” you slung your arms over his shoulders, your hands coming up to his hair at the nape of his neck, “no of course you don’t, I think it's the other way around” Matt’s hands were on your waist, he lifted you up onto the table. 

“Why are you even in here? Where’s Luke ?” you twirled his hair with your fingers, Matt’s forehead rested against yours, “he’s making out with Penelope in the garden” Matt stated casually.

Pulling away slightly, you looked at him, “what ?” 

“Oh fuck, you didn't know” Matt’s eyes went wide. 

Of course you knew, but Matt didn't know that you knew about Luke and Penelope. 

“I know about them, you can relax” you laughed, “Luke would've killed you if I didn't already know though” your hands cupped Matt’s face. Matt leaned forward, your lips barely touching his. His hands on your lower back, pulling you towards him and closed the gap between the two of you. Your hands fumbled with the buttons on his shirt as his lips moved from your lips to your cheek and then to your neck. 

“Luke I need a g- oh” Derek's voice rang through the room. Matt pulled away from you, he looked like a deer in headlights.

You on the other hand, were as Matt said, untouchable. 

Matt buttoned his shirt back up, “um Luke’s out but I can get you what you need” he told Derek who was still standing at the door watching the scene in front of him unfold. Hopping off the counter, you wiped the lipstick off Matt's lips with your thumb and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I'll see you around love” 

--

Derek stood off to the side as Matt gathered the things he needed. “Does Dave know what you're doing with his daughter ?”

“I don't see how that concerns him” Matt’s back was turned to him, his response made Derek roll his eyes. 

“If you want to keep your fucking job, you’ll watch yourself” 

“And what does that mean ?” Matt turned, handing him the gun. Derek rolled his eyes, playing with the trigger of the gun. “It means stay away from her or I'll make sure you do.” spinning on his feet, he walked towards the door.

“What’s your issue with me dude ? y/n doesn’t even like you so why are you acting like this ?” 

Derek stopped in his tracks. his back still facing Matt, “and what do you know about how y/n feels towards me?” 

Matt scoffed, “after what happened to her brother, you think she’ll let you tell her what to do with her life?” 

The mention of James triggered something in Derek. James was one of his friends, his best friend in a way. What happened to James wasn’t his fault and he knew that. Derek had spent the last few years trying to get over that very thing. 

“What did you just say to me ?” Derek turned to face him,

“Her brother, his death was your fault wasn’t it ?” Matt repeated himself.

Derek shoved him back slightly, “watch yourself” he mumbled, he really wasn't in the mood to fight with Matt. 

“Or what ?” Matt challenged him and one thing you should never do, is challenge Derek. He has a habit of making his point no matter what. The muzzle of the gun pressed to the side of Matt’s head, Derek’s hand gripping to the collar of his shirt. 

“Let’s try that again” Derek gave him a smug smile. 

“Woah! Der, stop!” Aaron ran in, pulling Derek away from Matt. The gun was still pointed in Matt’s direction, Aaron looked over at Matt and nodded towards the door, Matt running out the door without looking back. 

“Okay, what the fuck was that about D?” 

Aaron took the gun from him and set it aside. Derek shook his head but Aaron knew him better than that, something was bothering him. “I know you man, you wouldn't pull a gun on him for no reason, what’s up ?” 

“It’s stupid” 

“C’mon” 

“It’s James” Derek muttered, his eyes focused on anything, anything that would keep him from looking at Aaron. 

“How- What ? How is that possible ? He shouldn't even- he couldn’t know about that” Aaron was confused, more than usual to tell you the truth. There was no way Matt could know about James, unless.. 

Aaron at Derek who was now looking at him. “Y/n..” he whispered, Derek nodded. 

“Did he say anything else ?” 

“Just that she didn’t like me” 

“Don’t take it to heart, she doesn't like anyone” Aaron gave his shoulder a pat before walking out. Derek stood in the middle of the armoury by himself. There were so many things he needed to fix, to mend, to make right so he could move on. Luke brows furrowed as he walked in, “can I help you ?” his voice startled Derek, “no, I'm good. Just came for this” picking up the gun and tucking it into the waistband on his pants.

--

The drive over was quiet, Derek stopped at the front by the gates and walked the rest of the way. It wasn’t cold but it wasn't warm either and the trees blocked the sun out. This place always gave him the creeps and you’d think a big, strong guy wouldn't get scared that easily but he couldn’t help it.

For the second time today, James had gotten a visitor. 

Derek stood in front of the tombstone. He wasn’t quite sure why he was there, maybe it was the mention of James’s death being his fault or just because his guilty conscience was getting to him. 

“I don’t know why I'm here, honestly. I haven’t been back here since your funeral man, I just- I couldn't.” Derek sighed. 

“It’s not my fault right ? you told me to go, I begged you to let me stay with you and you didn't let me.” he ran his hand over his face, “Your sister blames me. She thinks it’s my fault and she told her stupid little boy toy that.” 

The flowers caught his eye, red roses. 

“Your sister came to see you today didn't she? wait,” Derek chuckled “I'm asking you like you can answer me” he shook his head. 

“Do you know I’ve been getting her roses for her birthday for the past 5 years ? Red roses just like you used to. She doesn't know it’s from me though, she thinks they’re from your father” Derek sighed. 

“I don’t know why, I just- you know what ? I do know. I like her J, I do, like a lot.” he laughed, “holy fuck, I've never said that. I didn’t- wow” Derek paced back and forth for a few moments, he debated if he should tell her or not. She already hates him, what difference does it make ?

--

The heels clicked on the marble tiles as you walked down the staircase. You were just about to head out for dinner with Spencer and Tara when Matt walked past you. 

“Hey! I'm leaving, why are you going upstairs ?” you stopped, turning back and looking up at him. His back was to you, you could hear him sigh. 

“Matt, what’s wrong?” you walk up a few steps towards him, you reach for his hand but he pulls away. 

“y/n.. we can’t do this anymore” 

“What ? What are you talking about?” 

“This,” he refers to you and him, “we can’t keep doing this. You’re going to lead this shit one day and you can’t spend all your time with me, there has to be something more for you.” 

“Where’s this coming from ? What’s going on?” 

Matt didn’t say anything else, instead he met you in the middle of the staircase. His hands cupped your face, “I'm sorry” he whispered before giving you one last kiss. Your forehead rested against his, your hand on his. He stepped back, your hand still on his, he pulled away until your fingers were barely touching, he finally stepped away, leaving you there by yourself. 

There were so many questions. 

Why ? What had happened ? Did your father say something to him ? What was the reason ? Did Derek tell him something ? 

“Bitch, let’s go. We’re running late, Luke and Penelope are already on their way there” Spencer shouted for you from the bottom of the staircase. Your eyes fixed on the top of the stairs, you sighed and shook the feeling, turning towards Spencer with a smile on your face.

“Where’s Matt ? I thought he was coming with us ?” Tara asked as she walked over to the two of you. You shook your head, “he’s not feeling well” you lied, they both knew something was going on between the two of you but you weren't in the mood for it tonight. 

You just wanted one last night out with your family as a 21 year old. 

---

Ahh chapter 2 is done! how do we feeling ? I have something exciting in store for chapter 3! 

Taglist: @mac99martin @aaron-hotchner187 @tclaerh @luke-alvez @iconicc @lieberhers @pumpkin-reads @katexrichardson @sluttytears @thelukealvez @scandinavian-punk @laurenxreynolds @morcias​ @shotarosleftpinky​ @mrs-dr-reid​ @hqtchner​ @averyhotchner​ @ssahoodrathotchner​ @willlemonheadsupremacy​ @ssa-autumn-hotchner​ @potter-reid​ @sunshinepower17​ @emilysbau

[bookswitchcraftandcats]

Rainy Days (Part 2 of 4)

Link to AO3 --- Part 1 

Summary: Emma and Julian are in charge of the London Institute for a week and find a box that once belonged to Cordelia Carstairs and contains poems written to her by James Herondale. The story switches between Emma and Julian and oneshots about things that happened in Jordelia's life to inspire the poems.

Disclaimer: Cassie owns the whispering room scene

Sorry if the formatting for the poems is messed up, I tried.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you think he meant by ‘cut through the wickedest of powers’?” Emma says while looking at the poem. Julian is laying next to her idly playing with her hair. He always loved the golden color of it and how it seemed to glow in the sunlight. It had taken him hundreds of paintings to get it just right.

“I don’t know,” he responded, “but I do think that he really loved her, almost as much as I love you.” They both blush and he kisses Emma’s nose.

“I love you too,” Emma says. She laid her head against Julian’s chest. They were both kind of tired and not used to such cloudy weather. Emma thought more about her own sword and the poem. It was kind of strange to think about how long ago this was written, and how it was about the same sword. It was like when Julian paints pictures of her and Cortana. Maybe one day one of their descendants will find his painting and have the same adventure.

“James Herondale seems to have been very good with words,” Julian says while looking over the old poem again, as though he can take some romance advice from it.

“You're just as good,'' says Emma while she looks through the contents of the jewelry box. She opens another compartment.

“What is this?” she says reaching for a stone, it lights up at her touch.

“Witchlight,” Jules says, looking at the angelic light.

“This must have also been Cordelia’s,” she states, still looking at the small rock in her hand, “maybe it meant something to her, or someone special gave it to her.”

She knew she had a brother, Alastair, maybe that was who gave it to her. This box seemed to hold things she valued so it couldn’t be just any witchlight. The stone was heavy in her hand, it’s light reflecting through the room. She thought of the light Jace had given Mark and about what comfort Cortana gave her. Sometimes it wasn’t about what the object could do, but who gave it to you when you needed it most that matters.

“When did Tessa say she was coming?” Jules asks, bringing Emma out of her thoughts.

“I think around 7 ish” she says, “we still have a good amount of time before they come.”

“What do you think she will think about this...does she know this is here?”

“Probably, she lived here for over half a century, if anyone knows this institute it is her.”

Emma looked at the clock. They still had like 2 hours before they would be here and there was nothing left to do today. They couldn’t even explore the city with all this rain.

“Do you want to read another one?” she asks Jules.

“Sure,” he says as he picks up one titled The Whispering Room.

The Whispering Room

You step onto the old wooden stage, And tell us a fairy tale with your movement. Gliding and spinning in arcs of gold and fire, Every soul is drawn to the beautiful legend.

You step off into the crowd that you shocked, Carrying a sense of confidence as you turn to me. And then we ran off to find a hiding spot, Away from the stares and chatter of the club.

We step into a room with an open door, You're looking even more gorgeous than before. We kiss in a way that wasn't of careful fairy tales, It was a real kiss jarring me into a clearer world.

The heat from the fire now not the only source. The world seems to fade to you and only you. If only this could could be captured and last forever, Among the smoke and sounds in the whispering room.

The Merry Thieves were moving out of the Devil’s Tavern. They all had houses now and didn’t really have much use for the room. They figured another generation of boys up to no good could benefit more from them then they can now. They had a lot of stuff stored there so all week they had been moving and bringing stuff home. Tonight, James and Cordelia were there to sort through some of the books. It began to rain as they worked so they probably wouldn’t be taking many with them unless the storm stopped.

“You kept a lot of books here,” Cordelia says while looking through another shelf.

“We couldn’t keep most of these at the institute” James explains while picking up a book about how to summon demons.

“I guess not,” Cordelia responds. She then spots an old leather journal that seems familiar. “I think this was one of your notebooks.”

James walks over from his pile of books. He spots the journal and laughs a little.

“That was one of my old poetry journals.” She pulls it off of the shelf and they sit on the couch.

“Any about me?” she asks with a smirk. He blushes and Cordelia raises an eyebrow.

“Probably” he says, turning through the pages. He stops at one that is titled The Whispering Room and they both burst out laughing.

“That was quite the night” James says.

“And the part you remember was when we were hidden kissing in the Whispering Room,” Cordelia says, shaking her head.

“I remember that dance too,” He states with a smirk. She was very beautiful on that stage, no one watching will ever forget about that. Cordelia still gets comments about it whenever they are down at the Hell Ruelle.

“I’m sure a lot of people remember that dance,” she says.

“You know,” James starts, “I might need a reminder, I wouldn’t mind seeing that dance again.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she responded, kissing him on the cheek.

Then the door opened and Thomas and Alastair walked in. James and Cordelia both blushed a bit.

“I don’t even want to know what you were up to,” Alastair says while walking over to grab a box of Thomas’s books. Most of them were in languages only Thomas and Alastair knew how to speak anyways.

“Hello” Thomas says, “I didn’t think you two would be here tonight.”

“We just had a few more books to grab and then figured we would stay until the rain stopped,” James replies while not so slyly putting an arm around Cordelia.

“It’s so weird leaving this place,” Thomas says while looking at the now nearly empty room. “We caused so many fire hazards here.” They all glanced at the burn mark on the back wall from an explosion gone wrong.

“We can always cause fire hazards at my house,” James started but was cut off by his wife.

“Absolutely not!” Corldelia said as Alastair laughed. James ignored this and continued,

“Besides, some other group of boys will enjoy causing trouble here just as much as we did.”

They continued to pack their things and looked outside as the rain began to stop and the sun creeped out from behind the clouds. A fire message appeared on the wall calling them all to the institute. Taking one last look at the room James fondly remembered the days when they did cause mischief and they had the night in the whispering room. While it was more peaceful now, he would always love the memories of adventure. He smiled at Cordelia and took her hand as they climbed into the carriage, off to have some more nights worthy of poems of their own.

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