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writereleaserepeat · 2 months

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Rescue and Reprieve

Kirin awakes to find himself in the hands of the only person more terrifying than his former captor. With his spirit all but defeated, and his body broken, he prepares to fight for his survival in the only way he knows how. But admist his terror, and despite his life hanging in the balance, Kirin finds small mercies in the most unexpected place.

One shot. Named characters.

WC: ~10,000

CW: carewhumper(ish), mentions of past noncon, foul language, noncon touching, noncon nudity, noncon medical care, head trauma, broken bones

Pain dug its claws into Kirin’s soul and began to drag him out of unconsciousness. First came the familiar ache in his leg, like a railroad spike had speared his shin and been left to ossify. This pain was his oldest companion, and it was always the first to greet him when he woke.

The sharp fury of broken fingers followed soon after, and then the ribs that groaned with every shallow breath he took, then the dull roar of the never-healed patchwork of bruises that mottled his abdomen. His nerves came to life while his wits were still scattered, and Kirin took a few shaky breaths to soothe himself as he emerged from a sea of dark nothingness.

Kirin blinked his eyes open, and the low light pierced his skull like daggers. His vision was still blurry from the darkness of not-sleep, and his mind was clouded with a thick fog of confusion. A wave of nausea washed over him, rolling through his body like the tide, only to ebb with a few more carefully paced breaths. His tongue was as dry as sandpaper in his mouth, but he was still haunted by the bitter taste of his own blood.

Hearing returned along with his vision, and he could make out the pathetic sound of his own ragged gasps, punctuated by the softest hint of a whimper he couldn’t swallow down.

The nausea spiked again. This time Kirin couldn’t run from the inevitable, and he turned his head to the side as his empty stomach contracted and twisted in on itself. A thin stream of acid burned his lips as it dripped to the floor, and his head swam with a wave of vertigo from the sudden movement. Every cough to clear the bile from his throat made his fractured ribs cry out, begging him to stop, threatening to cave in his lungs. Shame burned nearly as hot as his esophagus.

For a moment, all he could feel was disappointment that he wasn’t dead yet.

Tears pricked at his eyes, but no, no, he wasn’t going to cry. Not now. Not out of pain, or anger, or confusion. Not until he figured out what had happened and where the hell he had ended up.

His vision was almost clear now, and although the pounding in his head was fierce, he slowly regained an awareness of his senses and surroundings. This was how it always went after a few serious blows to the head, something he’d more or less grown used to in captivity, and he knew he had to take this slow if he didn’t want to get sick again.

The familiar weight of the metal collar sat heavy on his neck, a thick chain attached to the ring at the front, its steel cold and heavy where the interlinking metal grazed Kirin’s collarbones. The chain was short, just a few feet long, and secured into the nearby wall with a thick bolt.

Much to Kirin’s surprise, his legs were no longer shackled as they had been for so long. Where cold metal should have clamped tight, his ankles were instead touched by cool air. Similarly, the familiar metal cuffs that had long bound his wrists together were also missing. Their absence made Kirin feel more naked than his actual nakedness now did.

As for the rest of his aching, broken body, it laid naked and limp against a polished cement floor. Kirin could feel the cool stone leeching any last bits of warmth from his tired body, throbbing in pain where it pressed against the bones that were palpable through his pale, taut skin.

He was in a cell, he knew that much. He’d spent quite some time in places like this, so much so that it was as familiar as home. He’d suffered, and he’d bled, and he’d almost died in places like this before. But this particular cell was new to him. There were no familiar bloodstains underfoot where copper had long since stained the grey. There were no scratches in the cinderblock walls where he had raked his fingernails down to bloodied nubs, or where his shackles had chipped desperately away at the stone.

Somehow, this place was more comforting than he could have imagined a cell to be. The overhead lights were a soft yellow, not the piercing fluorescent white that made it almost impossible to sleep. The walls were cinderblock, but they were painted with a wash of white paint that nearly hid their abrasive texture. And the floor was not only missing his own bloodstains, but any at all – the slab of grey stone was continuous, smooth, as though it had been poured and polished new.

And then there was the door. It was a proper door, almost certainly made of thick steel, rather than the rusted bars he’d stared at for so long. For better or for worse, there was also no glimpse at a hallway to freedom that would never come. This new door was also painted white, in perfect harmony with the walls, and it was almost certainly barred and bolted from the outside. The side of the door that faced him was smooth, save for its hinges and the translucent window at eye level.

Wherever Kirin was now – be it a new prison, purgatory, or hell – it didn’t really matter. It might not have been Fen’s lair, but the chain that tethered him close to the wall told him all he needed to know.

He couldn’t remember how he ended up here. He’d been laying in his cell, stuck in the unpleasant fugue between sleep and waking, the pain not allowing him to slip fully under. Then he’d heard violent crashing and shouting from the complex above him, a cacophony of voices, a thunder of footsteps. The building itself had begun to shake around him, the walls had groaned, and then-

Then nothing. Emptiness occupied the place where memories should have been, just as it did whenever he’d had his head kicked in. Hunting for those memories now would be futile. Whatever he’d done to earn the beating was likewise forgotten. Given the sounds that had come from the compound above, there was a fair chance that Kirin himself hadn’t done anything wrong, but had instead been a convenient punching bag for Fen to find catharsis.

Now, it was time to survey his wounds. While his memory still failed him, and certain details escaped his comprehension, all he could do was determine whether these latest agonies had caused any permanent damage. Were there any new bruises painting his abdomen, new hues to add to the shifting canvas of yellow, blue, and purple beneath his skin? Had any more of his ribs cracked beneath a steel-toed boot, or had another finger been spent and snapped like kindling? Did he have another tooth missing, a new ache in his jaw?

The groaning of a lock coming undone snapped Kirin’s attention back to the door.

Kirin grit his remaining teeth and tried to gatherer both his wits and his limbs. It was never good to be caught how he was now, laying prone and with his limbs splayed, naked body exposed to whoever walked through that door. This position left him vulnerable to any spare kicks that Fen and their compatriots felt like delivering, and it opened his soft abdomen to any number of blows.

Whatever his new keepers had in store, Kirin had learned enough lessons at Fen’s hand to last a lifetime. And until he knew who his body belonged to now, he wouldn’t let himself be seen so vulnerable, so unprepared.

He pulled his left hand beneath him and pushed down hard on his palm, trying to haul himself into a sitting position. His broken fingers and leg cried out as he did so, but through the pain and the shaking of his atrophied muscles, Kirin pulled his torso off the floor. The chain attached to his collar rattled as he moved, each link clinking against the next, and the sound grew louder as Kirin settled his back against the wall. He could feel blood and pus from his open wounds slick against the painted cinderblocks that now held him upright. It was all he could do to breathe steadily through his nose, try and still his racing heart, anything measure to disguise his utter weakness.

Kirin knew it didn’t truly matter. He looked more like a corpse than a human at this point, and even if he used the last of his energy to display an illusion of strength, it was just as likely his keeper would see right through him.

Despite his efforts to keep a cool, steely exterior, Kirin felt his eyes widen as the door swung open and a broad silhouette filled the doorframe. Kirin’s gaze swept over muscular arms that strained against a tight grey shirt, then wandered up to a sharp jawline that was dusted in stubble. Rich brown eyes glowed even in the low light of the cell, and black curls caught the golden glow above with the radiance and omnipresence of a god.

With a knowing half-smile on his lips, Alekos stepped through the threshold of the cell and closed the door behind him.

Alekos walked forward with steady strides, each footfall sending a new shock through Kirin’s body. His heart began to race at a staggering staccato as his stomach twisted in knots. Kirin recoiled in spite of himself, and he pushed his ragged back even further into the wall behind him, ignoring the sting that came from the added pressure. It was the animal instinct in his mind that told him to flee, and it was this same instinct that told him to put as much space between himself and Alekos as possible, even at the cost of reopening his wounds.

Alekos came to a stop just inches before where Kirin sat, his broken leg splayed out awkwardly, the chain still against his naked chest. Cold eyes glanced Kirin over once before Alekos sneered and scoffed.

“Well, they told me you looked like shit, but I didn’t think they really meant it. You’re a wreck, little thing, nothing but scars and bone. What a waste of a life.”

Kirin bit down on his tongue until it bled, and he could feel his eyes begin to burn of their own volition. No. He couldn’t be here with Alekos. Not like this, not now, not as a prisoner at the man’s utter mercy. Even on his best days - those strong days before Fen turned on him - Kirin had never stood a chance against Alekos. And now, helpless and imprisoned at Alekos’s feet, he was certain that Alekos would make Fen’s torment pale in comparison.

In a brief flash of lucidity, Kirin realized that the history between them was both a blessing and a curse. That same history would bring Alekos’s wrath down firmly on Kirin’s shoulders, a biting retribution that he arguably deserved. But it also meant that Kirin knew just what he had to do to appease Alekos, should Alekos entertain the idea of letting Kirin live another day. And as much as Kirin was certain that this would be a death sentence, he knew that he wanted to live. He’d always wanted to live, survive, escape all of this.

Now, he had to survive Alekos.

Kirin drew in a deep breath, deep enough that his ribs gave him an angry reminder of their damage, and he looked Alekos in the eyes. The tightrope of strength, defiance, and obedience wavered beneath him. Alekos loathed weakness, so Kirin wouldn’t show it. Alekos hated disobedience, so Kirin would obey. Alekos liked to feel powerful, so Kirin would subjugate himself.

There was no anger in Alekos’s face as Kirin had expected there to be. Instead, those terrifyingly familiar eyes held something that Kirin would have dared call curiosity.

“So,” Alekos began, voice level but commanding, “do you know where you are?”

Kirin could make a few educated guesses, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. Only a few seconds had passed since Alekos had come in, mere moments since he’d decided his course of action, and he didn’t want to ruin his odds too early. Instead of speaking he gave a measured, cautious shake of his head. The chain rattled in response.

Alekos crossed his arms and puffed out his chest with a deep breath, as though Kirin wasn’t already intimidated by his sheer size and presence. The man’s gravelly voice threatened to tear away what remained of Kirin’s courage.

“You’re back at our base of operations, and that’s where you’ll be for the indefinite future. Perhaps the entirety of your future, depending on how generous I’m feeling. I’m sure you don’t need me to give you the subtext, but in case the head trauma means you can’t read between the lines, that means you’re in our custody. I’ve never been fond of the word ‘prisoner,’ but it’s fitting, and it should help you remember your place. Do you remember how you got here?”

Again, Kirin shook his head. That was an easy, honest answer. It didn’t seem that Alekos expected him to know the answer in the first place, and there was nothing in Kirin’s mind but a blank space.

A short sigh escaped Alekos’s lips, the sound laden with disappointment.

“Consider your forgetfulness a blessing. Rest assured, despite your own forgetfulness, my team will remember this day for a long time. They’ve told me in great detail how much trouble you gave them, and just how hard you fought. Apparently, they’d never have expected such resistance from a malnourished pile of bones. It’s almost like you knew what waited for you once you got here.”

Kirin felt his mouth tighten as he swallowed a wince. As if he hadn’t done enough to make Alekos hate him before, and as if he hadn’t already condemned himself to a lifetime of torment, he’d certainly secured it through whatever he’d done prior leading up to his concussion.

A final step was all it took to close the gap between the two men, and Alekos smoothly knelt a hair’s breadth away from where Kirin sat in an awkward pile of bruises and broken limbs.

His heart in his throat, Kirin forced himself to swallow. He’d vomit again if he didn’t get his nerves under control. There was nowhere to run now, of course. Even if Kirin had been strong enough to push Alekos away he hadn’t been able to stand since Fen had broken his leg, and the limb was still crooked from how it had healed. The ache of his broken fingers would have made it impossible to manipulate even the most simple door handle, much less grapple with a series of locks and bolts.

Still, he knew he had to be strong, and that he had to show Alekos he had enough spirit left to be worth saving. So now, with Alekos mere inches from his face, Kirin let out the only sign of defiance he could muster. A low growl rose in his throat, mimicking a cornered feline, his lip twitching up ever so slightly as he did so.

The rumble hadn’t so much as left his mouth before Alekos reached forward and grabbed Kirin’s chin. Alekos moved so fast that Kirin didn’t even have the chance to jerk backwards, his jaw swiftly secured in Alekos’s massive, calloused palm. The grip was firm, almost painfully so, and Kirin knew he wouldn’t be able to pull away.

“Hey,” Alekos growled back, throat full of stones. “I don’t want to hear that kind of attitude coming from you. You’re certainly in no position to bargain. Whatever’s left of your life is in my hands, understand? You’re going to sit there, you’re going to shut the fuck up, and you’re going to let me look you over. I’d rather not be forced to subdue you again.”

And in that moment, Kirin felt something inside of him break. The fear bubbled to a head, a torrent of adrenaline rushing from his veins and into his eyes. Oh, his eyes burned, and his pledge to bravery wavered as the lump in his throat grew bigger.

Much to Kirin’s horror, a hot tear rolled down his cheek and landed between Alekos’s unwavering fingers.

Alekos barely blinked, and he made a disapproving click of his tongue as his already tight grip on Kirin’s face tightened further.

“Crying already, poor thing. Are you in pain? Or are you just afraid?” The words hung in the air as sarcastic taunts, their acerbic edge biting almost as sharply as Alekos’s touch.

Kirin didn’t move. As much as every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run, he knew that resistance would be a futile exercise, and one that would likely lead to his untimely demise. He felt like a mouse between the paws of a lion, nothing more than a plaything for Alekos. His own fear meant nothing to his captor.

Fear had never stopped Fen before - in fact, Kirin figured they probably got off on it. From what Kirin knew of Alekos, his own pain or discomfort wouldn’t stop the man either. Hunger, pain, and head trauma had already shattered most of who Kirin had once been. It wouldn’t take much more for him to be completely broken, not a whisper left of Kirin’s soul left in a useless bodyl. Maybe that’s what Alekos wanted.

“Can you speak, Kirin?”

The way Alekos said his name made a sob rise in Kirin’s chest, even tighter and more pressing than the tears he was swallowing back. Fen hadn’t granted him the luxury of hearing his name in so long, and to hear it now, even on Alekos’s lips, was a blessing so welcome that he almost broke down. It was embarrassing just how badly Kirin wanted to hear it. He wanted to hear his name, to be seen, more than he wanted to be brave. Perhaps even more than he wanted to survive. He hadn’t known until that very moment how desperate he was for it.

But still, Alekos had asked a question, and the rational part of Kirin’s brain was fighting to stay afloat above the fear and confusion. As such, Kirin knew that he would be prudent to answer

With his face still gripped in Alekos’s unmoving grasp, he was unable to nod. Rapid blinks of confirmation followed instead.

“Then speak.” Alekos’s voice cut through Kirin like thunder. The grip on his chin loosened just enough that he could part his lips.

What was Kirin to say? He didn’t want to show even more vulnerability by pleading for his life, and he didn’t want to throw meaningless platitudes at Alekos for his mercy thus far. The undercurrent of fear quieted just long enough for Kirin to think back to one of Fen’s first demands, the demand that Kirin subject himself to their power. It was one simple word, and perhaps it would succeed here to show Alekos that Kirin was aware of his position here without giving up his weakness.

“Sir, you-”

“That’s enough of that,” Alekos cut him off almost immediately, and fully released Kirin’s chin in the same breath. Kirin was tempted to curl in on himself, the abruptness of Alekos’s denial as sharp as though he’d been kicked, but he held firm against the wall.

“You can use my name,” Alekos continued, settling back onto his heels. “Grovelling doesn’t become you.”

“Unless-” Alekos paused then, tilted his head to the side ever so slightly “-unless that’s what Fen wanted you to call them?”

Kirin nodded, the response automatic. He felt like he was going to pass out again. Only two words had made it out of his mouth and Alekos had already shut him out. For all of the effort it was taking to pretend to be strong, composed, and brave, his progress was abysmal. It increasingly felt like it would take a miracle for Kirin to see another dawn.

A small cough broke the silence, and Alekos gave a brief shake of his head, curls bouncing.

“Well, that egotistical bastard has always had a knack for sadism, I’ll give them that. It’s not surprising they want to think themselves a both god and master over their prisoners. I’ll say that you have no need to use such honorifics with me. You already know the power I hold here, so there’s no need to make a charade of it, and I’m not particularly fond of titles. So, with that out of the way, let’s try this again. Speak.”

Again, Kirin was frozen in place. What could he say? What would buy him another day, another meal, another week breathing? Would the wrong word drive Alekos to a rage that would end Kirin’s life on the spot? Fen had never liked it when Kirin begged, and if Alekos was so determined to set himself apart from Fen, Kirin figured that something close to begging would be worth a shot. The trouble came in walking the line between weakness and determination. All he had to show now was that he truly, deeply desired to be seen as someone who was still fighting to survive.

“Alekos, thank you for sparing my life,” he started, trying to whet his tongue on nothingness. “I swear, sir-”

“Okay, you know what? Enough of that.” Alekos was more aggressive this time, cutting Kirin off with noticeably less patience. “That fucker did a real number on you, didn’t they? Is this what Fen does with all of their unwanted playthings? Turn them into little dolls that can’t do anything but beg and cry? Or was it you, Kirin? Were you just not good enough for them?”

Kirin didn’t respond. It was clear that whatever he had to say, whether it was begging or outright defiance, Alekos didn’t want to hear it. This only confirmed Kirin’s growing suspicion that nothing he did now would alter Alekos’s preconceived notions. Alekos had come into this cell with a plan, and he was going to follow through with that plan regardless of how carefully Kirin responded.

Even if this was true, Kirin knew he had to still try, still fight. Silence was something that Kirin could sit with for now. He was parched enough as it was, every word more difficult than the last, and it seemed that Alekos was more than content to do the talking.

Hands freed from clutching Kirin’s face, Alekos let his palms rest idly on his thighs, and his eyes gave Kirin’s naked body another once-over. When he spoke again his voice was commanding, sharper than it had been yet. The tone was enough to make Kirin sit up a bit straighter, spine a bit more taught, pain more muted as he paid attention for a command.

“Here’s the deal, Kirin: we’re going to fix you up. You’re not much use to us dead, and if we left you as you are, there’s little question you’d be dead in a matter of days. Not that I particularly care if you die, of course: it comes down to the simple fact that you’re only useful to us alive. What I want is you, both alive and lucid, able to answer my questions. As for why I’m here in this cell, personally, it’s because I don’t trust you. I don’t want anyone else from my team down here with you, especially not alone. So before the good doctor gets her hands on you and tries to piece Humpty Dumpty back together again, it’s my turn. I’m going to ask you some questions and I’m going to do an examination of my own. I want to see and feel for myself what’s wrong with you before I let anyone else get anywhere near you.”

Ah, there it was. Kirin had known from the moment he’d awoken here, but the confirmation was as comforting as it was soul crushing. His body was not his own here, and perhaps it never would be again. He was a plaything meant to scream, bleed, and heal at its keeper’s command. At least Alekos was being honest about it upfront, whereas Fen had once pretended to care about him.

“Will you behave for me?” Alekos asked.

“Yes,” Kirin rasped, trying to steel his nerves. “Yes, sir, Alekos. I’ll behave for you.”

A glint of fire flashed in Alekos’s eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what did I just say about that? Just ‘yes’ is fine. That’s all I need from you, if you need to speak at all. Fuck. Just - dammit - sit still and shut the fuck up.”

And with that, Kirin still desperately swallowing his sobs, Alekos put his bare hands on Kirin’s broken skin.

No matter how much he prepared himself Kirin always flinched at the first touch. It was an instinct he hadn’t quite managed to train out of himself, and it was apparent now, as he winced ever so slightly. Alekos certainly noticed, a thoughtful blink accompanying a knowing hum, but he didn’t stop or question his prisoner any further.

Alekos began by running his hands in rough strokes over Kirin’s matted hair, then took his thumbs more gently across Kirin’s temple and cheekbones, before coming to rest over the long-healed bump from a severely broken nose. Alekos paused there, lingering for just a moment. Kirin fought to remain impassive and statuesque.

“Did this happen recently?” Alekos asked. Kirin shook his head, the only answer he could think to give. His memory was poor, but his nose hadn’t bled in quite some time, and that break had happened shortly after Fen had taken him as their prisoner. However long ago that had been, it wasn’t dishonest to say that some considerable time had passed.

Alekos took the answer at face value. Those hunting fingers continued their journey, and this time a thumb slid between Kirin’s lips. Kirin let his jaw drop open without comment. If Alekos wanted to see his mouth, determine if it would be of any use, Kirin certainly wouldn’t stop him. There were a few teeth missing, after all: Fen had yanked them clean out, once with their fingers, twice with pliers. Kirin could still remember what it felt like to nearly drown in his own blood, the liquid hot and coppery on his tongue, the glinting roots of his molars scattered haphazardly across the prison floor.

Another breath passed and Alekos’s thumb retreated. Kirin closed his mouth, tongue running over the gaps where his teeth once had been, and he swallowed a sigh of relief. It was always painful when Fen took out anger on his mouth, and Alekos’s brief visit there was enough to startle him.

Where Alekos ventured next was natural. It was natural, yet no matter how long he’d been collared, Kirin had to focus on the pain elsewhere in his body to distract him. Alekos slowly moved his hands from Kirin’s mouth to his throat, fingers probing the tender and bruised flesh above the soldered metal collar. Kirin put his energy into breathing deep, smooth breaths, not just to maintain an illusion of composure, but to prepare himself in case Alekos decided to cut off his supply of air.

To Kirin’s great relief, Alekos didn’t do anything of the sort. Alekos instead ran his fingers softly over the collar’s edge, and then over the scars where the hot metal had seared Kirin’s flesh when the collar was permanently bonded around his neck. Another hum came from Alekos’s mouth, more thoughtful than it was accusatory.

The next few minutes passed without incident. Had Kirin more dignity, he would have been proud of how still he had sat, how much he had suppressed to let Alekos explore him so freely. He was perfectly still as Alekos stroked his fingertips against new and old fractured ribs. Alekos had coached him to breathe, when to draw in and, and when to gesture as he experienced pain. This process had taken some time, Alekos lingering on each rib with care, and Kirin slowly came to the conclusion that more of his ribs were damaged than he initially thought.

Alekos then counted the broken fingers on Kirin’s hands, both the breaks above and below the middle knuckles, and probed as though he were taking note of how old the breaks were. The disapproving hums came thick and heavy, but Kirin neither had the courage nor the death wish to ask Alekos what he could possibly be thinking. Even a glimpse would have told any sane person that Kirin was broken goods, but here Alekos was, taking the opportunity to inspect for himself.

As uncomfortable as it was, Kirin made sure to follow Alekos’s commands. He followed them silently and swiftly, moving his aching limbs as instructed, breathing or nodding only as necessary. It would fulfill the promise he had made to himself, make himself more than trash meant to be discarded.

Things changed in almost a heartbeat. Alekos had spent a fair amount of time on Kirin’s abdomen, pressing on Kirin’s stomach and bruises with a soft tutting. After a moment, Alekos moved his hands lower.

An animalistic scream tore itself from Kirin’s throat before he could stop himself.

He hadn’t meant to scream. He hadn’t meant to gasp, hadn’t even meant to blink. He’d channeled his energy into being placid, behaved, a model prisoner that was brave enough to look Alekos in the eyes. Yet that single touch, a few fingers over his hips and snaking towards his nakedness, had shattered him entirely. The fear he’d so dutifully meant to swallow had struck like a wounded snake, and it had wrest the cry from his lungs.

It had taken so long before Fen had hurt him so intimately. Fen had waited until Kirin was a shell of his former self, entirely incapable of fighting back, and so mentally exhausted that he couldn’t even bring a refusal to his lips. When Fen had taken him the first time, Kirin had been nothing more than a husk of a living being. What Fen had done ensured that Kirin would never fully be human again.

Now, with Alekos, it was different. Kirin had been pretending to be brave, pretending to be a model prisoner. It was a gambit on his life, and the animal that commanded his fear had ruined it. That one soft touch, nothing so nearly as terrible as Fen, had rattled him to his core and made him cry out like a beast that had been struck.

Alekos withdrew his hands as though he’d touched fire, as though he were genuinely startled by Kirin’s cry. It didn’t take more than a moment for the man to issue a stern correction.

“Hey now,” Alekos muttered from the back of his throat, “none of that here. You said you’d behave for me, didn’t you? That means I shouldn’t have to fight you, isn’t that right, Kirin?” There was no avoiding the fact that Alekos’s tone was scolding, condescending. He was disappointed.

What he’d said was also true. Kirin had, even if not in those same words, agreed to sit still for Alekos’s inspection. His body was all he could offer up, however much it terrified him. If he broke apart now, and if he showed that neither his body nor mind were salvageable, it would mean certain death.

Still, he realized in that moment that death would be more favorable than returning to Fen.

His breaths grew shallow once more, and as much as he fought to pull in a full breath, he failed. It was as though he was drowning on nothing but clear air. Blackness crowded in at the edges of his vision, his view of Alekos already blurry and dark through tears that refused to fall, a pitiful display.

A hand grabbed the chain connected to Kirin’s collar and pulled hard. Kirin’s body jerked in response, and when he gasped, his lungs finally filled with air.

“Stop the histrionics,” Alekos growled. “If you keep up this little act, you’re going to pass out, and that’s going to piss me off more than I’m already pissed off. So take a breath and answer this: have I hurt you so far?”

“No, sir,” Kirin managed to choke out. His voice broke as he spoke, but it was the truth. In those few minutes that had passed since Kirin had awoken, Alekos hadn’t hurt him. The fact that Kirin felt such terror was entirely a product of his own mind.

“That’s right. I could hurt you, but I haven’t, and I’ve no intention to if you keep behaving. And what about Fen? Did Fen hurt you?”

Kirin screwed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to answer, he didn’t want to think about Fen any longer, he didn’t want to remember what had happened to him before he woke up in this cell.

Perhaps even more than that, he didn’t want Alekos to know what had happened. Enough indignities were written across his skin and broken bones that he had no need to put those experiences into words. As for the scars Alekos couldn’t see, Kirin wasn’t sure he could ever voice those quite so clearly, not even at Alekos’s command.

Still, his new keeper had demanded an answer, and he had sworn to himself that he would prioritize strength and obedience. To break down like this was a failure, and it clearly tested Alekos’s patience.

“Yes, sir. They hurt me.”

“I don’t think you’re answering the question I actually asked. I can see they hurt you, little thing. You’re bleeding all over my wall, so of course they hurt you. But what I’m asking is if they fucked you. Did they like to have their way with you? Did they break your leg so you couldn’t run and then take you for themselves? Did they turn you into a plaything for their own pleasure?”

Ah. So Alekos had figured it out on his own. It couldn’t have been hard, Kirin knew, given how much he’d recoiled and screamed the moment Aleko’s hands had dipped below his waist. But it was a knife in his heart to hear the truth of it spoken aloud, each of Alekos’s accusations hitting harder than a whip ever could.

For the first time since Alekos arrived, Kirin found himself stuttering.

“Ye- I’m- y-yes, sir.”

A huff of breath from Aleko’s nose sent another tremor through Kirin’s body. And when Alekos’s voice returned, it was softer than before.

“As I’ve already told you, and as your concussed mind might have already forgotten, I am not Fen. But much like Fen, I do expect you to behave for me. You’d been doing well, just as you should, before all of this crying and hysteria started. You belong to me, now, Kirin. I expect you to listen to me, and sit still for me. Can you understand that?”

“Yes, sir.” Of course. Of course. No matter what Fen had done in the past, it was up to Alekos to determine what happened to Kirin now.

“Good. I’m glad you understand. And since you’re lucid enough to understand, I expect you to listen. So I’m going to hold onto this collar of yours just to make sure you don’t try and wriggle away from me again, and I’m going to continue my inspection. Since this is obviously difficult for you, I’m going to give you some more instructions. Close your eyes, count to one hundred out loud, and then I’ll be done. Can you do that?”

It was a mercy Kirin hadn’t been afforded before. At the same time, he wasn’t sure he could force the words from his lips, past the lump in his throat. Undoubtedly this was Alekos’s way of offering kindness, as much as it was a reminder where Kirin stood.

It would be easier if he couldn’t see Alekos. It would be easier if the man that knew what had happened to him, saw through his shame, was hidden from his sight. So, Kirin closed his eyes. He felt Alekos’s steady grip on the front ring of his collar, commanding, ever-present. He took a breath, aware it whistled with a nascent sob, and he started to count aloud.

“One… t-two… three… four…”

The numbers were punctuated with small gasps that failed to disguise growing terror. After a few moments, Alekos’s hand returned to Kirin’s skin.

Kirin continued to count as Alekos snaked his touch between his legs, gentle and probing, before moving to Kirin’s thighs, buttocks, and hips. The counting went on, the numbers creeping higher, as Alekos ghosted his touch over Kirin’s broken leg.

The counting had indeed distracted Kirin from the hands roaming his skin, each number drawing his focus. And when he reached one hundred, he opened his eyes. The exploration of his scars and his still-open wounds had come to an unceremonious end.

Alekos let the collar go, and Kirin slumped back against the wall, uncaring how it dug into his open wounds.

“You’re pretty fucked up.”

Kirin didn’t know if he was supposed to answer.

Alekos let out the most dramatic sigh he’d made since first setting foot in Kirin’s cell.

“If we want you to live much longer, we’ve got some serious work to do. Both physically and with whatever the hell Fen did to that head of yours. You’re not much use to anyone in this state. Well, unless they’re looking for a quivering wreck of a punching bag.”

The sobbing had since stopped, and Kirin’s breathing had evened out, but he could still feel that his cheeks were wet with tear stains. Was it over? Would Alekos not just let him live, but actually heal some of his wounds?

“Actually,” Alekos said, seeming to muse, “I’m curious. You’ve been mostly well-behaved so far, quite impressive for the precious spitfire I always thought you were. I suppose that’s a testament to Fen’s handiwork, no? I’ve only given you some simple commands so far, but I’d like to see if you’ll listen to all of the commands your master gives you. Your cooperation will be needed if you want to make it much further than the four walls of this cell. So, will you listen to me like you listened to Fen?

Nerves made Kirin’s throat tighten. Had he not obeyed enough commands so far to prove that he was not just alert and intent on surviving, but that he wasn’t interested in fighting back? That he’d listen, that he’d obey, that he didn’t have the strength to harm Alekos in return?

Maybe his faltering had been enough to undermine Alekos’s confidence. Maybe that fear, that brief moment of weakness, would cost Kirin his life. If this was a chance to fight for Alekos’s mercy, a chance to show Alekos that he was as obedient as he was determined to survive, he’d gladly take it.

Kirin nodded, and a small smile crossed Alekos’s lips.

“Delightful. Lie down.”

Kirin obeyed. He took a deep breath to brace himself for the pain that would wrack his body and he lowered himself to the cement floor. He let the wall guide him down, chain rattling, but he made it without much movement of his leg. Meanwhile he still looked up at Alekos, trying to gauge the man’s expression, to see if he’d done something wrong. His captor’s visage remained stony.

As soon as he was prone on the cement, smears of blood on the wall where he’d used it to slow his descent, Alekos spoke again.

“Sit up.”

Just as when Alekos has first entered the cell, sitting up was an extraordinarily difficult task. It required Kirin to once again jostle all of the broken bones in his body, including his crooked fingers and aching ribs, but he did it nonetheless. As quickly as he could Kirin leaned back against the wall, pushed his palm against the floor, and hauled himself upwards. His head spun, but he sat still and looked expectantly up at his keeper.

Alekos hummed.

“Bark for me. Like a dog.”

This command was easy enough that Kirin didn’t have to hesitate. No indignity was below him anymore, and certainly not this.

“Arf! Arf!” It came out dry, a product of his parched throat, but it was undeniably a facsimile of an animal’s cry.

A pregnant pause hung thick in the air. It could have spanned seconds or an eternity, but when Alekos broke it, Kirin’s veins filled with ice.

“Stand up, dog.”

Vertigo seized Kirin as the world tilted on its axis. Alekos had to know that Kirin couldn’t stand, right? He’d probed the broken mere minutes ago, verbally noted the way that Kirin’s bone was crooked and protruding beneath his skin.

This was a test of obedience, then. It was a test of whether Kirin was truly ready to fight for his life, fight to show Alekos his obedience and loyalty.

Maybe he could stand now. Kirin hadn’t tried in quite some time, but he’d almost certainly be able to bear weight on his unbroken right leg, and he could likely stay upright so long as he wasn’t asked to walk. As for making it to a standing position, he figured he might be able to use the bolt on the wall to heave himself upwards. That would have to be enough - after all, he thought to himself, what’s a leg for a life?

With a deep breath that sounded uncomfortably close to a whimper, Kirin reached beside him and grabbed onto the bolt that secured his chain, gathered his right leg beneath him, and prepared to push himself to standing. It would hurt - and it already hurt - but he’d been hurt before. He knew this would only last a little while.

Just as he began to push himself onto his knees, Alekos’s voice cut through him like a knife.

“Stop! Jesus, stop. Sit back down. Fuck.”

It was the command Kirin had been the happiest to obey yet. A wave of relief washed over him as he slowly shifted his weight back to the ground, limbs splayed where they were most comfortable. There was no mistaking the disgust that now glimmered in Alekos’s eyes, but it wasn’t disappointment. Disappointment was an expression Kirin had come to know well.

“Your leg is broken, Kirin, seriously broken. You can’t fucking stand on that thing. I’ll give you credit for trying, though. I saw how much it hurt for you to even lay down, bleeding all over my floor in the process, and shaking like a leaf in a gale. You’ll bark like a dog for me, and you’ll even try to stand on a broken leg. Honestly, it’s incredible, if not just what I needed from you. You’re a resilient creature if nothing else.”

Kiring blinked and didn’t move. Was that praise? Was that Alekos saying that he’d been enough, that he’d live another day?”

“If this isn’t an act, well, I suppose that will make life easier for all of us, including you,” Alekos carried on. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t fight back, but this is more than I’d ever dreamed. It seems like you’ll listen to anything I ask, and I presume I could do just about anything except have my way with you - which, I’m sure, I could achieve with a little more convincing.”

Fear rolled through Kirin’s empty stomach. So, Alekos would- he was still going to- Kirin would have to, again, he’d-

“Hey,” Alekos snapped, and Kirin looked back up at him. He hadn’t even realized his gaze had dropped to the floor.

“That really scares you, doesn’t it? Of all the things I could do to you, a little pleasure is what makes you cry? It would be sad if it wasn’t just so… pathetic.”

“I’m sorry,” Kirin managed to breathe, the words tumbling out of his mouth despite no command to speak. “I’m sorry, sir, I swear- I swear I’ll do what you want. Even… even… even if it’s me. You can have me. You can take me for yourself, and I’ll be good.”

If that’s what it took for Kirin to survive, he’d do it. I’ll do it, he swore to himself, I’ll be brave.

“Is that so?” Alekos said as he tilted his head slightly to the side. “I’m glad to hear it. But there’s no need for that now. You’re filthy and can’t even sit up on your own, much less give me what I’d want. We can worry about that another day. But in the meantime, I have a question for you.”

“Yes, sir.” Kirin was relieved to know that he’d be spared for now, and there was further relief that he’d remain untouched just a little longer. His lingering confusion was enough he knew he might be missing nuance, but it was clear that Alekos wasn’t preparing to put him out of his misery. Now he had to fixate on the question. He didn’t like questions - with Fen they were usually tricks - but he could do his best to answer now.

“If you could have one thing right now, anything in the world, what would it be?”

This was most certainly a trick. There was no other reason the question would be crafted to be so open-ended, so easy for Kirin to incriminate himself, so easy for Alekos to take what Kirin wanted and turn it against him.

But at the same time, there was so much Kirin wanted. He hadn’t dared to want in so long. He stopped wishing for comfort, for safety, for freedom, but his body still had its demands. He could tell he was dangerously dehydrated, his stomach ached with a hunger that never dissipated, and his body throbbed with never-ending currents of pain. Anything to alleviate some of that agony, however slight, would be welcome. And if Alekos was as merciful as he’d claimed to be, and in fact had been so far, maybe he would truly grant Kirin a small mercy.

“Water, please,” Kirin begged. “Please, if it’s not too much trouble, just some water to drink.”

“Ah,” Alekos sighed, “I can’t do that. Doctor’s orders. You’re headed up for surgery soon, so no food, no water. I’m sure you’ll be given fluids, but nothing to drink by mouth at the moment.”

That answered a nagging question in Kirin’s addled mind. It seemed that they were planning on actually giving him medical treatment, not tossing a roll of gauze into the cell and expecting him to bandage himself. He supposed it would be more effective to interrogate him if he was a blank slate, rather than an already broken one. Any torture inflicted would certainly be more entertaining if Kirin could move, and his answers would only be useful had his wits about him. Right now he wasn’t capable of putting on much of a show for his tormentors, and Fen at least had always liked some theatrics.

He wasn’t going to push his luck in asking for more.

“There’s nothing,” Kirin said. “I don’t want- I don’t need anything. You’ve already been kind to me, sir Alekos, and you say you’re going to help me. I need nothing else.”

“Pretty bold coming from a half-dead pile of bones in my holding cell, but hey, that’s less work for me. If you’re not going to ask for anything, let’s get you out and up for surgery. And, hey, maybe you’ll finally stop with the ‘sir’ bullshit once you’re unconscious.”

Alekos reached into his pocket and fished out a small vial, as well as a syringe still wrapped in sterile plastic. Again, Kirin’s heart sped up. He could hardly manage a swallow as his imagination ran wild, visualizing what pain was going to come out of the bottle and into his veins, how it would torture him before he was granted reprieve.

“You get so worked up over every little thing,” Alekos mused as he opened the syringe and uncapped it. He slid the needle into the vial and began to draw liquid back into the syringe. “Though given the state of you, I’m not surprised. As entertaining as it is to see you go all wide-eyed and shake like a chihuahua every time I move, I’ll spare you the wondering. This is ketamine here, that’s it. It’s a fast-acting sedative that will keep you quiet until our anesthetist gets you under proper sedation. Our doctor is going to run some tests, take some imaging, and the surgical team is going to work on your leg and any other bits that need to be fixed. When you wake up you’ll be a new man.”

Promises aside, Kirin couldn’t stop eyeing the syringe. Alekos hadn’t lied to him so far, and he’d shown plenty of mercy, but the uncertainty still gnawed at him. It had been long since he’d had command over his own destiny, and as much as he was resigned to that, there were some fears he couldn’t escape.

“Give me your arm, Kirin. You’ve done well so far, now do this one last thing for me. A pinch and we’ll be on our way.” Alekos knelt down again.

Kirin offered his arm wordlessly, palm up, hovering just above Alekos’s lap. He tried to stop it from shaking, but the trembling of the atrophied limb was unavoidable. Whatever happened next, Kirin knew he wouldn’t even have the privilege of being awake to experience it, for better or for worse.

Much to Kirin’s surprise, Alekos reached out the hand without the syringe and placed it atop Kirin’s head. The touch was gentle, and the man’s palm rested soft on hair that was matted with blood and dirt. Despite this touch coming from his captor, from the man that would likely be his final undoing, Kirin felt something like relief flood his veins. The terror of Alekos’s earlier threats dissipated.

God, he couldn't remember the last time someone had simply tried to comfort him, if that was indeed what Alekos was doing. He melted, his body still shaking, but he bowed his head into the touch with a whine of pleasure he couldn’t contain.

“Woah. Okay, fuck, alright,” Alekos muttered. It was the gentlest he’d sounded yet, a surprised softness that wasn’t lost on Kirin. “Do you like this? Is this good?”

With those words Alekos moved his hand slightly, running the tips of his fingers light across Kirin’s tired scalp, thumb stroking gently as he went.

Sheer bliss washed over Kirin in a thousand colors, drowning the fear, easing his tremors. It was a respite he hadn’t known he needed, something as simple as a gentle touch, a gesture designed to neither wound him nor terrorize him. Admittedly, shamefully, it was euphoric. And it gave Kirin the slightest glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, Alekos wouldn’t be so bad. If this is what awaited him at Alekos’s hands, he swore he would sit quietly, gratefully, obediently.

And so Alekos continued, petting Kirin’s head with cautious and gentle motions, and with Kirin’s small sighs filling the space between them. He all but fell forward into Alekos’s lap, head at his chest, the syringe almost forgotten. Somehow that light touch was enough to distract him from all the pain in his body.

“Kirin, it’s time for you to rest,” Alekos whispered without stopping his movements. “I’ll continue like this until you sleep. Here. Just a pinch-” the needle went into Kirin’s forearm “-and you’ll start to feel tired. It’s alright. Close your eyes.”

Sleep came fast. The woozy sensation took hold in seconds, and the next thing Kirin knew, he was slumping headfirst into Alekos’s chest. The last thing he felt before slipping out of awareness and into a more blissful, painless place, was Alekos’s sturdy arms wrapped around his body. He tried to hold onto the memory, but he wasn’t sure if he’d truly seen a sad smile on Alekos’s lips.

Kirin embraced the darkness.

---

“That was cruel, Alekos,” Verona spit with crossed arms as the nurses moved Kirin’s body to a gurney.

Alekos, meanwhile, was busy wiping off his fingers on the sides of his pants, trying to rid them of the grease and blood Kirin’s hair had left on them.

“You of all people should know what Kirin is capable of,” he said as he gave a final wipe. “I wanted to get a sense of what we’re dealing with. If that was an act he was putting on in there, it was a damn good one. I’d be inclined to say it was genuine, given the state of him. Some of his responses looked like they were conditioned, involuntary even.”

“You terrified him.” Verona’s tone was laced with venom. “More than he was already terrified, anyway, which is impressive given his condition. He had no reason to fake any of that, especially given how Fen and their cohort have already reduced him to this state. More importantly, you had no reason to play that sick little game. He was no danger to you, to me, or to anyone else in this facility. I thought you were better than that.”

“I needed to confirm he wasn’t a threat. That’s a part of my duties here, and it’s my obligation to all of you. If he’s obedient, and if he sees me as the authority with his life in my hands, that makes this much easier on everyone,” Alekos defended himself. “If he respects me, and if he listens to my commands without hesitation, then we’ll have no trouble getting him to tell us what we want. Fen’s already done the hard work of reducing him to a quivering pile of putty, ready to mould as we please. That means we don’t have to push too hard to get the answers we want.”

“You’re a fucking sadist.” Verona turned her back on Alekos and returned her attention to the patient, nearly unconscious, laid out beside her. “And I hate that I’m complicit in this abuse. No matter what Kirin has done in the past, no one deserves this. And since you’re at least going to give him the bare minimum he needs to survive, what are we going to do with him when the surgery is over? Is he going to the recovery suite like anyone else would, or are you going to send him back to that cell?”

“Whatever the doctor orders.” Since it seemed like he’d struck a nerve with Verona, Alekos knew it was best to yield to her. He outranked her - only just - but he’d learned long ago to let her have her way when he could. There was no harm in having Kirin chained to a hospital bed as opposed to a cell, especially not if Alekos could still keep an eye on him.

Verona let out a breath and Alekos knew she was glowering.

“Then I’ll call you when he’s out of surgery. You can expect to find him in the recovery suite with one-to-one nursing care to make sure he lasts the night. He’s going to need plates and screws in his leg, at least, and we’ll need to break the leg again to realign it. That’s to say nothing of the broken ribs, broken fingers, and what I suspect is a broken wrist. I can’t imagine the extent of the rest of his injuries, the malnutrition, all of it. He’s in bad shape.”

“Do what you need to do, doc,” Alekos said. “I will. I’ll do what’s in my patient’s best interests, like I always do. And what about the collar, Alekos? Do we have someone here with the equipment to cut it off without hurting him? Maybe someone in heavy equipment, or transit operations?”

“No.” Alekos had thought about the collar, and he’d already decided what he wanted to do about it. “I don’t want you to take it off just yet. It’s a useful tool that will help us keep him where we want him.”

“Why? So you can continue to play your little games? Do you want him to bark like a dog again? Roll over for you? Keep him as your own little pet, your own little toy to fuck, the final gesture that you’ve won?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

With that, Alekos turned and walked away, pretending to ignore the grumbling and certain glares from Verona. Regardless of her indignation, Alekos knew he had to appear confident in his actions, certain in every decision he made as a leader. What happened to Kirin now would simply be a product of Alekos’s desires, a careful calculation of how the husk of a man could be useful to him, a way to leverage this new resource against Fen.

Still, the way that Kirin’s round eyes had stared up at Alekos with fear and hope, it made something in his stomach churn. He’d ensured that his words were abrasive, his attitude was unyielding, and that his threats were somewhat convincing. Even if he’d never follow through on them, even if they were cruelties he hadn’t dreamed of, Alekos knew it was important to subdue Kirin from the start. It had certainly worked.

Still, he thought back to the small mercy he’d afforded. How much his simple touch had made the trembling stop, how the wordless reassurance had brought so much tension out of that battered body. Even now, when Alekos closed his eyes, he could see the pain and terror in every inch of Kirin’s body, and he saw it melt away the second he offered comfort instead of pain.

He could similarly imagine Fen breaking those thin fingers with anger and glee, flipping Kirin onto his stomach and ravishing him, drawing as much pleasure from the act as Kirin’s cries. Alekos could just as easily imagine Kirin doing the same for him, offering himself up for beating or worse if it was what his keeper commanded. He’d stand on a broken, useless leg if it meant appeasing Alekos for a few moments longer, and there was no question he’d give up a lot more at Alekos's command. If it meant sparing his life, Kirin would even offer his flesh, give himself wholly to Alekos in the face of his greatest terror.

With just a few words, Alekos already had Kirin tucked under his thumb, a two-in-one punching bag and fucktoy. It would be so, so easy to ruin him.

Alekos did his best to pretend the thought didn’t make him a little queasy.

#whump #whump writing #whump community #whumplr #whump blog #whump tropes #carewhumper #I love how mean I made Alekos's dialogue it's absolutely what was missing from the OG version of this #which I rbed the other day #anyway these two are much more fun with their dynamic adjusted like this #poor Kirin

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geekywritings · 1 year

Text

“Can you hold me for a while?”

You and Cal have been travelling together for a while, with something growing between you. During a cozy moment, some bottled up feelings start coming to the surface.

Fluff, basically cute fluff.

________

Nights used to be the worst. During the day, it was easy to busy yourself and keep out any unwanted thoughts, but once you retired, they would inevitably creep back up. The sounds of guns. The voices of people you trusted giving the order to shoot you on the spot. The last words your Master had ever spoken to you: “Run. You have to run. You have to live.”

Whenever these memories invaded your mind, you found yourself shivering, crying even and unable to rest at all. For the longest time, you thought it would never stop.

But it did.

When he showed up.

Crossing paths with Cal had been the most unexpected thing, but a most welcome one. You weren’t alone anymore! Together, you began fighting the Empire in your own ways, growing closer and closer over the months and years you passed together.

When had this camaraderie become romantic? It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment you had fallen for your fellow Jedi and survivor. But it hardly mattered when it started. The only thing you care about is that these newfound feelings give you a new sense of comfort and hope. And from the way he acts around you, you suspect that Cal might harbor similar feelings. Yet it hangs between you, unspoken and unseen, but clearly palpable. Like the Force itself.

Clearly, your thoughts are straying and you give up on the report you have been trying to write for the past hour to keep you from facing the night. There is no point in trying to force the summary of your last mission into words, so you turn off the communicator and begin heading toward your bedroom.

Suddenly you stop, eyes going toward the other door instead. Cal had retired only about half an hour ago… As quietly as possible, you slide open the door to his quarters.

“Cal? Are you asleep?”, you ask into the darkness of the room.

“Not anymore.”, comes the sleepy reply from the bed.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” You really hadn’t.

“It’s fine. What’s up?” He tries to sound more awake, but fails miserably.

“Can you hold me for a while?”, you ask, getting to the point directly. It isn’t the first time you come to him with such a request. The first few times, he had flustered and hesitated. Now, there is no pause before he says: “Of course. Come here.”

Taking off your boots and jacket, you climb into bed next to him, his strong arms surrounding your frame and pulling you to him. Instantly, the familiar feeling of peace and safety settles over you. The one thing that can keep away the nightmares and bad memories.

“Just for a few minutes.”, you mumble, trying to soak up as much of this moment as possible.

That’s how it always goes. A few minutes in his arms before you return to your room, falling asleep with more ease. But not tonight.

“How about forever?”, Cal asks, his voice steady and confident.

“What?”, your question is merely a whisper.

“Stay here. With me.” As if to underline his words, his grip around you tightens.

Is that your heartbeat or his that is pounding in your ears?

“Alright…”, you manage to say, cuddling into him, as you grip his shirt. You feel Cal relax, only just now realizing that he had tensed up in the first place, while waiting for your reply.

He says nothing more, but just closes his eyes. You follow his example and soon you are both asleep. The first of many nights, where you can finally dream about something happy.

#cal kestis #cal kestis x yn #cal kestis x you #cal kestis x reader #jedi survivor

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harkonnin · 2 months

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* The Willow's Purpose *

“The willow submits to the wind and prospers until one day it is many willows—a wall against the wind. This is the willow's purpose.”

As sister to Paul Atreides, and trained in secrecy to be a healer Bene Gesserit, you witnessed the rise of the Lisan Al Gaib. As you experience visions and dreams of a certain man, realising that he will be the one fighting your brother to the death changes your perspective on everything. An uncontrollable force takes over you as you revive him, questions lingering in your mind.

***

Fic on AO3

***

Chapter 9 - Bliss

The day arrives when Paul requests Feyd to return to Giedi Prime. The tension in the air is palpable, the impending separation weighing heavily on both of you. That evening, as the desert sun sets in a blaze of red and gold, you and Feyd find solace in each other’s presence, seeking to make the most of your remaining time together.

The night is a blur of emotions and desire, the intensity of your bond driving you together in a way that feels both inevitable and deeply profound. The air is thick with the scent of spice and the soft sounds of the desert, but all you can focus on is Feyd, and the way he looks at you with a mix of longing and determination.

As your clothes fall away, the connection between you deepens, becoming something almost sacred. The world outside fades, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in each other’s embrace. The touch of his hands on your skin sends shivers down your spine, and you can feel the bond you share pulsing with a life of its own.

It feels like a dream, your minds foggy and filled with a sense of ecstasy that blurs the line between reality and fantasy. Feyd's breath is hot against your ear, his whispered words lost in the haze of your passion.

“I need you,” is all you can make out. And it’s all you need.

Your bodies move together in a rhythm as old as time, each touch, each kiss, an affirmation of your connection. In the midst of this wave of emotions, Feyd’s voice breaks through the fog, his words filled with a raw, unfiltered honesty.

"I want you to be my Baroness," he says, his voice hoarse with desire and conviction.

The declaration hangs in the air, mingling with the sounds of your shared breaths and the pounding of your hearts. For a moment, everything seems to crystallize, the significance of his words cutting through the haze. It’s a promise, a vision of a future where your paths remain intertwined, where the bond you share transcends the barriers of duty and distance.

"Feyd," you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "Say yes," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. "Say you’ll be mine, forever."

The intensity of his plea, the vulnerability in his eyes, leaves you breathless. In that moment, you understand the depth of his feelings, the lengths he would go to keep you by his side.

"Yes," you breathe, the word a promise, a binding of your fates. "I’ll be your Baroness."

With that, the dreamlike quality of the night intensifies, your connection deepening in a way that feels almost transcendent. The prophecy, the paths that were laid out before you, all seem to converge in this moment, bringing a sense of destiny fulfilled.

As the night stretches on, you and Feyd lose yourselves in each other, the bond between you growing stronger with every touch, every whispered word.

When the dawn finally breaks, casting a soft glow over the sands of Arrakis, you lie entwined in each other’s arms, the weight of your promise settling over you like a protective shield. Feyd’s departure looms, but the bond you share, the commitment you’ve made, gives you both the strength to face the challenges ahead.

Feyd looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and determination.

"I’ll come back for you," he vows, his voice steady and sure. "No matter what it takes." "And I’ll be waiting," you reply, your heart swelling with the certainty of your shared destiny.

As Feyd prepares to leave for Giedi Prime, you watch him with a sense of pride and sorrow, knowing that the path ahead will be difficult.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #dune 2 #the willow's purpose

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mutable-manifestation · 2 years

Text

The Heart of the Matter Ch. 5

Chapter 1 (Parts 1-3), Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

TW: brief mentions of panic attack

Info: Keeping in mind that low-stakes fights are just a part of friendly ghost socialization in this au and that Clockwork is still a ghost, his interpretation of ‘peaceful’ is a bit skewed :p

***

Once awake, Jason can’t bear to stay in the mansion a second longer.

He aches to stay with his family, but Green Lantern knows where Batman lives and some incomprehensible part of him tells him that he’s the only one in danger.

Everyone else has worked with the man before and they never had any issues, so it’s an instinct he can believe.

Another part of him cries out for Crime Alley - a place that’s his. That’s safe - as safe as a place called Crime Alley can be anyway.

Safer than risking coming face-to-face with Green Lantern again.

Something is wrong with those rings - wrong enough to terrify the part of him that he hadn’t thought had a sense of self-preservation. He could have arrived decorated in viscera, Jason thinks, and he might’ve been less horrifying.

He slides out of the bed as quiet as can be - which is pretty damn quiet - so of course everyone wakes up.

Everyone but Dick pretends not to.

“Where are you off to, Little Wing?” He asks, voice barely louder than the gentle whir of the air conditioner running in the background as he smoothly stands from the recliner he’d been curled up in.

Jasons swallows the lump in his throat - noise practically echoing in the quiet of the room.

“I’m headed back to my place,” he breathes, just as quiet.

“Do you need a ride?” Dick twirls a single key between his fingers for emphasis.

Jason shakes his head.

“I have my bike in the garage. I…could use some fresh air.”

Dick lays a hand on his shoulder, just barely making contact - it feels simultaneously reassuring and suffocating.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

The ‘alone’ goes unspoken.

Jason tries to sound steady as he answers.

“I’m sure.”

Dick nods and the hand retracts. No one else moves to stop him as he slips out the door and down to the garage.

They’d put him in his old room, he notices.

He feels happy.

He feels sick.

He doesn’t know how to feel.

He slips on his helmet and lets the wind and the still-starry pre-dawn sky wash away his thoughts till there’s nothing left of them but steering and turning and taking in the view.

Crossing into Crime Alley feels like coming home, but this time it's almost a palpable sensation - contentment and calm and possessiveness and anxiety all rolled in one big, conflicting ball.

(Mine-mine-mine)

Once the door to his apartment closes behind him the thoughts come flooding back, and he slides down his door to sit in his entryway, mind racing.

The second he laid eyes on Green Lantern he’d been flooded with fear, but also with thoughts.

With…certainties.

He doesn’t just think the rings are organs - are people, souls - he knows it.

As surely as he’d have known if the guy had walked in with a human heart cupped between hands.

Maybe even more surely.

But he doesn’t know why he knows.

The implications - that there’s something darker to the Green Lanterns and that there’s something more to the Pit within him than just emotional control issues - terrify him.

Jason needs answers.

He doesn’t know how to get them without waiting for Bruce’s inevitable research and subsequent report.

For once, he’s willing to wait.

For now, he sits against the inside of the front door to his apartment in the heart of his territory and shakes.

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

Bruce and co greet the day with stiff backs and sore shoulders, running through their stretches and squabbling over first-dibs on coffee before finally settling around the breakfast table and getting down to the business of deciding whether or not Hal Jordan needs to be eviscerated.

Alfred usually wouldn’t approve of work-talk this early - and over a meal, at that - but Dick had filled him in on the incident in the Watchtower as soon as they’d returned the night before.

He is willing to make an exception, every now and then.

Damian and Duke come close to mutiny when they’re sent away for school.

Tim drops them off on his own reluctant way to the office - which he only agrees to step foot in due to an unavoidable meeting.

On the bright side, he also gets to be the one to swing by Crime Alley and check in on Jason since he’s already halfway there.

The others remain in the manor, scouring their files and what little of Jason’s helmet footage they have access to for any hint of what might’ve caused his reaction the previous night.

Tim returns hours later with Duke and Damian in tow, Jason-less.

When he’d knocked on his apartment door and called out, “You in there, Jay?” Jason had slammed it open in the space of a second - Tim hadn’t even heard any footsteps - taken one look at him, and snapped “Buzz off, Replacement!” sounding angrier than he had in over a year, eyes blazing green and lips pulled back in a snarl.

Tim had nodded and backed off, returning to the car and leaving to pick up his other brothers.

Jason needed space if the Pit Rage was bothering him.

Usually.

For all the green in his eyes, Tim couldn't help but notice how they’d been rimmed in red.

Driving away, all he wanted to do was turn around - to turn back and help his brother. But for all he knew, his presence would only make things worse.

The reaction last night has them all in uncharted territory.

He doesn’t know how to help.

They don’t have enough information.

He hates feeling so useless.

He joins the others in the Batcave just in time for the Zeta Tube to open.

Hal Jordan rolls out in a green hamster ball, waving a flag. When he rolls to a stop - zeta tube closing behind him - and pokes it through a small hole in the structure they can see that it’s white.

Then he drops the bubble.

He grimaces at the sea of glares that greets him.

“Heyyyyy Bats - and birds. And miscellaneous!” he adds hastily, glancing at Spoiler, Signal, and Oracle. “So I’m sure you’re all wondering what the hell was up yesterday. Fun fact: me too! So I got in touch with Oa-”

“Oa?” Bruce interrupts. Barbara had texted them all updates: they had been unable to find any indication that Jason had ever interacted with a Green Lantern - in or out of costumes. “You think this has something to do with the Lantern Corps as a whole?”

“Yeah, it's…. I’m gonna level with you Batman: I have no idea why your guy reacted the way he did. But when I got the Watchtower I sensed another power ring. It felt like he had one shoved into his chest.”

A litany of ‘what’s and ‘how is that possible’s start up, cut short by Batman clearing his throat.

“I know the medbay scanner didn’t find anything,” Hal continues, “Diana checked the log. The Guardians have offered their aid and have extended Hood an invitation to Oa. I told them what I knew about Hood from your information; they think his emotional struggles - what happened when he met me and the fits of rage you mentioned being prevalent in the past - might be related to the ring I sensed. But they’ll need to look him over for themselves to be sure of anything.”

“Just Hood?” Spoiler raises a brow, latching on to that.

“Well-”

“They expect us to send him with you? When he had a panic attack the last time he saw you? If there’s a ring in him we can remove it on Earth,” Nightwing insists, crossing his arms. “People get weird injuries and shrapnel all the time, it’s not exactly a foreign concept.”

“He’s right about the med scan though,” Red Robin argues. “It couldn’t find anything wrong with him, and it’s made up of the most advanced tech we have access to. If we can’t even find it then what are we supposed to do, exactly? Cut him up until we do? The Guardians are the experts on power rings, if they can help…”

“So you want us to send him off to an alien planet with nothing more than a person who terrifies him and a ‘good luck?’” Robin spits.

“Oh, no, we’re going with him,” Red Robin adds, voice leaving no room for debate.

“Some of us will need to stay behind to keep an eye on Gotham,” Batman says.

“Nose goes!” Signal shouts, already touching his own.

Reactions and protests are prompt - Batman and Robin taking a moment to register the meaning of the phrase.

“So it’s decided, Batman and Robin can stay here and the rest of us will go with Hood!” Nightwing claps.

“Absolutely not,” Batman and Robin protest in sync, scowling.

“If I may,” Alfred interrupts from where he’s standing with a fresh tray of still-steaming coffee, “Perhaps it would be best to allow Master Hood to decide who he wishes to have accompany him for himself? Once you’ve extended him the invitation, of course.”

A beat.

“On it,” Nightwing says, phone already in his hands.

“In the meantime, Jordan,” Batman begins, “What other information did the Guardians give you?”

“Ah. Not much?”

Hal suddenly regrets not asking more questions.

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

Jason arrived back at Crime Alley before the sun had even begun to rise, and Tim had only swung by around three.

He doesn’t know how long he spent shaking and sweating on the floor of his entryway before finally falling unconscious, but he’d only woken up when his brother knocked.

He spends a full forty-five minutes after Tim leaves getting his anger (fear-anxiety-stress) in check, pacing around his living room like a cornered animal. By the time the green has mostly receded from his vision his stomach is growling.

All he has on hand is oatmeal, having intended to grocery shop earlier that morning.

At least it was something easy to keep down.

He’s mostly finished eating when Dick texts him.

Jordan had shown up at the mansion-

(Green Lantern had hunted him down)

-offering answers about what had happened last night. He’d gotten in contact with Oa, something about a power ring in his chest.

(Organs-People-Souls. Souls. Rings are Souls what has Jordan done what have the Guardians done what did they do.)

He’s sparse on details, but the Guardians have offered to help.

Jason is terrified.

He doesn’t want to go back.

But he wants to be rid of the Pit so, so badly, and that’s what the Guardians are offering - if the problem is what they think it is.

(It isn’t it’s not it can’t be it isn’t safe they’re lying they want to hurt me they want to take my Soul.)

He’s terrified, but he goes back to the mansion anyway.

Leaving the Alley crawls against his skin with a chorus in his head screaming ‘wrongwrongwrong,’ but he doesn’t let it stop him.

Anything.

Any explanation to make what he’s feeling make sense.

(The insatiable batclan nosiness is going to be what kills me for good)

Except when he gets there and Pit Terror is screaming in his head again he can’t push it down anymore.

The Pit has screamed incoherently plenty of times but this is different.

This is a warning.

Something is wrong with the Green Lanterns. Wrong with the Guardians

He can’t bring himself to ignore it any longer, to disbelieve his own instincts smacking him in the face like a sledgehammer - for once in full agreement with the Pit.

But when he tells his family what he’s feeling - Hal Jordan hovering in his horrific suit in the background to pretend to give them some privacy - they brush it off as the Pit messing with his mind.

“It’s causing illogical thoughts,” they tell him.

“Green Lantern is an ally, he won’t hurt you.”

“We’ll come with you, we’ll be by your side the whole time.”

“The Guardians can help, Jason. You can finally be free of the Pit!”

They’re not listening.

Jason had always been unique even among people who’d been in the pit. He’d always been different after, affected for much longer - if not permanently, depending on what the future holds.

But now it’s being framed as a curable illness instead of just a walking emotional nuke that they can’t do anything about.

Now they don’t want to listen to him.

They just want to ‘fix’ him.

He puts his foot down.

He has been trying so, so hard to keep it together but he can’t-.

He can’t do this.

He turns to leave, kicking Bruce away when he tries to place a hand on his shoulder and bolting for the door.

Then Hal puts him in a green cage and drags him back. Into the middle of everyone, the circle that Hal has joined.

When he stops moving he’s not five feet away from the guy - diagonally, as he’s also been moved up.

“No can do, Robinhood.”

“You-!”

“I’m sorry, Jason,” Batman says as he rejoins the group from where he’d been kicked down, “but this is for your own good.”

None of his siblings move to help him, looking sad but resigned.

Then Hal flies away - nose-first, crunching in seemingly under the influence of an invisible fist - and the cage trapping him disappears.

Gravity barely has a chance to take hold before he’s caught - bridal style - and carried to float closer to the ceiling, well above everyone else by the man who had snapped into visibility a split second before making contact with him.

He looks to be around Jason’s age, with the same Lazarus Green eyes that he’d seen shining back in his own mirror countless times before.

It’s not just the eyes; everything about him seems to glow with a gentle white aura.

His hair is the color of freshly fallen snow, blue at the very top from light cast by the shining, intricate, ice-like silver crown wreathed in a pale blue fire floating just over his head.

This close, Jason should feel the heat from it, but instead it feels like standing next to an open fridge.

Pointy ears match the spikes on the crown, black eyebrows starkly contrast with the rest of his hair, and pale, unnaturally white freckles stand out against his tan skin as if small stars had been dragged down from the sky to decorate his face.

He stares past Jason, face contorted in anger with pale lips pulled into a snarl that puts unnaturally sharp fangs on display.

He can’t see much of the man’s outfit from where he’s held in his arms, but what little he can see is a deep black smattered with what look like stars and galaxies - as though the guy somehow built a window to the stars into cloth - save for the frost-tipped white collar around the neck of the suit and the matching gloves he can see peeking out past his knees.

A cape hangs over his shoulders, ice-like in appearance but rippling like any other cape does. It feels like some odd combination of mist and silk under Jason’s hands where they’ve draped themselves around the guy’s neck.

Most of all, Jason notices the radiating sense of strength-safety-protection thick enough to drown out the overwhelming sense of terror and disgust he’s felt since entering the cave.

The snarling expression is forced away with visible effort, and when he follows his line of sight, he finds him looking at Jordan.

‘Is he sensing the same things I am?

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

Danny rockets straight to Wayne manor.

He doesn’t end up needing a map; by the time he thinks to open it he can sense Jason’s - and another ghost’s - core and zooms invisibly straight into the batcave, just in time to hear a stern “I’m sorry, Jason, this is for your own good.”

Swap the names and that’s a line that had featured in (too many of) Danny’s high school nightmares.

A ship sits in the hangar behind Batman and his various sidekicks, who stand by a Green Lantern holding Jason Todd in a cage suspended in the air.

He forgets diplomacy at the sight of it all, rage and protectiveness burning out logic - the ring on Hal’s finger in addition to the situation he entered to igniting his temper on top of the fear and worry he’d been soaking in the whole way there.

He slams invisible fist-first into the Lantern’s nose, rebounding off of his face just in time to fly back and catch the now-freed Jason. He fades into visibility as he does so, not wanting to give the clearly-terrified halfa anything else to be afraid of.

‘Calm down, Danny,’ he tells himself, forcibly soothing the snarl on his lips into a more neutral expression. ‘They’ve been fed misinformation, they’re not trying to hurt him.’

Holding Jason is the only thing that gives him enough time to remind himself that the Lantern doesn’t know what he’s wearing.

To remind himself that removing his hand from his body to free the trapped, tortured soul in front of him would not be diplomatic.

The inaction tastes sour on his tongue, but the opportunity for a peaceful resolution - to help the rest of the trapped souls faster, to prevent a repeat - meant getting the first Green Lantern on-side would be worth a slight delay.

No matter how much he hates it.

Unfortunately, his pause also gives Hal enough time to collect himself, and coming in swinging - to a classified location, no less - has painted him as a hostile.

By the time he opens his mouth to talk, the other heroes are already in motion.

He has to duck a brace of batarangs thrown at his head by one of the smaller ones, followed swiftling by needing to phase himself and Jason through an attempted grappling hook-assisted kick to the face for him and grab attempt for Jason - by two of them working in tandem.

Jason - who is apparently also Red Hood, he just now notices - tightens his hold on Danny’s neck at the movement.

He can sense the fear that had just begun to calm down reigniting itself, and an unspoken plea to run-flee-escape echoes out from the man’s aura.

Danny tries to talk one more time, but is cut off yet again by Green Lantern throwing himself glowing-baseball-bat-first in their direction.

Danny can’t phase through an ecto-attack.

Jason and Batman are family. Batman and Green Lantern are allies. Jason still doesn’t know he’s a halfa or what any of that means.

Decision made, Danny phases the two of them through the ceiling and flies invisibly and intangibly away from the manor as fast as he can.

He’ll bring Jason up to speed - and to ectoplasm because Ancients it’s a miracle this guy hasn’t turned into a puddle of goo by now - first, and hopefully he can help Danny make a better second impression on his family later.

***

@skulld3mort-1fan @jesimilu @bleuyellow93 @ocearnawrites @undead-essence @violet-catsarelife @sunsetdew0101 @tsukihimeyfan @the-legal-shipper @spideypoolalways @mariendall @jesus-camp-the-sequel @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair

@kyrianclawraith I'm sorry if this isn't tagging you, idk why but typing ur name never makes the line pop up </3 ur being tagged in spirit tho

#dpxdc #heart of the matter #jason todd #danny phantom #batfam #green lantern

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docholligay · 2 months

Text

Given that I've already been deep in the shit for an hour over what amounts to what, fifteen seconds of the episode? I realize I'm going to have to make some choices and sacrifices here with what I do.

ANYWAY, so I don't know how much time I want to spend on "the witches' labyrinths are cool' but honestly, the witches labyrinths are so well done. The change in animation gives us such a palpable sense of how the world is WRONG here, and that the rules we understand to be true do not scan in this alternative world where these battles happen, little pockets hidden here and there. I absolutely love it, I'm so angry that I didn't think of it.

I love it so much, and I consider such an amazing way of yanking you immediately into the wrongness of the situation, that in a perfect world that we all deserve where I got to make the HBO original series version of Sailor Moon, I would love to have the show largely be live action, but then when they have to fight something, it goes into an animated style, with a similar narrative justification. But every time it happens the animation style is different. (The final would of course have them fighting in, finally, the animation style of the 90s anime)

So this is the first the girls are going to learn of the consequences of being a magical girl, which can be far worse than Mami's death. I know they call it a witch here, and I have no issue with that, but in CONCEPT it is almost like a vengeful ghost. Something full of anger and malice but with little concept of the humanity it used to wield.

I don't know that I realistically believe the show is actually going for what I take from the whole structure of the magical girl to witch pipeline, but honestly I have precious little interest in what an author intends when I'm picking something apart. I think there's something to be said for the way that despair--and we know the moment of turning is affected by despair--can turn you into a monster. In our anger and in our sorrow, we can become something that does a far greater harm. And I think, based on my years and years of working with different organizations and political groups, that few people can hurt like a broken idealist. That's reflected here, in the idea that these young girls who are full of hope and fervor, the stronger they are, the worse they will eventually come. In that way, the show posits that either you die an idealist or live to become a monster. Certainly not a new idea, but not one I have otherwise seen reflected in magical girl anime.

I know a lot of people don't like that, and I think it's fine--Madoka may not be for you. But I personally love seeing this inevitability played out on a stage whether I agree with the real-world equivalent of it or not (and I'm not sure that I do, and I certainly do not as an inescapable truth. Only death is an inescapable truth)

#Doc watches Madoka Magica #Madoka Ep 9

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triviareads · 6 months

Text

ARC Review of You Should Be So Lucky by Cat Sebastian

Rating: 4/5 Heat Level: 3/5 Publication Date: May 7th

Premise:

A queer midcentury romance set in the 1960s; Mark Bailey is assigned to do a series of interviews with Eddie O'Leary, once a rising star in baseball and now contending with an infamous batting slump.

My review:

Cat Sebastian wrote yet another beautifully tender love story where all these little moments add up in a way that never fails to tug at my heartstrings. And I don't say that lightly.

Mark is a prickly reporter for the Arts and Culture section of the Chronicle who somehow gets assigned to do a profile on Eddie O'Leary, Midwestern transplant, once-wunderkind, now in the middle of a months-long batting slump. Eddie is brash and charming and often acts before thinking, but he's so endearing that you can't help but root for him, just like all of New York City, and eventually Mark too.

So, a lot of the book is about Eddie's batting slump, but it isn't the main plot, per say. Cat Sebastian draws these intricate portraits of a handful of characters that give you the sense that these people are a work in progress even when the book is finished— just like people in real life. You really feel the full extent of Mark's loneliness after his partner passed away the year prior, his conflicting feelings about being treated like a dirty secret even as they loved one another, and his inability to mourn openly— Mark's shock when an old mentor at the Chronicle likens Mark's grief to his own when his wife passed is palpable, and that hit me hard.

What I like about Eddie is that he may be quick to jump into a fight or trash talk a team, and he has an almost ridiculous sense of optimism, but he's never portrayed as naive, despite his age (twenty-two!!) and whatever his teammates and even Mark initially assume. He knows his own mind and actually ends up pushing for his and Mark's relationship when Mark is unsure about his own heart, and worried for Eddie's career prospects.

Emotionally, this book feels like a slow-burn because Mark isn't willing to go all-in the way you get the sense Eddie is ready to much sooner. But this is one of those cases where actions speak louder than words and you see it in these little moments of domesticity like when Eddie buys Mark breakfast and they walk the dog together, and how Eddie delights in Mark's fussy perfectionism and Mark is reluctantly charmed by Eddie's sense of hope; basically, they're inevitable even when they don't think so.

I liked that this was a queer romance that wasn't centered around a gay awakening, or the homophobia and bigotry queer people experience. Mark and Eddie are both comfortable with their sexuality, and they never let their worries about being out (or as out as someone could safely be in the sixties) turn inwards into self-loathing. Outside of Mark's queer friends, the vast majority of secondary characters inhibit this middle-ground where some of them know to an extent what's going on between Mark and Eddie, or it's a gamble to come out to them so Mark and Eddie take risks where it matters, but otherwise don't.

There is something of a third-act break-up, but it's kind of half-hearted because Mark does a hilariously shitty job of the breaking-up part, and Eddie is unwilling to let go. And that's heartening in a way because nothing can separate these two.

The sex:

Super romantic, super tender and the payoff after all their tip-toeing around their feelings is worth it. There's also an element of exploration that I thought really worked, because while they've both had sex before, Eddie especially is still trying to figure out what he likes, and there's an openness between them that you get the sense wasn't possible for Eddie before.

I will say, while there are multiple open-door sex scenes, the language gets a little more vague when they're having sex, and the writing focuses more on what they're saying and feeling, as opposed to exactly what they're doing. That doesn't mean it's less hot, it's just a little less explicit. There are also a couple instances where there are breaks in the writing between foreplay and post-coital.

Overall:

This is such a soft love story set in a period I don't see often in historical romances, and I adored both Eddie and Mark. I'd absolutely recommend this book to every romance reader out there, and for any reader in particular looking for a romance that slowly but surely packs an emotional punch.

Thank you to Avon Books and NetGalley for an advanced copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.

#arc #arc review #netgalley #historical romance #avon books #avon #romance novel #romance novels #Cat Sebastian #queer romance #lgbtq

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sleepingdeath-light · 3 years

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reading the crossover headcanons for TOH was amazing!

i wanted to request a crossover with TOH and Steven Universe if possible! (also with Hunter x Reader) You can decide between reader being half-gem, like Steven, or fully gem! If you can't or don't want to, that's okay! Aand I really love your headcanons! You make them long and detailed! It's truly amazing.

Crossover Headcanons | SU x TOH [Hunter x Gem//Hybrid!Reader]

thank you for requesting, anon

These are written with a gender neutral reader in mind and have a general chronology from the reader’s last moments in little homeworld until they end up with Hunter, so apologies if this gets long!

Note : this is the first time I’ve written for the SU canon, so I’m not as experienced with that universe. Also my portrayal of these characters is still pretty rocky, so I may rework this in the future.

The first few months you spent in Little Homeworld had felt almost like a dream come to life; freedom to be yourself and explore a world full of organic life without the restrictions placed on you by the diamonds? It was fantastic! However, that feeling of unrestricted feeling soon started to grow stale as you realise that the growth of the small colony had already started to stagnate—and that not all humans were welcoming of intergalactic immigrants like your kind.

So to ease your mind you opted to take the warp to the next star system over—craving that same sense of excitement that you had during the gem war

Simply standing on the warp again was enough to get your blood pumping with a reignited vigour for exploration

A feeling so palpable that you failed to notice the array of spindly cracks that spanned the surface of the device, and the way that a sickly dull light pulsated beneath your feet (the sight accompanied by a warning hum far too low for you to notice)

Though you couldn’t ignore the way the warp didn’t immediately go off like usual, nor could you neglect the searing pain that spread through your veins and constricted your throat; leaving you in so much pain that you couldn’t even move or scream before your vision was engulfed in a glitching, sickeningly bright light

It must have been several hours later when you woke up, based on how high the sun was in the sky… was the sky that red before?

Your head was pounding and although your vision was blurry, yet you couldn’t ignore how different your surroundings were from the earth you were used to

The sky was a faint red and the ground beneath your feet was dusted with deep maroon grass—it was soft and warm under your fingertips but with how much organic matter there was you knew that this wasn’t a colony

Hell, you didn’t even arrive on a warp on this end, so either you had been transported to somewhere else because a malfunction (unusual, but likely) or someone had taken you from the receiving warp and dropped you off in the middle of a clearing (far less likely)

Suddenly struck with worry, you sat up and moved your clothes to get a good look at your gem, letting out a relieved sigh when you saw it undamaged (clearly you’d landed where you woke up as most organics would have tried to remove it from your body before dumping you)

Realising that you were mostly safe you slowly rose to your feet and decided to explore your new environment, hand hovering near your gem in case you needed to defend yourself from whatever creatures had made their home here—trying to make yourself appear as small, quiet and unnoticeable as possible as you went

However, your efforts seemed to be in vein as you were quickly greeted by an excitable and loud human girl who practically screamed her welcome to you

You were torn between fleeing and fighting her when she offered her hand and introduced herself as “Luz the human”, her demeanour quite closely mirroring what you’d heard about Steven when he was younger from his mothers—it was almost endearing how much she tried to hold in her joy at seeing another “human”. You almost didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth as she walked you back to her home.

You were accosted at the door by an organic tube with an owl’s face that quickly and gleefully introduced itself as Hooty—the creepy, but rather friendly, house demon

Luz made an effort to hastily brush him off and hurry you both inside where you met with the other two inhabitants of the home as well as Luz’s “awesome girlfriend”, Amity.

Eda, an older witch with grey hair that hardly suited her age, greeted you with muted suspicion, not even taking her eyes off of you as she addressed the human at your side—seemingly unsure of your motives but trusting herself to be stronger than you (if her grip on her staff was anything to go by)

King, however, was much more brazen and blatant in his distrust of you, stomping over and pointing an accusing claw up at you as he threatened you in every way he could muster (even if all that got him was a halfhearted coo from you that left the creature more frustrated and downtrodden than before)

The guest, Amity, meanwhile, looked over at you with disinterest before she caught a glimpse of your (colour) gem peeking out from your clothing—immediately pointing it out and questioning you about it, much to your chagrin

This inevitably led to a very long and semi-complicated conversation discussing the intricacies of your species and how, no, you’re technically not a human

No you weren’t trying to deceive Luz, either, you just felt too awkward to correct her

But when all was said and done (and you were all out of steam after a several hour session of intense questioning and frustration at miscommunications) they seemed much more relaxed around you—even willing to let you stay with them, at Luz’s request, so long as you pulled your weight around the house and helped to keep them safe

And, really, how hard could that be? You fought in an intergalactic war so taking out a few organics should be a piece of cake (as Steven would say)

After spending a few weeks in this strange new world you had come to realise one specific thing; it wasn’t easy. It was, in fact, the exact opposite.

If you had to bubble one more guard you were going to scream

What had they done to make this Emperor hate them so much?

It felt as though half of your time was spent bubbling, blocking or disabling people that had made their way to the Owl House—and the rest was spent painstakingly explaining your abilities and species to Amity, Lilith and Luz

Granted, that wasn’t the most stressful part of your stay

That was hands down the stresses that came with visits from Luz’s friends from Hexside: the endlessly kind and protective Willow and the ever-curious and annoyingly quick witted Gus

That being said, you did appreciate their enthusiasm to learn about and accommodate you—even if the look Willow gave you when you spoke about the empire’s treatment of organic life did leave you rather shaken

So what little free time you had was spent learning about the local culture and sharing your experiences with them

Training with Amity and Eda

Helping Willow with her plants in whatever way you can based on your gem

Creating gem clones to help Gus perfect his illusions even further

Teaching Lilith and Luz about your abilities as well as those of your fellow gems, even helping the latter learn to write using gem glyphs

It was heartwarming to see others so passionate about your home, even if their insistence on pushing you to your limits could be rather frustrating (especially early in the mornings when your patience ran thin)

However, the longer you spent there the more members of the Emperor’s Coven (amongst others) you ended up coming across. One particularly memorable instance occurred when you were escorting a fretting Amity through Bonesborough with the twins (who’s presence you had grown rather fond of as their visits became more frequent).

Ed had dragged Em back to the library a good few minutes ago, leaving you and Amity to your own decides as you weaved in and out of the foot traffic—only to stop completely when the youngest Blight suddenly froze before grabbing your hand and darting off to an adjacent alleyway

As you went to protest, she promptly clamped one hand over your mouth and gestured rather violently for you to stay quiet before nodding towards a figure just a bit away from you

From the golden mask and white cloak you knew they were a member of the Emperor’s Coven—but you’d seen them before, on the posters littered around the city, each exploring passersby to join their coven

Golden Guard

That was a definite threat

So you passed the girl a spare cloak and did what you could to mask your own appearance before carefully making your way back home, shopping be damned—one hand over your gem just in case he happened to notice you

Though thankfully he didn’t

Not that it stopped you from filing him away as someone to be wary of anyway; he was the emperor’s right hand man, after all, so there was no such thing as being “too cautious”

And for a while that’s exactly what it was, not that you saw much of him that is, but from what you’d been told about Luz and Amity’s run ins with him you were glad to have never seen him face-to-face. If you had, you were almost certain he wouldn’t come out unscathed—teenage protege or not.

So with all that in mind, the last that you were expecting to see on a relatively peaceful Saturday evening was the unmasked Golden Guard practically unconscious and leaning on Luz and Eda for support as they burst through the door

Completely ignoring Hooty as usual as they carefully laid him down on the seat beside you (after you’d hurriedly gotten up, that is)

He looked to be in an awful state, with his visible skin bloodied, bruised and scarred whilst his usually pristine uniform was tattered and caked in dirt and what seemed to be even more of his blood

Seeming to notice your distress, Eda briefly addressed you and her sister before sending you all off to gather supplies (or heal if your gem allowed it)

“The kid’s been through a lot, but he’s with us now. Trust me, I wouldn’t have carried him all this way if I had any doubts about it.”

And that was that

It took Hunter (as he introduced himself) over a week to even be able to get out of bed and walk around unassisted—and whilst he actively avoided speaking about what had happened to him, you had a feeling that Belos was somehow involved

Though things were still rather tense for a month or so after he arrived, no matter how hard Luz tried to integrate him (and no matter how polite and welcoming Willow and Gus tried to be)

And you didn’t even want to recall the shouting match that occurred when Amity saw him in the living room with Luz….

It seemed as though he was just more content to shut himself away with L’il Rascal and only interact with Luz and Eda; the former to learn from her and the latter because she wouldn’t let him get away with anything but

That wasn’t even mentioning the palpable tension between him and Lilith (she would only say that it was from their time in the coven—and Luz suspected he’d annoyed her a bit too much—but nothing else would come of it)

But the others were worried about him, so you were sent in as a neutral party to talk with him about… things. You weren’t really told what and you didn’t have the time to ask.

Initially he was incredibly closed off and would only address you briefly, barely even acknowledging your presence as he gave his full attention to the scattered papers on his desk, each depicting a different spell and each ever so slightly off

So, as gently as you could you took the quill from him and drew a simple glyph on a spare scalp of paper, carefully leading him through the motions before leaning back and activating the spell (and smiling at his much more openly interested expression)

That then sparked a deep conversation about different types of magic—specifically wild magic and glyphs—as you shared what you knew about the topic with one another, every so often breaking off into laughter or patient silence as he’d run across the room to show you his notes or books he’d found

Naturally this would lead to him asking you about where you came from and you discussing your origins with him

Homeworld

The Diamond Authority

The gem war

Colonies

Soldiers

Shattering

The Crystal Gems

Everything

He was incredibly easy to talk to as he listened with a genuine intensity to what you said, nodding along and even asking well thought out questions about your world where appropriate

Depending on how close you were, he may even ask to see your gem and ask about its purpose

If you let him touch it, he’d be so very gentle, almost treating you as though you were made of glass—maybe even sketching it down and noting down your abilities and weaknesses in his personal notebook and apologising if it was weird

This mutual interest in magic and your shared experiences of either having to conform to a specific role your whole life [full gem reader] or feeling out of place and weaker because of your shortcomings [half gem reader] would be the basis of your friendship turned relationship. The transition between the two would be so incredibly seamless and slow that you wouldn’t even notice it happening—one moment you two were best friends sparring and the next you were hiding your blushing face in his neck as he hugs you and apologises for hitting you a bit too hard with his magic.

Your relationship would be sweet and slow and genuine

Hunter is new to receiving any kind of affection, so you’d probably have to teach him a thing or two—but he’d learn quite quickly so don’t worry

He’d spend hours studying your culture and language just to write you notes or offer you affirmations in ways unique to your culture, even calling you “my (Y/n)” after a while

Likewise, the first time you called him “my Hunter” he was left red in the face for the rest of the day (he loved it, though, so don’t stop)

But the moment someone makes a teasing remark about how soft he’s gotten (usually one of the Blight siblings or his own younger sister figure, Luz), Hunter will partially revert to being cold in public (whilst still being affectionate and openly touch starved in private)

In short, your relationship with him would be built on a foundation of mutual trust, affection and understanding that sprouted from friendship and honest conversations about your passions and pasts

#reader insert #sleepingdeath hub #hcs #headcanons #steven universe #su #toh x su #the owl house #the owl house x reader #the owl house golden guard #the owl house hunter #toh #toh x reader #toh golden guard #toh hunter #hunter x reader #golden guard x reader

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skiitter · 3 years

Note

A prompt, my dear. Hermione and Draco + “who hurt you?”

Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, the majority of which were less than desirable to any sensible person, but one thing he was not was late. His punctuality was a point of pride, in a sea of arrogance no doubt, but Hermione had come to appreciate it over the course of their working relationship. It was something she could rely on, something immovable in an otherwise dangerously murky situation. He may needle her ceaselessly and leave her to do the lions share of the paperwork, but he was always there when he was expected, an effortless air of smugness clinging to him like bad cologne.

This Sunday, however; this unremarkable, overcast Sunday in late September he was late. It was the day after her 24th birthday as well as their final meeting. The report had been ostensibly completed, the field work essentially finished, and the conclusion inevitably drawn. After the better part of a year dedicating 1/3rd of every weekend to spending most of the day with Malfoy, Hermione's Sundays were about to become her own once more; a prospect she was not all that excited about.

Everytime the chirp of the bell above the door announced a new arrival, she would glance over, expecting to see a shock of platinum hair above a signature sneer and everytime, she was disappointed.

"Another tea, miss?" The waitress asked, her expression a perfect blend of professionalism and pity.

"No, no thank you." Hermione spared another look out the window, searching for him among the crowd. "Actually, I think I'm done here. Could I get the check?"

Bundled up against the autumn chill, Hermione paid and left the Cafe' and it's memories behind. It wasn't quite noon yet, and the streets were slowly filling with the townspeople emerging to go about their days. She smiled at a few passersby but was otherwise lost in her own thoughts as she made her way to the Apparition point.

Maybe Malfoy had just decided their final meeting wasn't all that important. To be fair it was more of a formality than anything else. His decision to not show would have no negative consequence on anything other than her feelings. Feelings, of course, that she was deliberately not thinking about.

As she rounded the corner, absorbed in her denial, she didn't see him until it was too late. With an audible "oof" she ran straight into Malfoy, colliding chest to chest. She immediately bounced off but he caught her arm before she could hit the sidewalk.

"What--Malfoy?"

"Graceful as always, Granger." He let her go and she stared, wide eyed and confused, at the state of his face.

"Merlin! Your face it's--"

"Your manners leave so very much to be desired." He looked cross but it was hard to tell beneath the bruising. An ugly, mottled patch of purple marred the left side of his face, stark and violent against his pale skin. It was fresh, the edges red with the recent impact, and it appeared to have just narrowly missed his eye.

"Malfoy," she reached her hand out, ghosting her fingertips over the bruise. "What happened?"

He sneered at her and jerked away. "Keep your obligatory Gryffindor concern to yourself, Granger."

"It's not an obligation!"

"Says the war hero."

"Will you--ugh!" She huffed and dragged him back around the corner, off of the sidewalk and into an alley. "What happened?" She repeated.

"Nothing."

"Malfoy."

He looked around, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with her. "I made a wrong turn at Diagon Alley, is all."

"A wrong turn?" The incredulity in her voice was palpable. "To where? A boxing ring?"

"Just drop it, Granger."

"I will not just drop it. Look--look at your face!" She closed the space between them. "Malfoy, please. What happened?"

He sighed and the rigidity of his shoulders softened. "I forgot, okay? I went to Flourish and Blotts to get you your bloody birthday gift and when I left, I ran into some adoring fans."

"What--"

"Our former school chums don't take kindly to my presence in Diagon Alley and, after our last little spat, I'd forgotten the warning they'd left me with." Malfoy's jaw tensed and he squinted up into the clouded sunlight. "They took it upon themselves to remind me."

Hermione balled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "Who?"

"It doesn't matter, Granger."

"Who?" She took a steadying breath. "Who hurt you?"

"I don't know. I vaguely recognized them from Hogwarts. It's fine."

It wasn't fine. It was categorically not fine. Malfoy was hardly the first of their class that had been on the wrong side of the war to be attacked. Harry had spent a significant amount of time trying to dispel such violent grudges and, to the best of her knowledge, it had been handled. Clearly, she was mistaken.

"We need to report this to the Ministry. Harry needs--"

"Absolutely fucking not." Malfoy gave her an indignant look. "The last person that needs to hear about this is Saint Potter."

"Malfoy, Harry's job is dealing with--"

"No, Granger. I said no."

"So what? Those nasty little insects just get to get away with it? No. I refuse. We didn't go to bloody war--"

"I was on the wrong side of that war, remember? So, yeah, we did go to war for this exact scenario to exist." He could see the lack of effect his words were having written across her face. "Granger. Please. I don't want this to become another of your crusades."

She reeled as if she'd been slapped. "Crusades?! Malfoy, it's about the injustice of it! You don't deserve to be attacked in the streets for something you did nearly ten years ago!"

"The court of public opinion begs to differ."

"Oh they'll beg alright," she snapped. At her genuine anger, his features softened and Malfoy gave her an unreadable look before looking away.

"You're such a fucking Gryffindor." He said it with an air of affection, though, and it helped to ground her back in the now.

"Thank you." Once more she placed her hand upon his bruised cheek and, to her surprise, he leaned into the touch. Her breathe caught in her lungs and she swallowed. "We--we should take care of that."

"It's just a simple spell. I'll handle it."

"No," she insisted and stepped away from him. "I will. It's the least I can do."

"This is hardly your fault."

"You went to Diagon Alley for me, remember?" She looked him up and down. "Speaking of..."

"I've been attacked and you're worrying over your stupid gift?" His tone was lighter than it had been since she'd ran into him.

"Of course I am. It's not everyday the evil Draco Malfoy buys you a gift." Hermione nodded to the Apparition point behind them. "Let's go."

"What about the Cafe? You can't honestly expect me to deny our Waitress her weekly opportunity to oogle at me." He gestured to his outfit: an expensive and perfectly tailored muggle suit that Hermione had forced him to buy after he showed up to their first meeting in robes.

"I've already been. It'd been weird to go back now. Besides, I think the bruise will overshadow your fancy slacks."

"Women like a man with scars."

She snorted. "It's hardly a battle scar, you git." when he gave her a pleading look, she rolled her eyes and looked around, to make sure they were alone. Satisfied with the lack of muggles, Hermione drew her wand and tapped it gently to his cheek. The static heat of magic bloomed between them and the ugly purple faded away, leaving his pale cheek unblemished once more. "There."

In the process of her healing, Malfoy had stepped completely into her personal space and the look he was giving her was heavy, deliberate.

"This isn't over, Malfoy. I'll find out who did this, with or without your help. They don't get to just attack you and get away with it."

"I'm hardly a weakling, Granger. I fought back."

"Good. It'll make them easier to identify."

"You're not going to let this go." It was not a question.

"No. I'm not."

"Why?"

"Because." She gave him a defiant look and he tipped her chin up with his hand. "You're my--"

"What? I'm your what?"

"Friend?"

"Is that all?" He was dangerous, but in a completely different way to the bully he'd been in their youth.

"That depends."

"On?"

"On what you got me for my birthday." She grinned and he laughed, pressing his forehead to hers a moment before pulling away and offering her his arm. She looped hers around it and let him steer them back in the direction of the Cafe.

After a lunch of finger sandwiches and tea, Malfoy finally handed her a perfectly wrapped gift that she immediately tore into. It was the latest book in a series on beasts that Rolf Scamander had been releasing, and it wasn't supposed to be out for another week.

"How did you get this?"

Malfoy shrugged, as if it was the least important thing in the world. "Money is an exceptionally good incentive."

"I love it. Thank you." She beamed at him and he cleared his throat as if it would distract her from the flush creeping up his neck.

"It's no big deal, Granger."

"To you maybe. It is to me. You know how I feel about birthday gifts." They both thought back to the spectacle she'd made of his back in June.

"I did fight for my life while I was out getting it." He grinned but the smile faded at the sharp look she gave him. "I'm joking, of course. Just a little fisticuffs, nothing serious."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I really am. You didn't have to go all the way to Diagon Alley for this."

"Sure I did."

"Just submitting your half of the report would be gift enough."

"Lucky for you I've done both. Besides, I'm sick of using that bloody report as an excuse to be around you." Hermione blinked, unable to process the weight of what he'd said. At the shock on her face, he shrugged again. "Come on, Granger. You can't possibly think I care about work this much."

"I--you--what?"

He leaned forward and captured her chin in his hand. "My fierce, naive little lion. You're horribly dense." Malfoy gave her a soft kiss on the forehead and pulled away. "Let's go before the Waitress gets jealous."

"But. What."

"I've rendered the great Hermione Granger speechless. I am truly magnificent." His laugh brought her to her senses and she launched herself across the table to kiss him.

"Sod the waitress."

She did, in the end, figure out who hurt him and in true Hermione Granger fashion, made them rue the day they laid hands upon someone she loves.

#Dramione #Draco Malfoy #Hermione Granger #Skitterfics #Hmmmm I don't care for the way this ended but I am just rewriting it endlessly at this point

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kim-ruzek · 2 years

Text

If it's all in my head, tell me now

Summary: Six weeks after Kim and Hailey had a fight, ending their totally not romantic relationship, they are sent on a case, together, alone and it gets harder to keep running from talking to each other.

cpd au, probably au of late S5/early s6 but it doesn't specify so you can really go on when you want it to be set. Kim x Hailey.

Warnings: angsty (emotional angst with a satisfying ending).

Word Count: 8.4k

Read on AO3

Notes: This is a belated birthday fic for the wonderful, incredible @sylvies-chen . Happy belated birthday, Abby and I'm sorry this took a few extra days!!! I hope you enjoy; I just had to write something wlw for you (although no smut this time :( although I might do some smutty sequels bc I wanted to include some smut in this but it took a different tone then I planned!!) ❤️❤️❤️

In general, Kim likes having Voight as a boss, especially when there are problems in her personal life. Voight is very no-nonsense type of man, and hates any time personal issues are dragged into the work place, a great thing when all Kim wants to do is escape from the personal problems in her life.

Yet there are times, like now, where Kim can’t take his hatred for personal issues at face value and where she can’t help but be convinced that he secretly gets off on messing with his unit. Or that maybe he likes to think up new and inventive ways to punish his unit for breaking his rules against personal issues.

It’s the only thing that makes sense. Her boss is very observant and surely there is no way he hasn’t noticed the palpable tension between two of his unit members, or the way they go to extreme lengths to not be near each other, let alone being left together with no one else around.

And yet, here Kim finds herself. On the road. Trapped in a car. Alone.

Well, not completely alone.

Hailey is with her, here in the car, the words unspoken between them festering in the air and making her feel as if she is suffocating. By all accounts, the day is pretty cool for late March, yet it feels too hot, too stuffy, like it’s the height of summer.

Hailey always has that effect on her, making her feel several degrees too hot.

She used to like it, liked how the heat would slowly rise under her skin, how her cheeks would always be ever so slightly permanently flushed whenever Hailey was near her. It felt electric, and Kim would be filled with a desire, a need, to reach out, to touch her, even if it was just a slight brush of her fingertips along Hailey’s hand, shoulder, arm.

It used to embolden Kim. That when she was lying, clad in only her underwear, on Hailey’s bed, she’d love how she felt so, so hot, her temperature soaring at the mere thought of her desire for the blonde, and it would inspire courage in her, to drag the blonde towards her, to beg orgasms of her, to kiss her all over and convince her that they should make each other late by taking a long, long shower together.

Back in the times where everything was good. Back before feelings got involved and made everything messy.

Kim wonders how this little road trip would’ve gone back then. Would their hands have been entwined? Would they be flirting and joking and teasing each other ever so slightly making them want to get to the hotel as soon as possible? Would they be a little unprofessional and make their trip slightly longer by stopping on the country roads and stretching their legs, just to get a little more time together?

When Voight told them that they were the ones to be sent upstate to go interrogate someone picked up by another town’s pd who fits their perp description, would they have smiled? Share a secret look between them and get excited for the time together?

None of the awkward look they both gave, or how they both clamoured quickly to try and talk Voight out of it, ignoring the intrigued looks from the rest of their team. And when Voight inevitably told them to shut up and stop complaining, they’d have been none of the awkward silence in the car, none of the tense small talk they stumbled through before eventually putting the radio on a station neither really likes so there was just something they could use as an excuse not to talk.

The radio is playing some song from the sixties, and it’s reminding Kim of something from her childhood. For a moment, she forgets about everything, about how she wishes she was anywhere but here, about how the car feels too small or her annoyance at the traffic jam they spent two hours stuck in.

Instead, she just smiles at the memory of being at her grandparents in the summer, and it makes her heart all fuzzy and warm—because her grandparents, to Kim, is what love is—and she’s half way through opening her mouth to tell Hailey about it, the need to share this happy memory with the woman she—no—with Hailey surging, when she remembers everything and she snaps her mouth shut, turning back to looking out the window at the flat, boring fields.

Kim is all ready to forget her near-blunder; that she nearly broke the heavy silence hanging over them, and the unspoken rule that neither one of them wants to have eye contact, let alone sharing cute stories from childhood. But Voight isn’t the only one in the unit who’s observant, because Hailey—Hailey, being the amazing detective she is, Hailey, being the amazing human she is, for not being how Kim would be if she was driving, knuckles white as she grips the steering wheel, her eyes fixed on the road ahead—clocks onto Kim’s open and then decidedly not open mouth.

“This is ridiculous.” Hailey snaps, taking one hand off the wheel so she can deftly turn off the radio, making the car descend into deafening silence.

Hailey is not one to snap, only ever at criminals but this isn’t that Hailey, isn’t interrogating Hailey. It’s more like an agitated mother on a road trip snapping at her rambunctious children and Kim hates herself for the imagery it immediately brings to her mind.

Of Hailey, a few years older than now, blonde hair tied up, wedding ring on her finger, driving three unruly children to their holiday. Three children with a mixture of looks, of brunette and blonde, or blue eyes and brown, of a strong Greek look or an Italian one.

It’s the kind of imagery that got her into this mess; the kind of imagery that makes her heart race and her breath quicken, the kind of imagery that makes her yearn for a future that looks like that, a future of two Mrs Uptons, or Burgess’, or maybe even a new surname that’s just theirs, and a handful of kids who may not even be all related by blood but are so clearly family.

The kind of imagery Kim hates that her heart still craves, even after six weeks of this mess between then, of six weeks of awkward glances and stumbling words. Even weeks after it was made clear this kind of future was not in the cards for them.

“What were you about to say?” Hailey asks, her tone laced with frustration, a few long seconds later. Kim wonders if she was meant to say something after Hailey shut off the radio, if the expectation is that she’d say something, anything, even if it was just to tell Hailey to shut up. That Hailey took so long to continue after snapping because she was waiting for Kim to say something, to yell or show any verbal acknowledgement of the blonde beside her, until it became obvious Kim had no intention to.

“Nothing.” Kim knows that’s an annoying response, even before Hailey sighed. It’s petty, but as much as Kim said it because she has no intention in letting Hailey know she wants to share warm fuzzy memories with her, she also said it because she knows it’s annoying. Her heart is a mess, in shambles and confused, and Kim has quick learnt that when it comes to Hailey, apparently she likes being a petty person.

“Kim.” Hailey sounds so exasperated and the idyllic family future springs back into Kim’s mind, and Kim knows that she’s going to be even more stubborn, trying to shut those thoughts out of her head as much as possible.

“This is so ridiculous,” Hailey repeats herself. Her voice is tired, and Kim wonders if she looked at her—which she’s stubbornly not, keeping her eyes fixated out of the window—she’d see the tiredness on Hailey’s face. The thought makes her heart pang, because Hailey’s face should only be smiling, or contorted in pleasure, or even that frankly hot intimidating expression she tends to pull in interrogations, but never tired.

“It’s been six weeks. We need to talk, get passed this.” Hailey pauses, clearly looking for a response in Kim, but Kim refuses to give her one. “Kim, we shouldn’t have to listen to music that we both hate just because we’re having to partner up at work. Before all this, we used to be friends, didn’t we? Can’t we just go back to that?”

Friends.

The word stings more than Kim would want it to. Even more as Kim realises, as soon as that word drops from Hailey’s—(kissable)—lips and it feels like a bucket of cold water has been chucked over her, that she was starting to wonder if she should give in to this silent tug of war, the silent battle of wills between them of acting like they care less than the other. That she was starting to wonder if she should just lay everything out, and hope to god that Hailey listens.

But then Hailey said friends and Kim is reminded once more of what got them into this mess, that they want different things. That there’s no point in telling Hailey how much she loves her, that she wants to spend the rest of her life with her, that Hailey is her sun, that Kim is the moon to her earth. Because Hailey doesn’t want a relationship like that, not now, and Kim’s wondering if ever, at least not with her. There’s no point in Kim embarrassing herself further, not when Hailey wants to go back to being friends.

Not when Kim decidedly does not want to be her friend.

“Kim? We can still be friends, right?” Hailey’s voice sounds uncharacteristically quiet, reminiscent of their late night chats after they fucked each other’s brains out, and all Kim wants to do is pull her closer. But Hailey then lightly touches her arm to get her attention, and it’s like an electric shock to the system and Kim’s practically jumping out of her skin, pulling far away from Hailey as the car allows.

Kim pretends she doesn’t see the flash of hurt on Hailey’s face at that.

“Sure,” Kim manages to get out after it’s clearly getting too long after Hailey has spoke again. Saying the one syllable word feels like eating ground glass, and the way her voice sounds almost strangled Kim knows that Hailey must have doubts about the sincerity, but the blonde gives her a half-hearted smile nevertheless.

The smile shoots little sharp knives into her heart, but Kim pretends that she doesn’t feel like she’s dying. She’s already told the blonde she loves her and got nothing in return, she wants to maintain some dignity.

Being friends is harder than just saying so, something they quickly realise only a few minutes after agreeing to try.

Neither seemed to really know what they wanted to say to each other, words being stumbled over each other again. Normally, when making friends again once more with someone—not that Kim had done so, really, since she was a kid—you focus on catching up the other on parts of your life they had missed, but Kim wasn’t inclined to want to catch Hailey up, not ready to talk to her like there isn’t an aching gap in her heart and by the way Hailey didn’t as well, Kim got that she didn’t fancy doing so either. The reasons for why most likely differing from her own, since Hailey was the one who proposed they go back to being friends, so it’s not like her heart has been ripped out of her chest like Kim’s has.

The radio was soon put back on, and that’s the way the rest of the journey to the medium-small sized Illinois town remained. It’s late by the time they get there, and they only have time for an introduction to the pd detectives assigned to show them around. Detectives Moran and Jameson are perfectly nice people, and they clearly have a good, smooth running partnership—it reminds Kim of Hailey’s with Jay, a thought that made her feel all bitter and sour inside, like any time Kim sees them two together does—and Kim feels bad that she doesn’t feel much like herself, ending the evening a lot sooner than she would ordinarily.

They had given them a quick tour of their precinct, and shown them to the motel they’ll be staying out—a one bedroom with twin beds, naturally, because the world hates her—and then took them out for a meal and some wine at a mid-level restaurant a walk away from the motel.

The detectives are good company, and Kim at times found herself getting lost in the present, in their jokes and stories, forgetting about the awkwardness she felt at the blonde sitting next to her—sitting way too close, although even if Hailey was on the other side of the room it still would feel too close—Kim will give them that.

But the time ticked on, and Kim became more and more aware that she was going to have to try and sleep in a room where Hailey lays three feet away, and try not to think about how much she wishes that they’d be pushing the beds together, and curling up close, so close that she wouldn’t know where she ended and Hailey began, so close that their respective smells would mix together; a sweet smell that reminds Kim of love and safety, of being home. And she knew that she needed to leave the restaurant, get some cool air on her too-hot skin before having to sleep.

Kim waited until Hailey was in the middle of telling Moran and Jameson about an arrest she made back in robbery and homicide to stand up, gulping down the rest of her wine, and politely excused herself.

“Oh, I’ll come with you,” Hailey offered, as if she wasn’t in the middle of a story. The lighting in the restaurant made her eyes seem even more blue, and Kim nearly just agreed because of the beauty of them. Luckily she managed to swallow down her agreement, pulling on a too-tense smile on her face.

“That’s okay. Finish. I’ll see you later—if I’m still awake, friend.” It’s petty, Kim knows, to add on the friend, but she could see Hailey gearing up to protest and somehow Kim just knew saying that would make her pause.

Kim wondered if it’s because Hailey knows that the word is like twisting a knife in her own heart, and a part of her wishes she does know how much she’s hurting, just to be seen, to be understood, even if a larger part of her very much does not want the humiliation of the woman who doesn’t love her back to know how desperate she is for her.

Sleeping, Kim is finding, however, is still incredibly hard to do even without the presence of the blonde in the room.

The smell of Hailey’s perfume still lingers in the air, and it reminds Kim of how her apartment no longer smells like that, that all traces of Hailey has faded, that she doesn’t even have any of her clothes still lying around the house because after everything, Kim packed it all up in a box and left it outside Hailey’s apartment in a fit to make herself appear less desperate, less needy after her—second—impromptu love confession.

And as if that wasn’t enough to ensure sleep wouldn’t be coming, Kim’s mind was racing about the implications of Hailey taking the bed closest to the door. Logically, Kim knows it’s just because Hailey entered first, or maybe just out of politeness. But Kim can’t get the image of Hailey almost meaningfully setting her bag down on the bed, claiming it as hers, that it was almost protective, that she wanted the bed closest to the door as of to protect Kim from any intruders.

As unrestful it makes her mind, it’s a better thought than the one that Hailey wanted the bed closest to the door so that she could get away from Kim as soon as possible.

Really, Kim should’ve expected this. That sleep would be too far away to grasp, that her mind would feel alert, too alert. Even when she’s in her own bed, sleep fails to come to her, the events that led to her having an empty space beside her replaying in her head over and over.

It does so now, too, the memories feeling even stronger with the smell of Hailey lingering in the air. It makes the moment Kim slept with Adam, that stupid fucking moment, and Hailey walking in to see them in bed together feel more real; the scent of Hailey had still lingered in her room then too.

Kim knows that what she did, sleeping with Adam, wasn’t cheating. They weren’t exclusive, they weren’t even together. They were just fucking. That’s what they agreed on when it started, that they were just fuck buddies, friends with benefits, stress relief. And who cares if the lines got blurred, if they were spending more time going out to eat, just the two of them—never called dates, though—or that there was days they’d have no sex and just cuddle and sleep, that there was basically no day—night—they didn’t spend apart. They weren’t exclusive, and they weren’t dating.

That was made perfectly clear, when Hailey was cuddled up in her arms, and Kim was feeling so, so happy and so, so in love that she let those words tumble from her lips. I love you.

That was made perfectly clear when Hailey completely froze, and then when she was tearing herself from Kim’s arms, getting up from her bed and hastily pulling on her clothes, stumbling out some excuse about early starts and how she should go home.

That was made perfectly clear when Kim tried to stop her, tried to remind her that they can drive in together, and that it doesn’t matter if Hailey doesn’t say it back.

That was made perfectly clear when Hailey snapped back, saying that it does matter, because Kim had clearly forgotten the rules, that they were just fucking and that’s that and they never should’ve started sleeping over.

There is no reason why Kim should feel as if sleeping with Adam was like cheating on Hailey, not after that reminder. The one shittiness should just be that it happened the very next night, and even then, if they were just fucking why should it matter if Kim sleeps with someone else?

Honestly, Kim should only feel bad about using Adam like that. For drinking with him that Friday night, and inviting him back to hers. For using him to make herself feel better, using him to make herself feel like she doesn’t love Hailey, that she doesn’t want to be with her, and she doesn’t care about the words Hailey snapped back at her, or the way Hailey steadfastly avoided her all day—and for using him to mentally say fuck you to Hailey, for using him to get back at the jealousy Kim felt at seeing Hailey joke and laugh—flirt—with Jay that whole day, all while she felt like she was dying.

And she does, feel bad. Adam was a whole gentleman about the whole thing, didn’t pry or get upset or make anything more awkward for them when Hailey walked into Kim’s bedroom that Saturday morning, holding an apology coffee from their favourite place. He didn’t question their excuses that Hailey’s clearly hurt face was just because they had plans that day, and Kim had forgotten and had deftly gotten the fuck out of her apartment, clearly sensing the two needed to talk. He had only sent a text to her later that day, asking if she wants to talk about it, and when she replied with no he respected that.

The fact that Kim can have such a good friendship with her ex-fiancé should give her hope that one day Hailey and her can be friends, but it doesn’t, because there’s nothing Kim hates more then the thought of just being Hailey’s friend, not when she wants so much more, much more than she ever—if she is honest—wanted with Adam.

It’s Kim’s fault, really. She shouldn’t have told Hailey that she loves her, and she definitely shouldn’t have repeated it that Saturday morning, telling Hailey that she has all the rights to go fuck someone else after Hailey left her after she told her how she felt, and that she wasn’t wrong of her to expect that maybe, just maybe, that might change things.

Kim should’ve just let them continue with their comfortable routine of ignoring what was growing between them—or rather, ignoring what Kim thought was growing, because clearly it was only on her side. And no matter Kim wants to say that they should just go back to that, they can’t, not now. The words are like toothpaste, once it’s out there, there’s no getting it back in.

Their only options now are either being together or being friends. And Hailey’s made it clear that the former isn’t on the table, but the latter makes Kim feel sick to her stomach. The thought of only having Hailey in her life as a friend is not one she can stomach, that she’d rather not have her in it at all because the thought of acting like her heart isn’t breaking, that she isn’t in love with her friend, is too much for Kim to bear.

“Kim? Kim are you awake?” Hailey’s whisper comes not too long after Kim hears the room’s door open. Her eyes are shut, and have been ever since she got into the stiff bed, and so she doesn’t know how long it’s been since she left the restaurant. It doesn’t feel like long, but it also feels like it was forever. Time has no meaning whenever Hailey is concerned for her.

Despite being awake, Kim keeps her eyes closed and pretends not to be. She doesn’t know what Hailey wants, but she doesn’t intend on finding out. She tries to keep her breathing, all too aware that this is a woman with chronic insomnia, and so definitely has seen her sleep before.

“I just wanted to say—oh nevermind.” Hailey goes to say, almost as if she knows that Kim wouldn’t respond even if she is awake, and when she cuts herself off, Kim nearly opens her eyes and turns to face her, immediately wanting to know what she was going to say.

But curiosity killed the cat, and Kim’s already taken too many hits to her pride, so she remains still, keeping up the sleep rouse. All while knowing that there’s now one more thing that’ll be keeping her up.

“Voight gave us the all clear to stay. Told us to stay as long as we need, no hurry. Ordered us, really. He doesn’t want to potentially jeopardize this case if he’s our guy, and thinks we should ride it out, alone, to continue building the rapport.” Kim walks back into their motel room, sliding her phone back into her pocket. She tries to take the bitterness at Voight’s answer out of her voice, tries to make it sound not like as if she’s just received the worst news ever, but she knows she failed miserably.

Upon spending one day here, the only day they were meant to stay, they quickly realised that their possible man is going to take his sweet time cracking, and so they realised they would need to ask Voight for an extension. Kim had volunteered to call him, and there was a not small part of her that hoped that he’d tell them to come home. That he’d go with them taking the guy back to Chicago, so they can continue with the rest of the unit.

But no. No, Voight just had to have faith in them.

Kim is really beginning to think there’s credence in her theory that Voight likes to think up new and inventive ways to punish them for dragging personal issues until the unit.

She just really hopes that he hasn’t guessed all the details of what happened between Hailey and her. That he—shiver—hasn’t figured out that they were sleeping together. The thought of Voight having any inclination of her sex life... It’s one that makes Kim cringe inside and get the urge to never be able look him in the eye again.

“I thought he’d say that.” Hailey isn’t one to gloat, or be smug—not maliciously, anyway, since Kim definitely knows she can be smug. Like when she manages to give Kim the best orgasms of her life, or can make her feel so needy and desperate for her with just one look—but Kim can’t help hear a smug tone to her words. It’s in her imagination, but it doesn’t make Kim feel any less irrationally annoyed.

“Yeah, well I guess that’s why you’re the detective,” Kim’s words are petty, dry in a way that’s too uncalled for, she knows this, even as she says it. She’s busing herself sorting her bed out in anticipation for sleep, saying the words so casually, so casually passive aggressive in a way Kim cringes at inside. If not because Hailey really doesn’t deserve it—she’s been very mature, and has made an effort to be more friendly today after their agreement to be friends, and it’s not her fault she doesn’t return Kim’s feelings—but because it reveals too much about how Kim’s really feeling then she wants to let Hailey know.

But Kim feels so messy inside, a jumble of emotions coursing through her all hours of the day, only amplified whenever the blonde is near her, or in her eyeshot. It’s making her more irritable, more bitter, more jealous.

Especially after their agreement to be friends. Kim doesn’t know why, it should make it better that at least she has an answer to how Hailey wishes to go forward, even if it’s not the same as what she wants, but Kim’s never claimed to be an expert in emotions—especially her own.

And it’s making her hear tones in Hailey’s voice that is uncharacteristically her, and sending her mind into overdrive. Like earlier that day, when Hailey introduced her to the perp as officer Kim Burgess, all Kim heard was an emphasis on her title, in direct comparison to Detectives Upton, Moran and Jameson.

All Kim heard was the reminder of one of the many probable reasons to why Hailey doesn’t love her back, why Kim’s only good enough to be a friend.

“What’s that meant to mean?” Hailey’s expression is one of confusion, and she looks so innocent, so precious, that Kim nearly forgets why she feels so upset.

“Nothing.” Kim says too fast to sound believable. “Just pointing out a fact. You’re the detective.”

The addition didn’t make Kim sound any less bothered, and while it felt satisfying at first to make the quip—even if it was a response to a transgression made up in her head—Kim’s frantically panicking inside now at Hailey realising her insecurities, not wanting to appear that vulnerable to the woman who rejected her.

Kim spots a Chinese takeout menu sitting on the bedside table between their respective beds. She grabs it. “This seem good for dinner?”

“Kim,” Hailey begins slowly. “We’ve already eaten dinner. Like right before you phoned Voight.”

Shit. Cursing herself, Kim wonders if she could believably feign early on-set dementia in order to get out of this with some dignity.

“Okay, we’re going to talk about this. Sit.” Hailey fixes her a look often given to eyewitnesses who are hiding important details. She sits down on her bed, indicating Kim to do the same on hers. The last thing Kim wants to do is sit and talk but she can’t not obey when Hailey’s looking at her like that.

Yesterday’s dream of the future family she wants them to have pops back into her mind, this time picturing Hailey sitting down the children, a broken vase or bowl swept up, telling them she’s not mad, she just wants to talk, to discuss playing safely or something domestic like that.

She really, really needs to get a grip on herself.

“Do we have a problem?” Hailey asks and Kim has to bite back the scoff, because problem barely begins to describe what Kim feels, and because it’s less of a we and more just like I, because Hailey is clearly coping with this whole thing so much more easier—which makes sense, since she hasn’t lost anything, not like Kim who lost everything she thought she was gaining.

“I’m just tired.” She offers as an excuse. Kim wanted to continue to deny that there wasn’t something up, but it’s clearly not going to fly, so instead of digging in her heels, she tries to act like it’s just grumpiness.

Hailey’s expression twists a little, and Kim can see her gearing up to prod some more—Hailey had gotten really good at reading her, even if it isn’t obvious that there’s something deeper beneath the surface going on.

“Really. Pay me no mind, I’m just tired. Sorry for being a bit grumpy, it’s just the tiredness.” Kim continues, throwing in an apology before giving Hailey a smile she did not feel. She rises from her bed, making motions to get her bed clothes, ready to continue to brushing off this and hoping Hailey will go along.

“Kim,” Hailey then catches her arm, having also rose. “Talk to me. We agreed to be friends, remember?”

No such luck.

“Yes. We did.” Her voice is clipped. A look then passes across Hailey’s face, like something is dawning on her. Kim panics, her heart thumping too fast in her chest, realising she’s played her cards too open, that Hailey’s going to realise that Kim doesn’t want to be her friend, that Kim wants more.

“But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t want to be your friend,” The words drop from Kim’s mouth before she can even think them through, her mind shutting down and going into survival mode. Hailey tilts her head slightly, and Kim’s positive that she edges a little closer to her. Something in the back of her mind is going wrong, wrong, wrong like it’s caught onto something the rest of her hasn’t.

“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Hailey begins and Kim thinks that surely her heart rate has reached a new record, with how fast it’s beating, like it’s trying to break through her rib cage. “We had fun, right? You know... Before. And I miss you, I miss that fun. I miss my.. my best friend. And I was thinking, the sex part, you know, that isn’t off the table for me. We can still do that. Nothing’s changed there, for me. If you still want me.”

Hailey looks so vulnerable, so open, her tone so soft. She’s so very rarely vulnerable and there’s a part of Kim that is so proud of Hailey for being so, especially when she can tell she was feeling awkward expressing all that, but that part of her is buried under all her emotions, all her hurt feelings, and the ringing in her ears she got after Hailey said best friend, like that’s obviously all Kim can ever be.

“But I don’t want that. I don’t want to be your best friend, or your friend—or anything. We’re not friends, we’re just co-workers, nothing more. And honestly I’d be fine even if we weren’t even that.” Kim’s tone is so much more harsh than she wanted it to be, sounding even more harsh in contrast to Hailey’s soft tone, the words biting coldly.

Hurt covers Hailey’s fault, unable to be hidden, although it doesn’t seem like Hailey even tried, something that just makes Kim feel even worse, making her want to take back the words.

But she doesn’t, focusing on keeping a wall up between them, knowing that she’ll be saving them a world of hurt. Kim can’t be what Hailey wants, she can’t be just a friend, and Hailey can’t be what Kim wants and it’s unfair of them to ask that of each other.

“Right.” The vulnerability disappears, Hailey’s expression going back neutral. Kim ignores the way her heart aches at that, just as much as she ignores the hurt that still lingers in Hailey’s eyes. “Co-workers it is.”

Somehow, this hurt even more than the deafening silence left in Kim’s apartment after Hailey head tailed out of it six weeks ago.

It’s silent in the car when Kim is driving them home three days later.

Hailey is slumped, asleep, in the passenger seat next to her, blonde hair lying half across her face, moving slightly every time she lets out a breath.

It’s the closest they’ve been in days, yet they couldn’t feel further apart.

They’ve spent the past three days standing at least four feet apart at all times, becoming alert and tense whenever one of them accidentally walks by too close. Hailey, naturally, is handling it better, appearing a lot less rattled at Kim’s mere presence that she is, but there’s been an ever-present hurt look in the back of her eyes whenever she ever even glances in Kim’s direction.

It is a miracle, really, that they even managed to get their guy to crack. It shouldn’t surprise Kim, both of them are always cool and in the headspace of just a cop whenever they step foot into an interrogation room, but Kim’s never felt quite like this before.

Or maybe it’s because Kim wishes they weren’t going home, that their man isn’t being processed for prison, that they hadn’t completed what they came here for. If you told her three days ago that she’d be dreading going home, she would never have believed that she could be feeling anything but relief.

But home sounds anything but relieving now.

To be in her own home, where the memories of Hailey lingers in every room. To be around the people who know them best, most of which are highly trained cops with a knack for reading people, and have to act like everything is fine. To being in a place where there’s others who love Hailey, others who can be her friend, and get to bask in the light that is Hailey Upton while Kim watches on because of herself. To be in a place she’s not, even after what’s happened, the person who knows Hailey best, that the last thing they had, the threadbare connection that even if they’re not good, they’re still a team in a sea of strangers.

Being away from home, it felt like hell until home was back on the table.

Away from home, they could be how they are without being scrutinized. They weren’t around people who know them, knows how they usually are. If people could tell that something’s wrong between them, at least they had no right to ask about the details, to get them to open up, to fix things.

Although depending what Jameson pulled her aside to say before they left, Kim’s not too sure if that’s true.

In the four days they had spent in the town, they had gotten to know Moran and Jameson quite well. Like that they don’t only work well together as partners, but that they are together. That they are happy together. Jameson explained how their captain is only allowing them to remain partners because they do good work, but that as soon as they’re married, they’ll have to be split and Kim watched how her eyes lit up at saying that, smiling affectionately at her boyfriend, showing that not only are they happy, but they are both anticipating marriage happening somewhere down the line.

Kim can’t lie and say it didn’t make her jealous.

Hailey had gotten to get to know them better—well, at least, Jameson—however. Kim blames the fact that after the co-worker talk, she had been ending the day and going back to the motel before Hailey, and Hailey had been agreeing to see some of the town’s sights with Moran and Jameson after work.

This also makes Kim feel jealous, even if she knows it’s her fault.

She just hadn’t realised how well they had been getting to know each other, not until Jameson pulled her to one side when Hailey was helping Moran with the paperwork.

“I know this is none of my business,” Jameson had started. “But I’ve noticed things about you and Upton. And well, Hailey’s said some things to me when I’ve asked and I’m not gonna presume to know everything or go get anything—I don’t really know you, after all. But I’ve been where you are. I know Johnny and I, we seem so good now, but we had such a messy start. He was freshly divorced, I had only ever had crappy relationships and my mother isn’t exactly a great role model when it comes them, and we were both so emotionally out of our depth. And I just want to say that all this is doing is wasting time being miserable when you could be happy, and it’s so much better just being open and honest, even if it seems scary or you have no idea how.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting out but it doesn’t apply here.” Kim played dumb, really not wanting to bond with this detective over this, and definitely not wanting to admit that there’s something going on and that she’s miserable.

Jameson just gave her a look which clearly said everything she thought about that.

“I’m just saying that honesty is the best policy for a reason. And communication, it works. I can tell that you—both of you—you’ve got your own personal issues, that you don’t know how to be vulnerable or to let yourself be vulnerable, but one person who used to be like that to another, please try.”

“Yeah, I’ve tried that. Didn’t work.” Kim slipped, but she couldn’t help it, not when Jameson was telling her to do something she already did—when she told Hailey that she loves her and was met with silence.

Jameson gave her another look.

“Did you? Truly? I’m just basing this on what I’ve seen and what little Hailey’s said... I think it’s worth a try, being truly open. The worst case scenario is you get rejected, but something tells me that won’t be the outcome.”

Now, as Kim drives home, Jameson’s words is all she can think of.

Kim knows, knows, that talking isn’t something she’s particularly great at. She was getting better at it, and before everything, her and Hailey was good at it, just as long as they didn’t address what Kim thought was the elephant in the room. And that... That is what gave her the confidence to say that love confession, even if the words just slipped out.

But then when Hailey left, and refused to answer any of her texts or calls, Kim knows a wall went up in her heart. That maybe at the first bump, at the first stumble, Kim returned back to burying all her feelings down, trying to protect herself.

That since then she’s been in survival mode, unable to deal with the hurt she felt, unable to be able to consider going to Hailey and talking through all of this.

For the first time since Hailey said they were just fucking, Kim thinks about what she initially thought when Hailey froze. That she saw it through Hailey’s eyes, a woman Kim knows can be scared of commitment, a woman Kim knows learnt at an early age to never be vulnerable. That she understood that Kim saying the l-word might startle Hailey, might startle that flight or fight reaction in her, that Hailey might feel obligated to say it back and knowing she can’t, she flees.

Kim thinks about how she initially went to assure Hailey, telling her it didn’t matter, that she didn’t have to say it back. All she’s been thinking since is about how in that moment she was panicking to maintain some dignity, but she was also thinking about how to reassure Hailey, to calm the woman she loves from her own panic, from her trauma response.

Somewhere, between then and now, that had gotten lost.

It’s like a lightbulb in Kim’s head, and suddenly she feels very embarrassed, humbled. She remembers everything that’s happened since with a clearer eye, and she sees everything so much less clouded by her own hurt.

Hailey saying she misses her best friend. Misses. That it wasn’t about the title Kim is referred to, friend or not, it was about Hailey telling her that she misses her, that her life has a missing piece without Kim in it.

Hailey asking if they can be friends, that she was asking that if nothing else, can’t they at least try to be friends.

Hailey saying if you still want me. Literally asking Kim if she’s important to her, if she wants her in her life—if she wants her perhaps in the way Kim actually does want her.

Hailey avoiding her all day after the I love you. She can see it clearly now as Hailey not knowing how to proceed, knowing that she’s processing things and maybe even regretting how she handled it the night before.

Hailey coming around that Saturday, an apology coffee in her hand.

Oh god, she is such an idiot.

Somehow Kim had neglected to ever really wonder why Hailey came around, or what she was starting to say as she walked into her bedroom. But Kim wonders now, remembering the casual look Hailey had donned, in the clothes Kim had mentioned is the easiest for them to get off, remembering how Hailey had done her hair in that messy sort of way she did on their not-dates, the smile on her lips, and the nerves in her eyes.

Hailey... Hailey had come around to fix things. Not to repair a friendship but maybe... Maybe to express her own mutual feelings, even if it wasn’t as direct or open as the way Kim did the night before.

And Kim had fucked Adam.

It feels as if a bucket of cold water has been poured over her, and Kim looks at the blonde sleeping beside her, wanting to wake her up, to apologize and apologize over and over, realising just how much she had fucked this up. That she could’ve had it all, just like she wanted, that she wasn’t picturing things and instead she threw it away because she couldn’t see past her own hurt.

She doesn’t wake up Hailey. For one, she’s driving and should concentrate on that, lest she gets them into an accident just because she couldn’t wait. And for two, Kim knows she can’t botch this up, that she needs to think this through, think through her apology, how to phrase it, to make sure Hailey understands that she gets it, and that she’s truly sorry.

Kim is just grateful that Hailey decided to sleep most of the way home, knowing that she couldn’t keep in her new realisations in her head if she was awake the whole time. It’s hard enough when Hailey stirs right as they approach Chicago, waking up. Even more hard when Hailey goes to smile at her, but then stops herself, probably remembering the words Kim so, so regrets ever saying.

It’s late, and Voight told them that they get the day off tomorrow for their good work, so Kim drops Hailey off at her apartment. It’s agony watching Hailey barely look at her, getting her bag from the boot silently and just saying a quiet thank you. Kim can see how much Hailey’s own hurt is dripping off her, and all she wants to do is get out of the car and kiss her.

It’s even more hard to watch Hailey retreat to her apartment building, watching her walk away from her. It feels as if Hailey’s taken her heart with her, and with every step the ache in Kim’s chest grows.

Even waiting until tomorrow to apologize feels impossible.

And when Kim realises half way on her way to her own apartment that the car she’s driving is Hailey’s, that they had forgotten that, she knows she can’t wait any longer. She’s got to fix things, now, and she’s got a good reason for driving back.

Kim stops, briefly, parked in a store’s car park. There she gets out of the car, letting the cool late march air wash over her, before digging out her phone and dialling.

“Kim?” Adam answers almost straight away.

“Hey. Sorry for calling, I need to ask you something.” Kim pauses, pressing her free hand against Hailey’s car, feeling the cool metal beneath it. Adam waits patiently. “That Saturday, after we, you know. And Hailey came in. What... Okay just go with me here, what do you think is going on?”

Adam laughs.

“Well, Kev owes me five bucks. He thought you’d go to him for advice.”

“I’m not asking for advice. I just want to know what you think.” Kim immediately gets defensive, only spurring on the chuckle Adam gives her.

“Kim, everyone knows you two are sleeping together. Okay so I didn’t know until that Saturday—yes, Kevin and Jay teased the fuck out of me for that—but it wasn’t hard to figure out. And everyone pretty much knows you two had a lover’s spat—which, Kim, you know I love sex, but next time talk to your girlfriend instead of sleeping with me, I’ve never felt so awkward in my life—and everyone wants you two to sort it out. And if you want my advice—,”

“I’m good,” Kim cuts him off, but light heartedly. “I just wanted to know, there’s definitely something there, between us.”

“Kim, aliens on Mars knows there’s something there. It’s so obvious, the looks you give each other.”

“Thank you—just thanks. And I’m sorry, for using you.”

After her conversation with Adam, Kim feels a hundred pounds lighter, a bounce in her step. She needed to get confirmation from someone else, that she isn’t seeing things, that she isn’t imagining feelings between them. She’s hurt Hailey enough, she can’t go in and apologize if she’s yet again got the wrong end of the stick.

She makes one last detour, going into the store quickly to grab some flowers. They’re only the cheap stuff, the fancier shops shut by now, but they’re still pretty—of course, nowhere near as pretty as Hailey is. But then again nothing is.

Kim is a bundle of nerves when she knocks at Hailey’s door. The time it take Hailey to answer feels like an eternity and her nerves only build while waiting. But then she opens the door and Kim knows, knows, that this is exactly what she needs to do.

“Kim?” Hailey looks shocked and confused to see her standing there, and she only gets more confused when she sees the flowers in Kim’s hands.

“It was your car. The car we took—it was yours.” As for starts to romantic speeches go, this could be better, especially as Kim hands the car keys to a confused looking Hailey.

“You could’ve driven it home.” Hailey says.

“I didn’t want to. I wanted... I wanted to see you. Hailey, I fucked up. I don’t want you to be just a co-worker, I want so much more. I want you. And I miss you too, like so much. And I’m so sorry that I slept with Adam and I pushed you away and saying—saying everything I said. And I know this probably can’t just make this all better, but I get it, I get you. Everything, how you reacted and everything. I was blinded by my own hurt, and I’m sorry I didn’t take into account your own trauma. But I got you these flowers, and I, uh, I won’t tell you I love you again because I don’t want to overwhelm you, but I will ask you if you could kindly please give me another chance and maybe go on a date with me?” Kim’s heart is beating so, so fast in her chest that she wouldn’t be surprised if Hailey’s neighbours could hear it.

There’s the longest pause between Kim finishing and Hailey responding and it feels like forever, and all that could go wrong flashes through her mind, but then Hailey smiles.

Hailey smiles, and it’s like the sun comes back into Kim’s life, lighting up her world.

“I’m sorry too, for how I reacted. I didn’t mean it, we were not just fucking, not to me anyway. I... I wanted to ask you out but I was so scared and then when you said that, I just panicked. There’s so much bad memories tied up around in those words and I didn’t know how to handle it, not coming from you. I’m sorry. And I’d love to go on a date.” Hailey’s words makes Kim’s heart skip a beat.

“But first,” Hailey then says, before stepping towards her, squishing the flowers still in Kim’s hands as she kisses her. It’s gentle, soft but so perfect. She pulls back, blue eyes shining.

“And if you’re not going to say it, I will.” Hailey takes a deep breath. “I love you,”

Hailey goes in for another kiss, and this time Kim drops the flowers on to the floor, wanting, needing, her hands to be free as she wraps her arms around her, pulling her tight against her, hand in her hair and deepens the kiss.

For the first time in six weeks, Kim finally feels alive. It’s not long before the two, still interlocked, retreat into the apartment, the flowers long forgotten outside the door.

Kim knows this is what she could’ve had six weeks ago, on that Saturday, had she not slept with Adam. She would’ve thought that she would have wanted a milestone like this to happen in her own place, in her own home, but the reality is that nowhere is home, no one place is home.

Her only home is with Hailey and finally, at last, Kim is home.

#chicago pd #kim burgess #hailey upton #kim burgess x hailey upton #upgess #chicago pd fanfiction #wlw fic #ree writes #ree's.writing #ree's.wlwriting #abby tag

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Damocles

Characters: Zhongli, fm!reader

Word Count: 3,211

Warnings: Hanahaki disease – depictions of a fictional illness with symptoms mimicking tuberculosis, mentions of coughing up blood, talking a lot about death

Premise: In which the reader thinks Zhongli doesn’t reciprocate their feelings, and fears the consequences.

Author’s Note: Ngl, I don’t think I’ve ever really heard about this trope before, except maybe in passing. So if it’s a little weird that’s why.

I ended up taking the story in a bit of a macabre direction. Hopefully not too melodramatic, but I kinda like how it turned out.

Zhongli

“Thank you for telling me, but I’m afraid I cannot return your feelings. I’m sorry to be a disappointment.”

In truth you couldn’t decide whether or not you had expected your feelings to be returned. You and Zhongli had been friends for years now, and you had grown closer to him than you had to most of your previous friends and acquaintances. Indeed, you had grown closer to him than you had to many of the people you’d been in previous relationships in. You called upon him in some form almost every day, whether it be to discuss something of importance or simply bask in his presence. When there was something new you found about, whether it be a story in a book or a particularly funky looking shell, you almost immediately sought out Zhongli to share your find with.

For Zhongli’s part, he also liked to share experiences with you. At the very least you couldn’t say that your friendship was one sided. He often would be the one to walk up to you on the street, a new brand of tea written down on a piece of paper in his pocket, or a location where one could find particularly beautiful glaze lilies on his lips. He never seemed to mind when you peppered him with endless questions, or talked his ear off about your own day; something which you often asked if he found annoying. No, you were very sure that Zhongli wasn’t simply spending time with you out of pity.

In truth it was your friends who guessed the trajectory of your personal feelings before you did. Though you often found their poking and prodding intensely irritating, they had the common sense to keep the questions to a minimum – perhaps in hope their silence might guarantee that your affections would reveal themselves naturally one day. Now though you had to admit they had been right. You had fallen for Zhongli how long ago? It seemed so difficult to say when, so gradually had your feelings changed from viewing him as a confidante to viewing him as something more. Once you had finally come to terms with it you’d put off revealing your feelings as long as possible.

It wasn’t just the chance of rejection, something that would already cause emotions to run high. You had seen what sort of disease could ravage those who were unlucky in love. One of your own friends had suffered from such a disease, a fellow member of the Liyue Qixing had died from such a thing only a few months ago.

It was a terrible disease, everyone at least could agree about that. The origins of such an unfathomable sickness was much less understood. Most saw it as a curse from the gods, a punishment to the humans who would love a fellow mortal more than those who ruled above them, who gave their protection, their mercy, and their gifts to the people below. Others argued that it was simply a result of stress, for what heart could take the shock of a truly deep rejection. A rare parasite, a curse from malevolent demons, all these theories made little difference when it came to the actual disease. You were fairly sure anyways that people dying of it couldn’t care less why it happened, only that it was happening to them.

First came the coughing, easy enough to ignore in a land where the common cold truly lived up to its name. Then you couldn’t run as fast or as far as you had once, at least on the days were you weren’t fighting off crippling fatigue – the night sweats doing little to help you in your desperate need for rest. Then the fever set in, then the blood that stained the porcelain sink. By the time the first few petals would appear emaciation would already begin to claim your muscle mass and the precious body fat that kept you alive. Some people didn’t even get to the point of regurgitating fully formed flowers. Those people were usually considered lucky, for when one must deal with an incurable disease, well, surely it is better to go sooner rather than later.

You wouldn’t lie and say that wasn’t one of the reasons it took you so long to confess. After all, what you don’t know won’t kill you, right? You weren’t actually sure about that, but it sounded right in your mind, regardless of its actual veracity. However, as with most people in love, you’d found a growing recklessness inside you, paired with the sudden desperation for a happiness which you would certainly never obtain at this rate. So you’d made up your mind to tell him, deciding that perhaps the certainty would be better than the ever growing cloud of anxiety that surrounded your thoughts.

Now you’d been rejected. You had to admit that your first reaction was utter panic, the distinct feeling of having made a terrible sort of mistake. Oh sure, your feelings were undeniably hurt, but that was less important than the virtual death sentence you’d been handed. Why oh why had you decided to do this? The world seemed to swim in front of your for a moment, as simultaneously everything came into sharp focus and faded away into the recesses of your mind. What would you do now? There was nothing to do, you just had to wait for the inevitable, wait for the cold embrace of death to welcome you to its abode. You took deep breaths, trying to control yourself. Tears were forming in your eyes, but you knew that they weren’t from romantic distress. Ironically romance was the last thing in your mind right now.

“I, I see. Thank you for your honesty.”

It was all you could manage to make out. Turning around, head light from fear, you bolted down the streets of Liyue, desperate to be in your home, desperate to ignore the sword of Damocles that now hung dangerously low over your head.

Zhongli watched you go, watched as you stumbled your way through the crowd that always packed the streets of Liyue in the daytime. He was fine, he was perfectly fine. He had seen it through, had done what he knew was right. There was no reason to regret. Surely the small stab of pain he felt was temporary, a pinprick compared to all that the ex-archon had suffered over the years.

Zhongli had suspected that a confession like this might’ve been on the horizon for quite some time now. Not that he was dreading it out of a personal inability to reciprocate. No, in his heart Zhongli already reciprocated your suspected feelings. He loved you, adored you even; within the stony heart that had atrophied over years of war, suffering, and personal duty, grew a love that Zhongli had not felt for a very long time. He cherished every moment with you, knowing that his long life would try to compress the memories that were so precious to them. Seeing you whenever he could, dragged out conversations as long as he possibly could, Zhongli was practically desperate for time with you. He was also intensely aware of how short that time would ultimately be.

How could Zhongli push the curse of loving an immortal being on you? For it truly was a curse, to both parties involved. His side was painful of course, the knowledge that your memory, you lifespan even, would slip through his fingers like grains of sand. He would always be wondering whether or not the two of you would be experiencing a “last”. Last visit to the sea, last time to climb up the Huaguang Stone Forest to watch the sunset together. Last, last, last. Always the shadow of death would hang over you, so palpable in Zhongli’s mind that he might almost reach out and grasp the gossamer veil that would eventually steal you away. Yes, it would be a truly painful experience. Not nearly as painful however as your own experience.

Zhongli had long ago come to the conclusion that mortals had no true concept of the passage of time. You were young now, the world was your oyster. Zhongli’s immortal status would be nothing more than a passing thought, an anomaly and nothing more. Then your 40th birthday would pass, then you 50th, then you 60th, 70th, 80th. By the time you reached the end of your life the difference between you and Zhongli would stretch out like a chasm between the two of you, something to never be reconciled, for the old rarely forgave the young for their youth. Not to mention the other scenario, the one that Zhongli would never allow the freedom to truly cloud his thoughts. Your death of old age would be a tragedy, the alternative a catastrophe.

He knew all this, had seen it time and time again. Zhongli was hardly the first immortal being to fall in love with a mortal, would not be the last. Adepti, archons, all walks of immortal life were drawn to humanity, drawn to the freedom that came with mortality. Humans did things because they died; they had no forcible tie to nature, no innate duty other than to themselves. Humans could be wicked or kind or cruel or merciful as they wished. To those who were chained by their destiny, well, there was something very anomalous in such a choice. Perhaps it was no surprise then that an immortal being would inevitable find themselves interacting with those supposedly below them. Perhaps it was no surprise that this often led to love.

All that being true, Zhongli still refused to give into his needless selfishness. He loved you, yes. Knowing that was enough. He wouldn’t push such a burden on you, wouldn’t cause you resentment or pain. It would be better if you thought that your feelings weren’t reciprocated, it would be less painful.

Nor would you have to worry about the curse to which many less lucky fell. Zhongli still loved you, still cherished you deeply. You would never have to worry about that, for archons and adepti do not move on from love the way humans do. Zhongli’s love for you would long outlast your lifespan, one which, the archon prayed, would be very long indeed.

Yes, everything had been handled well enough. Perhaps you would never wish to speak with him again, perhaps you would grow to resent him even, how quickly love can turn into hate. It didn’t matter though. Zhongli had shielded you from long, drawn-out suffering, and that was all that mattered. He should’ve been satisfied, should have felt relief. Instead however he only felt a great sadness pressing down, a sadness combined with the pain that accompanied a love that must never truly be realized.

It had been nine days since you’d been rejected by Zhongli. Crossing off another square on the calendar which you had dug out of your old stationary you sighed. The nine days succeeding the encounter had been utter hell. At first you were convinced that the worst thing that could happen was the symptoms of the wretched illness showing up quickly, so convinced you were that the next day you would wake up with blood on your pillow. Soon however, you’d come to a completely different conclusion. There was nothing worse than waiting.

Every day was spent in the agony of anticipation, every day waiting for the coughing to begin, for the night sweats to begin ravaging your sleep, for the breathe to be stolen from your lungs. Yet every day you woke up with none of these things, though your fatigue was real enough.

You should have been relieved, should have been glad for the opportunity to live even a few more days. Yet instead of relief you only felt deep, unrelenting dread. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything, so crippled were you by morbid anticipation.

Not that your thoughts were particularly worthwhile either. Perhaps it would be one thing if your ruminations had brought up something profound, something that you could write down in a book for your family or your friends. Though it still would be poor solace, well, at least it’d be something. But your thoughts had all turned to mush, replaced by a paranoia so strong it confined you to your bed most days.

You thought that the death sentence would in some way be freeing, that you might be able to recklessly throw yourself at all the things you had avoided out of fear for so long. Instead you found yourself depressed, waiting for an inevitable so terrifying you found yourself disconnecting from the people around you. What did it matter anyways? You’d be dead soon enough.

This gross neglect of your wellbeing was at least somewhat allayed by the routine that had been drilled into your body from so many years working for the Liyue Qixing. Though you didn’t go to work, something you were sure you were going to hear about eventually, you still dared to venture out to the market. At the very least you would eat your fill in good for before the end was nigh. No need to worry about your health after all. Besides, your definition of good food didn’t necessarily always align with completely unhealthy.

Walking through the familiar streets you stared at the people around you. How odd it was to see people so close you could touch them but so far they might as well have been in Inazuma. Was there anyone else here suffering like you were? Anyone who could understand the thoughts that now flooded your brain? You stared at the ground, trying not to think about it. You’d be confronted with these thoughts the minute you got home anyways. Might as well delay it a bit.

Turning to find the fishmonger you spied a familiar silhouette. Stopping in your tracks you stared unabashedly at Zhongli. The man seemed to be carrying himself much as ever, but the unapproachable atmosphere which he’d blanketed himself in seemed somewhat more prominent. Perhaps it was your imagination, he seemed to be talking to the butcher easily enough. Not that it was any of your business. Zhongli wasn’t any of your business anymore. It would be better if you could forget him, if you could erase this feeling in your heart that refused to go away. Even now Zhongli was beautiful. Even now you wished to run up to him, to hug him, to make pretend everything was right with the world. You couldn’t do that though. Just as you couldn’t forget him, you couldn’t love him. Not in the way you wanted. Turning away you trudged back home, good food utterly forgotten.

It was day eighteen since Zhongli had rejected you, and by now your emotions were running almost unbearably high. You’d sunk into an odd reverie of adrenaline, anxiety, and utter disbelief. What in the world was going on? This was a familiar illness to you, something that had almost claimed the life of your friend and had felled your coworker. You knew everything about symptoms, timeline, etc.; and what you knew was you were supposed to be falling ill ages ago. Eighteen days between the initial rejection and the beginning of symptoms? It was unheard of! You didn’t know what to think. Were the rumors about the gods true, had Zhongli imposed some divine protection on you for the sake of your friendship? Were you somehow a superhuman who had the white blood cell coding to defeat the bacteria that caused this disease? Why hadn’t your descent begun yet?

You lounged on the couch, having moved out of your bedroom on the thirteenth day, three days after the latest possible showing of symptoms. Though you still felt deeply afraid, you found that curiosity was a surprisingly good deterrent when it wanted to be. Your fears hadn’t disappeared, but mixed with them was a disbelief so great that you often found your thoughts drifting to questions of how rather than questions of when.

Of course your initial instinct had been to seek out Zhongli. Pride mixed with fear however had kept you firmly at home. Really what was the point in even seeking out the answer to your miraculous reprieve at this point? It wouldn’t really change the outcome. Instead you might as well enjoy this unexpected extension of your life. Besides, you didn’t want to tempt the fates a second time.

Zhongli stood at the window of your first story apartment, a glaze lily in hand. He hadn’t meant to do this, but the urge refused to leave him.

He’d noticed you a few times at the market, face drawn, eyes empty. Zhongli wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting, but certainly this wasn’t it. He knew you weren’t suffering from illness, your pace was strong, if slightly erratic, your general aura not that of the sick that Zhongli was all too familiar with. Why then did you look so terrible? The doubts that had plagued Zhongli began to rise again, jeering at the mistake he had made. He was supposed to protect you, right? Why then did you look as if you had experienced a total health collapse?

At first Zhongli tried to ignore it. You had not come to him for help, it was not his place to try and insert himself back in your life once more. The more he thought of you however, the more he found himself uneasy. He had to have some form of communication, some way to enquire about your health. At least one last time. If you explicitly rejected all forms of contact, well then Zhongli would leave. He would never defy your wishes in such a way. Until then however, he felt like he needed to ask.

The idea of walking up to your apartment and asking you was utterly off the table. Who knew how that might end? No, he wanted a subtler way. Glaze lilies had always been a favorite of yours, sneaking out into the evening to see them bloom even more so. He would simply leave one on your windowsill. If you took it, then he would enquire about your health. If you left it, well Zhongli would have his answer.

His hand trembled slightly as he stared at the windowsill, causing the gold ribbon tied around the lily to tremble slightly. At first Zhongli wanted only to give you the flower. He realized soon however that you might be confused, wondering if someone had not simply dropped a flower on your windowsill, or had the wind blown it there? The ribbon would hopefully clear things up. Even if it looked a little silly.

Slowly placing the flower down onto the open window Zhongli sighed. Turning around he did not dare spare a glance backwards. He would have his answer soon enough after all. Until then, well, there was no point in looking back.

You exited from the kitchen, having finally felt the energy to make yourself that good food you’d been promising yourself. Going to look at the sunset you let out a soft gasp.

On your windowsill was a single glaze lily, wrapped in gold.

#no one dies but I left the ending a bit ambiguous on purpose #I wrote more about it in the ask #genshin impact fanfiction #zhongli x reader #genshin zhongli #genshin impact #requested #oneshot #my writing

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

For You Became My Lighthouse (Part 2)

Genre: hurt/comfort

Pairing: romantic Prinxiety

Content: argument, crying, a decent dose of awkward but it gets resolved!

Word count: 4.1k

Comment: This is the fourth time I’ve tried to post this--- Part 1 HERE!

Roman, is everything alright?

-Logan

Roman ran a hand through his hair at the message, checking the time at the top of the screen. It was late, far too late, so it was safe to assume that Logan had heard about the spat from Virgil. He should have been home by now. It was just… impossible to convince himself to actually leave the rehearsal studio. He had a younger acting class tomorrow and was perfecting his lesson plan- even though he already knew it was perfect, and his director had already approved it. Just, anything to keep him from going home.

He’d been a dick. Such was obvious; from the second his finger had hit send, he regretted approximately everything in his life that had led to this moment. That day had been particularly bad, overrun with rehearsals he was either taking part in or directing, and gearing up for tech week of a large production. Who knew trying to block a scene with a flurry of pre-teens could take so much out of you? Rinse and repeat the cycle with two more classes to teach back to back and an achingly long dance rehearsal, add in a desperate and fruitless search for a replacement lead in his upcoming directorial debut, and you’d have what Roman would categorize as a “shit show of a day”.

All he wanted to do at the end of it was spend some time with his boyfriend, without having to talk about his day, so he’d suggested the most basic date his fried brain could conjur. Then his work desk was unceremoniously reacquainted with his forehead as he smacked it into the wood, letting out a groan that bordered on a yell. Luckily, minutes ago everyone had abandoned the theatre, and he’d been trusted with the keys to lock up from a stagehand. He just had a couple more things to do, and then he could drive home.

Getting a reply of denial from Virgil was nothing new. In fact, he’d been warned in the transition from reluctant acquaintanceship to inevitable friendship, that he tended to veto ideas if they were sudden, or too daunting, or if he was just feeling shitty. It was something that Roman never considered a deal breaker, and he’d slowly come to much rather enjoy a night of cuddling and watching television than going out anyways. Call it ‘getting old’, call it ‘Virgil’s homebody ways creeping into his psyche’. So usually, getting his plans rejected was no big deal.

Except for today, when he was well and past his limit of frustration, and things not going to plan. He’d typed out and sent the snarky reply far before he’d thought it out whatsoever, and ranted out complaints that hadn’t ever crossed his mind before, which he immediately regretted. In a moment of shame so great it caused physical nausea, he tossed his phone into one of his desk drawers and slammed it shut.

It buzzed once, twice, and then went silent.

Until, of course, it began to go berserk an indecipherable amount of time later, and Roman couldn’t ignore it. Seeing Logan’s text, along with about a million missed calls from him and Patton, broke the fragile sense of calm he’d tried to achieve while working.

He didn’t want to go home and face his consequences. Childish, yes. Well deserved, also yes, but he was afraid of Virgil’s inevitable anger. If this led to a breakup, a fight that wasn’t recoverable, he’d never forgive himself.

And now…

Roman, is everything alright?

-Logan

I can see you’ve read my text message.

-Logan

I’m at work.

You’re inconceivably moronic. Get home. Now.

-Logan

Roman sighed heavily through his nose, clenching his jaw. He began typing out another snarky response- because apparently he never learned- when another text came through.

Virgil was in significant distress last I spoke to him and he has stopped answering me and Patton. Go. Home.

-Logan

Please. If not for my sake, then for Virgil’s.

-Logan

Fuck.

Roman barely had the sense to lock the doors of the building in his rush, throwing the spare key back in through the mail slot and booking it to his car. He sent some sort of confirmation that he was going and tossed the phone to his back seat. Virgil hated when he used it while driving.

It was only on the drive back, on unusually empty roads, did he realize it was well past nine. He hadn’t even noticed the time passing by.

Most of the lights in the apartment complex were still on when he pulled into the car park, but their window visible on this side showed only darkness. He wasn’t used to entering a dark apartment.

Their flat was silent, the living room only illuminated by the oven clock and the dim city lights from the balcony. He toed off his shoes as silently as he could, wincing when he kicked their shoe rack, and decided he’d risk turning on the light. When he finally found the switch and flicked it on, he couldn’t help his gasp.

The room had once been a pristine display, he could tell. A white table cloth adorned their usually bare dining room table and a half burned candle stood as its centrepiece. He approached it in a daze, cautiously resting a hand on the plate of ravioli nearest to him. Cold. Long cold; the pasta was starting to get crusty.

He picked up the two plates, intent on throwing out the food. It definitely wasn’t safe to eat anymore, and he didn’t feel like warding off an attack of ants in the morning. One of the towels hanging off the oven handle was drenched in what looked like marinara sauce, and it looked like there was some more spilled in the crack between the stove and the counter. That would be fun to clean.

Both hands full, he opened the cupboard containing the garbage bin with a socked foot, and promptly froze.

Part of him cringed at the clang the dropped plates made on the counter, but the louder part of him was just repeating a mantra of ‘holy shit, holy shit, holy shit’ and it was considerably out-screaming the other. Hands now shaking, Roman picked up the small box from the sink edge, ignoring the dried, crunchy texture of more tomato sauce on the outside, and opened it.

It took every ounce of strength for Roman not to collapse to his knees, guilt instantly crushing the air from his lungs, a thousand times heavier than it had been before. An elaborate dinner, a ring… there had been a plan. That’s why Virgil had rejected his offer to go out.

And he’d been such a dick to him.

Speaking of which, where was he?

Roman closed the box and set it back where it had been. Their bedroom door was slightly ajar, and the most obvious place Virgil would be, so he padded over and creaked it open just a bit more. The light from the hallway cast a beam onto the bed, illuminating first a mess of hastily thrown clothes; his button up shirt he only used for fancy occasions on top of the pile.

Virgil’s huddled form was easy to make out, curled away from the door, his only movement being the steady rise and fall of the blanket as he breathed. Figaro lifted his head from where he was settled in the crook of Virgil’s knees and gave Roman an indifferent mrow.

He couldn’t get into bed with him. There was no scenario where that was the right move. It wasn’t the right time to talk about what had happened, not so late and when they were both riding high on emotions and tiredness, so accidentally waking Virgil was not the way to go. And even if he was sneaky enough to not wake him… a part of him just felt it was wrong. Not when he didn’t know Virgil’s stance on him at the moment.

Or his stance on the relationship.

Well, couch it was. He acknowledged the crumpled weighted blanket and sound blocking headphones- clear aftermath of a bad panic attack- with a quiet curse. Somehow that pit in his stomach got even bigger, making him nauseous as his shame took a physical form.

He could only pray that they would come back from this.

Roman’s sleep was fitful, to say the least. At best, he drifted into a state of half-consciousness, where his thoughts could be somewhat quieted down, but the discomfort of the couch and the heavy weight in his heart were still palpable. Inevitably, one of their neighbors would make a noise or the building would make a settling creak or a distant dog would bark, and the state would be broken, leaving Roman wide awake and wracked with guilt once more. He’d never noticed how loud the world was until he wanted nothing more than for the noise to stop.

The sun was just peaking into the window when their bedroom door widened and Roman flew up, using the back of the couch to steady his sudden sitting position. When their eyes met from across the room, Virgil in his pajamas and face hidden in shadow, a tenseness settled over the room that neither had experienced in their relationship thus far. Virgil froze in the doorway, wavering slightly. It didn’t appear he wanted to be the one to break the silence.

Roman stood slowly, as though not to spook him.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Virgil whispered with a sniff, and even in that one word Roman could hear the scratchiness of his voice. “I just...uhm,” He cleared his throat, “I just wanted to get some water. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was already awake. No… no worries.”

Virgil looked down to his feet. “When did you come back?”

“I think just before ten.”

“‘Kay.”

For an all too long moment, both of them seemed to find interest in every part of the room that wasn’t the other’s eyes. It wasn’t until Roman looked towards the kitchen in his awkwardness did he process what Virgil had come out for.

“I’ll, um…” He pointed weakly to the kitchen and finally convinced his feet to move, filling up a glass from the sink while making a conscious effort to not look at the dishes or wasted food from the evening before. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the way his gaze drifted towards the box sitting next to the tap, and judging by Virgil’s sharp inhale, the look hadn’t been subtle.

He took the glass back to the other, watching him take it with an uncomfortable, “Thanks.”

Virgil downed the glass in one go, his shaking hands almost causing him to spill. He barely had time to take a breath before Roman had zipped the empty glass back onto the counter.

“Do you want more?” He asked, already refilling the glass.

“No, I’m… it’s okay.”

Roman placed the full glass on the counter quietly and the two were swallowed by heavy silence once again. The clock ticked impossibly loud as they stood, fidgeting, wanting this moment to be over but not wanting to be the one to start it.

Virgil took a shuddering breath and wrung his hands together.

Roman stared resolutely at a single water drop making its way down the glass.

This was his fault. He’d started it. It seemed only right that he break the tension that almost suffocated him, so even as his mind screamed for him to shut up and every muscle in his body turned to liquid, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Virgil, I-”

“I’m sorry.”

That effectively stopped Roman in his tracks. All night, he’d crafted a collection of apologies, from eloquent monologues to stumbling pleas for forgiveness, but in not one of his countless scenarios had Virgil apologized.

“I know… I know I can be a lot to handle, I know, I swear. And I was more outgoing when we first met, because I thought I had something to prove and it always exhausted me and I hated it but then we became… I don’t know, official? And closer and… and more comfortable and I didn’t think I had to do that anymore, I didn’t have to keep pushing myself so far!”

“V, stop-”

“The panic attacks and the anxiety and all that shit are a lot for other people and I know that but I didn’t know it was too much for you, I didn’t know you were tired of that and I can be better, I swear, I swear I can go back to how I was in the beginning, just please don’t leave.”

Virgil let out a choked sob and Roman couldn’t stop himself from rushing forward, intent on holding his stupid, stupid boyfriend until he realized this was in no way his fault, only for Virgil to back up before he could do so.

“I’m- I’m not trying to guilt you, I’m sorry, I just, I love you, and I can be better, I can, just give me a chance, please-”

“Virgil, baby, come here.”

This time when he reached forward, Virgil allowed himself to be pulled into his boyfriend’s chest, basically collapsing against him as soon as Roman’s arms tightened around him. The dam broke moments later and Virgil finally let go of his own hands to grab the back of Roman’s shirt with a sense of urgency.

“Please don’t leave, I’m so sorry,” he begged raspily into Roman’s shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Roman hung onto him almost as tightly in return, rocking them back and forth, finally allowing himself to cry. He shoved his face into Virgil’s hair, peppering small kisses and apologies to the crown of his head in between sobs.

Virgil whined when Roman finally pulled away, but he didn’t go far, cradling his boyfriend’s face in his hands and wiping his tacky cheeks with his thumbs.

“Virgil, I cannot apologize enough for yesterday.”

“What are-” he hiccuped, “What are you talking about? It was my fault.”

“No, no, no no no no no,” Roman whispered, fighting that damn lump in his throat once more. “I had a spectacularly shitty day, and I took it out on you. I was leagues out of line. It wasn’t fair to you and I’m so, so unbelievably sorry.”

As if the strings were cut on a marionette, all the tenseness dissolved from Virgil’s shoulders and he slumped forward, bumping his head weakly into Roman’s chest. “Can we sit down?”

“Yeah, of course.” Roman clumsily led him to the couch and sat on the adjacent cushion, assuming that if Virgil wanted to talk, he’d want his own space. His assumption was incorrect, however, judging by how Virgil crossed the space almost instantly and buried himself in Roman’s side like a koala. He shifted them both until he was laying on his back, Virgil splayed across him .

“I thought you’d be more upset with me,” He muttered, freeing his hand to run it through Virgil’s hair. His fingers raked through his own tears trapped in the locks and he grimaced.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling right now,” responded Virgil, accompanied by a shuddering breath, “I just need to know that you’re really here. And I need you.”

They were quiet for a moment, watching the sun begin to peek through their window, until Virgil spoke again sardonically.

“If this is a dream, I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Roman snorted despite himself and felt Virgil’s responding half-laugh from where he was tucked against him.

“I agree. I thought I’d fucked up for good this time.”

A disgruntled meow made Roman crane his neck over the couch, watching Figaro stretch languidly in their bedroom doorway. The cat sidled over to his food bowl and sat pointedly next to it. Feed me.

“Later, Figaro,” Roman groaned, all too comfortable with Virgil as his blanket. A small part of him was worried that if he moved them at all, the spell would be broken, and they’d lose whatever peace they’d settled into.

Well, that wouldn’t do at all, not by Figaro’s standards. The cat gave an upset mewl and trotted over to the couch, leaping up with grace and batting Virgil’s legs. It was that pettish action that made Roman realize that Virgil had turned stone still on his lap. Figaro changed his approach to headbutting at his arm in a clear attempt to get pets, but Virgil’s hand stayed still by their sides.

“What’s going through your head?” Roman murmured.

“That stuff you said, about me… not contributing to the relationship…” Virgil croaked, and Roman stilled, “What can I do to-… to fix that? Because I wanna fix it.”

“Baby, no,” Roman whispered, that shame-nausea returning, “I-” He groaned, dropping his head onto the arm of the couch behind him, “I was being an asshole. I didn’t mean that.”

Virgil didn’t budge, still deliberately ignoring Figaro’s futile begging for attention. “Then where did it come from?”

He took a breath deep enough that Virgil rose and fell with his chest, and Roman was struck with the profound urge to pull him closer and never let him go. But that would likely make him feel trapped, and that wasn’t productive. “You remember when I dragged you to that improv show my students put on last year?”

“You introduced me as your boyfriend and we found out the class had placed bets on whether you were gay or not. I don’t know how it wasn’t obvious.”

Roman gasped in mock offense. “Maybe they just were trying not to stereotype!”

“Your phone case is a rainbow-”

“Anyways!” He interrupted, resuming his gentle threading through Virgil’s hair, who snorted but otherwise gave in to the affection. “Remember what happened after?”

“Mmhm.”

It had been a fantastic show, and Roman had been exceedingly proud of his little students, especially since it was his first time ever teaching a class. After the night, when the betting chaos had settled and everyone quickly adopted Virgil as theirs now, they’d pleaded to play a few more improv games before the theatre closed. Seeing as it was their last class, hence the performance in the first place, Roman had acquiesced. But neither of the men had expected for the gang of pre-teens to latch onto Virgil and beg him to play too, despite him having zero theatre experience.

“Remember what they said?”

“They tried to pack all your lectures into five minutes of information.”

“I don’t lecture, I dazzle.”

“They thought you were straight.”

“Only some, and that’s not the point!”

Virgil finally lifted his head, pulling his hands up so he could lay his chin on top of them. He smiled weakly. “Then what is the point?”

“The most important rule of improv is to keep the scene going. No matter what nonsense you have to pull out, just never leave a scene flat.”

There was a quiet moment while the other processed that before, once again, that layer of hurt reappeared on his face. He pushed himself off Roman’s chest in preparation to get up. “So… you’re saying you saw that argument as another scene you had to keep up.”

“No, shit, that came out wrong,” Roman insisted, and Virgil paused suspiciously, “I’m saying, that in a moment of panic, I fell back on bullshitting my way through it! That’s literally what I do for a living!”

The distrust gave way to resignment and Virgil chewed on his cheek, turning his attention to the window. He sat all the way up on Roman’s legs, leaning back on his shins. “How do I know you’re not bullshitting me right now?” He said.

“Because,” Roman followed him up, careful not to move his legs and dislodge his boyfriend, “You know I like when the bed is made, and even though you hate making it, you always do when I’m out of the house before you.”

Virgil looked down at his thumb.

“Because you let me choose the music in the car.”

“... you don’t like loud music,” He muttered, picking at the skin around his cuticle.

“You adjust your work schedule to come to every single one of my shows.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, but you hate working mornings. You let me rant about all my theatre stuff, even if you don’t get any of it.”

“I’m learning.” A faint smile was breaking through.

“You tell me when there’s spinach in my teeth, or my hair is messy, or if I’m acting like an asshole.”

“Well, that’s easy enough.”

Roman reciprocated the smile at that, taking Virgil’s hands in his own to stop the attack at his nail. “I’ve been watching you better yourself for years, even if it’s been really, really hard.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Virgil asked with a small blush, switching his fidgeting tactic to fiddling with Roman’s fingers.

“Every time you do something that betters yourself, you help us, Virgil.” He leaned forward slowly, giving Virgil the time to move away if he wanted to, and rested their foreheads together. “Yesterday, I fucked up. Badly. You said you were anxious and I still acted like a dick. I kinda thought you’d hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” Virgil whispered, seemingly before he had a chance to process it, because his blush multiplied tenfold. Roman grinned.

“Aw, is someone feeling sappy?”

“Shut up, jackass,” He retorted, bonking their heads together ever so gently.

“I’m so sorry, Virgil,” Roman said after their giggles and blushes had faded, “It won’t happen again, I swear.”

In lieu of answering, Virgil closed the already scant distance between their lips, and despite Roman using all of his self control to not sigh into it, he found himself doing so anyways. All the tension bled out of his shoulders at once as Virgil pulled away, pressing one more peck to the tip of his nose, and then leaning back with a small smile.

“So… that means we’re good?”

“We’re good.”

“Thank god,” Roman groaned, flopping back and dropping his arm over his eyes dramatically. He heard Virgil’s quiet snicker before he resumed his job as a blanket. Except this time, instead of nuzzling his head into Roman’s neck, he could feel the distinct edge of a chin digging into his sternum.

The hand lifted from his eyes to see Virgil staring at him, that goofy little smirk on his face.

“What?”

“I love you, idiot.”

Well, now they were wearing matching goofy little smirks.

“I love you too.”

That seemed to satiate him, because he gave a little nod and laid his head more comfortably on the other’s chest. He could have left the conversation there, content to just let them lay there in peace until the world fell away- or Figaro grew more insistent on being fed- but Roman just couldn’t banish the one persistent thought in the back of his mind.

“Were you actually going to propose?” He blurted.

Virgil tensed for a moment, and then gave a resigned sigh. “...Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Roman furrowed his eyebrows, desperately hoping he sounded casual, though his heart was pounding far too loudly to not be heard, “I would have said yes. If you did.”

“Oh?” Virgil lifted his head. “You’re blushing, Princey.” He could hear the smug grin.

“Nooo…” Roman whined. His arm draped once more over his eyes in a weak attempt to hide the redness, but he drew it away only moments later when Virgil didn’t retort.

The man was staring at him with an odd mix of disappointment and amusement, huffing out a breath as he watched Roman’s eyes.

“This wasn’t how I was planning to propose,” He sighed, “It was supposed to be all perfect, and romantic, and stuff. And the surprise is ruined now.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Roman, continuing before Virgil could cut him off, “If it’s any consolation, I think a proposal in our pajamas, on the couch, would be very us.”

“You’re not in pajamas.”

“I slept in these clothes, they count as pajamas.”

Virgil snickered. Roman counted five breaths as the other’s face melted from a smile to anxiously knit brows, worrying his lip between his teeth as he looked down at him. It took another three for him to speak.

“So…uh... will you…?”

Roman’s face split into a grin, “Yes, Virgil. Obviously.”

Virgil’s expression morphed to match his and he swooped down to kiss him again, though they barely could with how much they were smiling. They both devolved into giggles, happy to just stay wrapped in each other’s arms, until Virgil broke away with a gasp.

“Let me grab the ring!”

“Ring can wait,” Roman argued, tightening his grip around his waist to keep him in place, “I want cuddles.”

And so they did.

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@sirprplsnail

#lywrites #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction #prinxiety #romantic prinxiety #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #roman sanders

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sidespromptblog · 3 years

Text

Between the Mask: Part 2

One, Three, and End

Warning: Plenty of tears from all parties, angst, Janus has a momentary panic episode, and Logan has a mental break down.

Summary: Roman confronts Janus about how exactly Roman should act around him, after being told by the others that being both nice and mean to him is wrong. Only to discover that after everything he’s been through, Janus isn’t the person that he portrays in front of everyone else.

Word Count: 4303

AO3 LINK

A strange kind of vigor filled Roman’s chest as he moved towards Logan’s room, a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline danced around his heart the closer that he got. A part of him was nervous about possibly bumping into Patton or Virgil, and having to answer the inevitable questions that would eventually arise when they put two and two together about where exactly he was going and where he was coming from. With Janus’ face still fresh in his mind, Roman felt a sense of protective unease at the thought of Patton and Virgil forcing their way into the safety of his room. Because, the one thing that he certainly did not want to answer was that question and the secrets that it entailed, especially because, despite how Janus may have started to become accepted he wasn’t entirely sure if he was ready for everyone to know about the real Janus just yet.

Especially not without his consent.

And Roman would damned before he broke the fragile trust he had just now built between him and Janus, especially after everything he had initially done wrong between the two of them.

He would guard Janus’ secret like a lion.

“Logan?” Roman whispered as he stood before the simplistic blue door that lacked any distinguishing characteristics, “Logan, I… I know that you’re there.” He winced at his casual tone, given everything the last thing he should be is casual with Logan.

He couldn’t help but to cringe at the vivid memory of himself so carelessly pressing the ignorance button, when Logan had only wanted to do his best and educate Thomas, Patton, and him.

He’d been rather rude, even if he had only meant it jokingly.

A deep sigh rumbled his chest as he forced himself to take a step back from it all, moaning and whining would get him nowhere. Logan had always responded to clear and decisive wording, not emotional blithering and most certainly not sing-songy language.

He needed to speak Logan’s language rather than trying to get across with his own. “Logan, if you’re even listening to me… I want you to know that I.. I see you.” Roman softly began, so much for no emotional language. “I see how much you’ve had to sacrifice for the sake of my and Thomas’ dreams to be a reality. I see how much you’ve had to change while the rest of us gets to stay the same. And…” Here he took a deep breath, pushing down the pride that had always gotten in the way of these apologies. “I’m sorry that I didn’t see it sooner, and.. and I’m sorry for how much I’ve made you sacrifice and just how much you’ve suffered because of it. I’m sorry for hurting you, in every way that I ever have.”

Roman hadn’t even noticed it when he had started to spew out his apologies, but the moment they started the sight in front of him clouded over with tears that he refused to let fall. The knowledge that he’d been not only a bad friend, but also a bad protector, hit him like a punch to the chest. He had never wanted to hurt anyone, but in the end it always felt like no matter what he tried to do, he had always done the opposite. It was like that with Virgil, when he had tried to protect Thomas from the bad thoughts. It had happened with Patton, when he had constantly tried to keep him happy. It had happened with Janus, and now… now it was happening with Logan all over again.

“I’m sorry too…” Came a soft but equally hoarse voice from the other side of the door, “I’m not a very good logic… no matter how hard I try to be. If I was good, then maybe-”

“No!”

Roman’s hands slapped desperately against the door before he even had a chance to think about it, letting silence reign after his outburst. Shaking his head roughly to the point that his usually pristinely styled hard flopped onto his forehead in a mess of curls, Roman pressed the palms of his hands even harder against the door. The last thing that he wanted was for Logan to blame himself for any of this, it wasn’t anybody's fault for how things turned out.

It just happened, that’s why it was called an accident.

“Logan,” He sternly whispered, forcing himself to keep his voice down. “You don’t have to change, you don’t. Not for Thomas, not for the others, and most certainly not for me. Do you understand?” He felt like he was getting dangerously close to both crying, and digging his nails into the door in an effort to get through to Logan. “You don’t have to change for us, you never will. You can say that you don’t feel emotions, but I know you Logan. I’ve seen you smile, I’ve seen you address Thomas and the others as a class, and I’ve seen you happy Logan. Happy.” Roman’s head solidly thumped against the door. “You can still be happy… if you come with me.”

A long stretch of silence drifted between the two of them, before finally…

The blue door that Roman had been unleashing all of his feelings out onto, slowly eased open, almost making the creative side lose his footing before he swiftly regained it.

There stood Logan, huddled into himself wearing his unicorn onesie that Roman hadn’t seen since the day Logan had accidentally worn it during a video with Patton. The socks he was wearing clashed visibly with the pale blue of the onesie, with a garish orange that Roman didn’t dare to comment on. His tie was gone, and his glasses were neatly folded and tucked away into the collar of the onesie letting Roman see the logical side without his glasses for the first time.

He looked tired.

Especially with his eyes rimmed with red, evidence that Roman wasn’t the only one who had been close to crying. The alternative though… hurt Roman’s heart to much to even think about. The idea that all this time, while Roman had been wallowing in self angst, Logan had been crying with not a single soul to comfort him or tell him that it would be okay.

It hurt.

It hurt a lot.

Logan’s eyes darted away, the vulnerability of the prolonged eye contact already too much for him. “Why do you want me to come with you?” He finally muttered, his fingers twitching and fiddling where his tie would usually be. “That’s usually the opposite of what you want from me.”

That was true too, in the past Roman had been almost obsessed with making Logan go away so that he could continue with his fanciful daydreams about just what Thomas could accomplish. He had never even considered how it might make Logan feel to be on the receiving end of all of that.

Roman’s arms itched to drag Logan into a hug, a hug that would wipe away every careless action he had ever done in his life. “Someone wants to see you.” He instead said, moving his hand to rest on Logan’s back, small steps after all… small steps. “He knows exactly how you feel… he’s had to change a lot of himself just to be listened to. And I think…. I think that we could all use the company if I’m being honest.”

Logan almost unconsciously leaned into the warmth of Roman’s hand. It had been more than a week since the last video, and at least a week since he had allowed himself to be around the others. Which meant none of the Patton’s hugs, none of Virgil’s awkward leans that happened to brush against him sometimes, and… no touch, in general.

“Why?”

The question left Logan’s mouth well before he was ready, but even so, despite the question he found himself walking with Roman back to wherever he had come from. He wanted to go, deep down he knew that he wanted to go. He wanted.. he wanted to finally be understood, he wanted…

To be cared about, without being laughed at and made fun of.

Roman’s smile was almost too easy and too knowing. “Because you’re my friend, and I care about you.”

That was good enough for Logan… for now.

"What are you doing?" Logan asked as he stopped dead in his tracks almost immediately upon entering Janus' room, seeing the dishonest side surrounded by a mound of peach colored yarn. But not before turning to Roman a look of utter befuddlement and uncertainty on his face, emphasizing his question that had still gone unanswered. "What is he doing? What's going on?"

Roman had to fight to keep down the snicker that so badly wanted to burst out of him at the sight of Logan’s confusion, it was such a rare sight for the logical side to be confused by anything. So try as he may, he quickly turned his laugh into a polite cough before looking over to Janus with obviously raised eyebrows. He hadn’t thought it possible, but he looked even more comfy and cozy than when he had first seen him. The reading glasses had been pushed further up his nose, giving him a more dignified look that was utterly swept away by the strings of yarn he had all around his fingers and looped loosely around his neck.

Two needles sat firmly in his hands, waiting to be used.

“I am attempting to learn how to knit,” Janus began with a begrudgingly embarrassed look at the mess around him, “It’s a lot harder to get down than crocheting is, especially with the two needles instead of one. I might need to get a few books, or look up a few videos to learn some more about the different styles.”

The eagerness in Janus’ voice was practically palpable by now, to the point where Logan squirmed where he was standing. The urge to offload several papers worth of information building inside of him like a geyser.

The only thing stopping him was…

This wasn’t Janus.

It couldn’t be Janus.

Janus was a sly worded, silver tongued snake. Who delighted in getting his way, and would go to great lengths just to get it. So this had to some kind of trick, like when he had taken over Patton’s form just to get Thomas to consider lying to Joan. This was just a ploy to get both Roman and him to his side, and against the others just like he had done with Roman during the trial that he had been… neglected from joining. He was just showing them this to get them to trust him, there was nothing else about it. Just…

Just trickery.

The excitement on Janus’ face faltered. “You.. you didn’t tell him?” He uttered softly, his eyes quickly darting from Logan’s face to Roman’s. A look of what could only be considered fear darted over his eyes, although fear over what Logan didn’t know. “You brought him here and you didn’t even tell him what he was going to be walking into?!”

Janus’ heart thudded heavily in his chest, as a feeling being far too exposed washed over him in waves.

Logan had seen him relaxed.

Logan had seen him as he usually was.

Logan had seen him without the walls that he’d meticulously built up for years.

Logan had seen him… Logan had seen him.

What if he told the others? What if he told Thomas? Logan wasn’t exactly known for telling lies, if anything blunt honesty was usually the way that the logical side went about his business. He could tell the others, and it would be no skin off of his nose. He would tell them.

He would tell them if he got the chance to, he definitely would.

His fingers hooked into the blankets surrounding him, gathering them around his shoulders as if they were an invisibility cloak that would shield him from the others’ gaze. Scrunching it around his shoulders and over his head, Janus felt the fire in the fireplace sputtering out as the terror continued to thrum in his veins. They wouldn’t listen to him anymore, they’d laugh at him, and Thomas would go right back to the habits that he’d tried so hard to avoid before.

Everything would be useless.

Janus.. Janus would be useless.

“Janus? Janus?” Janus’ mind snapped back to the present as he felt Roman’s gentle hands rocking him where he sat. “I’m sorry for not telling him beforehand, I figured that it would be easier if I were to bring him here and we could both explain everything to him.” Roman’s heart had frozen at the sight of utter terror that had crossed Janus’ face, well before the dishonest side had tucked himself away like a terrified squirrel under his little burrow. “I’m sorry for not making that clear before, do you.. do you want us to leave?”

Roman hoped not, he desperately and dearly hoped not.

But seeing Janus’ careful ragged breaths moving the blankets, he had no idea of what the final verdict would be this time. He wasn’t the judge, and Janus’ face was hidden so he had no idea of just what he’d say. He didn’t want to have to go, he didn’t want to leave Janus after everything he’d figured out about him. After… after the future that he’d promised to try and make for him and Logan.

“Roman,” Logan’s voice softened to almost a whisper as the logical side laid his hand on the creative side’s arm. “Give him a little space, it is likely that he’s just having a panic episode. Crowding him wouldn’t be the best option for him right now. Why don’t we sit and give him some breathing room?”

Leading Roman away from the other side, Logan guided him to a comfortable looking sofa that had been pushed against the wall. Once he’d had Roman seated, Logan settled in next to him. Casting his gaze from the fireplace that was steadily retaining its light and warmth, to the bookshelves that held endless amounts of knowledge in them. It was a very nice looking place, a sort of mix between what would have been Roman’s and his room had they decided to collaborate and make one for the both of them. It was very quaint and homey, if Logan had to use words those would be the exact ones he’d use to describe it.

Warm was another one.

“You don’t have to leave,” Janus finally uttered from his place hidden under the blankets, “I was just… shocked that Roman hadn’t told you, and.. and scared that…” Movement came from his giant pile, and two mismatched eyes looked back at Logan with a fair amount of uncertainty. “I was scared that you’d tell the others, and once they’d know, they’d never take my act in front of Thomas seriously, and they’d just… laugh anytime I needed him to take care of himself. I didn’t know how you’d react and well… I still want to be taken seriously, even if I happen to like being comfortable and not sneaky or sly.Do you.. do you understand?” Janus finally asked, tugging the edge of the covers down just a little bit more, and letting his hair poke out just a little.

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation in Logan’s voice, not a single octave or syllable even hinted that he didn’t understand exactly what Janus was feeling.

He knew.

He knew all too well.

A deep sigh tinged with regret fell from Logan’s lips as he finally stood up, making his way over to Janus’ side before plopping down in front of him. “I know exactly what you mean.” He muttered, distaste coloring his voice. “But…” He added just as quickly. “I don’t understand why Roman wanted me here, I understand if he wanted to share a secret. I’ll gladly keep it, Thomas and the others won’t hear a single thing from me. But... that doesn’t appear to be the case. So what exactly is going on?”

A glance was shared between Janus and Roman, one as quick as a fish in a stream, but one that Logan caught onto nonetheless.

Janus’ fingers fiddled with the ends of his knitting needles, while Roman tapped his feet together focusing on the sensation of the carpet fibers between his toes.

“Logan…” Roman began softly, “When was the last time you smiled?”

And just like that, it felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over Logan’s head. A seven worded question, that was all it had taken to send Logan’s mind to a screeching halt well before it had even started. His nails bit into the palms of his hands, and his lungs burned from the prolonged breath that he had forgotten to take as soon as Roman had prompted the question. Whatever he had been expecting from the both of them, this.. this was not it. The muscles in his legs itched to move, to take him far away from this feelingsy conversation and questions involved in it.

“I’m leaving.” Logan croaked after a minute of pure silence.

As soon as his legs moved to make him stand he almost wobbled, but weak or not his legs could at least carry him to the door.

But apparently not fast enough, as like a snake in the grass, Janus’ hand darted out wrapping around Logan’s wrist and preventing him from taking even a single step away from the other side.

The grip wasn’t strong, and if Logan’s had really and truly tried he could have broken away from it. “Logan, please.” Janus softly intoned, attempting to keep his gaze firmly on Logan, and not on Roman coming up behind the logical side to stop him from making a break for it. “When was the last time you felt happy enough to smile? Please Logan...”

Wordlessly Logan shook his head at the request, as he pathetically attempted to tug his hand out of Janus’ grip. Even with that though, he couldn’t make himself muster the force to break it. He knew what the answer was, but he also knew that he didn’t want to answer it because that would just be one more way that he had failed to keep emotions away from his logical fallacy. It would just be one more way that he had failed at his one and only job, just another tally. But even so…

Logan’s bottom lip trembled for a second, with a truth that burdened his body and mind. “I don’t know.” The whisper came out cracked and broken, just another way to make the side that it had come from.

And with that one little utterance, his knees finally caved sending him back onto the spot he had just risen from.

“I don’t know.” He repeated again, now feeling the frustrated tears prickling at his eyes like pollen in the spring. “Why can’t I remember?!” He angrily and yet wetly huffed, as he tried with all his might to scrape away the tears from his face before they could ever begin. “I must have! I know that I must have recently! But.. but I just can’t remember!” Logan’s entire body shuddered with the force of the sob that rolled through him a hurricane decimating the coast. His hands clasped at his hair, as his arms shielded his face from the only two sides that had ever seen him cry.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried either, and try as he may… right now he couldn’t seem to stop.

He didn’t want to stop.

Here there were no stupid songs forcing him to sing out whatever emotions he was having.

Here there were no Patton’s to make puns about his feelings.

Here he didn’t have to uphold the needlessly rough standards he had for himself in front of Thomas.

Here he didn’t just have to be logic.

Here… with Roman and Janus on both sides of him… he was safe.

So he cried, he cried until he felt like he couldn’t cry anymore. Until every emotion he’d ever felt came spilling out of him all at once, for what must have been hours upon hours. Until his head was resting on Janus’ knee while the other side gingerly ran his fingers through his hair, soothing the dry sobs right out of him. Until he felt Roman’s blisteringly warm hands resting firmly on his back, promising not to go anywhere. For the first time he felt safe enough to let out these emotions, as scary and unpredictable as they may be.

The hand on his back moved a little. “Logan,” Came Roman’s voice close to his back, “I don’t want any of us to have to hide like this again. Janus has been hiding and masking himself for years, so have you, and… I don’t want to do it. I never want to have to do it to feel like I have to survive. That’s why I brought you here, that why Janus let me show you his room. If.. if we want things to start changing for the better… we have to take the first step.”

Sniffling, Logan raised his head a little, looking back at Roman’s surprisingly serious face. He supposed that in a way that Roman was right, he hadn’t even been sure for how long he was going to keep his unfeeling and emotionless facade up or if it would just eventually become a part of himself if he let it go on for long enough. What would have happened if Roman had never gotten him out of his bedroom? If he’d just let Logan be there, unhappy and locked away from everyone who intentionally and unintentionally hurt him.

Nothing would change.

Just one cycle after another, with all of them suffering in silence unable to read the other.

“We’re not mind readers.” Logan mumbled, more to himself than anything. “We shouldn’t expect the other to be either…”

“What?” Janus asked, unable to hear Logan through the folds of fabric, and judging from the look on Roman’s face he certainly hadn’t heard him any better either.

A light dusting of pink made its way over the tops of Logan’s ears.

Giving a little cough though he repeated himself. “I said…” Logan scratched the back of his neck. “None of us are mind readers, and we shouldn’t expect the others to be if we’re not. Hiding and scurrying away when it comes to our true feelings, and acting passive aggressive helps nothing if it just keeps building and building when nobody notices it.” Fiddling with the fabric Logan went on, feeling as if he was digging his own grave at this point. “If.. if someone brings something up in front of the others… we need to have each others’ back, especially if it's something… precious to us.”

Almost immediately Logan felt a pair of hands come up behind him ruffling up his hair, making it stick straight up in the air as Roman grinned at him. Before he even knew it Roman had hooked his arms from behind Logan, giving him the biggest squeeze of a hug that he’d ever felt. And the pride bursting within Janus’ eyes spoke leagues, even if there was nothing else about Janus’ body language that said so.

“If you tell me something that you want to be seriously taken, I won’t laugh at you. And I’ll make sure that the others won’t either.” Roman promised, but not before crossing a giant X over his heart and pretending to jab out his eye. “Janus, if you ever want to show up as you are, and not who they expect… I will stand behind them one hundred percent, and I will stand against them if they have anything bad to say about it at all.” He promised, warmth flooding his chest as he looked down at his two best friends. “I want the both of you to be comfortable and safe. I want you to be able to smile without worry.”

Logan hadn’t thought it possible for his week to end up like this, since the most recent interaction with Janus he’d felt shoved to the side and forgotten. To the point where he was ready to just decide in his room and not make any kinds of comments unless called on by another. But having Roman come to him, and having Roman make his promises…

It felt a lot like hope.

“I hope you know that I will do the same for you,” Logan uttered softness filling his voice, “If they say anything about your ideas that you’re excited for, or have anything to say about how you treat either of us… I have your back, I’ll stand by you.” And turning his gaze to Janus, the one side that he’d thought he’s have to fight against his falsehoods forever. He saw him for who he really was, and who he wanted to be. “I promise you… I will not ever let them laugh at you, I will take you seriously even if they try not to.” A tiny smile quirked onto Logan’s lips, the first one in a long while. “I’ll yell with my teacher's voice.”

“You two will always have a place here.” Janus uttered with a fair amount of reverence. “Through good and bad, if you need me I will be here for you. Should the others turn their backs on you. I won’t. That is a promise.”

Maybe it was just the warmth of Janus’ room, blazing even brighter, but…

They all felt a little warmer that night, ready to take on whatever demons laid in wait for them the next morning.

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