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fullfiresiren · 3 years

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beauty of the dawn

jujutsu kaisen

fushiguro toji x reader

The notion of a loving family was something foreign to Fushiguro Toji. Family, to him, was a bitter word -- full of hate and abhorrence. Abandonment and fear were a commonality in his own childhood. But in you, he finds a warmth he didn’t think he deserved – a home he craved, a love that makes him feel safe; full of gentle touches and soft kisses. But he’s scared. He's broken, and angry, and he knows the threat of his family is always lurking close, snapping at his heels, ready to devour. You bring the notion of family to his doorstep, and he spooks. He panics. He can’t let them find you, he can’t and he has to give up the only feeling of warmth he has ever known to do so.

It haunts him forever – leaving behind the only woman he ever loved, and a child he will never know.

word count: 3.8k.

notes: *inhales* ANGST— lmao but really, I live for it. Toji may be a bad person, but I suck dick, not morals, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ bro I fr don’t even know what came over me. This has been like the smallest headcannon for me and somehow it turned into this horribly sad piece, and although Toji is a dick, I also think he is an incredibly complex character that, at the end of it all, was just a desperate father trying to look out for his child. I think he deserves much more than he got, and he kinda gets shat on in this fic lmao I'm so fuCKING SORRY FOR THAT--

warnings: nsfw/18+, angst, hurt no comfort, abandonment, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader

“Take me,” he prays, panting secrets that fall from his lips onto your soft skin; promises of pleasure as he breeds you deep. “Take all of me.”

And you do – over, and over, and over again.

Hilting him to the deepest part of yourself, and holding him close, so close, his breath a hot ghost across your face as he leans his forehead against yours. You keep him there until he is finished, taking his seed like it was sacrament. He gives you everything he has to offer, and only when you have slipped into a light slumber does he pull away.

He never strays far, though, and he cannot stay away for long. You are like sweet honey and warm sunsets; the breathing embodiment of a life he was never before privy to – the promise of something better; a miracle. Far from the cold depravity and sharp pain of his own family, in you, he found only warm touches, and words of tender affection. Toji feels so overwhelmed by the amount of love he has for you, that sometimes it’s unbearable. He feels so happy he could die.

He is not an honest man, by any means. He kills for a vocation -- and enjoys it, too. It’s something he’s good at. It’s an easy way to make money, and it helps him pay for his half of the rent on the meagre apartment you share. It also lets him keep the fridge full, make sure you’re always warm, and that you’re never without. He doesn’t really care about himself or what he has to do – so long as you’re happy.

The weight of his body is always heavy between your thighs, his chest solid, thrusts slow and deep, stretching you, making a perfect fit for himself inside you. He likes drawing it out – each time he takes you. He enjoys seeing you beg for release, relishes the way your tears slide down your flushed cheeks, because he likes being the one to kiss them away, knowing he is the only one who ever makes you feel this good. His name sounds so perfect when it falls from your lips at your height of ecstasy, and the way you take him in has him swearing he can see heaven.

You see a side of him that no one else does, but he’s dark, he’s toxic. The amount of sadness in his soul is challenged only by the sheer force of his anger. He's sure that he wasn’t always like this, but... he can’t really remember a time when he wasn’t. Everyone and everything was his enemy. He’s never really told you much about his family, or his past. His childhood had been dark, you assumed, based on the way he flinched around children, and steered clear of any conversational topics that included them or parental figures.

Toji Fushiguro was untouchable to everyone, and only just tangible to you.

He wants to be able to give you everything. He wants to lay his head on your chest in the depths of the night when he’s feeling lost, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to come home every night, no matter what happens to him throughout the day, and be able to feel the brush of your soft lips; to taste your tongue with his – god – he wants to. But he’s afraid. He’s scared. If he gives you everything... if he shows you who he really is... what happens if you see something you don’t like? Will you pull away from him? Will you cast him out and abandon him – just like his family did? Toji isn’t feeble by any sense of the word, but he thinks that would be the one thing that would break him.

That’s why he’s only let you see glimpses... and only every now and then.

He’s just so miserable when he’s alone. He’s angry at the world, and you’re the only thing that soothes him. The only thing he has ever loved.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror when he comes home, locked away in the too-small bathroom. You hear the keys turning in the lock; a signal of his arrival, and the door to your apartment opens, bringing with it sounds of paper bags crinkling, keys being tossed into their bowl, and huffing exhales as he struggles to kick his heavy boots off.

“Toji?”

“I’m home!” he calls, his voice a deep timbre in his chest, smooth like rich oak.

You follow it, leaving the safe space of your bathroom to find him, and when you pass the threshold into your small kitchen, he’s lifting bags of fresh groceries onto what little counter space you have. The movement carries with it droplets from an October rain that had caught him by surprise on his walk home, ones that hang from the edges of his black hair and drip down onto his damp black shirt.

“Toji,” you repeat, beaming as you bound into your small kitchen. “I have wonderful news!”

He spares you a glance between unpacking vegetables, dark eyes tracing the curve of your face, hands grasping at packets of food that need to be tossed in the fridge, and cans to be stacked in the shelves.

“Hmm?”

He offers you his face, leaning in close, pausing in his task to receive a small blessing of affection from you — a soft kiss against the scar on his lip that has his eyelashes fluttering closed, and then one more fully against yours – always greedy for any love you bestow, always chasing just one more, just once more, just another, my love, just one more...

He continues with his chore, but only when you giggle at the fluttering of kisses he peppers across your face, your jaw, suckling at your neck, your hands against his chest pushing him gently, urging him to finish his task – but not before you give him another deep kiss, all giddiness and mirth swimming in your gaze. He can’t help the deep chuckle that spills from his lips at seeing you so happy.

“Toji,” you begin, and he’s rummaging in the paper bags, brows furrowed because he could have sworn that he bought three carrots, and not two -- “I’m pregnant!”

He stills.

He can sense your beaming smile, almost feels the warmth of it on his cold skin, and it only makes him shiver.

The seconds tick by without any form of reaction, and the atmosphere grows horribly tense. Toji doesn’t look at you, but he can see from his peripheral vision that your smile slips at the same time that your shoulders round and you make yourself smaller, unconsciously closing off. You’re twisting something in your hands, suddenly nervous, and he has a nauseating feeling that settles in his gut, because he knows exactly what it is that you’re holding.

It’s proof.

“Are you... happy?” you ask, and you hate that you have to. It’s like a punch in the gut, and you’re afraid. This was not the reaction you were expecting at all.

“Are you sure?” he doesn’t know why he asks that.

He isn’t looking at you, and he isn’t moving – he’s not even blinking. You feel your hands becoming sweaty as you clutch the positive pregnancy test, mouth dry. A quickly increasing panic creeps over your skin, gripping you by the throat, and you honestly have no idea how to traverse this kind of response to your news. In the bathroom you only practiced scenarios in relation to a beaming, positive reaction.

Which room should we make into the baby’s room? Our baby can always sleep with us, though, and I know they’re definitely going to prefer you – I'm hopeless with kids... but I hope they look like you, Toji – a perfect combination of everything I love about you!

Do you want to pick names out? I hope it’s a girl... but a boy would be wonderful, too! I know the baby will adore you, no matter what! Do you have any names you like? We can name them after someone you love? If it’s a boy, I want to make his middle name yours...

Why didn’t you think he was going to show apprehension or reluctance? Why were you so idiotic to assume this is something he desired when he’s never given you any signs of wanting to start a family? He’s probably feeling entirely overwhelmed – and no wonder – you have no tact about this. Fuck, you’re stupid. You fucking idiot. Pathetic, dumb, worthless--

“Y-yes,” you reply, and your voice is a shadow of its former self. “I took three tests. I have one here--”

“How.”

You flinch a little under the curtness of his words.

“W-what—?”

“How did this happen?”

“Uhm...” your voice sounds so frail when you speak, and you can't help it. He’s making you feel like you’ve committed a horrendous sin. You’ve managed to combine the epitome of affection between the two of you into the creation of what will become a child – a perfect mix of the two of you, and yet, you’re beginning to hate yourself for doing so. You didn’t mean to... it was an accident... “We don’t... you know... use protection... and we... have sex... a lot...”

“I thought you were taking the pill.”

You feel like you want to throw up.

His entire body is unnaturally still, and he’s not looked at you once since you’ve told him. You are pretty sure that the can in his right hand is warping under the violent pressure of his grasp, and you wring your hands around the test nervously, the weight of it somehow heavy against your palms.

“I... don’t take the pill...” you remind, and then as an afterthought, you add, “I’m sorry.”

Words you never thought you would say in relation to this. You never though you would have to apologize in this kind of situation. You exhale a shaky breath, and it seems to bring him back to reality. He sets the can down on the countertop with more force than needed, and you try your best to blink back tears as you ask, “You’re... not happy... are you...?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and it hurts to say – god, it hurts. The words sting when they leave your mouth, like a hard slap against your face, but the ache is not nearly as bad as the way his silence is wounding you. You feel like you’re about to collapse from the amount of pain you have in your heart.

“I need to go somewhere,” is the most he offers you, before he’s turning on his heels and striding past you, leaving the apartment you share.

The noise of the front door slamming shut echoes in your mind long after the sound itself has gone.

He never did come back.

— — — 5 years later — — —

In the end, you were blessed with a baby girl, all chubby with round, rosy cheeks. Dark hair and eyes like her father, but soft and gentle like her mother. She was an almost perfect child. She never cried, and she never fussed, content in just being close to her mother. She listened when you spoke, and learned fast, growing just as quick, and you would die for her. She was your blessing; Akemi – the beauty of a new dawn.

You’re sure that he would have loved her more than life itself, but you try not to spare any thoughts his way anymore.

Toji gambles his life away, blowing through anything he earns as quickly as he makes it, drowning himself night after night in heavy alcohol to dampen his senses until they are nothing more than a faint hum in the back of his brain.

With any luck, those things will kill him long before the guilt does.

He fucks faceless women, drunk beyond sense, and when he finishes, he leaves before they sleep.

“Hate me, (y/n),” he sneers, turning sharply to vomit up onto the wet asphalt, breath a shaky exhale as he stumbles into the cold night, thoughts only on you – only ever on you – unaware that he’s crying. “Hate me. I fucking deserve it.”

His face is smeared with bile and tears, and he is so fucking angry -- so desperately sad, and he cries, and cries. He wants to go home. He just wants to go home. He wants to meet her – his darling daughter – he wants to hold her, and kiss her forehead, and tuck her into bed. Fuck everything that he thought – he would have been a great father, he knows it – and you knew it, too. He’s so lost without you, and he wants to lay his head on your chest in the safety of your bedroom, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to feel the brush of your soft lips again; to taste your tongue with his, moan your name into your parted sigh, make you feel him again.

He screams, but it catches in his throat before he can, and he splits his knuckles open when he sends a furious punch against a brick wall.

He can protect you from a lot of things – but not the power of his family. Not that. He’s just one man, and they’re so many. He has a heavenly restriction, and they are all blessed with both innate and inherited techniques, passed down through eons. He knows what they’ll do if they ever found out about you – about the child, and Toji swears on everything he has, that he won’t let them touch you – or her. Even if he won’t be able to. Even if he’ll never be able to hold his daughter, to thank her for being born, to cradle her against his chest and feel her wrap her small fingers against his – he won’t let the Zen’in have her. He won’t.

But that doesn’t mean that he deprives himself from watching over her – or you. Eyes follow the two of you home from her pre-school, singing nursery rhymes to your hearts content, watching as she orders “up, up, mommy!”, squealing happily when you lift her onto your shoulders. He imagines himself in your place; lifting her to higher heights, hearing her giggle a chorus of happy songs as your hand finds his, lips on his scar as you tell him how much you love him.

But he always keeps his distance, dark baseball cap shielding his features, and leaves before you feel someone following you.

It becomes increasingly hard to keep it at that. He starts pushing the boundaries, testing how close he can get. He knows he shouldn’t -- he has no right to – but when she dropped her stuffed toy one time in the supermarket, and you were oblivious to it, he finds himself bending down to grasp the too-soft toy in his calloused hands, dropping it in your basket when your back is turned, and your brows are furrowed as you regard the price difference between her favorite flavor of juice compared to the off-brand ones.

The thrill of being so close, of doing something, anything fatherly, was like a fix – a short relief from the aching despair and loneliness constantly plaguing him, and he finds himself doing it more and more – always pushing, always testing the waters. He even smiled at her once when she caught him staring, and she sent her own toothy grin back at him. His heart soared.

His daughter’s name was Akemi, and he first heard it when it fell from your lips one warm afternoon. He wants to write her name on his heart – right beside yours.

He wants to give her something – a pretty gift, but he doesn’t know what. He was never good at buying presents, and would only ever bring you flowers, since it seemed like something that could never go wrong, and would always bring a bright smile to your face. Flowers would be strange for a child, though. He twists the dainty silver bracelet between his large fingers, thinking bitterly that this was the same way you held the pregnancy test all those years ago. He didn’t really care how much it cost him. He’s sure that the salesman added unnecessary tax and extras to the price just to give himself more commission, but Toji doesn’t care – he just wanted something pretty to give to his daughter.

When he finally sees her enter the park, small hand tugging yours happily, his mind goes empty, and he can’t stop staring. You are as beautiful as ever, and it’s no wonder his daughter is so ethereal when she has you for a mother.

She is perfect, he thinks -- too good for this life -- and even though it’s the worst thing he has ever done, he is reminded that pulling away from you was the only way to save her from his family. It looks like she escaped the curse of inheriting any of his bloodline's techniques, and what’s more so – it seems like she, too, is oblivious to curses; skipping past them as she chases leaves that skit about the dirt path of the park, her teddy in her arms. Toji dips his head down when she draws near the bench he’s sitting on, the brim of his baseball cap keeps his face hidden, and his sadness known only to himself.

“Excuse me?”

He bristles when her voice floats past his ears, so gentle and sweet.

“Hey, mister,” she pokes his knee with her slim finger, so tiny compared to the size of his body, and he jerks at the contact. “Is this yours?”

She’s holding the bracelet in her small hand, the silver glinting in the morning sun, offering it up to him with large eyes, so close to him. At this distance, he can see the true color of her eyes – exactly like his own – and the small freckles that dot her skin. The longer he stares, the more his chest constricts painfully, tightly – he’s finding it hard to breathe, and he exhales suddenly, sharply snatching it away from her.

The force of the movement causes her to stumble a little, tripping over her feet, and before she knows it, the man who was once sitting before her has entirely caught her in his large arms, scooping her up before the ground has a chance to harm her.

She blinks once... twice... swaddled in his arms, sitting against his broad chest, and Toji frantically looks for you, finding you caught up in talking to another mother, too busy to notice. He knows he would scold you for it if he was still in your life, but when his daughter laughs, he snaps his head back to look at her, forgetting what thoughts he had in his mind at the glinting sound of her happiness.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, “You’re fast! Thanks for catching me!”

He doesn’t know what to say – if he should say anything at all. His plan was to give her the bracelet, telling her that it was a late birthday gift from someone that loves her very much, and walking off before she (or you) has the chance to catch on or respond. But now that he’s inches away from her, holding her close as she peers up at him, he’s lost again. He’s lost, and he can’t breathe. He needs you to steady him, but you aren’t here, and he doesn’t know what to do, what should he do, what should he--?

“Where did you get that scar from?” she asks innocently, her large eyes suddenly trained on the mark beside his lips.

“F-from an accident,” he mumbles, “a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she hums, hands splayed against his broad chest, looking around her, swaying her legs absentmindedly. “Wow, you’re really tall! I can see everything from up here!” she exclaims happily, “My mommy’s not as tall as this, so when I sit on her shoulders, I can’t see nearly as much as I can now!”

“Oh,” he mutters, not really knowing what to say, “is that so?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “Mommy’s not as big as you are either.”

At this, he gives a genuine laugh – a sound he hasn’t heard fall from his lips in a long, long time, looking at her with quiet adoration.

“She’s not as fast as you either,” she continues, “you were super-fast!”

“She’s strong in her own ways, though,” he mutters, offering her a soft smile.

“Do you know my mommy?”

He bristles, actively avoiding her gaze. His heart is racing from this much interaction with his daughter, and he’s sure she can feel it under her small palm. It beats for her – if only she knew, and Toji contemplates, for the briefest of seconds, just telling her. The thought leaves his mind as soon as it enters. He doesn’t have that choice, and he doesn’t deserve it.

“Not really,” he mutters, dipping down slowly to set her footing on solid ground once more.

“She’s really pretty,” the little girl continues, playing with the soft fabric of his t-shirt in a small moment of fondness and familiarity, “and nice – and she makes great food!”

Toji realises only after the fact that his hand had settled on top of her head, and he’s stroking her hair softly, thumb caressing her cheek when he moves to cup her face. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, and Toji is overwhelmed with a plethora of emotions. Pride in you for doing all this by yourself and raising such a wonderful child, shame for abandoning you and his daughter, mirth, anger, warmth, sadness, love--

“Akemi!” you call, seeing her lift her head at the sound of your voice. “This way, honey!”

“Oh, I have to go now! My mommy is calling me!” she perks up, gripping her teddy a little tighter and offering the man a smile. “Bye-bye!”

“W-wait!” he calls, thrusting the gift into her small hands. “This is for you, uh... f-from me...”

She looks down at it, before her whole face lights up, and Toji is suddenly breathless – she looks so much like you when she’s surprised, happiness blossoming over her face the same way it would on yours.

Toji feels a deep-rooted emptiness inside his body when he watches his daughter retreat away from him; a living embodiment of all his failures to you, and yet, as he sees her long, black hair whip out behind her, he realizes something else — she was your promise delivered; a combination of everything good between the two of you, in itself a miracle. He might not be in her life, but he was also partly responsible for creating something so beautiful, so ethereal.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but if he was ever fortunate enough to be granted a second, it would be a miracle; a holy gift.

A blessing that would accompany the beauty of dawn.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro toji x you #angst #pregnant!reader #abandonment #dilf toji

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wh6res · 3 years

Text

johnny — part of the my bloody valentine collection.

prompt. the closer you are to your soulmate, the warmer you feel. the farther you are, the colder.

synopsis. johnny had always preferred you in winter clothes, anyway. you can say it makes his job a lot easier.

warnings. tread cautiously. smut, swearing, mentions of drugs, mentions of smoking, mentions of stalking, violence, implied kidnapping near the end, johnny's a lil delusional, implied slutshaming

disclaimer. a friendly reminder that i do not, under any circumstance, condone or support any acts like this. this is not love and this is not how a normal relationship should be like. the things i write are all fiction and should be treated as such and if you don’t like it, please do not read it and waste your time hating on it. the 9 members of nct 127 do not act like this in real life and shouldn’t act like this in real life.

inspired by red.

in a world where finding one’s soulmate is a big hot and cold game, having sex for the heck of it proves to be a challenge. who’d be willing to take off their clothes when you literally feel negative degrees because your soulmate lives on the other side of the world?

but it’s weird, really. some people don’t have their soulmates living in another country. some people lucked out and have their soulmate living just across the street, or next to their house, and probably didn’t need all those winter clothes that other people wear.

johnny had eventually developed an unspoken rule to only get with the ones who are bundled up in their ‘lil jackets and parkas, running the other way from people who show more skin. he isn’t a masochist, why’d he want to spend time with someone who’s close to meeting their soulmate?

it hadn’t been two years when johnny met you in the brick alleyway of a local bar near the university, in the shortest, skimpiest outfit he’s ever seen. he tried to stop himself, oh, he truly did, but your cat-like grace and alluring eyes threw him off his game completely. one bottle of cheap beer led to another, exchanging whispers led to kissing, and kissing led to… well, in your mattress.

sure, the springs digging against his back as you rode him like a fucking horse hurt but it has a charm to it. with the pain and pleasure mixing into something so blinding that it was the best sex he’s had for years.

it was only after he'd cummed for the 5th time with you that night and had called it a day, did he realize that you haven’t met your soulmate nor were you feeling any closer to meeting ‘the one’ despite not wearing a jacket in the least.

you don’t know the relief that surged through johnny’s veins when you said…

“what? soulmate? i haven’t met them yet. wait a minute—you thought because of what i’m wearing, my soulmate’s close?” johnny felt a little stupid as you laughed, tugging the bedsheets higher up against your chest. “people i fucked always ask me that but nah, nothing can stop me from wanting to wear something that makes me feel confident.”

there’s something about you that johnny suh cannot pinpoint. it was that annoying feeling of having the words at the tip of your tongue yet being unable to say them. maybe it was the way you talked? the way you acted? or just the charisma you seem to exude so effortlessly? johnny would rather die than admit to anyone that you got him wrapped around your pretty little nimble fingers with just the bat of an eyelash.

he felt like utter shit for literally walking out on you as abruptly as he did (screw drunk taeyong for getting into bar fights again) but at least you guys exchanged numbers and talked about all that needed to be talked about.

when johnny went out that night to try out local bars outside the uni, he never thought he'd be coming back home, sober and satiated, with a new booty call.

the arrangement went on a few more times. and by few, johnny meant a hefty few, considering you saw each other more than his ten fingers can count and had always alternated between his place and yours. although due to taeyong being a constant nuisance (“i’m not just going to fucking move my gaming nights just so you can get your dick bounced, suh!”) he was always at your place, instead.

not that either of you minded. johnny had to sneak in and out of the university because you lived off the campus grounds but it’s well worth it. anyone will do anything for a taste of heaven, right?

not that you were an angel by any means but johnny discovers your moans turn whinier when he addresses you as such. it makes his cock throb with want, hearing you lose yourself underneath or on top of him as he used you to get off.

“isn’t that right, angel? come on tell me how much you love me fucking you. this is what you live for isn’t it?” johnny hisses, leaning forward, his chest touching your back as he railed you from behind.

you were way too lost in the pleasure to even answer him properly. you just felt so full, the slight curve of his cock aiding him to hit all the right places whenever he ruts his hips forward. he doesn’t even need to use his hands on you and johnny revels at how amazingly responsive you are.

all he can hear is you and boy was it enough to get him off. from your moans, to the clapping, to the lewd squelching sounds, to the springs of the mattress poking your front. everything is leading up to that moment you’re both chasing, that searing pleasure of climaxing.

when he feels you getting closer, he flips you onto your back, wanting to see your face twisted in sheer ecstasy when he makes you cum.

“johnny!” you scream when he hauls your legs over his shoulder, hitting impossibly deeper, grazing the walls of your cervix. “shit, shit, shit—i’m going to—”

he halts all movements.

the answering whine he got from you made him quickly wrap a hand around your throat, the other gripping your hips so hard you just know it’ll leave a nasty bruise the next morning. “you didn’t answer my question, sweetheart. go on—you live for my cock, don’t you?”

“johnny, come on—ah!” he cuts you off with a pointed look, the hard thrust rendering you speechless as he wraps his hand just a wee bit tighter around your neck.

“what did i say about whiny angels, hmm?” he leans down to your ear, puffing his hot breath with every word he spoke and drawing more beads of sweat on the side of your face. “go on, love, don’t be shy. i know you love my cock but i don’t tolerate you ignoring my questions.”

well, you’re fucked—figuratively—as you fail to remember whatever question he asked you only seconds ago.

you squeeze your eyes shut when he starts moving in the slowest pace possible, teasing you and making you work for it. as if your dilemma is written clear on your face, johnny coos, tilting his head. “what… is my angel having trouble?”

the surprised moan you let out when he gives another hard thrust sends shivers down his spine. he revels at your scrunched up face, both from the pleasure and wracking your brain frantically for whatever johnny wants because you sure as hell know that he’ll keep this pace up just to torture you.

“johnny,” you plead, nuzzling your face by his forearm propped beside your head. but one look at his face and you know he won’t drop it no matter how much you plead and beg for you to finish. “i didn’t—didn’t hear what you asked—”

“that’s just too bad, now, is it?” you squirm underneath him with one particular hard thrust, your head nearly hitting the wall behind the mattress.

“please… re—repeat the question? i promise i’ll do anything! you know i will! i’m—i’m your angel, right? i’ll do anything! just—”

“fuck the question,” he gasps, feeling you clenching around him as he gives in to the pleasure he wants to feel. screw pretenses. “that’s good enough.”

he started yet again his brutal pace, stopping only after you finished so he could pull out, ropes of his essence painting your naked stomach.

johnny doesn’t immediately slump next to you, reaching forward to the box of tissues lying on the floor next to the mattress so he can clean you up. he knows your heart flutters when he takes care of you after, that’s why he does it always, without fail. he can feel your hammering heart as he wiped away all of his sticky cum off your torso.

both of you are shivering underneath the thin blanket. with the nature of the soulmate rules plus the busted heater in your apartment, being naked as the day you were born is quite a bad idea unless you want to suffer from hypothermia.

“want a cig?”

johnny chuckles, putting an arm up to support his head. “you always ask me that and i’ll always say the same thing. i—”

“don’t smoke.” you finish his sentence, your giggle rings akin to that of a little girl as you click the lighter, angling your head so the cigarette butt will reach the small flame.

“those things’ll kill you,” johnny mumbles, eyeing a discolored portion of the ceiling.

you snort, tempted to blow the smoke directly to his face but you know what happened before—angry sex with johnny suh borders more on pain than pleasure… but masochists are made to love the pain, aren’t they?

johnny bolts upright in a coughing fit, the springs of the mattress groaning in agony with the sudden movement. only after he’s composed himself again after that small blast of smoke you blew towards him did he start glaring at you. yet his annoyance dissipates the moment he sees the eagerness and mischief swirling in your eyes.

“you’re gonna fucking pay for that.”

johnny doesn’t like thinking that he’s growing attached. what the heck is taeyong even saying? feelings make everything messy and the last thing johnny wants to do is mess up whatever the fuck you guys have—not friends, not lovers, just smack dab in the middle.

so why is he so affected by the sudden infrequency of your texts? you used to reply within seconds after johnny asks if he can come over, now it takes you hours and more often than not johnny has already taken care of the problem himself by the time you replied.

and your texting style has gradually started to change, as well. gone are the days you’d humor him when he gives poorly disguised sexual innuendos for the fun of it. when johnny does end up coming over, you’re still as noisy and whiny as a bitch in heat but… there’s something off with everything.

with you.

johnny’s just concerned. can he not feel that way? concern doesn’t automatically equal to any romantic feelings whatsoever, right?

“are you okay?” he asks, never the type to beat around the bush with someone. he tries to force out a chuckle, afraid whatever he said sounded a tad too serious. “i mean, i don’t know. is there something wrong—”

“i met him.”

“who?”

one look in your eyes and johnny knew you were pertaining to your soulmate.

he dashes over to you in a heartbeat, running his hands down your arms but before he can even reach your hands, you’ve hissed and pushed him away. “you’re hands are freezing, johnny!”

it was only a moment, seconds of touching you yet he can feel you weren’t as cold as you used to and it only meant one thing.

johnny’s smart enough to know he wasn’t your soulmate because if it was, you would’ve gotten warmer from the day you two met—but no, you were as cold as him, and had excused fucking each other as a means of sharing body heat. but even if that was the case, you both have made the agreement to still see or fuck around each other even after meeting your own respective soulmates.

jesus christ, you were the one who brought the issue up! and now… now what’s this bullshit he’s hearing from you?

“i can’t—can’t do this anymore, john,” you say firmly as you stand across the room, far away from him. hugging yourself as if you were the one breaking and not johnny. “we’d be hurting other people—”

“but you said—”

“i know what i said,” you snap, piercing eyes heatedly finding his. “i was stupid back then, i thought i can keep this up but—the guilt, johnny. you don’t know how guilty i fucking feel!”

“guilty?” he asks incredulously, taken aback of the implications of that one word.

you being guilty meant you’ve already met and have probably spent a reasonable amount of time with your soulmate (so that’s what you’ve been doing for the duration of you not talking to him). you being guilty meant you’re not exactly the proudest with whatever relationship you have with johnny and had probably kept your little midnight rendezvous with him a secret to your soulmate. you being guilty meant the sex you had only an hour ago was meant to be a goodbye of sorts, if the apologetic look you’re shooting him is anything to go by.

“look,” he’s never heard you sound so defeated before. “it was great, okay? the time i had with you, sex and aftercare and pillowtalk—all that shit. it was great but we both know it’s going to end eventua—”

“is the sex that good?”

“excuse me?”

“oh, i see,” johnny says condescendingly, a tone he’s never used when talking to you before but you’re leaving him with no choice. “he’s bigger, is that it? that has to be it. i wouldn’t put it past you, anyway—”

the slap you gave him only served to make his cock twitch under his sweatpants.

“leave.”

staring isn’t a crime. what can a pair of eyes do? it may be sharp like a knife and heavy like a gun in one’s hands but other than that can it physically do any harm? the answer’s simple—no, it fucking can’t. this is why johnny, for the life of him, can’t fathom as to why and what taeyong is so pressed about. johnny never thought him as a nagger, but his friend has transformed into an overgrown bat hovering behind his shoulders as if he’s some kid in need of monitoring.

“you call her a slut and now you’re being a stalker. wow, john, how utterly irresistible you’ve become.” taeyong looks so unfazed by johnny’s sharp eyes that the taller male’s fingers twitched in annoyance.

“i’m not stalking her!” he hisses under his breath, elbowing taeyong’s ribs only to curse when his bone hits the plethora of enamel pins stuck on his friend’s leather jacket. “and i didn’t call her a slut, either. get your facts straight.”

“but you implied it didn’t you?”

before johnny can even growl out a response, taeyong has quickly slipped into the bodies dancing in the middle of the bar.

so what if you were here? so what if this is the same bar you guys met? johnny’s not here for you. fuck, no. he’s here because this bar is closest to the uni and he isn’t in the mood to walk farther than a few blocks.

but no matter how much he claims otherwise, actions have always rang louder than words and johnny knows he’s creating a fool out of himself every time his eyes stray a little too far left and onto your figure, sitting next to a guy whose arm is wrapped around your waist like a vice.

but that’s not the interesting part—johnny wonders why your soulmate has another girl pressed up on his left.

oh, that’s your soulmate alright. judging by how you’d fan yourself fruitlessly with your hands, judging by how you’d cradle the glass filled with cheap beer and ice in hopes of the cold remedying your dried up palms.

but what sold you out? it’s how your eyes met his from way across the room. he knows you enough to see the apprehension and shock in your face only to quickly school it into indifference. the moment you glanced between him and that shitty soulmate of yours, he knows you’ll come crawling back into his arms—it’d only be a matter of time.

and not even hours later johnny’s phone rang and he stared down at your caller id with a sense of pride and sick entertainment rushing through his veins.

he knew he won, he just knew he did.

“and what does the angel need in such an hour?”

funny how you kicked him out of your apartment and now you’re ringing up his cell on the exact time you used to meet each other when you fucked around.

you’ve always been someone he can’t read, someone he can’t understand. may it be your logic, or your actions, or the words you say but it was all part of the appeal. a mystery johnny can’t help but want to unfold. when you called, the last thing he had ever expected was to hear you half-crying and half-moaning out his name like a mantra. he hears the sharp slick sounds and your shaky breath and knows exactly what you’ve been up to.

johnny isn’t a cruel person. it’d be mean of him to not give in when you had asked him so nicely.

“i’ll be there in five, angel.”

you wind back to each other for numerous times even after that night. you yourself always in the same predicament of being high as a fucking cloud, and johnny constantly getting flashbacks of the first few weeks he had with you.

but the way you treated each other has long passed the blurry lines of unspoken boundaries. you just felt so warm lying between his arms that he can’t help but tuck you in tighter, running fingers through your hair as you slept like a baby next to him and not on your soulmate’s bed.

johnny thought he’d won after you came back to him. how foolish of him to think that winning had something to do with this when it had everything to do with the small sparks of desire eating away at his insides—the desire to have you all for himself.

johnny scowls when you ask him to be quiet while in the middle of sex just because your soulmate called. johnny scowls when you refuse to meet up with him because you already have “plans” with your soulmate. johnny scowls when he smells a faint cologne that doesn’t belong to him on the whole of your apartment.

you yawn, subconsciously trying to shrug off johnny’s arms from your body in your sleep as you turned your back on him.

but want to know what johnny hates the most? what leaves a taste so bitter in his tongue that his whole day becomes a whole fucking mess? you trying to push him away… only to throw yourself back right into his arms.

how confusing can you be? how much more of the awful migraines will you let johnny endure? you’re driving him up the wall, pushing him to the edges of his sanity and the frustration only serves to add fuel to the fire.

what was so great about your soulmate that you can’t leave the bastard for good? johnny’s not stupid, he’s seen hickies countless of times to know that some purple marks on your skin are more than that—those weren’t hickies, they’re bruises. and god knows how much johnny hurts inside when you flinch away from him when all he wanted to do was pick away a fallen eyelash on your cheek.

he needed to save you, to snatch you away from the horrors of tartarus to worship you like a goddess again. and when he mulled everything over and over and over in his head, he only came up with one thing.

johnny perks up when he feels the phone vibrating on his lap, your caller id flashing in the dark room as he gamed on his pc. he eyes the phone in the corner of his eyes, contemplating the choices he will make. it’s not that he doesn’t know it’s wrong, but he needs you to wake the fuck up and you were taking too little too long for his taste.

his ringtone is deafening in the quiet room, he watches it vibrate against the table for a few more seconds until it stops. you have one missed phone call/, it says on his notifications.

the screen turns black.

he makes his move.

“what took you so long?” you whine, eyes red and seeing everything in a kaleidoscope as you stumble towards the door in a haste to get to johnny. you hear him strut through the door, shutting it close before hearing the soft pads of his shoes hitting the floor when he toes them off.

“i had to run errands, angel.”

with your hazy mind, you don’t detect the scratchiness of his voice. it’s as if he screamed his heart out until his own voice started to feel like knives against his throat every time he spoke. you were too high, too stoned, that you thought he sounded like melted chocolate, the drugs fucking up your whole system.

you giggle, folding in on yourself as you slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall with your knees tucked under your chin. “what kind of errands?”

“want me to show you?”

you were giggling when you signed your death wish. “yes, please!”

when he leans down, you didn’t smell the metallic scent that seemed to cling onto his clothes, didn’t see the splotches of red that ruined his favorite white shirt, didn’t taste his inhumanity when he leaned down to capture your lips into a heated kiss.

everything is under a thick layer of guise when you look down high up from cloud nine. but if only your feet had been anchored to the ground, maybe you would’ve seen everything as it was—would’ve seen the bat as it comes swinging down the back of your head after he’d pulled away. not enough to kill, just enough to knock you out. the clock starts from there.

johnny needed to be efficient, quick on his feet, as he incapacitated you with enough cable ties and darted around your apartment to shove everything in his duffel bag.

he mumbles to himself as he slots you inside the modest clothes he bought—he’s seen your closet enough to know that there wasn’t enough clothes that can keep you warm, so instead, he made you wear his own.

“this isn’t my fault,” johnny says under his breath as if trying to convince himself. “she forced my hand. forced me to do it. this is her fault.”

with all your big talk of able to withstand the coldness from when you had yet to meet your soulmate, he knew you won’t be able to handle the freezing heights brought by the temperature now that he left your soulmate to rot in a ditch.

this isn’t my fault. this isn’t my fault. this isn’t my fault.

#q'd #nct imagines #nct scenarios #yandere kpop #yandere nct #yandere johnny #yandere nct 127 #johnny suh smut

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

Text

Holy | Jurdan One Shot

Written for: Jurdan Smut Week 2020, Day 1: Dom/Sub @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Summary: “You’re a liar. A dirty, mortal liar.”

WC: 3171

Rating: E is for Everyone be sinning in this fic

CW: EXPLICIT NSFW CONTENT. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

AO3 | Masterlist | Based on this edit

“On your knees, darling,” Cardan’s voice is dangerous, silken, like the ruby red ribbon he’s holding.

It takes Jude a great deal of effort to sink obediently to the floor. She is so unused to bending at the knee, but trust is the name of the game—a game Jude needs ample practice playing.

Her palms are sweaty with anticipation, her heartbeat a riot in her chest. She is flushed and bare, kneeling before him like some kind of sinless supplicant, though this may be the biggest lie of them all.

Tonight, Jude had lied.

She’d lied to Cardan and he’d known it from the moment the words left her lips. Part of her thinks she lied just to bait him.

A bait he all too willingly took. His temper had glittered in his eyes before he’d swept them off back to the Royal Chambers, closed and bolted the doors behind them, sent the guards away.

Then, he’d undressed her, as one would a wound.

Now, Jude studies the ornate rug she kneels on, the worn leather of Cardan’s boots as he crouches before her, and thinks this is the best kind of trouble she could have possibly sought to get herself into.

And also the worst. The idea of being at the mercy of another is still a terrifying prospect to the High Queen of Elfhame. Fear, she’d found however, in the right circumstances could be quite the heady aphrodisiac.

“My queen,” Cardan says, brushing a stray hair away from her face. “Exquisite. As stardust.”

Jude can’t help but blush deeper.

Her husband’s compliments, though scarce, were never ordinary, even after all these years. And why should they be, when they loved each other in such extremes?

Cardan takes up her hands gently in his and begins wrapping the long length of ribbon around her wrists, binding them in front so that she is not entirely in control, but not entirely without it either.

It’s funny to Jude that Cardan should be always so careful in this, considering the not-at-all-gentle treatment she is about to receive.

She doesn’t dare laugh, though. Not now.

“Do you understand why I am doing this, Jude,” he asks.

“Yes.” Her eyes flit over the sharp angles of his face. She meets Cardan’s gaze, as bravely as she can. His is calm, like black water before a storm. A storm which shimmers on the edge of the horizon between them.

Cardan stares at her bottom lip, now pulled between her teeth, as if he might bite into it too, given the chance. Jude is sure she would let him.

After a moment, Cardan lowers his gaze back to the task at hand. “And why is that?” He loops the ribbon around itself then pulls tight.

“Because I lied,” she tells him, not an ounce of remorse in her voice.

“Precisely,” he says. “And what is it you lied about?”

“I said I hated you.”

“Yes.” Cardan nods, looping the ribbon a second time. “You said you hated me—in front of the entire court.” He pins her with a glare from underneath the trellis of his lashes, and Jude is reminded of the way in which he used to look upon her frequently—with an odd coupling of ire and lust.

Jude’s heart flies to her throat. There’s no use in denying it. “I did.”

“Why is that a bad thing, sweet villain?”

“Because they might misunderstand,” Jude says. “Because they might think I hate you in earnest.”

“And why is that a bad thing?”

“Because we need to remain a united front for the sake of Elfhame.”

A small smile plays at the corners of his devastating mouth. While her answer is not technically wrong, it’s not the answer he was looking for. Cardan ties off the ribbon in a careful bow, then looks at her with one raised brow, challenging.

Jude looks down at her bound hands, because it’s still hard to admit vulnerability, even to him. Even so exposed as she is now. “Because I don’t actually hate you.” It is a half truth, at best.

Her husband grips her chin between his thumb and the crook of his forefinger, canting her face so that she must look at him.

“Prove it.” Cardan says this like a dare. Probably because it is. The sweet plum wine of his breath fans across her face, making her head spin.

“I love you,” Jude says, softly. Saying these words aloud is always the greatest submission of herself, her deepest surrender.

Cardan knows this, and looks at her like she is the one and only wonder of the world. “You love me,” he repeats, letting go of her chin. It sounds more like he is trying to convince himself of the statement, rather than confirm she answered his question to his satisfaction.

Jude raises her bound hands to cup his cheeks. His face is warm and a bit stubbly. She strokes the pad of her thumb down his jawline. “Very much,” she says.

The way he closes his eyes, leans into her touch, makes something in her heart fracture a little.

“And I, you, my formidable dagger,” Cardan says. Removing her hands from his face, he places a kiss on both her palms before rising to his feet.

Then, something in his air shifts. He circles her like prey. Jude knows she must stay still, but the urge to follow his every move is a tempting one.

“Looking at you now, I see strength and grace. A sharply honed beauty,” Cardan says from behind her. Jude feels her cheeks heat anew, and she is glad he cannot see her blooming humility.

“I also see a liar,” Cardan continues. “And for liars, there is punishment.”

She can feel the thrumming of her pulse, every inch of her alive under his gaze. “Yes, my husband.”

She hears a rumble roll through Cardan’s chest.

Jude knows full well what that particular term of endearment does to him. And since she is so compromised before him, it is only fair she assert herself where she can.

“I am going to spank you, Jude,” Cardan tells her, apparently deciding to ignore transgression. “And when that is through, I am going to take you.”

A delicious curl of desire licks Jude’s core. She shivers.

“Does that sound like fair punishment to you?” he asks.

“Yes, my husband.”

Cardan is at her ear, long fingers at her throat before she can blink. They are feather-light, tracing up the veins in her neck, feeling the pound of her pulse there. It is threatening enough that Jude is given to staying very, very still. She feels the drive of his shoulder against her back.

“If you call me that one more time, Jude,” he growls so close to her that she can feel the vibrations of his voice skitter down her spine, “I will have no choice but to bend you over and fuck you with wild abandon. I will not be concerned with your pleasure, nor will I await your release.”

Jude’s eyes widen and she draws in a sharp breath.

“This will bring me no great amount of satisfaction,” Cardan continues, “As I do so love to feel you come around me. You want to satisfy me, don’t you, Jude?”

Jude swallows and nods.

“Good,” Cardan says, stroking a hand down her hair before moving away. “You are safe, dear Jude, but you will relinquish. Now, lean forward and be still.”

Jude complies, without hesitation this time. Since her wrists are bound, she goes down on her elbows, ass raised in the air.

She is completely exposed. Vulnerable.

Cardan kneels down beside her, sidling up to her left hip. She can feel the bulge straining beneath his trousers.

She’s not sure if it’s this or the knowledge of what’s to come that makes her slick with want. But when she feels Cardan’s palm come to rest on her backside, the simple touch sends a lance of heat coursing through her.

Her thighs press together.

“So eager, my queen,” Cardan hums, steadying her with a grip of his free hand on her right hip. “One might wonder if you devised this plan from the start.”

Jude grins wickedly at the floor, but says nothing.

“Naughty thing,” he says.

Without warning, he brings his hand down against her bare flesh. It’s not a hard blow, just enough for a slight pang of pain. But the surprise of it makes her gasp.

“You’re a liar, Jude,” Cardan says, rubbing slow circles with his palm for a moment, letting her adjust to the new sensation.

She feels his hand disappear again, and braces herself. When he slaps her the second time, it’s harder, a bright shock against her skin. The sound echoes off the Royal Chamber walls.

Jude bites her lip.

The combination of sharp pain followed by Cardan’s cool, soothing ministrations is disconcerting. She shouldn’t like this as much as she does. This pain, this yielding. Everything about it goes against her very instincts. Yet, Jude grows more desperate still.

Suddenly, Cardan delivers three consecutive strokes, hard and fast.

“A dirty.” Slap. “Mortal.” Thwap. “Liar.” Smack.

Then, he swipes two wicked fingers up the length of her heat.

Jude moans, feeling herself pulse at the unexpected sensitivity. Her hips rock back of their own volition, chasing the friction she craves.

Cardan clicks his tongue at that. “I told you to be still,” he reminds her. “Do not test my patience, sweet villain.”

Jude’s fists ball up in front of her, pulling against their binds. In her head, she slings a slew of curses at him.

He is rock hard and throbbing, pressed firmly against her hip. It is a cruel kind of torture to feel his arousal and be without the power to sate it.

She wants nothing more than to be able to touch him, to clamber up his torso and peel him out of his clothes, to feel him hot against her skin, to make him tremble under her touch.

“I’ll be still,” she gasps instead. “Please. I’ll be still.”

Cardan says nothing, only resumes his soothing circles over the rawness of her backside. After a moment, he slaps her rapidly, once on her ass and once more against her swollen folds.

Jude yelps, the contact sending a shudder through her.

The effort it takes to remain unmoving is immense. Her breath is ragged in her chest. She is positively aching, and entirely unsure when or even if Cardan will give her what she desires.

“What are you?”

“A liar,” Jude chokes out.

Cardan brings his hand down hard again, and there’s a sharp spark of commingled pleasure and pain that swells in her.

“Louder.”

“I’m a liar,” she nearly shouts.

He strikes her cunt twice more. “Wrong. Try again.”

“I’m a liar!” She wails into the carpet. “A dirty, mortal liar!”

Jude is on the verge of tears now. She has experienced pain far greater than this before, but none which has held her in such agonised suspense. Such terrible denial.

The flesh of her ass is raw as roses, dripping with the evidence of her arousal between her thighs. She feels the heated prickle of shame flood her face, and yet, she remains still, gaze glued to the floor.

“Look at you,” Cardan says, wonderment in his voice. “You are breathtaking.”

He runs a slender finger up her slit before dipping down between her folds. His finger pumps and curls inside her, feeling her inner walls. The feeling is so delectable that Jude must stop herself from arching into his touch.

Cardan hums, delighted. “You’re drenched, wife,” he says, withdrawing his hand.

A frenzied heat surges through her at the loss of contact. Jude can only manage a sobbed, “Cardan.”

Relief is a balm like no other as her husband shrugs out of his shirt and positions himself behind her, spreading her legs with his own. The sound of his zipper sets her squirming.

When he finally, miraculously, slides into her, he does so in one smooth stroke, until he is buried deep, to the hilt.

Cardan hisses as he bottoms out. But, to Jude’s dismay, he does not move. Just stays there, sheathed in her completely, savouring the feeling of her warmth around him.

Jude is keening, the soft sounds muffled by the carpet as she tries her very best not to writhe against him. Because gods, does she need that ambrosial ache. Starting in her belly and lapping up her spine until every inch of her is flooded.

“Cardan,” she grits out, fingernails digging into the rug.

“Yes, my darling god?” he says, as if he doesn’t know what could possibly be wrong. As if he doesn’t know what torments her so.

Jude swallows. This terrible anticipation makes her feel like live wires twist frenetic under her skin. She hates it.

“Cardan. Please.”

“Please, what, dear Jude?”

“Move!” Her voice is taut in her throat from all of this waiting and wanting and wondering. If Jude were not held at his mercy, she would have pinned him to the floor by now.

A sudden chill sinks in her stomach before she knows exactly why. Then, Cardan has a fistful of her hair at the nape of her neck, yanking it so that she arches further into him.

He leans down over her, making her gasp. This angle is treacherously deep.

“Unfortunately,” Cardan growls low in her ear. “I don’t take commands from lying mortals.”

Jude is perplexed by the desire his words stir up. It licks her to the quick, going against everything she thought she knew about herself.

But the fact that remains is this: Jude craves the force of his arms, the moreish knowledge of his desire, his own unmooring. It is a particular tincture of power which only Cardan can give her. And for that, she must surrender.

Abruptly, he releases her hair and in within the span of a few breaths, strikes her across the ass four times.

The hits come in rapid succession, with much the same vigor as before. Only these are more intense. Her eyes snap open.

Jude, now filled to the brim with her husband’s cock, feels every slap of his palm against her flesh as if they were jolts of electricity shooting straight through her core. They leave her nerves jangled.

She cries out, clenching around Cardan’s length as each blow lands. A low rumbling sound goes through him.

“You feel,” he rasps, voice frayed from restraint, “Utterly divine, my love.”

Jude moans but is unable to form a response. For all the world, she cannot think past the moony haze of her mind, nor the heavenly pressure in her belly. After a moment, she registers the slip of Cardan’s tail coming to wrap gently around her thigh. It is both a reassurance and a question.

All Jude can think to say, the only thing to pass from her lips is, “I love you.”

With that, Cardan is moving.

The first few strokes are achingly slow, dragging all the way out before plunging back in. They strike a match within her.

Soon, Cardan is building a rhythm, thrusts picking up speed. Jude’s pulse races in tandem. That heat in her core clambouring for purchase as she’s driven again and again into the floor.

Jude thinks about the burns her knees will have tomorrow, from this carpet, and a thrill runs through her.

She can hear Cardan’s labored breathing behind her, his little gasps and groans that make her toes curl. He is deliciously hers. The thought makes her tremble in her own delight.

The slapping sounds their joining makes drive her wild. Before she knows it, she can feel the steady rise of her release. Despite her better judgement, Jude cannot help but meet him thrust for thrust.

Cardan seems too far gone to notice his wife’s efforts. He grips her hips as he pounds into her, relentless.

But when Jude turns her head to look at him, he is somewhere else. And that simply will not do. No, Jude would have him here and now, in this moment.

She slows her pace. She wishes she could reach back and pull him to the present with her touch alone. But as her hands are bound, she cannot.

“Cardan,” Jude croons.

At the sound of her voice, Cardan’s eyes snap to hers. He blinks for a moment. Then, he’s slowing his rhythm, too.

“Oh, Jude,” he soughs, scooping her up into his arms so that they are both upright and kneeling, Jude straddling his lap. She leans back against his chest. “My sweet Jude.”

His hand goes to her clit, fingers working slow circles. The added stimulation brings forth plumous mewls from Jude. She rolls her hips in time with his ministrations, feeling the novelty of this angle.

It is the stuff of gods, what they are doing.

“Tell me again,” Cardan murmurs gruffly in her ear.

Jude knows precisely what he means by this. “I love you,” she says, swirling herself over him. He thrums into her neck, nips at her earlobes. His hips begin to buck of their own accord, rutting up to meet the tidal wave of her movements.

Over and over, she tells him. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” His mouth covers hers in a searing kiss. “I love you so much that sometimes I can hardly think of anything else.”

“Gods above,” Cardan groans and, splaying his free hand on her belly, he pushes them forward once more. He’s pounding into her, fingers flying in circles over her clit until she is all sensation. Until she is screaming.

Jude is being cleaved apart. She is trembling on high. Just as it seems her wave of pleasure will rise and rise forever, finally, it breaks.

Jude cries out her release, a jumble of “I love you’s” and Cardan’s name, echoing around the Royal Chambers as she writhes beneath him.

And with that, Cardan tips over the edge, too. With a final slam, he spills into her, shouting a string of words. Her name. Only her name. Over and over against the back of her neck like a curse as he comes.

Jude is still pulsing, shaking in the aftermath when Cardan loops his arms around her waist. He brings them both to rest on their sides, not caring at all that they are on the floor. Cardan tucks Jude into his chest.

He pulls her wrists into his hands and begins unravelling the red ribbon that binds them. Jude, for her part, feels both heavy and as if she could float away on a fog.

“Jude?” Cardan’s voice sounds from behind her.

“Hmm?” She can barely muster the energy open her lids.

“Are you aware how much I love you?”

“ ‘Course I am,” she mumbles.

Cardan looses a soft chuckle. “Liar.”

Jude’s grin is so wide, she’s sure all of Elfhame can see it.

☽☽☽☽☽

AN: So this was… much softer than I intended 😅 but I really hope you enjoyed it! I had so much fun writing this one. This is just the first of a few works I’m putting out this week for Jurdan Smut Week, so look out for those.

As always, if you have any kind comments, please do share them with me. I’m terrible at responding in a timely fashion, but I will respond to every single one. They absolutely make my day and ultimately encourage me to keep writing.

If you liked this, and would like to be added to my tag list, let me know!

Back to the forest now!

-Em 🖤💫

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am-imagines · 4 years

Text

Forever//Over. - Alex Morgan Imagine.

This was requested by an anon: Maybe some really angsts long distance relationship but with a fluffy ending.

I took a different approach with this prompt than what you’d probably expect, but I hope it’s angsty and enjoyable enough. I ran away with it and the over 6k words prove it. If it’s as angsty as it can be, I don’t know. You must want to ask @worms-and-jan She knows my angst-meter better than myself. But hey! It has a fluffy ending! Kinda.

I hope y’all enjoy!

***

You never believed that loving too much could hurt like this. You never longed for someone until air escaped your grasp and you weren’t able to breathe. And yet, here you are.

The darkness consumes you like a thousand questions you can’t answer. The walls of your room almost collapse over you and you need to get out of there. It doesn’t matter where as long as you’re not there: in the place that reminds you so fervently of the person you’re trying to forget.

The salty air of the beach helps you calm down; you breathe in and out but that doesn’t stop the deep ache in your chest. The music blares through your headphones; loud and yet unable to drown the cruel, mocking voice of your doubts.

The sky is dark, full of stars in the quiet autumn evening. And perhaps you’re not completely alone with the night sky watching over you even if the moon is missing. Even if she’s missing. You really want to believe it’s better this way, but it still hurts like hell.

You’ve called and texted her perhaps a thousand times since she disappeared from your life. And that’s the thing you can’t understand. How can the same person that proclaimed her love just turn her back on you like that? She was gone without a word or warning. It makes no sense no matter how much you think about it.

One day you’re enjoying life, trading kisses and “I love you”s while the world kept spinning. The faint light from the tv was the perfect halo for her beauty. The next day she’s gone. Your worry is met with silence and only a trail of media posts let you know she’s safe.

For so long you’ve believed that love shouldn’t hurt, and if it does, then it’s time to move on. That’s your plan now; put a sea between you while you try to forget.

Except you’ve never been good at that. You don’t fall in love often, but when you do then it’s the all or nothing kinda love. Sure, you’re willing and accepting of letting go when love dies, when the timing is right and when a relationship becomes full of bullshit. But here, everything is different and you’re not quite sure how to let go.

Hence why you’re at the beach; trying to figure out how you messed up, where things went wrong for Alex Morgan to stop loving you so abruptly.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t your fault at all.

That, however, would make her a fucking asshole. And that’s a tag you’re not ready to pin on her just yet. After all, you love her too much.

Still, there’s a party you must attend in less than an hour. You have a chance to be with the National Team, say your goodbye for the near future. And you gotta put the last period on a love story she can’t give you.

Next week your life starts in Europe; you have a club, a place and a dream to chase.

Sadly, there’s a missing piece in the puzzle you envisioned as your future. But her prolonged silence is a hint that you must reconstruct yourself and find another version of yourself. All in all, it’s better to move on now. Sure, the pain is there but won’t last forever.

Making the decision to leave wasn’t easy. You’re grateful for the chance the Pride gave you, but with the U.S. Soccer’s approval, you’re ready for a new horizon. There are plenty of challenges overseas that will help you discover a renewed version of yourself.

There are many things you leave behind, but ultimately, there’s nothing for you to stay.

This party is a chance to see your found family until next camp a few months away. Granted, you’re going to miss them terribly, especially Ash and Ali. They’ve practically taken you under their wing in Orlando. In camp you gravitate more towards Tobin and Lindsey as if they were all siblings.

The entire National Team is your family in one way or another. And it helps that some of them have experienced life in other countries before. They know that even with all the hardships of moving to another country; every moment playing soccer there is worth it.

This is an opportunity for growth. Now it’s your chance to discover more about you as an athlete and a human being.

It takes you another moment to collect yourself, to stop panic from overtaking you as you stare into Orlando’s beach one last time. This is the right decision, it has to be. Because right now your only plan is finding your future in Europe, and plan B is pretty much dying by Ashlyn’s hands if you don’t make it to the Harris-Krieger household in time.

The walk back home is quite enjoyable; the evening is warm and you’ve made peace with this, even if you’re not willing to put the blame on Alex. Sometimes things are just not meant to be no matter how hard you try to make them work.

What really works is your outfit as you make it to the party about an hour later. The music is already going, alcohol flowing and twenty three other women are causing havoc already. It’s twenty three because of course she would be there. After all, Alex Morgan is part of the National team.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, her presence hurts way more than her absence. It cements the truth you refused to believe; it’s not like she’s too busy to leave you aside, she just doesn’t care. It was far easier to question the darkness of your room than daring to do so when her eyes land on you.

In that moment you want to run away; turn on your heels and escape from all the pain and disappointment. Realization hits hard and deep, it makes your lungs burn all over again and you practically choke on the words you can’t throw at her face.

But this night isn’t about her. She isn’t the only person that matters in the world, not tonight. If she doesn’t care, you’ll pretend not to care either. You can do it for a night. You can do it for forever. Fake it till you make it, right?

“Damn, girl!” Ashlyn calls as she pulls you into a hug. “Looking fine.”

“Watch it, Harris. You’re a married woman now.”

“Excuse you, happily married.”

You nod at her statement because it couldn’t be truer. You’ve never seen a couple look at each other like that. You hope to have what they do one day. Even if it’s not with the person you thought for months. A mistake on your part, perhaps. Maybe one of many.

No. You’re not going to think about her anymore. She’s not going to ruin this night. There’s plenty of girls to keep you company, to laugh with and enjoy your last hours in the country. There are a million stories you haven’t heard yet. Hundreds of dog pictures to be exchanged like trading cards. You enjoy a drink, laugh and dance until you’ve almost forgotten her.

Almost.

Despite your best efforts, you can’t ignore the weight of her gaze for long. Just as you can’t ignore the way she keeps avoiding you even when you’re confined to the same place. You never considered Ash and Ali’s place to be extremely big, and yet Alex is never in the same room you are for long.

The sadness and hurt turn into anger then, and you wonder why the fuck she can’t speak her mind once and for all? She’s a coward.

Still, you’re too tired to keep chasing her, and instead stick by Lindsey and Rose. At least until Ash pulls you into the kitchen with a lame excuse of refilling drinks. That didn’t seem to be a problem thirty seconds ago, but you follow anyway.

You know Ash and Ali maybe as much as they know you. It’s only normal for her to do something like this every so often, either there’s some sort of gossip or a new cocktail you have to try. It’s no big deal.

“Okay, spill. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“What?” You parrot back, utterly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Y/n, I know you. So don’t start that bullshit with me. You’ve been holed up at your place not talking to anyone since the end of the season. And I know this because everyone has been texting me, concerned that you’re not in a good place. I don’t know what happened between you and Alex, but...”

“Nothing happened!” You finally snap. “Nothing happened.”

Repeating the words doesn’t make them true, and the look on your face is one of defeat. You know it. Ash knows it. And so does Ali when she joins you at the kitchen with a worried look. This is not how things were supposed to go, but now you can’t really backtrack.

“I’m leaving,” you blurt out suddenly.

Except that you make no move towards the door. There’s no way you can drive like this; not when your hands are shaking and your vision is blurred by tears.

“I’ll take you home,” Ali offers; a hand resting on your shoulder.

“No, I...” You hesitate under her gaze, under her touch. It’s now or never, and it’s too soon to say goodbye but you have to start somewhere. “I’m leaving the Pride. I had some offers to play overseas, and I accepted. It’s a chance to start over, you know?”

“I’m going to kill a bitch, or break her legs.”

You gotta laugh at Ash’s words as you wipe the corners of your eyes. Of course she would understand more than you’re actually saying. Ali, well, she looks at her wife frowning in confusion.

“What are you talking about? Break whose legs?”

“There’s only one person that would make her want to lea-”

“No,” you interrupt, “listen. This was my decision, my choice, and only mine.”

“Yeah, sure.”

There are only three people in the entire world you cannot fool no matter how hard you try: Ashlyn Harris, Ali Krieger and Megan Rapinoe.

You’re starting to believe is some sort of superpower from the Lesbian Gods.

For a moment you try to hold eye contact with Pinoe but in the end, the woman quirks an eyebrow and you give up. In all honesty, you never had a chance to win here.

Fuck you, Artemis.

“Okay,” you relent. “She had something to do with it but...”

“What happened?”

The look in their eyes tells you that if you don’t tell them, there won’t be mercy for Alex. And yet, if you talk, you’re not sure if it’ll make things better or worse. There’s no escape from this situation; you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Ash, Ali and Pinoe are the three women you trust the most in the world. You’ve bottled your emotions over the last weeks and it obviously isn’t helping.

You can try. You can pretend. But you still find it hard to breathe. You still feel the world crashing over you while you scramble to find some answer among the rubble. They’re offering support in the best way they can; worried more about you than anything else.

“I...”

But it’s still hard to find your voice and put everything into words. They’ve never been your forte. If you’re searching for a clean slate, then it’s best to leave this behind.

“It’s a long story.”

By the end of it, you’re unable to look at any of them, and stare at the floor instead. There’s a moment of charged silence while their anger grows. You’ve cried enough already; the tears won’t come anymore, but even then your pain is there for them to see.

“Son of a bitch!” Ash yells, banging the counter in anger.

She’s angry with herself for not seeing this earlier, for not reaching out. It isn’t her fault. No matter how good she is detecting your bullshit, you’re good keeping secrets. She can’t see right through you when you don’t let her be close enough.

You would’ve been better at hiding this if it didn’t tear you apart as much as it did. It’s far easier to pretend when your heart isn’t broken. It’s easier to conceal anger under calm, and mask emptiness with a smile.

You never loved so deeply. You never hurt so harshly. It’s just like they say: there’s a first time for everything.

“I’m really going to kill her.”

“No, no. Ali, please.”

You hold her hand, pulling her into a hug she answers by tightening her hold on you. Ash and Pinoe join the love pile not too long after although you can see the tension lingering on their shoulders. You know they’re angry, but you won’t let them act on impulse.

“I don’t want a confrontation, okay? I...it won’t solve anything. Not anymore. I came here to have a good time, not to spend the night talking about her.”

“You need another drink then,” Pinoe says breaking the group hug.

In a matter of seconds there’s a full glass in your hand. The weight pressing down your chest has eased enough for you to breathe normally, for you to smile as bright as ever.

Who needs Alex Morgan when you have this incredible group of women?

“For an epic last night?”

You raise your glass for a toast, but instead of joining your cheer, they glare daggers behind you. Looking back is unnecessary to know who is standing behind you.

“What do you mean last night?”

Thankfully, she’s not the one talking, and you turn to face Kelley instead.

“Europe is calling, baby!” You exclaim cheerfully.

Intentional or not, your voice is loud enough for not just Kelley to hear. Every other girl in the next room hears too. Suddenly, all of them try to make their way into the kitchen; asking as many questions as they can while you try to answer them all.

They’re like an excited pack of puppies, walking you to the living room where anyone left out can join too.

Even among a sea of soccer players, her gaze cuts through it all. She follows you like a distant shadow, but you make your best to ignore her.

She has no right to stop you now. She has no right to act hurt when this is the aftermath of her actions. Everything has a consequence, and if she thought you would wait forever without an explanation, she’s wrong.

“When are you leaving?”

Her words are quiet but you hear them thunderous. They zap you as if they were lightning, and your eyes snap up to meet hers. It’s hard to describe what you see there, then again, you don’t try too hard to understand.

“Next week.”

Just like that, you move onto the next question as if your mind wasn’t troubled.

You laugh with the others showing none of the struggle you’ve gone through. You don’t tell them about the sleepless nights where you wondered what to do next, which direction to follow. You don’t say a word about your phone’s unlit screen and the hundred unanswered texts.

Somehow, when your eyes meet Alex’s again, she has the decency to look ashamed. She knows. She knows and still didn’t give a damn.

“You’re staying, right?” Ali asks once the party starts winding down.

“Until you kick me out.”

The woman huffs in mock annoyance before pinching your cheeks. If that’s the price to pay for her friendship, you’ll take it with only a tiny bit of whining. After all, you have to put up some kind of resistance even if your smile betrays you.

Half an hour later everyone is ready to leave; including Pinoe. She fetches her jacket while they all wait for their Lyft, Uber or whatever service they called.

Megan looks at you and then at the only other person sitting on the other side of the living room. A silent question being asked here:

Are you going to be alright?

You nod, getting to your feet for one last hug.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whisper.

“Why’s that? Phones don’t work over there or what?”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Language,” she admonishes, earning her an eye roll. “Call me, text me and if it’s four am, I’ll respond once I actually wake up.”

“You are officially the worst. But I’ll do my best for you there.”

“Nah. You’ll do your best because that’s how you are. Take care, Y/n. Don’t make me go across the world to kick your butt. You know I will.”

“I promise nothing.”

With that, she’s gone and so are the rest of the girls with one exception. The one exception you don’t want to face. So, while Ash and Ali are getting the guest room ready, you decide to start the cleaning process.

Bypassing Alex, you make your way into the kitchen to load the dishwasher.

The sound of her footsteps is quiet, and yet too loud in the overall silence of the house. You’re between shocked and unsurprised. You wondered if staying behind had anything to do with you, but didn’t want to get your expectations too high.

She hasn’t talked to you in months, what makes this night special?

“You’re leaving.”

Right. That. That’s the big revelation of the night, but doesn’t really make a difference.

“Yes.”

With the dishwasher running, your next step is to gather all the trash scattered around the place. At least that was the plan. Alex has other ideas as she stands in front of you, effectively blocking the door. Sure, you can make your way around the kitchen isle, but you’re not feeling up to play stupid games.

“Why?” She asks.

Isn’t that the same thing you’ve asked yourself endless times? It absolutely is.

The whole thing is so ridiculous that you almost laugh. Except it’s not really funny. In a moment all the hurt turns into burning anger. It boils and swells, rises like the tide when the moon illuminates the sky.

You look at her and don’t recognize the woman you loved not so long ago.

“Why what, Alex?”

There’s a fierceness in your own eyes that is so unlike you. Sure, you’ve been angry before, who hasn’t? But never like this, never to the point of quiet rage.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You laugh then; an empty sharp sound that is far away from being happy. It’s the irony of it all, the nerve of Alexandra Morgan to sputter those words acting confused and hurt.

“I fucking tried!” You shout, and once you start everything else comes pouring out. “Or did you forget about the texts you never bothered to answer? Or the calls? I tried to reach you so many times, in so many ways, and you made it clear you didn’t want me around. And I just don’t understand...”

“Y/n-”

“No, I’m not done yet, “You cut her. ”You left me, Alex. The last words you said to me were “I love you” and then you were gone. You’re a liar, playing with my feelings when I gave you everything I could. You were the one that kissed me for the first time, the one that asked me out, for what? For the thrill of having a stupid girl you could toy with?”

“Of course not!”

“Then answer your own question. Why?”

Here you are, having a conversation you didn’t plan to have but wanted. No, it’s not really going as you envisioned. Mostly because you pictured yourself crying your heart out and begging her to come back. You deserve better than that.

“I...I’ve never felt the way I do for you.”

You raise an eyebrow, motion for her to continue cuz that’s not going to cut it. Not after weeks of going radio silent even when you let her know there was something important to talk about. Not after nights where you doubted your own worth.

“I got scared.”

You look at her in disbelief. That’s her reason; the only one, for running away without looking back. And somehow, you what, have to take it in stride? Hell, no.

“That’s bullshit.”

You’ve never been so in love either. And it’s scary; opening up and showing every flaw and vulnerability while expecting to still be enough. It’s bound to be scary, to be overwhelming at times where you can’t believe life and love truly feel like that.

That’s love for you, at least.

It fills your body, carves your bones until you feel weak at the knees. But you grow stronger until the weight of the world falls from your shoulders, until gravity doesn’t affect you anymore and you swear you can fly.

Love shapes the world, makes you find little hints and signs everywhere. The world reminds you so strongly of them that you wonder how you didn’t see it before. It makes you feel invincible, like your life has reached that perfect pinnacle of serendipity.

And that’s just the beginning.

Loving someone shouldn’t hurt. It’s supposed to be a celebration to life and the victories; big or small, found through the days. Sometimes that means a world cup. Sometimes it means buying a house. Sometimes it’s just being able to survive the hardship and exhaustion of a long day.

Love is the backbone of support, it lifts you up when you can’t stand on your own. It’s the quiet whisper in the back of your head reminding you to breathe when your head is underwater. It’s the knowledge that yes, life is not a utopia, and there are battles you gotta face on your own, but that you’re not alone nor lonely.

It’s supposed to be scary; terrifying even. But it’s also supposed to be filled with joy, and wonder. A mix of awe and euphoria that settle into calm. Because in love you can be yourself; the one version of you that the rest of the world doesn’t get to see.

And all of those emotions should make it worth it.

“Do you think I wasn’t scared too?” You finally ask. “I know there’s a lot on the line for you. I knew the terms and conditions of dating you since the beginning. I agreed to keep it a secret until you were ready. If you needed time to figure it out, to come to terms with who and what you are, I would’ve understood. Listen, even if you weren’t ready for a relationship at all, I would have understood. But not like this.”

“Please, Y/n. I’m trying to make things right.”

“Alex,” you say tiredly, rubbing your eyes in the process. “It’s too late. I’m leaving.”

“Don’t go.”

You can say the desperation in her eyes, can hear it in her voice. Still, that’s not enough.

She had a chance, more than one if you’re being honest, to make you stay.

Instead, she’s one of the reasons you’re leaving.

You deserve more than fear or reluctance. You deserve dreams that come true, to find true happiness. You deserve someone that will talk to you when things don’t go as planned; not shut you out completely. You want someone that looks at you with that happy light in their eyes instead of leaving you in the darkness of uncertainty.

“Why does it matter?” You ask with a hint of frustration. “You’re the one that left me! You walked away from us without a word! And I’m not going to be the girl you play with while deciding to pull your head out of your ass or leave it there. I deserve to be happy too. And right now that means being away from you.”

“I’m sorry.”

You feel a rush of everything; anger, sadness, frustration and perhaps a hint of relief as well. It’s hard to decide if you want to slap some sense into her or cross the distance between you just to feel her arms around your waist again.

In the end, you simply shake your head.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I wish there was a way to go back.”

“You can’t unbreak things. You can learn and do better.”

There’s nothing left to be said, not on your side. And for now, you don’t really care about what she has to say either.

You make your way upstairs to where Ash and Ali are waiting for you. It’s not hard to eavesdrop on an empty house, but they respect you enough to give you space. You’re not a kid; you know how to handle your own battles although the moral backup is always appreciated.

“You’re going to be okay?”

Ali looks deep into your eyes in concern, but her worry is met with a shy smile.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

For the first time in the last few weeks, you are able to breathe with nothing weighing on your chest. Closure is exactly what you needed. Facing her after the prolonged silence was perhaps one of the hardest things you had to do, but now the future seems a little brighter.

*****

Playing in one of the most competitive soccer leagues in the world is far from easy. Even the style seems different; play harder, faster and smarter. But you’ve done great, put your name up there among some of the best.

What some considered potential was polished into talent, although that had more to do with your discipline and hard work. Of course, the press wasn’t so kind as to enlighten that.

At the end of the season you have a championship and a new shining contract waiting for you. All it’s missing is your signature, but there are things to consider still. You miss home. You miss the crazy 23 women you call family.

Hopefully the upcoming USWNT camp will clear some of the doubts.

Maybe seeing them all again will give you the strength to extend your life in Europe. Maybe it’ll make you realize it’s time to go home.

There are many clubs interested in you which is not a surprise after everything you’ve done in a matter of months. Europe has catapulted you to another level, and it’s true there’s so much more to learn. Still, feeling homesick can be one hell of a bitch.

You could always move back to Orlando. Maybe you could move with Tobin in Portland. Tagging along Press with the Royals or go to Chicago for a change. The world is yours if you want it, and Heavens, you absolutely do.

“Why is something telling me you won’t come to stay?”

You glance at Pinoe on your screen while you finish packing. Sue and her are keeping you company as you get ready. Traveling always makes you anxious no matter if it’s just a couple of states over or halfway across the world.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Does this have to do with Morgan?”

“What!? No! I haven’t talked to her.”

“Maybe you should.”

You glare at your screen suspiciously because this is Pinoe of all people; telling you to talk to her. Megan Rapinoe; the woman that knows the ins and outs of your relationship and feelings for Alex. It doesn’t make sense unless something happened.

“Okay, fess up.”

“About what?”

The smug look on her face tells you that your mighty glare isn’t working.

Fuck you, Artemis. Again.

“Don’t worry, kid.” Sue intercedes with a gentle albeit playful smile. “You’ll get it soon enough.”

“Get what?”

They don’t answer your question and you don’t have much time to keep asking as they excuse themselves to end the call. Technically, it’s almost time for you to leave. However, their intentions are pretty clear. In the end, you groan in annoyance as they manage to dodge your question multiple times before the call disconnects. Alas, there’s nothing you can do.

It doesn’t take long until you’re on the airplane waiting to take off.

Your leg bounces nervously while you’re torn between looking out of the window or closing your eyes. It’s practically a miracle you decided to move so far, considering how much you hate flying. To be honest, the flight itself isn’t the problem.

Feeling the rumble of such a huge thing, it always makes you wonder how it can actually fly. You’ve seen documentaries and read articles but that fear comes every time you get into a plane. Besides turbulence, lift off is the worst part.

“You can hold my hand if you want.”

Your head snaps up towards the person standing next to you. Even now, after months since the last time you heard that voice. You would be able to recognize it from a million others. That doesn’t take away from the surprise of seeing her there.

“What...” you start, trying to find your voice, “what are you doing here?”

“Taking a plane back home.”

“No, I mean-”

Her chuckle makes you realize she’s teasing. Partially, at least. She sits next to you, ready to go back to the USA. Which doesn’t really explain what she’s doing in the same country as you.

“Alex,” you try again, “why are you here?”

Your time away from her has been odd to say something.

You’ve missed her, she was your best friend even before things escalated into something else. She was the person you trusted the most before everything came tumbling down. And yet, over the last few months you’ve done your best to not think about her too much.

You limited your social media activity mostly to club related posts. Mostly accessed to catch up with some of your other friends, but being careful not to dwell on any of her posts. You scrolled past them in a hurry or got out of the app as soon as possible.

Unfollowing her would have been the smart choice, if you were someone else.

Being under the spotlight it’s great, but it also means everything you do is a clue for something. Unfollowing her would bring up more questions than you were, or still are, willing to answer. It was easier to pretend and move on.

“I got it out.”

Her words catch you by surprise and you shake your head trying to get back in the moment.

“What?”

It’s hard to make sense of any of it when she’s right there. Maybe it’s the shock of seeing her after so long. Maybe it’s hard to pay attention to her with the plane rapidly filling. It feels like you’re running out of time even when there’s nowhere else for you to be.

“You were right,” she says instead.

“Alex,” you warn, trying to get her to the point.

“I got my head out of my ass,” she finally answers with a half smile. However, her eyes remain serene, telling you she’s taking this seriously. “I was an idiot, and I’m sorry. Even then, when I discovered you were leaving, I could only think about myself. I can’t ask you to forgive me. We both know I don’t deserve it after everything I did to you. But you deserved an apology. That’s why I’m here.”

“You came all the way here for that?”

There’s more surprise in your voice than anything else. Sure, you appreciate the gesture but it seems a little overboard. Then again, you’re not sure of the result if she had called. Maybe you wouldn’t have picked the phone to begin with.

“I wanted you to know I mean it. I didn’t feel like words would be enough. Besides, I know how much you hate flying, so coming here just to go back, it’s worth it if it’s for you.”

Against all your common sense, you forgave her long ago. More for your own sake than hers, but all the anger and hurt are gone. The love you felt for her is not what it used to be, and neither is the trust. But in that moment, you’re glad she’s there.

Without saying a word, she offers you her hand.

This is something you’ve done several times, holding her hand during a flight, and you accept her offer just as the plane starts moving. If your grip is too tight, she doesn’t complain. She keeps her eyes on you; making sure you’re alright and damn those blue eyes.

“So, how did Pinoe know you were coming?”

“Did she tell you?”

“Not really,” you answer truthfully. “She said I should talk to you and that I would get it. You know her and Sue, they can be cryptic. Still, never expected to find you here.”

“Yeah, well...” She shies away from your gaze for a second but meets your eyes again. “Once you left I realized my mistake. I mean, I did before that. Guess it was easy to justify everything with fear. Then you weren’t there and the fear of losing you forever was bigger than the one of losing everything else.”

No, you’re not going to fall in love with her all over again. Not after you spent months getting over her. Even if she looks at you and you feel like she can see right into your soul.

“Alex, I can’t-”

“Hey,” she softly interrupts. “I’m not asking anything from you; I messed up. And like you said, I can’t unbreak things, I can only try to fix them.”

You can extend her an olive branch; a start. You’re not sure whether this is a good idea or not. It’s hard to tell where this is going to tell you. Still, you beg to the Lesbian Gods to guard your heart.

For now, you’re glad the 10+ hours journey back to America is not a lonely one.

*****

“Everything ready?”

You look over your shoulder to face some of your teammates.

You’ve decided to go for another year in Europe; extending your stay with the club you love while trying to win another chip and extra hardware.

“Almost.”

“I knew you wouldn’t stay,” Pinoe claims.

“But you sure wish I did.”

Her shrug confirms your suspicions because hell, you’re going to miss them too. It’s weird to be in a similar position as you were last year, and yet, everything feels different. You’re still at camp instead of sharing a wonderful evening at the Harris-Krieger household, but everyone that matters is there.

Last time it was a hundred percent your decision to leave although there were motivations besides soccer. This time your terms are different, you’re chasing a dream instead of running from a nightmare. You want to keep learning, growing and being the best you can be.

“You’ll come with me again?” You ask Alex teasingly.

“Not this time. But,” she pauses for dramatic effect. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

There’s some kind of promise there that you refuse to fully believe. It wouldn’t be the first time you get your hopes too high, or the one where you crash down in free fall with no parachute.

Camp has served you right, both of you. And maybe you stopped Ash from killing Alex when it was known you two would share a room, but things are...better.

“You can always visit.”

All eyes fall on you, trying to decide what is going on in your mind. To be honest? You’re not quite sure either. But you feel that pull towards Alex, daring you to allow her in.

You tell yourself this is a mistake. There’s absolutely nothing stopping her from doing something stupid, from leaving you hanging while you doubt yourself again. Everything could play out exactly like the last time, except something is different this time.

You’re not quite capable of explaining. You’re not gonna dive without testing the water either. So there’s another year overseas with some distance to keep your head clear. Whatever happens in that lapse, it’ll be the answer you need.

“Call me if you get homesick.”

“Except if it’s three am?” You ask with a sideways glance to Megan.

“Even if it’s three am,” Alex corrects. “Can’t promise I won’t fall asleep on you tho.”

“As if you didn’t do exactly that already.”

“Hey! At least I would pick up.”

“Fine. I’ll take it.”

There’s a small grin in your lips while you pack the last of your stuff.

You look at your friends and family one more time knowing they’ll be there when you come back. And looking at Alex you know there’s a chance home will be waiting for you.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

#alex morgan imagine #alex morgan imagines #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #alex morgan x reader #fulfilled prompt #excuse any typos #it's five am and I'm ready to die

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waitimcomingtoo · 5 years

Note

Heyy are you taking requests? If you are can you please write a fic with Tom where they do that plank over me challenge thing in bbc radio except he's planking over the reader??? Idk tysmmmm💞

Plank All Over Me

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: you have to keep your cool while the incredibly flirty Tom Holland planks over you

It’s a series now!

Masterlist

Requests are CLOSED

“Hello everyone, welcome back to BBC Radio 1. I’m Tom Holland from Spider-Man Far From Home.” Tom said sprightly into the camera.

“And I’m regretting being here.” You said in the same tone, making Tom laugh.

“She’s only kidding.” Tom gave you a fond look before looking back at the camera.

“Is she though?” You said with a scrunched nose.

“Aaaaaand we’re doing the Plank Over Me Challenge.” Tom pointed to the camera like he was a game show host.

“And I’m Y/n L/n from Venom.” You lamely added with equally lame jazz hands. “What is this game? Like how do you even play?”

“Its called Plank All Over Me. I plank over you while you ask me questions, and then we switch.” Tom explained while the crew got the cameras and microphones into position.

“Seems pretty intense for a game between strangers.” You commented as you rested your hands on your hips. It was true. You’d never met Tom before. But you were both in the Marvel field and BBC Radio 1 contacted you asking if you’d like to do an interview together. While you thought you’d be sitting on a couch next to him while someone asked you questions, BBC Radio 1 had something else in mind.

“I can assure you, we won’t be strangers after this.” Tom smiled cheekily and gave you a little nudge. Damn, if he wasn’t cute. His British accent and boyish face were enough to knock you off your game. You had to remind yourself that the cameras were on you, and you couldn’t let anything show.

“What if I can’t think of questions?” You asked the crew.

“There’s a little card with questions on it.” A man behind a camera handed you a small white card filled with questions. You scanned the card and nodded.

“This can’t end well.” You looked up and Tom and laughed. “Like, you’re gonna get my elbow full force into your clavicle and there’s nothing I can do to stop that.”

“That seems like a reasonable price to pay to have a pretty lady on top of me.” Tom shrugged, then squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. God, we’ve just met and I’m already blowing it.”

“Don’t sweat it.” You smiled assuringly at him and brought all your hair to one side. “And I can already tell there’s gonna be way too many innuendos.” You chuckled as you got on the ground in between the microphones. You laid straight and gave Tom a nod. Tom stood over you lordly and gave you a thumbs up.

“I’m coming down.” He told you.

“Timber.” You said weakly. You immediately grimaced. “I’m so sorry. Oh my God, cut that out of the video.”

“Leave it.” Tom pointed at a camera and gave them a fake stern look. “It was cute.”

“Are you gonna come or not?” You asked him, dying from the anticipation and already blushing over him calling what you said “cute.”

“This is off to a fantastic start.” Tom laughed and he straddled your waist with his knees. He had a shy, concentrated smile on his face as he rested his forearms on either side of your head. He cradled your face with his arms and clasped his fingers together at the top of your head. You held your breath as he put his legs back and pushed himself up. Finally, he gently lowered himself onto you and stopped just mere inches from your face. His warm breath ticked your face, making you giggle.

“Oh, don’t do that love. I won’t last a minute.” Tom said softly, only for you to hear.

“Sorry.” You said with a cheeky grin. He was like a Monet painting. Pretty from afar and intricate from up close, and bursting with detail. You took notice of the way his one eyebrow went vertical, instead of horizontal. You also took notice of how that was completely adorable. His hair was curlier than it was on screen, and soft strands of it brushed your forehead. He smelled like Head and Shoulders and axe, and maybe a little bit of heaven.

“First question, what happened to your eyebrow?” You asked him. It wasn’t on the card, but you were curious.

“That’s my wolf side, and I’ll never tell.” Tom said while he pierced you with his gaze. You wondered how long you were gonna last under this man.

“Alright.” You bit your tongue between your teeth, making Tom let out a hot breath. You felt his belt buckle touch your tummy every time he laughed.

“What did I just say? No laughing.” Tom reminded you. “Do you want me to crush you?”

A little, you thought.

“But that wasn’t a laugh! I bit my tongue so that I wouldn’t laugh.” You protested.

“It’s still making me weak and a man cannot be weak when he’s planking.” Tom declared, making it really hard for you not to laugh again. You looked at the card and kept going.

“What’s the best advice you’ve ever been given?” You asked him. Innocent enough.

“Probably when my mate Harrison told me to go on BBC radio 1 because that cute girl from Venom was gonna be there.” Tom answered with a lopsided grin. You bit your bottom lip.

“I’m pretty sure flirting isn’t a part of the games rules.” You teased.

“Rules are made to be broken, love.” Tom struggled to give you a wink. “Okay, if you’re cutting out her saying “timber”, then you’re cutting out me saying that.”

“But it was cute.” You said in a deep British accent to mock him. “And I’m pretty sure this is live radio.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be asking me questions?” Tom said in a strained voice. The plank was getting to him, but he was determined to go on.

“Oh right.” You laughed and looked back at the card. “What’s your favorite word?”

“I quite like your name, to be honest. I’ll say that’s my favorite word.” Tom said. If his face wasn’t red before, it was red now. He wasn’t usually this foward, but all bets were off when you were planking over a cute girl. You had to bite your tongue again and forced yourself to look indifferent to his compliment.

“Such a flirt.” You shook your head. “What scares you?”

“The thought of crushing you with my huge, muscly body.” Tom joked. His breath fanned your face again, not that you were complaining.

“Did you leave that body at home?” You teased him. Toms mouth opened in shock.

“Oof.” He said and adjusted his positive, closing his arms tighter around you.

“What? You wanted questions.” You pointed out.

“I did. I have to say though, you’re a pretty good distraction to the ache in my biceps.” Tom admitted.

“That’s what every girl wants to hear.” You said in an over dramatic dreamy tone. “And they are pretty nice biceps.”

“You can feel them when we’re done.” Tom said with a weak smirk. He was really feeling the pain now.

“You did not just say that!” You covered your face with your hand, mostly to hide your blush. You couldn’t move your hand back to the ground in fear of brushing him and making him fall over, so you kept it flushed against your chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Tom laughed. “It’s not me, it’s the plank.”

“Getting back to the game, if you could switch suits with any superhero, who would it be?” You asked.

“Probably Iron Man, just so I could go to the bathroom on set.” Tom answered with a breathy chuckle. Every laugh sent a wave of mint straight to your face. “How long have I been going?”

“Four minutes and a half.” You took a glance at the clock. “You’re quivering.”

“You’re making me quiver.” Tom said lowly.

“My deepest apologies.” You said sarcastically as you stared innocently into his eyes.

“I think I could find it in my heart to forgive you.” Tom said, again, only for you to hear.

“Thank God.” You laughed and met his eyes. Behind the obvious strain from holding the plank, you saw a fondness. In a more sincere voice you said, “I wouldn’t want you to be mad at me.”

“I could never be mad at you, darling.” Tom said with equal sincerity. “Though I’m going to get a bit cross if you don’t ask me another question.”

“Shoot, right, sorry. Umm, how often do you people watch?” You asked the first question you saw on the card.

“How often do I what, love?” Tom wheezed.

“People watch.” You repeated. “Like observe other people and their behavior in a non serial killer like way.”

“Oh.” Tom blew a breath out on your face and thought. You could see the veins in his neck beginning to bulge. “Not often. There’s this one girl I like to watch though.” Tom answered, quickly followed by, “In a non serial killer like way.”

“Lucky girl.” You commented, feelings a twinge of jealousy stab at your heart. He was being so flirty and then dropped that on you. “Why do you watch her?”

“Because she takes my breath away.” Tom said roughly as he struggled to breath. He squeezed his eyes tightly to make himself last. “Literally.” He huffed.

“How cute.” You faked a smile. “Do you think she’s watching this now?”

“I know for a fact that she is.” Tom said with a laugh. “How long have I been going now?”

“Almost six minutes.” You told him. “How long are you going for?”

“I’m going to make this last as long as I possibly can, since I will never be in this position again.” Tom said with determination in his weak voice.

“Woah.” You let out a surprised laugh. “Who knew Spider-Man was so dirty?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Tom defended. “I’ve just enjoyed our time together.”

“You’ve enjoyed the bulging veins, red face, and aching muscles?” You raised an eyebrow.

“No, I’ve enjoyed being asked questions by the lovely girl beneath me.” Tom let out another ragged breath. “I can do this all day.”

“I think the vein in your forehead might pop before you get a chance.” You taunted.

“Mmm.” Tom grunted, really feeling the pain now. “Just keep asking me questions. It helps.”

“Does it? That’s a question.” You looked at the camera, knowing full well you were ignoring the card.

“Yes. You soothe me.” Tom said through clenched teeth. He didn’t seem very soothed.

“Okay, what would you rate 10/10?” You asked, getting back to the card.

“You. And Spider-Man Far From Home, on Blu-Ray and DVD now.” He shot a wink at the camera and pounded his fist against the ground. He wasn’t gonna last much longer.

“What do you wish you knew more about?” You were going rapid fire questions now.

“Again, I’m gonna have to go with you.” Tom laughed halfheartedly. “These questions are too easy.”

“What’s the best way to start your day?” You asked. “And you can’t say me.”

“Well, it would be you, but for now it’s tea.” Tom answered.

“For now?” You asked softly.

“Next question.” Tom wheezed.

“What’s the most interested work of art you’ve ever seen?” You read from the card.

“The Kiss by Gustav Klimt.” Tom said.

“Really?” You asked.

“No, it’s you.” Tom laughed.

“Tom!” Your eyes widened. He was definitely flirting now. “Are you like this with all the girls?”

“Not even close.” Tom gave a labored laugh, as if your question was ridiculous. “Just the pretty ones in Venom.”

“Where would you spend all your time if you could?” You asked, ignoring his comment for the time being.

“Right here.” Tom said before collapsing into you. He fell gently, and buried his face in your neck as he cradled your head with his arm. He breathed heavily in your ear for a moment before rolling onto his side and propping himself up. You shifted a little, so you could look at him. He was all red in the face and had labored breathing. He gave you a tired laugh and looked up at the clock.

“How long did I go?” He asked.

“Six and a half minutes, which means Tom Holland officially holds the BBC Radio 1 Plank All Over Me Record.” A crew member answered.

“My mum will be so proud.” Tom pretended to wipe a tear.

“How do you feel?” You nudged him, both of you still on the ground.

“Never better.” Tom said, out of breath. “Might wanna feel my bicep now, since I just had a record breaking workout.”

You pursed your lips in temptation, before reaching over and squeezing his arm. He watched your face carefully as it twisted into an impressed expression. It was your first time touching a guys bicep, thinking it was a move only used by quarterbacks in movies.

“Well damn.” You laughed shyly and looked into his eyes. You jumped a little when you saw that he was already staring at you.

“Your turn, love.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“I’m gonna last two seconds.” You said to him as you got up, holding out a hand to help him up as well.

“Nonsense. I’m sure you’re strong.” Tom said as he took your hand. You both realized he didn’t have to get up and he quickly let go in embarrassment.

“I can’t wait to prove you wrong by pile driving you into the carpet.” You chuckled, adjusting your outfit before getting into position.

“I can’t wait for that either.” Tom said as he got on the ground and laid straight. He wiggled down between the two microphones and held a hand up towards you. “Whenever you’re ready, darling.”

“Here we go.” You laughed nervously as you took his hand. You used it to steady yourself as you stepped over him and stood between his legs. You slowly got down on your knees and placed them in either side of his waist. You looked at him hesitantly and he gave you a soft smirk

“Ready?” He asked.

“As I’ll ever be.” You said. You placed your arms on either side on his head and propped yourself up. You straightened your legs and lowered yourself onto your elbows. Immediately, you felt the ache go through your body.

“Okay. Ask away.” You said.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Tom began.

“What? Why is that my first question?” You asked, already feeling your arms and legs weaken.

“It’s on the card.” Tom shrugged. He didn’t even have the card in his hand.

“It is not.” You let out a breathy laugh. “I looked at the card for six and a half minutes, don’t forget.”

“Fine. I thought of it when I was hovering above your perfect face for nearly seven minutes.” Tom said with emphasis on his time. “Now answer.”

“I’ve seen more of you today than I’d like to admit.” You dodged his question to role him up.

“You could see as much of me as you want.” Tom quipped.

“Oh?” You said with a raised eyebrow.

“Not like that! Damn it! I can’t stop with the innuendos.” Tom scolded himself.

“It’s okay.” You shook your head, making your hair fall on his chest. “I think it’s funny. And no, I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Okay, good.” Tom felt better at your words.

“Hey, Tom?” You spoke up.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Are you gonna ask me anything else?” You wondered. He wasn’t keeping up his end of the game.

“I kinda found out all I needed to know.” Tom joked.

“Tom!” You said, struggling to keep yourself up. You were determined not to fall over after only being asked one question.

“Fine. What’s your favorite bug?” Tom asked.

“What?” You wheezed. “I don’t know. A beetle.”

“Okay, then who’s your favorite Beetle?” Tom continued. None of these questions were on the card, and you both knew it.

“John.” You huffed. “Was that off script?”

“I’m the one asking you questions, darling.” Tom said nonchalantly.

“Well keep asking. I can’t feel my legs.” You grimaced.

“Ready to give up?” Tom asked. Technically, it was a question.

“Never.” You wheezed again.

“Your hair is in my mouth.” Tom laughed as stands of your hair fell into his open mouth.

“Sorry.” You giggled and tried to flip your hair behind your shoulder, which proved to be impossible. Tom laughed at your failure.

“I got you, love.” He said softly as he gentle tucked your hair behind your ears, giving you a clear view of your face.

“I can’t do this.” You said, not even referring to the plank anymore. You couldn’t have Tom Holland flirt with you on live radio without screaming.

“Yes you can.” Tom said assertively. “You’re almost at two minutes.”

“That’s it?” You groaned. It felt like two hours.

“Keep going. I’m not ready for this to end.” Tom cheered you on.

“I swear to God Tom, I’ll give us both rug burn. See if I care.” You threatened.

“You wouldn’t.” Tom said with a cocky smirk. “Who’s your favorite man under the mask?”

“I kinda have a thing for Peter Parker.” You said through deep breaths.

“Peter Parker might have a thing for you.” Tom muttered.

“I bet I look so red right now.” You were beginning to get self conscious being his close to Tom.

“You look beautiful.” Tom dismissed your concern.

“That wasn’t a question.” You pointed out.

“Fine. Who’s the most famous person to slide into your DM’s?” Tom got back to the card.

“Your mom.” You said through clenched teeth.

“Nikki?” Tom asked with a laugh. “How dare she?”

“She’s got game.” You panted.

“If you had to date any actor in the MCU, who would it be?” Tom questioned. You knew that wasn’t on the card either. “I’d just like to point out the very cute, very single MCU actor in this very room.”

“Thats quite convenient isn’t it? I don’t have to look too far.” You smiled, regaining a bit of strength.

“Answer! You told me your favorite bug for Pete’s sake.” Tom grew more impatient with every passing second.

“I guess you, since you’re already underneath me.” You said sheepishly. You knew the answer before he even finished asking.

“I-“ Tom began.

“If you make a sexual joke, I will body slam you.” You cut him off, knowing where he was going with his statement. Tom nodded in defeat.

“Not a sentence I expected to hear today.” He quipped.

“How much longer until three minutes?” You asked in your strained voice.

“Ten seconds.” A crew member answered. The crew, who by the way, was watching two people fall in love in real time, right in front of them.

“I can’t do it.” Your arms felt like fire and were beginning to shake.

“Yes you can.” Tom urged you to keep going.

“My arms feel like spaghetti.” You panted.

“Arms are heavy, moms spaghetti.” Tom said in a positive tone. You laughed and felt your arms shake harder.

“If I couldn’t laugh under you, you can’t make me laugh when I’m over you.” You scolded.

“Fair. Three more seconds.” Tom told you. “Three, two, one.”

“I’m out.” You collapsed onto his chest and laid there for a moment. You felt Toms hand on the small of your back, rubbing comforting circles with his hand as your heart pounded against his chest. You rested against his chest as you caught your breath, feeling your arms slowly regain their strength. You picked your head up and rested your chin on his chest, giving him a tired smile. He returned the smile and tucked your hair behind your ears again.

“All good?” He asked with a lazy smile.

“I will be.” You assured him. “As soon as my legs regain feeling.”

“Here. I’ll help you up.” Tom offered. He rested his hands on your hips and shifted you off of him. He then scooped you up and gently set you in your feet. He let you lean into him until your aching legs were steady.

“Your time was three minutes and one second, Y/n.” A crew member told you.

“Trust me, I felt it every second.” You gulped, your mouth feeling suddenly dry.

“So did I.” Tom smiled. “Nice job.” He held up his hand, a little higher than you could reach. You took a step towards him to get closer, instantly regretting it. Your legs trembled and Tom had to catch you to steady yourself.

“Oh great. Tom Holland made me unable to walk for the next week.” You rolled your eyes before realizing you own innuendo. You put your hand over your mouth in embarrassment.

“Also not a sentence I expected to hear.” Tom laughed with happy shock.

“Not a sentence I expected to say, darling.” You threw his own word back in his face. He gave you a mock offended face.

“As fun as this was, that’s all the time we have for today. Thank you Tom and Y/n for joining us at BBC Radio 1.” The host of the show said into the microphone.

“Thanks for having us.” Tom said sincerely. Very, very sincerely.

“I’m thankful, but my arms are not.” You joked

You thanked the crew one last time and went off to your respective dressing rooms. You rubbed your aching arms and gathered your things before hearing a knock at your door. You opened it, expecting to see your manager but instead found a very bashful looking Tom Holland.

“So.” He began with a hesitant smile. “There was one question I didn’t get to ask, that I’m dying to know.”

“And what would that be?” You asked, leaning against the doorway with a smirk. Tom looked at you, feeling a surge of confidence from your smile and loosened his shoulders. Oh, the things you did to him.

“Will you go out with me?” He said quickly, before his confidence left him. “Maybe it was just me, but I was really feeling it back there in the interview, and I felt like you were too. I hope it wasn’t just me.” Tom said in a hopeful manner. “Please say it wasn’t just me.”

“That depends.” You said coyly. “You’d have to answer a question of mine first.”

“Which is?” Tom asked, bouncing a little on his heels.

“Did you think I’d ever say no?”

Tag List 🏷

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland jealous #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland interview #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #spider man: homecoming #spiderman x reader #endgame rerelease #iron man

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cavalierious-whim · 3 years

Text

Kaedehara Kazuha writes poetry and comes to terms with the fact that he's in love.

Kazuha came home and I love him. Read here on AO3 for better quality, and follow me here on Twitter!

When was the last time he felt the rain upon his face, wondered Kazuha.

“When I allowed myself to,” he said to himself, leaning low over the woodpile as he struck a match over his flint. The sparks were welcome warmth, just like the fire that brewed slowly. Kazuha closed his eyes as he listened to the crackling of leaves, the dry kindling he’d set together.

“Sun-tipped red leaves.” A low murmur as he reached out to hold his fingers near the flames. Basking in the warm glow. It was chilly that night, the dark cover of the stars bringing the cold with it. Liyue was often unpredictable in its climate, much like Inuzama. Sometimes cold, sometimes hot. Always the undercurrent of rain on the wind, humidity settling deep into his bones.

“Burning fire in my soul,” he continued, sighing softly as he watched the orange glow of his campfire. A tired moment after a long day of wandering. Soon he would find his way back to the fleet, but until then, he would enjoy the quiet.

The calm before the storm, as he often said, the wind settling across the vast horizon. The smell of the grass comforted him, but there was rain on the way. In a day or so.

Much like the wind he coveted so much, Kaedehara Kazuha had traveled the world. Floated through time and space, like a soft and subtle breeze as he observed all those around him. It was enjoyable, of course. A young master with a name to claim, he always craved freedom more than the bounty of his family’s wealth.

But, the more that he traveled, the more he longed to settle down. To find companions. To understand the poetry of love. These things weren’t synonymous with the freedom that he sought, his flight on the breath of the world as he flitted from one place to the next.

So, those ideals remained that: merely ideals. Thoughts that he spun into poems on lonely nights like such as this. Whether it was on the Alcor, or here in the Guili Plains, Kazuha’s respite was found in weaving together words as he articulated his careful thoughts into volumes of poetry.

He sat upon a stump. Watched the fire roar. The first two lines of his haiku were fully formed and only waiting for a conclusion. He held his notebook in one hand, graphite in another. The book was heavy with words weighed down with feelings. Nearly full and close to the end until he inevitably started another.

Beidou teased him about his collection in his barracks on the ship. Kazuha only ever smiled back, his quiet grin speaking more volumes than words ever would.

“Sun-tipped red leaves,” he said, repeating his earlier lines, carefully woven together with tranquil intent. “Burning fire in my soul.”

He paused, tapping the graphite against his lip. Nothing came to him, thoughts empty like a dry husk.

You cannot force it, he thought as he set aside his notebook. Kazuha instead, decided to make tea. Pinched together an appropriate amount of leaves and tossed them into a small tin cup settled over the fire. Water from his canteen.

He and Beidou have often fought over this, the proper way to brew something. Cultures were intriguing things.

Kazuha found inspiration the moment he sipped at his tea. Sitting there on his stump as he watched the leaves on the trees rustle. Their colors have only just started to turn with the season.

“Autumn lingers,” he finished, tasting the words on his tongue.

He jotted the poem down entirely, his composition for the night finished.

He woke in the middle of the night, thinking of Beidou and the Traveler.

The latter, such an odd one. At first, Kazuha thought him quiet, but Aether turned out to have a devilishly branded sense of humor. Different than Kazuha’s quaint nature. Still, Kazuha had smelled the wind upon him and tasted the breeze.

Perhaps they were kindred souls in that way, craving for freedom in its purest form. Kazuha didn’t know what Aether wanted in Inuzama, but he feared for his safety. There was admiration, of course. Kazuha always found inspiration in those that burned so brightly in their conviction.

But many times, those people were fools. Kazuha was laying under the open stars as he thought of Aether. So similar to his friend of old, the one he’d lost to such foolishness. There wasn’t a doubt in Kazuha’s mind that a similar fate would befall Aether.

Beidou, of course, was the encouraging kind. All smiles and pats on the back if she thought that she could benefit from whatever arrangement was procured. “An eye for an eye,” she often said to Kazuha.

It wasn’t a bad philosophy. Still, it wasn’t always applicable and sometimes wreaked havoc instead of brought boon.

“Electric mayhem,” said Kazuha softly. He lifted a hand and gauged the deep night sky. Measured the stars and the galaxies between his fingers. “Ignites the sparks of fire, amid the darkened skies.”

Another haiku for another moment of observation. Kazuha was tired, deep in his thoughts. The fire was nothing but low-burning embers and he pulled his quilt tighter around him.

I will write it down tomorrow, he thought. The twinkling stars were a better show anyhow.

Kazuha had met Aether more times than he did most. Beidou’s gaze was a sly thing earlier that day as she watched them, thumb against her chin.

He didn’t like that look. It was her scheming one, and it bred more damage than it did good. Kazuha wasn’t in the mood to clean up any messes.

They were dispatched together to handle a minor inconvenience. Kazuha felt honored to watch Aether fight again. To taste the power he wielded so effortlessly on his tongue. Visionless, but no less a vision himself.

Kazuha watched, his throat going dry. Swallowing was hard. Looking away was harder. Instead, he watched Aether for most of the day, stringing together word after word in his mind. Aether’s form was poetic in its nature, so much like Kazuha’s own.

Aether moved with subtle and serene grace, weapons held aloft as he danced around their foes. He didn’t like to fight, didn’t like to draw his blade. That was something they shared.

Later that night, while sitting around a shared fire, Aether turned to him and said, “You were quiet today.”

“I am often,” said Kazuha in return.

“Beidou said otherwise.”

Kazuha smiled at that. “Beidou’s first and foremost trait is that she is always contrary.”

Aether hummed as he considered this. “There are worse things, I suppose. She’s upfront with her distrust.”

“Not distrust; Beidou just always has another motive, usually one that benefits herself.”

Their silence for most of the night was comforting. Aether was just as content to watch nature, as Kazuha was to pen his thoughts. His little notebook was a permanent fixture in his fingers as of late.

Particularly due to Aether’s enduring presence. Kazuha couldn’t help but think of the man. They’d spent much time together over the weeks, confirming Kazuha’s initial inklings: Aether was just like his old friend.

Perhaps a little more cautious. If there was a person who could end the Shogun, he might be it, though Kazuha wouldn’t hold his breath.

Beidou asked him a few days back. “What would you do if he challenged her straight on?” Perceptive as always, Kazuha had thought.

“Nothing,” he’d told her, though the words were hollow the moment they left his mouth. Fetid and ill. And she knew it too, her lips tugged into a neat little frown.

Beidou didn’t tell him what to do, though. She wouldn’t. He was a visitor to her fleet, a guest. Not one of her own. It came and went as he pleased, which meant that he could follow Aether to his doom if Kazuha so wished.

He hadn’t decided yet.

Kazuha focused on the moment instead, their tiny pocket of stillness in a vast world of contempt. The floating creature was off on her own, playing with the nature around them. Aether sat on a stump and drank his tea without complaint.

“What are you writing tonight?” asked Aether eventually, genuinely curious.

Kazuha paused. He rubbed his thumb over the rough page, his thumb smearing the graphite around, smudging his words slightly. Aether wouldn’t care about the content. Kazuha had learned that he just liked to hear his soft voice read the poems aloud.

“Behold our desires,” said Kazuha quietly, his voice gentle like the night breeze. “Like hot eyes of flame inside, Who will quench the fire?”

Aether, of course, thought Kazuha. He often looked at people, but always objectively. Not like this, where his heart was seized by such feeling that he had to pen it. The slow-stoked fire that burned low in his gut, widening further and further.

It would be bad luck to liken it to a forest fire, but that was what it felt like, the raging heat within his core. Before long it would be all-consuming.

Aether watched him carefully with a hint of a smile and his eyes calm and reflective. Then, he reached out, his hand stopping just short of Kazuha. “Come with me to Inuzama,” said Aether. Straight and to the point, as always.

Kazuha was the type to roam free on the winds, but there came a time where every breeze settled. Perhaps love and adventure truly could coexist. His hand found Aether’s, grasping it gently.

Perhaps it was his time.

#genshin impact #aether/kazuha #kazuther #aether #kazuha kaedehara #genshin impact fanfiction

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

Photo

(未定事件簿) 夏彦 SR [忆中人] [Tears of Themis] Xia Yan SR [Reminiscent Person] Card Story Translations (Part 3)

*Tears of Themis Masterlist / Mobile Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Xia Yan’s personal tag will be #Tears of a PI. Personal master-list under construction! *Only the messages left before I start Mo Yi’s new Fairytale SR... (*´艸｀*)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / SMS

Location: Staff Lounge

The lights came back on again, and I found myself standing in the Staff Lounge.

The Gamemaster that had disappeared earlier was facing me, all smiles.

Gamemaster: Hello young miss, it's been quite a while. I waited a really long time for you two to split up.

MC: So that was you. You really scared the living daylights out of me just now.

Gamemaster: I didn't have much of a choice; I had to take the chance to steal you away.

MC: So, what exactly is being tested in this segment?

He gave me an inscrutable smile.

Gamemaster: Didn’t you guys already find the slip of paper? What did it say?

MC: Find me, take me… You mean, he��s supposed to find me?

Gamemaster: That’s right. We'll dress you up to look like the Staff to see if that boyfriend of yours can recognize and single you out from the rest.

Gamemaster: Okay, we're running short of time, so hurry and get changed in the changing room.

Waiting inside the changing room was a veil along with a matching dress with a couple of skull-like ornaments hanging from it…

It looked like something right out of the "Corpse Bride"; a movie that was more popular during this period. The only difference from the movie was that this veil was very heavy.

After putting it on, the black veil that hung in front of my eyes made it hard to make out what was in front of me.

MC: This… is really opaque...

MC: I think I'll be better off holding it first...

After changing into the "costume" with ease, I walked out of the changing room, only to see five other girls of similar build to me, all warning the same outfit.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: In the Secret Room

The Staff Member opened another one of the Lounge's doors. It was clearly obvious that it led to another, completely new room.

MC: Why does this place have that many rooms...

Gamemaster: It's something that I painstakingly designed myself to utilize every single bit of space available here.

Gamemaster: Plus, this house didn't exactly come cheap either.

Putting the veil on, I lined up with the rest of the girls, mimicking their posture with my back to the door.

Gamemaster: Now young miss, you cannot move or make any sound from now on.

Gamemaster: You have to listen closely to me from now on.

MC: Okay. Rest assured; you have my full cooperation.

After thoroughly warning me a couple more times, the Staff Member opened a door that led to a corridor.

Xia Yan's rapid footsteps sounded closer and closer to the room.

Xia Yan: (Y/n)? Is that you? Are you here?

His tone was filled with worry, but I could not reply.

Gamemaster: Congratulations, Mister. You and your bride have already reached the last stage of the Cursed Castle.

Gamemaster: Please choose a bride to take with you. The curse will only be unraveled if you pick the right bride.

Xia Yan released the deep breath that he had been holding, his entire body seemingly relaxing from its former tenseness, only his voice held the slightest bit of shakiness.

Xia Yan: That's great. I was really worried about you just now even though I know that this must also be part of the game line-up.

I could only judge his current position from where his voice came from since I had my back facing him.

But I had an odd feeling that Xia Yan was currently looking straight in my direction.

MC: (I think I'm overthinking things. There's no way he'd be able to tell who's who from this far away, right…?)

MC: (Not to mention how we're all wearing such a long veil…)

Gamemaster: Sir, you can stand 5 meters away from these few brides to observe them closely…

Gamemaster: You can order them to do something, but it cannot be to turn around or to remove their veil.

Xia Yan: No need. I don't require them to do anything.

Xia Yan: Can I go over now?

Gamemaster: Have you already decided? You only have but one chance.

Xia Yan: Of course. I'm very certain of my choice.

My heart started beating more and more fiercer the closer Xia Yan stepped towards me.

My hand was grabbed tightly by his, and I could feel the heat coming from the palm of his hand.

Gamemaster: Since you've already come to a decision, then how about you ask the bride to turn around?

He exerted a little force on his arm, forcefully turning me the other way around. But the veil covering my eyes was lifted before I was able to make a full turn.

I was caught off guard as everything before my eyes suddenly came into clear focus again.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

I was caught off guard as everything before my eyes suddenly came into clear focus again.

Reflexively, I looked back at the person behind me under the dim light.

A pair of eyes sparkling with absolute mirth entered my field of vision.

He leaned down, inching closer to the cover of the veil, his warm breath fanning out on my face.

MC: Xia… Xia Yan…

The heavy veil obscured the figure of another, who was standing beside him. He was the one and only person in my world at this moment in time.

Xia Yan: Found you; my bride.

MC: ……

I was acutely aware of the fact that this whole “bride” business was only a part of the game’s story, but yet, I couldn’t help the blush that adorned my face as it heated up.

Those two words were just like little fawns, messing up my already restless heart even more.

Xia Yan: I told you that I'd definitely find you.

This moment saw his eyes filled with absolute seriousness and resolution.

He resembled a knight from the fairy tales I'd read back when I was a kid, solemnly vowing to the princess.

MC: How… How did you recognize me?

I stumbled over my words before eventually finding my voice.

He paused for a moment, as if he didn't expect me to throw such a question at him.

Xia Yan: Why wouldn't I?

MC: I had my back to you and the veil is so long...

He grinned at that.

Xia Yan: Because you're you!

Xia Yan: Your face, your voice, your silhouette; I’ve already committed them to memory.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

"Because you're you!" “Your face, your voice, your silhouette; I’ve already committed them to memory.”

Those two lines continued repeating themselves in my mind all the way till we walked out of the room.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Rest Area

Xia Yan: What's on your mind, (Y/n)?

MC: Oh, nothing! I was just lost in my thoughts.

Xia Yan: Come on, hurry up! The Store Owner’s calling us over!

The Staff Member dressed in the black swallowtail coat from earlier was beckoning us from afar.

Xia Yan dragged me along while I was still caught up in a daze.

Xia Yan: Mr. Gamemaster! I never thought that you’d be the owner of this establishment.

Owner: What, can’t the owner take customer feedback?

Xia Yan: Of course not; it was just a little surprising.

Owner: Haha, the both of you cleared it way too quickly that you’ve even broken the highest record to be recorded in establishment.

Owner: Our Store will customize a special gift as a prize for you guys.

MC: A customized gift? What kind?

Owner: Let's keep this a secret first. You'll know once you come fetch it.

Owner: Come, come. The two of you should take a picture together in commemoration.

We both stood before the camera at the owner’s warm insistence.

Owner: What are the two of you being all shy for? Get closer! How about you hold your boyfriend’s hand, young lady?

MC: Oh, er…okay, sure…

I held onto Xia Yan’s hand a little awkwardly. Well, we did sign up for this challenge as a couple after all.

Owner: Do something, strike a pose, anything. It’s not like you’re taking a wedding photo or anything, so why are you standing so straight like that?

Xia Yan: *Coughs* W-Wedding...photo…?

Xia Yan started coughing, a blush on his face, almost as if he had been choked by his own saliva.

I reached a hand out towards him, attempting to help him catch his breath.

Snap!

And that was how this somewhat comical moment got recorded on camera.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

A week later.

Location: Coffee Shop

The day where we’d arranged to meet with the Experience Hall’s Owner arrived, and Xia Yan and I decided to go receive our prize together.

Coincidentally, Li Xu, Xia Yan’s Client, wanted to thank Xia Yan for his work, so we decided to meet him in a nearby coffee shop.

Li Xu: Hello, Xia Yan, Miss (Y/n).

Li Xu was sitting alone in a corner of the Coffee Shop. Upon seeing us enter, he nodded and gestured towards us.

Xia Yan: How was it?

Li Xu: Thanks to the information you’ve given me, I prepared for an entire week ever since I got my hands on the questions and memorized every segment a good many times over.

Li Xu: I even went and watched lots of videos on “guess the drawing” and “Charades”, but it was still pretty tough, in the end.

Li Xu: Thankfully, I managed to hold out till the time limit was over and passed it.

MC: (Why does he sound like he’s describing his finals instead…?)

Xia Yan: It’s great that everything went well. Now, I can report back the good results.

MC: Report?

Xia Yan: Yup. Didn’t I tell you before that he is… a relative of an acquaintance of mine?

Li Xu: Thank you for helping me, Detective Xia. I’d never have made it past that challenge alone...

None of us were aware of the person who had been seated at the table behind him, nor for how long said person had been present. And it was this exact same moment that the girl seated behind him suddenly stood up, coming up straight before him.

???: You liar! So, you hired a Detective!? Our Tacit Understanding between each other was all just a lie!? That detective was helping you behind the scenes!?

Li Xu: J-Jia Jia? What are you doing here?

???: Never thought that I’d turn up here now, did you? And here I was wondering why you’d come to a place like this that’s so far away from your home...

???: You liar! I’ll never believe you again!

Seeing his girlfriend about to leave, Li Xu hurriedly stood up and grabbed onto her hand.

Li Xu: No, listen to me...

The way that Li Xu stuttered simply went to show that he was very guilty about it, thus confirming the suspicions that the girl before him harbored in her heart.

She flung his arm away, picking up the bag that she had left atop her chair and made to leave.

Seeing how she was determined to leave, Xia Yan and I both shot out of our seats.

MC: Miss, you’re really misunderstanding Mr. Li.

MC: He did hire the Detective, but the Tacit Understanding between the two of you isn’t fake.

???: Who are you and on what basis am I to believe what you’re saying?

Xia Yan: Hello, miss. My name’s Xia Yan, I’m the Detective who’s in charge of this investigation.

Xia Yan: And this is my assistant, (Y/n).

???: I’m Deng Jia, his girlfriend.

Deng Jia glared at Li Xu as she spoke. And Xia Yan hurriedly attempted to help Li Xu explain himself.

Xia Yan: Li Xu only wanted me to investigate and see what the game itself entails. All I did was to tell him the possible questions that might be asked.

Xia Yan: He derived all the answers to those questions on his own.

Deng Jia looked at Li Xu a little suspiciously.

Deng Jia: You didn’t ask this detective to find out what my habits and my likes and dislikes are?

Li Xu: Of course not, why would I!?

Li Xu’s eyes widened in shock at the accusation.

Deng Jia: So you spent the money to hire this detective, all just to find out the contents of the game? Who in their right mind would do such a lose-lose transaction?

Li Xu: No… My cousin’s a friend of Detective Xia’s...

Xia Yan: I didn’t take any money from him; I only helped a friend, who came to me with a request, out.

Listening to Li Xu going round in circles about the matter, Xia Yan couldn’t do anything but to cut in and interrupt him.

The girl’s fury simmered down quite a bit after hearing the explanation, but she still harbored a few suspicions.

Deng Jia: Even if that’s the case… What you did was still a hasty effort made at the last minute.

Xia Yan appeared somewhat clueless as to how to carry on with the conversation, shooting me pleading look for help.

I sighed, turning to explain it all to Deng Jia patiently.

MC: Miss, calm down and think about it. He could have asked you about your likes and dislikes beforehand...

MC: But things like habits are very trivial and small, so not even a Detective can find out about all your little quirks in the mere span of a few days.

MC: Besides, the memories you two share are complex, so how would he remember all of it, if he didn’t make the extra effort to notice everything that went on?

MC: And, even if he did prepare all of those in-time, then what about the last segment where he had to choose a bride? How, then, would he be able to cheat?

Deng Jia seemed to have remembered something, her expression slightly faltering. Li Xu stood dumbly by the side, rooted to his spot, rubbing a hand over his arm that hung by his side.

MC: So, how about you here what Mr. Li has to say, Miss?

Deng Jia pursed her lips, silently looking at Li Xu. Li Xu breathed a deep sigh before finally raising his head and fixing her with a serious look.

Li Xu: I didn’t cheat; I remember all your habits and your likes and dislikes very clearly.

Li Xu: I also remember that it’s been 3 years since the first time we met. The first time you ever talked to me was to ask if you could borrow a pen of mine, and that we went for barbeque the first time we ever went out for a meal together...

Li Xu: The first time we ever went out together alone was to the Library, and the place where you agreed to be my girlfriend was the second tree to the left downstairs of your house...

Deng Jia: Okay… Okay, enough! I get it.

Listening to his chain of silly, yet absolutely direct confessions, Deng Jia’s cheeks reddened.

Even the anger that she had harbored in her voice steadily disappeared.

Deng Jia: If you’re not afraid of being tested, then why look to a Detective for help?

Li Xu: Only because I wasn’t sure if you’d be unhappy or dissatisfied with me after playing this game…

Li Xu: I don’t want you to be mad, but I was afraid that you’d ignore me after, just like the other couples who’ve gone through this; so I did my homework in advance.

Li Xu: I know that I can’t speak very well since I’m a bookworm, so all I can do to make you happy is to study things up in advance.

Li Xu said everything in all but a single breath, looking as if he had used up all his confidence to convey that. He lowered his head but couldn’t withstand the urge to secretly peak up at his girlfriend.

And it was at this moment, that all of Deng Jia’s anger vanished into thin air.

Deng Jia: I… I…

Her face was red and she looked a little shy about it.

Deng Jia: It wasn’t in my intention to put you to the test. It hasn’t been long since we got together, so it’s normal if you don’t understand me all that well.

Deng Jia: You’re always very quiet, so I thought that maybe we could learn more about each other through this game.

Deng Jia: I never thought… That you’d actually still remember things from that long ago.

Her face gradually reddened as she stepped forwards and grabbed onto Li Xu’s sleeve.

Seeing that, Xia Yan and I quietly took our leave from the coffee shop.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Downtown

We both heaved a huge sigh of relief upon stepping out of the coffee shop.

MC: I thought that they were really going to fight and break up right then and there, but it was thankfully only a false alarm.

Xia Yan: Yeah, if his girlfriend was truly mad, then I’d only have brought him more trouble than help.

MC: Thankfully, Deng Jia doesn’t seem like an unreasonable person either.

MC: But I feel like Li Xu’s stepping on eggshells way too much around her; it’s almost as if he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing...

Xia Yan: Actually, Li Xu told me that he had been harboring a crush on her for nearly 3 years now and finally confessed after no longer being able to keep it a secret any longer back when he first came to me with this job.

Xia Yan: He honestly never thought that his revered goddess would agree to dating him, so he always feels as if he’s unworthy of having such a girlfriend.

MC: So that’s why he’s being so careful around her? Fearing that he might say something wrong, or do something wrong?

Xia Yan: That’s how it is...

Xia Yan spread his hands and shrugged at that, sighing helplessly.

Xia Yan: And that’s precisely why I didn’t want to take any money from him for this. Anything and everything he wanted me to look into was clearly only to allow himself to have some assurance and an easier peace of mind.

Xia Yan: Although, I can understand where he’s coming from.

Xia Yan: Who wouldn’t hesitate and waver before their most favorite person in the world?

Xia Yan: It’s only because he’s way too concerned about how they’d think that he turned to self-doubting.

Xia Yan’s voice sounded a little off, but he didn’t show any hints of there being something wrong when I turned to look at him.

It was as though he had just been thinking about the matter with utter seriousness.

MC: But he’ll only be missing out on more of the beautiful things if he’s walking on eggshells that much.

MC: They’d be unable to pass the stage either, if Deng Jia didn’t understand him well enough.

Xia Yan: It’s unfortunate, but apparently, Li Xu didn’t seem to notice that fact.

MC: Li Xu was all caught up about whether or not he was worthy of his girlfriend that he neglected what his girlfriend really wanted; a companion to accompany her.

Xia Yan: Yeah, he ended up ignoring the most important thing… Which was what his partner truly wanted.

Xia Yan halted in his footsteps, quietly looking at me, eyes full of smiles.

MC: What? Why are you suddenly staring at me?

Xia Yan: Nothing! Let’s hurry and get our prize!

I don’t know if it was just my imagination, but Xia Yan’s tone sounded much lighter, and much more carefree than how it was just now.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Experience Hall Front Desk

Owner: You’re here now, are you? Your prize is already finished.

Upon entering the store, the Owner walked towards us with a smile, a small box in his hands.

MC: Is this our prize?

Owner: Yup, hurry, open it up and have a look at it.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Xia Yan took the paper box from the Owner and slowly opened it.

Sitting quietly within the box was a pair of exquisite dolls. They were about palm-sized and were made in Chibi style.

MC: Oh… Are these… Dolls of us?

There were two dolls, a girl and a boy, both with happy smiles on their faces. And the color of their clothes was exactly the same as the outfits that Xia Yan and I had previously worn here.

Owner: That’s right, this was made according to both of your appearances.

Xia Yan: No wonder you insisted that we take a photo together. So, it was for the sake of making these dolls.

Owner: How are they? Do you like them?

MC: Yes, I do! I honestly never thought that these would be what we’re getting; thank you Owner!

Xia Yan: I really like them too. Sorry for troubling you with making these.

After chatting with the Owner for a bit, Xia Yan and I left the Experience Hall.

Before we left, the Owner beamed at us and told us that he hoped we’d come by again once they had another theme rotation.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Downtown

The sun was already sinking westward when we walked out of the mall, the light of the setting sun filling the streets.

MC: The sunset’s really beautiful today.

Xia Yan and I both unconsciously stopped to quietly admire the beauty of this short-lived scene.

Xia Yan: Right, you should take the pair of dolls home.

Xia Yan: You’ll be able to see me every day upon returning home if you place them against the headboard of your bed.

His smile appeared much warmer under the light of the setting sun. His smile was contagious, for I found myself smiling along with him in no time at all.

MC: No can’t do! I can’t take them with me if that’s how it’s going to be.

Xia Yan paused, doubt flickering across his features.

Xia Yan: Why…? Do you not like them?

MC: Of course, I do.

MC: But I can only take one of them home. I’ll entrust my doll to you!

MC: You can put it on your nightstand; that way, I’ll also be accompanying you!

Xia Yan: M’kay.

The fiery red sun was slowly entering the cluster or clouds up in the sky, and before we knew it, there were a couple more people around us stopping to admire the scene.

Xia Yan: I've actually also had my own share of worries, just like Li Xu, about whether we'll be able to successfully re-connect with each other.

Xia Yan: Is 8 years apart really… Have I missed too much of your life in my absence?

Thinking back to all the questions I had gotten wrong back in the Maze, I let out a helpless sigh.

MC: We've really grown and changed in those 8 years.

MC: But thankfully, we're still the same as how we left off, despite having changed so much.

Xia Yan: Thankfully, we're still the only ones who know each other the best.

MC: Hey, Xia Yan? You should really tell me more about your life during these 8 years whenever you have the time.

Xia Yan: Sure. I want to hear what you've gone through too.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Xia Yan's House

Xia Yan had only just gotten home when his phone rang.

Taking out his phone, a familiar number entered his sight.

Xia Yan: Hello? What’s up, Brother Yang?

Yang Xiao: Nothing; Li Xu asked me to convey his thanks to you.

Xia Yan: Don’t make me take up jobs like this ever again… This time’s the only exception so don’t make an example out of it!

Yang Xiao: I don’t want to bother you either, but I really didn’t have any options this time!

Yang Xiao: I can’t not help my distant cousin if he needs help; I even held him in my arms and played with him when he was little!

Yang Xiao: Come find me if you encounter any trouble. Looking at how caught up you always get, I owe you one, and we're also pretty similar to boot.

Xia Yan gave a wry laugh at Yang Xiao’s merciless teasing.

Xia Yan: Stop making fun of me, Brother Yang.

Yang Xiao: Anyway, thank you for this time; seriously.

Xia Yan: No need to be so humble. Honestly speaking, I should be the one thanking you instead.

Hanging up the phone, he picked up the gift from the Experience Hall.

The exquisite doll laid quietly in his hands, the brilliant smile on its face was exactly the same as hers.

Xia Yan looked at the masterpiece in his hands tenderly, a smile playing on his lips.

Xia Yan: Let us slowly make up for the 8 years that we've missed.

——𝔉𝔦𝔫.——

#Tears of Themis #Xia Yan #Translations #Otome #Mihoyo #未定事件簿 #夏彦 #忆中人 #Reminiscent Person #午夜华章 #Symphony of the Night #Tears of a PI #Okamoto Nobuhiko

67 notes · View notes

shijiujun · 4 years

Note

pls give us chuyao and "kissing as a distraction to steal their wallet"

An au in which Lu Yao spent some time on the streets when he was younger after getting kidnapped by really Bad People, and had to become a thief on the streets to survive. His dad and siblings find him a year later, but some habits are hard to shake off once you’ve got them (an adrenaline junkie of sorts?), cue occasional minor thief Lu Yao who has three degrees from a major Western university XD

Lu Yao's fingers itch, his skin tingling in excitement.

He honestly doesn’t need the money, but he likes it. It isn’t something he does often, but occasionally, he’s struck with the urge to just steal some cash with a sleight of hand, giving in to the thrill of a successful wallet snatched without the owner of said wallet even realizing what he did.

It is a very, very bad habit, he knows that. And it isn’t like he doesn’t return the wallets! He doesn’t even take the money most of the time. Simply put, Lu Yao pickpockets and steals just to prove that he can, and if he gives in to the temptation to sneak some coins away while he’s at it, well, no one is any the wiser.

It is also often that the owners would voluntarily gift him with a small reward for ‘returning’ their wallets. Lu Yao would refuse of course, because he is a well-bred, proper gentleman who will not take advantage of others (coughs), and only at their repeated insistence does he shyly accept the money.

This keeps him out of trouble - Lu Yao is well aware that he cannot run very fast despite his long legs, so if he is caught, it would be a challenge to get himself out of hot water. Instead, he’s content with pickpocketing for fun, and if some assholes who cross Lu Yao’s path find some money missing long after Lu Yao has made his escape, well, they deserve it.

Recently, however, Lu Yao has his eye on this gorgeous man at the city’s hottest nightclub, Bai Le Men.

Qiao Chusheng comes from money, and the wallet he so callously dumps on the bar counter top every time Lu Yao sees him is stuffed full of cash, screaming at Lu Yao to just grab it. The gloss on the dark brown leather wallet is oh so shiny, and anyone with a pair of functional eyes would know just how expensive the wallet itself is.

Of course, Lu Yao doesn’t, because this is Qiao Chusheng, de-facto leader of the Green Dragon Gang, and he would like all his fingers wherever they currently are, thank you very much.

This requires some deft handling, he thinks, and so instead of outright creating an opportunity for a quick steal, Lu Yao befriends Chusheng.

Pretends to be drunk as he knocks into Chusheng on their first meeting, spilling his glass of whiskey all over Chusheng’s expensive woollen jacket. Thanking him a few days later when they meet for sending Lu Yao back home that night after dirtying his suit. And then for the weeks after, whenever Chusheng visits the bar, Lu Yao is usually seen seated right next to him, both men in deep conversations and the occasional laughs.

Once he’s sure that Chusheng is less likely to beat him up for stealing his wallet, Lu Yao tries.

He stresses once again that he doesn’t need the money. Ever since meeting Chusheng, the man pays for everything - drinks, dinners, a handful of meetings outside the nightclub in the day - without a single word, but Lu Yao just wants to steal it.

It doesn’t help that he’s had a few too many drinks for real today, which only amplifies the urge to swipe Chusheng’s wallet from his back pocket right now. He’s so sleepy too, his blurring vision full of Chusheng’s unfairly handsome face, his eyes which are all full of Lu Yao right now, and that smile... that smile, when Chusheng talks to him.

Lu Yao leans forward, reaching for Chusheng’s lips, and kisses him.

His kiss is entirely unplanned, and the moment their lips meet, Lu Yao sobers immediately, like a pail of iced water to his face. Even then, habit and rote memory has his fingers snagging the wallet and hiding it away in the span of those few seconds.

Chusheng is staring at him with wide eyes as Lu Yao straightens back, looking as shocked as he is.

What did he just...

Qiao Chusheng is going to... is going to murder him.

Blood draining out of his face, Lu Yao scrambles unsteadily to his feet, prepared to make his escape, “I’m just going... to-”

A hand encircles his elbow just as he’s about to turn and go, and Lu Yao yelps unglamorously as he’s tugged backwards, hard.

And then Chusheng is kissing him again.

This time, it’s no simple, chaste peck on the lips. Slanting his mouth over Lu Yao’s, Chusheng positively devours him. The breaths between them hot and moist against their skin as their lips and tongues collide time after time, until Lu Yao just collapses into Chusheng’s embrace, unable to feel his legs.

His face is still red a few minutes later when he lands on a soft bed to one of the private rooms sequestered away on the last floor of Bai Le Men’s building, but as articles of clothing between him and Chusheng fall to the floor one after the other, Lu Yao finds that he doesn’t have the mind to be embarrassed anymore.

That night, Chusheng takes him apart again and again, his kisses and touch leaving heat trailing across his entire body, so much so that it is branded into Lu Yao’s memory. His own hands feel their way over Chusheng’s back and his sculpted abs, his legs locking behind Chusheng’s waist to feel each thrust impossibly closer, every part of him sensitive and tender.

The crests of pleasure assaults his senses repeatedly, until all he can think of is Chusheng.

===

Lu Yao stirs at the sensation of lips pressing against his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, and wakes up fully just as he’s kissed on the mouth.

It’s warm in Chusheng’s hold, pressed skin to skin with him, and Lu Yao never wants to leave. He refuses to open his eyes though, because the memories of yesterday night are terribly clear in his head, and he remembers the way he begged for Chusheng, the way he clung to him and the embarrassing things that came out of his mouth.

As if knowing exactly what he’s thinking, Chusheng laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest into Lu Yao’s ear.

“Why’re you shy about this?” Chusheng asks, teasing.

“... you’re a monster,” Lu Yao mumbles, curling further into Chusheng’s side to hide his face. “How many times did you- Even after I told you I was tired! I can’t feel the lower half of my body anymore.”

“Oh?” Chusheng raises an eyebrow. “We can’t have that, shall I make sure the important parts are working now-”

At that, Lu Yao quickly interjects, “I’m hungry, Lao Qiao.”

“Mnn. Get me my wallet from your jacket, won’t you?”

In his haze of drowsiness and the ache that is running through his body, Lu Yao doesn’t register what Chusheng has said until he’s fished the wallet out of his own jacket, which fortunately fell right next to the bed on the floor, on Lu Yao’s side.

His eyes go impossibly wide, wallet in hand.

“... Lao Qiao,” Lu Yao swallows, trying to quickly come up with a lie, “I can explain-”

“You’re really good at it,” Chusheng cuts in with a smile, sitting up and taking the wallet from him. “You don’t repeat locations too often, but I happen to own Bai Le Men, Jin Guang Tai and Man Fu Du Cheng, and i’ve seen you around quite a lot. Don’t worry, it was only because I was looking out for you that I even noticed you were pickpocketing.”

Chusheng slips out of bed, and asks, “Do you want dumplings or jianbing? I recall you liking the jianbing from the kitchens... and some tea.”

Sitting up in bed gingerly and pulling up the blankets around him to cover his state of undress, Lu Yao gapes at Chusheng, “You knew?!”

“San Tu, you’re not very subtle,” Chusheng almost rolls his eyes. He bends down to pick up a shirt, only to see the condition of Lu Yao’s clothes on the floor. “... I ripped your shirt apart yesterday night. Sit tight, I’ll get Salim to send a new set over for you.”

“Wait, wait,” Lu Yao stops him. “What do you mean you knew? You knew that I was after your wallet and you just let me hang out around you?”

At that, Chusheng sits on the bed again, amused, “How did you think i got you to come to me? Although no one would dare to steal my wallet, I don’t really make it a habit to just toss my wallet on the tables, out in the open, you know.”

The realization that he was the one conned, in a sense, hits Lu Yao like a brick to the face.

“Alright,” Chusheng continues, sensing his anxiety. Pressing Lu Yao back down to lie down under the covers, he says, “Next time, you can take my wallet whenever you want to. Although if you’d like to take the initiative and jump into my embrace like last night, feel free to do so whenever.”

“Qiao Chusheng!”

The man avoids the pillow and swiftly bends down to sneak another kiss from Lu Yao, before heading out to find some breakfast for Lu Yao.

A few minutes later, Lu Yao sighs.

For the sake of love (and great times in bed), Lu Yao supposes he can limit himself to stealing only Chusheng’s wallet from now on.

---

~ from this list of prompts! ~

#mriad #my roommate is a detective #民国奇探 #chuyao #qiao chusheng #lu yao #ficlet #fic prompts #ahahahahaha #hope this kind of makes sense?!

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emmie-sue-who · 3 years

Text

Cannibals

The first step is to find a body.

You can do this the easy way. Swipe left, swipe right, swipe left, filtering through hundreds in mere minutes. Or you can hunt for one the old-fashioned way if you like a challenge. Grocery store, night classes, bar crawling, church.

Maybe you’re not even aware of what you’re doing. You tell yourself that you’re driven by your inborn longing. For what? Love, you presume—wrongly. Your intentions aren’t quite so noble, whether you realize that yet or not.

You’ll find one eventually. She’ll be young in all the right ways. Loose spirit, bubbling laughter, and when she tosses her head back her hair shakes out in soft ripples. Naïve enough to trust you because she’s driven by her inborn longing. For what? You, she thinks, just maybe it’s you.

Take a moment to admire it. You eat with your eyes first.

You’ll enjoy her attention for a while. It’s nice at first to let your hungry eyes roam over the soft, cool skin stretched tightly over curves and grooves, hugging hips and thighs and shoulders. You’ll like how she leans in and rests her hand lightly on your forearm, fine dark eyelashes fluttering in front of the windows to a soul that you need not observe when her glossy, full lips, slightly parted, draw toward yours.

Cook until it’s nice and tender.

After a while, every fiber of that unobserved soul will ache for you, and then you’ll begin a slow boil, not enough for her to suspect that you’ll soon burn the entire thing to ashes. You’ll whisper a sentiment you don’t truly mean, and the hot breath grazing her ear will make her tingle. She’ll melt, melting into you, she thinks, but you remain cold and rigid while she becomes a formless pool under the low heat of the sweet lies you tell her.

“I love you” is said and for her, it’s her most sacred confession. To you, just words.

She wants with a kind of desire which is different from the one burning within you as you massage soft tissue. Your hands drift anywhere across the body whose slender limbs still do not require you to look upon her soul, now cracked open, overflowing with her kind of want—what you thought you wanted, what she trusted you to give, what you told her you felt.

Then gnaw at it, savoring your first taste.

She thinks of how, when your bodies touch, the particles mingle at the molecular level. She thinks that’s a beautiful metaphor. To her, your touch signifies the way she sees you becoming intertwined permanently. Literally and symbolically, you become a part of her and she becomes a part of you. To you, they are just atoms, interchangeable with any other, and there is nothing beautiful about what you are doing here.

You understand now that your longing is not for the lifelong connection that you promised with those lover’s words you manufactured for her delight.

Your longing is for a meal to be devoured.

She, anticipating communion instead, freely offers to you what she has not to any other. You take it. You trace your lips across the body you’ve conquered. One of many, probably, but in this moment, it doesn’t have to be. Because she’s yielded everything to you. In the most intimate act of faith, she’s granted you every piece of herself to do what you will with. And she thinks, as you eagerly take everything else, that you will see her beating heart, extended to you. That you will hold it close, gently caressing it, protecting it, cherishing it, and that you will give her yours in return.

Chew, tear, bite, faster, to the bone—

But you do not hear the soft thud of this precious gift falling to the ground, ignored. You’re too distracted by satisfying your ravenous appetite. She knows now that this isn’t communion, this isn’t sacred, and she made a mistake that it’s too late to fix. Maybe it would all be better if you held her and told her once more those things that you had deceived her with before. She would willingly be tricked again if only you wouldn’t leave.

—until all you see is a skeleton with two holes where the eyes used to be and a mouth that cannot smile.

You walk out anyway because even if she would be a willing victim, it is impossible to repeat what has been done. You cannot take everything from her when she has already given it. So you leave her pale bones behind. The heart which fell to the floor withers and gathers dust. And on the brink of her tongue would be the words “wait” and “come back” but you’ve rendered her incapable of speech, incapable of voicing what she wants, incapable of wanting anything but you even though she knows she should hate you right now.

Now you are a cannibal. You’ve had your first dish, a gorgeous young girl whose soul broke for you, whose heart is shriveling and decaying because of you. She’s nothing now and she’ll never be anything again that remotely resembles the life she was when you first met. No one can fix it now, least of all you, and you’ll move on to the next course with her already a distant memory.

Briefly, you may feel regret, knowing that if she can ever reconstruct herself she’ll never be able to feel about another person the way she felt about you, never be able to trust anyone as fully. She’ll keep her heart guarded from now on. She’ll meet a guy some day and he’ll feel all the things for her that she felt for you. She’ll try her best to love him, but she won’t realize until she’s completely consumed him that it’s impossible to give your heart and keep it at the same time. She’ll become a cannibal too. You may feel regret, knowing all this, knowing how it happened to you before her. Then the regret dies away because you realize that if you hadn’t done it, someone else would have.

Eventually, we all become cannibals.

A/N: This is a piece I wrote in college. In it, I wanted the narrator to take a really cynical approach to love/sex/intimacy and what happens when people place differing values on those things, so I just ran with that. It’s not my favorite piece ever but I’m never going to do anything with it so it’s getting dumped here. Also, sorry if the formatting turns out wonky. This is my first time posting from anything other than my phone in a very, very long time.

#creative writing #my words #my writing #writing #fiction #old writing #long post

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nonsensicalobsessions · 4 years

Text

But You Are Mine

Prompt: Loki/OFC AU, nurse

Author’s Note: So, after an incredibly long hiatus, the Muse returned and left this story with me, so I could respond to the mystery prompt challenge as posed by Little Darlin’s AU Mystery Challenge. It was an interesting set up: I chose the pairing, and the prompt I wanted (song, dialogue prompt, or a nonverbal prompt, or AU) which would was then selected by Little Darlin. I will let you, the reader, decide how well I fulfilled the prompt I chose and drew...

Tired. So unbelievably tired, I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer, nor could I come up with a reason to do so.

The bath water was warm, and deep, my head was so heavy, and my eyes burned...what was the point? Rest, a persuasive voice whispered inside my head. Just close your eyes for awhile, what harm will it do? You are finally warm, after feeling so cold and miserable.

The humidity felt so good in my aching throat and the scent of almonds and honey soothed me further as I allowed myself to drift off.

Come now, Little One. You need to shake this lethargy off, and sit up.

I need to do no such thing. This voice was new, and unwelcome, and it could piss off.

Hearing voices in my head wasn’t nearly as upsetting as it might seem on the surface. They weren’t true auditory hallucinations...most of the time. I knew I had an active imagination. Usually it was a source of comfort for me and my solitary, sheltered existence. The more upsetting mono- or dialogues I had become disciplined enough to shut out. Therapy is a wonderful thing.

You most certainly do, or else the consequences will be most dire.

Oh? Such as?

Such as, I am the only thing keeping you from falling asleep, and as such slipping under the surface of the water and drowning.

The voice was quiet, and firm. Curiously enough, it was male. Huh. A lovely baritone, come to that. Most of my voices were either female, or asexual.

I somehow think my first inhalation of water would be sufficient to wake me up, but thank you for reinforcing your poor opinion of me, whoever you are. You may go now. Just...so tired...

You are tired because you haven’t eaten in three days, nor had anything to drink for two. And you are also tired because you are barely conscious. You are quite ill and in dire need of medical assistance. Does the thought of impending death not move you at all?

Voice, who are you and why should I even care? Voices come and voices go. None of them speak truth, they simply tell stories or say what I want to hear. Just leave me to some god damned rest for a change.

No. This god will not let you have the rest of the damned.

Oh bullshit. There are no gods. And if there are, none of them speak to me, or care enough to make their presence known. I’ve tried.

Can you not hear me answer you?

I’m dreaming. That’s all this is. And I challenge you, Nameless God—who are you, and why would you come to me now anyway? Why can’t you just let me go in peace?

Because I have been watching over you, my dear. I’ve heard you calling out to me in joy, in mischievous laughter, in rage, in despair, but most delightfully in passion...and yet, your calls have dwindled, and your supplications grown smaller, and finally silent. I came to see about you, and find you on the verge of passing beyond even my reach...why? Why have you allowed yourself to fail so grievously ill?

I repeat—who are you?

Beautiful mortal. I’m your Loki. Open your eyes.

Struggling, I managed to force my eyelids to open. It was time to force myself out of this reverie that was bound to sink my soul deeper into the mire of depression should I continue. There would be no one there, because there was never anyone there.

Crouched besides my tub, was...someone. A male figure, in armor that was casually unfastened at his throat. His index finger lightly supported my chin, as my body had in fact slipped a lot lower than I realized. Careless of modesty, I struggled to sit up, but my head felt poorly supported by my neck, and I leaned it heavily against the side of the bath. I blearily realized perhaps I was sicker than I realized, as my imagination had now exploded into full blown delusions. Auditory, visual, tactile...whee, such fun...

“You do not seem overly distressed to find me here.”

“Begging your pardon, but I fear you are not. Clearly I am spiking a temperature and am delirious. I knew I was feeling ill beforehand but had no idea...”

“Oh, you skeptical woman. You are indeed sick, in fact I am still unsure what can be done for you, but none of my favored will slip away in a bath if I can give at least some assistance to aid their passage.” And with that, I found myself being lifted, and tenderly brought to my bed, instantly dry and clad in the loveliest nightdress I’d ever seen. Certainly finer than anything I had in my possession.

“What...?”

“Darling, you deserve something beautiful. But right now, I fear your body is shutting down. You should not have neglected yourself so sorely. Why have you?”

At this point, I decided to just go with it.

“Are you then, truly...”

“Yes, I am the same Loki you’ve called out to many, many times. Your very own.”

“Why do you say it like that? ‘My very own’? Surely there can only be one of you...?”

“Little One, have you no idea how many multiverses exist? For whatever reason, I have found you, and therefore I have claimed you as mine. I do not share easily, if at all. Should another incarnation of myself suddenly appear, he would have quite a fight on his hands. You are mine. I know everything about you...how you read well past your bedtime. The many, many hundreds of thousands of words you have written, but have never shared with anyone—why? You’ve created entire universes of your own, woven wondrous tapestries filled with richness and delight, but have locked them away in secret...composed anthologies of poems...” Long fingers played with my hair as I stared into his eyes, struck dumb by his revelations as he looked pointedly at my stacks of journals that were perched on my nightstand, leaned on shelves, and even sat on the floor.

His face was a confusion for me. He wasn’t as described in the eddas, nor was he the mirror image of the MCU character.

“Of course not,” he laughed, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “I am me, and no one else. Just as you are yourself.” Drat the man, he was even reading my mind now, or at least reading my expressions...

His eyes were almost a kaleidoscope of green and blue, and his hair a rich black waterfall of wavy locks, his lips neither thin nor thick, and his teeth...I had to shake myself from getting lost in his physical magnetism.

“I don’t know what to say,” I murmured. “If you know so much, why are you asking me these questions, and why are you coming now, when everything has gotten so bad?”

“When I saw you last, things weren’t so dire, pet,” he confessed. “I wasn’t going to manifest myself unless I thought you truly needed me. You were content, I thought—you had your life with your friends, your activities...why should I upset everything? God of Chaos and Mischief I am, but I had no desire to destroy your life for no purpose. I adore mischief and pranks. I would bring pain to you.”

“Loki, everything is gone,” I whispered, trying to contain my grief. “Everything I was striving for...I’m never going to get better, you know, the physical therapists told me I’ve hit my maximum potential. The only thing I can do is have surgery, which will be expensive, painful, and risky with uncertain outcome. There will be no one to help me recuperate, to further complicate matters. My job is at risk because I can’t keep up any longer. I’ve worked so long to help everyone else, but...”

“Now you need help, and everyone has disappeared, aye,” he concluded sadly. “I am sorry. I know you have struggled with this for a long time.”

“I never felt like I wanted outlandish things. I wanted to have a family of my own. A husband who loved me, found me physically desirable...”

“You are incredibly desirable,” Loki growled fiercely. “By the Nine, I’ve watched you as you have lain in your narrow bed of nights, wondering what ails the men of this realm that you have had to take care of your needs alone. Your body in passion has inflamed me in ways I can barely tolerate without slipping through and ravishing you without so much as a by your leave...!”

“But you didn’t” I hotly interrupted. “For whatever reason, you didn’t. Whether I was too old, too disabled, too fragile, too mortal, too unattractive...you like every other male found your pleasures elsewhere, and...”

“Be very careful,” Loki hissed. “You are close to unleashing something you know nothing of...”

“Well of course I know nothing of it, I just want a family, babies, children, I just wanted to be loved, and yet you find me about to drown in my own bathtub! And come to it, why didn’t you just leave me be? At least the pain and the loneliness and the aching would be over! What is the point, or are you going to be just as distant as all the other gods in the pantheon...!”

I didn’t say anymore, because speech was no longer possible. Loki had swooped down, crushed my body to his, and was kissing me with a thoroughness I never dreamed possible.

What need for breath had I, when there were such kisses to be had? My head was spinning, my heart was pounding, and the edges of my vision were growing dark as I lost myself in him, my hands slowly then more confidently pressing him even closer to me, so I could feel his silky locks in my fingers, his chest rising and falling.

“I warned you,” he said at last, allowing me to greedily inhale at last. “You taunt me, showing me where I may have failed in the past, but I will refuse myself no longer. I thought by denying myself the pleasure of being in your company, I was doing what was best for you, but no more! You are mine, and I will be the one to give you all, whether you wish it or not. No mortal men for you, my darling. I will have Eir herself if necessary at your bedside, and what Eir cannot heal, I shall unleash my seidr upon, and what magic cannot improve, I swear I will fetch and carry and give to you whatever you need so you will be comfortable and happy. No healer will be as dedicated. No handmaiden as constant.”

I sat back. “You...really care? You care that much?”

“Sweetling? I may be your Loki...but you?”

He leaned forward and cradled my body against his, his voice husky and tantalizing, his breath barely brushing against my ear.

“...you are my Ástvinur. I cannot, will not be without you another moment. I refuse. Seeing you about to slip away...no. I have chosen you, and you are mine.”

@sourpatchkidsandacokecan @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @hopelessromanticspoonie @winterisakiller @redfoxwritesstuff @ciaodarknessmyheart @villainousshakespeare @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @vodka-and-some-sass @theheartofpenelope @sabine-leo @wegingerangelica @the-insomniac-cat2 @alexakeyloveloki @myoxisbroken @ladyfluff @toomanystoriessolittletime

#it #ldamc #loki x ofc #loki imagine #look Christine I did a thing #Nonsensical Writes

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mrneighbourlove · 4 years

Text

Evil’s Bane: Ch 6. Yield to Damnation

The village had a little more excitement as the sun set. Outsiders were a commodity here, and another Mortuus from outside who wasn’t mad was a treat. Kenshi sat with Black and Leere, recounting a tale of woe. “My daughter loved to wear a red coat, exploring the forest outside the village. There used to be no real danger. She knew what to do when she saw an animal, so I assumed we’d always be safe, if not imprisoned here. I still don’t know if she’s dead or not.”

Bonegrinder had opted to avoid the villagers for the most part. He had told Black and Leere in very clear tones that the Mortuus were not happy about an Echidnan being here. So, he had chosen a comfy tree to rest for the evening until hell break loose. Black, on the other hand, had been instructed not to leave Leere's side. He listened to Kenshi's story but had no words of comfort.

Leere nodded, as her brain was trying to figure out if she liked the villages ale or not. “That’s terrible Kenshi. Maybe we can find her?” Outside, Bi-Hanzo stomped up to the tree with a group a robed Mortuus. “We request your presence.”

When Bi-Hanzo approached with other Mortuus, Black stood as well as Leere. He still said nothing, just ready to follow the princess. Though, he was still apprehensive in this place. He felt the danger, sensed it.

Leere looked to the window, curious what the Mortuus wanted with Bonegrinder.

"Why?" Bonegrinder did not budge from his tree. "This Anagari figured you would not wish for a 'cowardly' Echidnan to grace your presence."

“You are cowardly, God of Life.”

Leere tensed next to Black. Bi-Hanzo’s tone wasn’t friendly. This could easily turn into a powder keg.

"God of Life?" Bonegrinder actually snickered. "Try again. Let's see, the Lorleidians know him as 'Ba'puu' and his counterpart as 'Zarazu'... what do you call him?"

“We call you Proxamus, Creator to the brother Destroyer.”

"What makes you so sure this snake is who you believe him to be?" Bonegrinder snorted. "After all, an Echidnan couldn't possibly be the host of your beloved deity."

“We are certain. Now you will join us for council. Or we can take you by force.”

"Oh?" Bonegrinder turned to face the group with a leering smile of jagged teeth. "You can try. Please do so. Give him a reason to rip your kind to shreds. He will revel in it."

"Don't tempt him." Black finally spoke, standing in front of Bi-Hanzo. "You do not know what he's capable of."

“You do not know what I am capable of.”

Leere ran out, hating how quick Black almost teleported he was so sneaky. “We don’t want to fight.”

“We don’t want a god who has failed their duties.”

"Failed?" Black repeated, casting a glance at Bonegrinder and then Leere. "What do they mean?"

"Oh yes, do so elaborate." Bonegrinder flicked his tail. "Let this snake guess... Prama did not bow to your every little request so you're pissed at him."

“There has only been one request Prama. To liberate us from our hell.”

Leere stood her ground, not wanting a god to break Bonegrinder’s mind because the snake couldn’t hold it together. “Bi-Hanzo. I’m certain that the one you call Destroyah is the architect of your most recent suffering. Why target Proxamus, even if the god were here?”

"They're looking for someone to blame, tiny princess, so they point their fingers at the monster." Bonegrinder was growing so very tired of this prattle. "Go away. You know nothing."

“We know a god lies trapped in a snake.” Bi-Hanzo ordered the town cultists to surround the tree. With necromantic energy, they focused a pentagram around the tree. “Don’t move. Release the god in you willingly, or suffer.”

"... you think you can take on old Bonegrinder with that pitiful magic?" Bonegrinder... laughed. And Black knew when the snake had that mocking laugh that shit was about to go down. Placing his hand on Leere's shoulder, he morphed them away from the tree, reappearing in the shadows in the clearing. "Don't you know that while he may host Prama, that doesn't mean his magic is limited to just light. Oh, no, no, disgraceful ones, you see, Bonegrinder is a shaman. And where he hails from, a shaman studies all forms of magic." He raised his hands with palms upturned then slammed them down on the tree. "Mother of the Monsters abhors necromancy, but you think Bonegrinder didn't take the chance to learn his enemy's magic to use it against them? So yes, yes, he learned... even this one."

The undead rose from the earth, much like what Leere had summoned before, except more so... malicious. Pieces of the undead stitched together from creatures and people ceased a thousand years ago. The Anagari was enraged at their accusations. These fools knew nothing of his torment and suffering. They knew nothing of Prama's shattered memories and his broken mind. No, they deserved to suffer. "He'll ask once again... do you really want to challenge him?"

"... fuck." Black rarely cursed and was rather eloquent with his words at time, but this was alarming. "He's snapped."

“I do.” Bi-Hanzo raised his hand. With a squeeze of his fist, he pulled back his arm. Every undead’s head popped like a balloon as the air was sucked into their ears and mouth, an explosion of icicles pultruding from its neck. Leere was amazed how much mastery he had over necromancy; that even if one couldn’t control undead, they knew how to quickly dismantle them. What surprised her most, however, was a different magic. When one undead drew too close, Bi-Hanzo held a hand out to grab its head, and the moment his palm made contact, the undead turned sizzled, steam burning the monster into a mushy mess of flesh.

"Childish trick, for sure. You think this is all Bonegrinder knows? Hrm... well, he did give you a warning." The Anagari used his finger to cut through the space and suddenly disappeared into a portal. It was several moments before he reappeared, this time, behind Bi-Hanzo. Holding the man up by his throat, he dug his claws into the man's skin. "Let's see how long this snake has to squeeze before your head goes 'pop'."

Bi-Hanzo took a breath and his body turned into mist, escaping Bonegrinder’s grasp. Solidifying again, he threw a hand forward, freezing Bonegrinder’s lower half to the ground. “Paralyze him.”

As other cultists readied a spell again, Leere lashed out, using shadows to trip them up. “Enough! I agreed to help you! You’re attacking the wrong side.”

“We know that the god hides within.” Lady Jackalen hobbled down on a walking stick. “I will speak to my god! Not a wretched snake.”

The spell was a nuisance he could easily wave away with his magic. Yet, if he used too much, the Anagari would risk drawing attention. Before he traveled here, Prama had warned him against using his full power. It could draw more creatures, or worse, if Destroyer was here, he might appear before them. Lifting the spell, Bonegrinder pivoted on his upper half and slammed his tail into the ring of cultists by spinning. True, he knew magic, but also how to fight dirty. Squeezing his coils around the old hag, he threatened, "Tell them to piss off or you're mush."

“Bonegrinder, holy Din, stop! Listen, you aren’t going to kill any of them. And none of you are going to get to talk to your god. Least not here.”

Bi-Hanzo raised his brow. “Here?”

“I can give you another promise. You can learn the truth in Hyrule, outside of Malus.”

"None will speak to him if Bonegrinder has anything to say about it." The Anagari hissed. "This was a mistake, Leere. He warned you of what resided here and now look. These fools want to speak to Prama, to a god they claimed failed them. And for what purpose? Prama barely recalls creating this earth. He had to relearn; he even knew not of the damn prophecy. Worst of all, he's trapped in this snake!" Bonegrinder was severely agitated and it was really starting to show. "His soul, Bonegrinder's soul, two minds, one body, this is torment!!! And these filthy, child murdering cultists want to speak to him?! Beg them to save him?! Let them all fucking rot! They slaughtered Echidnans and we did nothing to them!!!"

"Master, let's just go back to the underground." Black had to do something or the snake was going to have another episode like he did in Omisha. He had heard all the details from Blue and White. The last thing he wanted was for Bonegrinder to sleep for days on end in this hellish place. "We'll go back through the portal and forget about this day."

Leere felt her heart race with adrenaline at trying to get through the snake’s dense skull. “Bonegrinder. Not every one of these people deserve to die. You can’t paint one colour for an entire race of people!” The sun set, with the sound of an owl muttering in the distance.

"Oh, he cannot, can he?" Bonegrinder sneered. "Isn't that what they have done to his race? Hypocritical, tiny princess, is what he says. Shall he slaughter the adults and save the children? Perhaps he should just have them throw at his tail the ones responsible for hurting his people. Tell him, Leere, tell him, for he'd really like to know just how he is supposed to act when this race is responsible for the death of so many."

"Don't make him target you," Black whispered to Leere under his breath. "He's starting to grow unstable."

“You’re an egomaniac drug kingpin who profits off the suffering of others, don’t you dare think yourself any better. You’re overly sarcastic and rude to everyone you meet. It’s like you enjoy scaring people. Having met other Echidnans I know you’re one of the few, no, the only one who acts upon negative impulses on a whim.” Leere ignored Black, pointing to the houses people stared out at. “Look at their faces. Look at them! You inspire fear! They’re just people Bonegrinder! The Gerudo have just people. The Echidnans have just people. And the Mortuus can be just people.”

"... did he scare you, tiny princess? All those years ago when he found you wandering his tunnels?" Bonegrinder grinded his teeth together, dropping the old hag. "He was kind to you because he could smell it on you. You are innocent of the crimes which were thrust upon you. The magic engraved into your very skin could call forth Chaos itself and he knew that you should have died but he wanted you alive and well because you deserved a chance. You were a child. These people would have wanted you dead." The Anagari snarled. "He likes to scare people, Leere. He wants those who would use drugs, hurt others, or even dare to sell their own kin to a brothel to suffer. He lurks in the darkness to inspire fear and it has served him so very well." He had almost a maniacal laugh. "Would you like to know why Prama didn't stop him? Why he has continued all these years to persist after you and your family? Perhaps he should even tell you of your little niece's upcoming fate if she is to be the host of Kaksa? Hrm? Or will you listen to him for once and not seek out such heartbreaking answers? No? You never listened to him when he warned you not to seek answers from this country. It's in the prophecy, tiny princess." He spoke, "Don't ever laugh as death passes you by, for you might be the next to die. The grim reaper walks beside of thee, she comes for all, for you and me. Darkness and shadows bring nothing but dread, two can keep a secret if one is dead."

“Fear. You wield it like a drug. It consumes you. I should have never met you if that’s how you really think you can change the world.”

"If he was a true 'monster' like these bastards believe, then he would have scared you before he ate---"

Before the air could be still with tension, it exploded with the arrival of a new danger. Something had risen from the lake, running with a sprint. Sixty tiny eyes of vision lead it through the forest, past bushes, scaring a group of fairies, down a path, and into the clearing of the village. A giant bipedal creature broke the argument, grabbing a cultist by the head, and running back into the darkness of the forest. More ran out of the dark, drooling pincers cackling together as they ran towards more prey. Leere immediately drew a scythe, slashing ones head off. Bi-Hanzo blasted a body away, encasing it in ice. “Something new! Villagers, disperse and hide!”

The argument was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the creatures. Bonegrinder groaned aloud, and looked more so annoyed than he did disturbed. "Black. Keep an eye on the bratty princess." The Anagari used his long body to crush, squeeze, and maim several of the fiends. He was an efficient fighter despite being so large.

What made the creatures unique was what their bodies did after being crushed or dismenbered. Oozing slime, they instantly started to regenerate.

"... Bonegrinder? What are these things?" Black had already taken down as many as his master, but was not expecting the enemy to rise once more.

"Creations of Destroyer or Chaos one, he cannot remember." Bonegrinder then summoned a searing hot flame in the palm of his hand. "Burn them."

Bi-Hanzo froze one whole, shattering it into fragments with a kick. “No! They might still form again from ash. Freeze their movements to a stand still.”

Leere didn’t have any ice to use, and it didn’t seem any other Mortuus did either. A scream next to her rang out, and from the corner of her eye she saw Lady Jackalen being swooped up by a bug with wings. It had a straw like appendage on its face, and quickly jabbed it into her head. Leere winced as she watched the woman be drained into a husk. One of the fly creatures came silently for Black from behind. Throwing her knife, she hit it right in the eye, causing it to veer off course.

"Good eye, princess." Black commented as he spun her around and used her feet to whack another demon away from him.

"For the love of Mother..." Bonegrinder cursed under his breath. This situation was not good. There were only a handful of these useless bastards that could use magic. Maybe if he used it, just this once to keep Black and Leere safe... then he'd teleport them out of this hell. Hades was still alive. He could feel it with the magic in his scale that the Lynel consumed. The Anagari could seek him out later. "Don't move." The snake instructed as he placed his hands on the ground. Slowly, the dirt started to turn to quicksand around those fiends, trapping them. One by one, the demons were frozen... and stopped. For now. Turning his attention to Leere and Black, he stated, holding no room for objection. "We are leaving."

“Not without the rest of these people.” Leere didn’t falter, still looking around for more threats ready to spring from the darkness. Worse case was they were still surrounded, and she always prepared for the worst case.

"Either you come willingly or he will drag you with him, princess, don't make him act on it." Black warned Leere. "Besides, he cannot transport all these people through a portal. That kind of magic would drain him. He'd be lucky to take a few at most."

“Then he can use my reserve as well to tap into. I won’t doom these people to damnation.”

"You do recall what happened the last time you gave Bonegrinder some of your magic." Black quirked an eyebrow at the girl. "He was drunk off his scaled tail for a full day."

"These people are already damned." Bonegrinder snorted as the rest of the village went quiet. "They want Prama to come and save them. Don't they realize that their deity can hardly remember who he was? Who Kaksa was? His own brother? He could barely recall some of his creations. He cannot hear prayers or whispers while he is trapped. And yet, they have the gall to call him a coward when he's suffered so." He growled. "This old snake may not like his predicament with Prama, but he does know that this hell isn't Prama's fault."

“Then be the bigger person and help then regardless of what wrongs they did to you! That’s what a hero would do!”

"Hero? Hero?!?! You want to know what being a hero for these bastards all those years ago earned him, Leere?!" Bonegrinder's voice was so loud, it pierced throughout the entire village. "Mother went soft! She asked us to try to save a few of the 'good' Mortuus, just like you want to do! It was a mistake! One that was erased from the history books so we would never again try something so foolish!!!" He slithered closer. Then closer, towering over Leere. "So, good Modoc, wanting to please Mother, be honorable, and try to set an example for our future generations went to save who he could. He opened up his home, kept them safe, kept them warm... and when the monsters came after them?" He hissed. "Ask him, Leere. Ask him what those bastards did."

"Bonegrinder, now is not the time---"

"Shut. Up. Black."

“Your family was killed.” Leere wasn’t even phased. “Because you were tricked. Because your enemies were clever to disguise themselves, right? That why you don’t like letting people you can’t outright control close anymore, right?”

"They had a choice whether to fight with the enemy to slaughter us, or die with us." The Anagari scoffed. "So those who were 'good' turned on the very Echidnans who saved them. And they... they were... slaughtered, Leere. And they were innocents. Much like you."

As the argument was boiling, Jang was checking on the body of Lady Jackalen. Many didn’t like the churches leader when it came to killing those she deemed ‘doomed to sin’, but her wisdom had kept them whole for generations. As he sighed at the loss of life, he glanced down at a movement. Was she alive? How with that ghastly wound?

Peering closer to listen to a heartbeat, Jang’s head exploded with the old woman’s chest when a giant tree stalk of flesh shot upwards into the air. A snarling new version of Lady Jackalen snarled downwards at them. With the mimicry of a pained human scream, leeches shot outwards from its body towards hungry prey to feast on.

Leere couldn’t believe the anomaly she saw as she backed away from the flesh eaters.

Bonegrinder took notice of the infection of demonic energy on the old hag's body. It seemed Destroyer or Chaos one had been busy. This was rather new design. Perhaps he was changing his fiends. Usually, he was more concerned with ripping something apart entirely, not causing slow torment. It hardly bothered the snake. "Fleshlings."

Kenshi ran forward and hacked at every leech that lunged at him, furious his best friend was slain. “JANG!!!”

Bi-Hanzo was ready to freeze the monstrosity apart, when the flesh creature uprooted itself from its just host body. Sickening slender spider legs allowed it to move about. It’s first direction was to flee the village. The village protector scowled behind his mask, his eyes visible with fury, “After it! It must not be allowed to escape this realm alive!”

Following Bi-Hanzo and Kenshi, Leere sliced another leech in half with her scythe, running into the dark forest with them.

"... why does she always run headfirst into danger?" Bonegrinder groaned, watching as Black chased after her. He started to do so himself when he felt it. Sensed it. Every scale on his body twitched. Destroyer... his brother... was very, very close.

The group ran through the dark scenery. Finally, they reached the lake they first met Kenshi and Jang. There, the fleshy abomination was trying to submerge itself in the water. Bi-Hanzo dipped his hand in, freezing the water around it. “Kill it!”

The mimicry of Jackalen bloated it’s flesh up. At a critical mass it barfed a putrid acid, attempting to burn its attackers.

Black managed to yank Kenshi back before the acid burned the fool. Decapitating the creature, Black then resumed his place beside of Leere. He shook the guts off his sword before sheathing it. The Wraith looked unnerved. "I stand by Bonegrinder. We need to go---"

"LEERE!!!!" The Anagari had zoomed through the woods at top speed, and he wore an absolute panicked expression. "KALAKUTA!!!"

Now that got Black's attention. Bonegrinder hardly ever used his given name. This was serious. "What is he yelling about---"

"HE'S HERE!!!"

As Black hopped up to slice the head off, Leere used her blade to cut the body in half, causing it to crash backwards like a falling tree. The husk of Jackalen melted in a smelly goop of flesh into the lake. Leere turned to Bonegrinder, he adrenaline still running from the fight. “Who’s here?!”

This quest would only bring one nightmare after the other. From the lake, the water erupted in a fierce explosion, splashing everywhere. A black shape kept moving upwards, upwards and upwards. Finally, the shape arched forward. The body of a massive serpent shook its titanic head. With sunken eye holes, it looked down at the group of five. Kenshi dropped his sword, put into shock by the sight. “What in oblivion.”

"GET DOWN!!!" Bonegrinder saw the serpent looming over the group, the jaws wide. He could make it, just a little more! He had to be faster. Stretching out his long body, he managed to wrap around Black and Leere... before the serpent striked.

The son of the Destroyer opened wider. Suddenly, the air downwards started to inhale inwards. A second later, every body, leaf and living person was being sucked upwards into its mouth with the force of a tornado. Leere reached out to Bonegrinder, light as a feather as they were reaching their destination of doom. “Bonegrinder!!!”

Black flailed as he was nearly ripped away from his master, but held on tightly to his coils with one arm. He managed to sling his belt around the huge snake as a way to increase his grip. Leere, however, was barely holding on by her finger tips. The Anagari managed to grab her, slamming her into his chest and then coiled in on himself, covering Black and Leere with his body.

Bi-Hanzo and Kenshi flew up with them. When they reached the throat, all three Mortuus screamed as the jaws of the serpent closed. With that, darkness enveloped them, swallowing them whole.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626093697379008512/evils-bane-ch-5-belief-scattered

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626094887593443328/evils-bane-ch-7-entering-the-tower

#Crossover #Love Comments #ridersoftheapocalypse #leere dragmire #Leere #Bonegrinder #Black the Wraith #Malus #Monsters #Mortuus #horror

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spaceskam · 4 years

Text

Something’s Coming, Something Good

for @andrea-lyn for 12 days of malex ( @malexsanta)! Here’s an absurdly long Austenland au! I hope you enjoy it:) (special thanks to my betas @zuluoscarecho and @pippsmcgee)

ao3

“Michael, this was cute when we were kids, but this has got to stop.”

Michael frowned as he looked around his apartment. He didn’t really see what he had to stop. Sure, he had a particularly strong interest in old fashioned love stories and Jane Austen in particular, but he still had a job and a place of his own. His special interests weren’t destroying his life, so why did he need to stop? Perhaps his place was a little too covered in floral and he had a stack of books a little too high, but that was his own business. And the large cardboard cutouts of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet respectively were just as personal.

“I like it this way,” Michael argued. Maria sighed loudly and gave him that ‘sweetie, no’ look that she gave him a lot. It was basically all she gave him whenever he spoke about anything he was serious about.

“Michael, your obsession is ruining your love life,” Maria said, eyes full of sympathy that he didn’t think he needed. He was fine. “You have these impossible standards for men and women alike and I’m scared that you’re going to keep searching forever for something you won’t find.”

“I don’t think I have impossible standards, I think I’m just not willing to settle for something less than I deserve,” Michael said stubbornly, “I’d rather be alone forever than settle for someone.”

“Okay, that’s not what I meant,” she sighed, sitting beside him, “I just don’t want you to be disappointed all the time. This was the fourth girl you said wasn’t for you in the last few months and it was over something silly.”

“She fake laughed at my jokes that weren’t funny!” he argued, “I don’t want to date a girl who I can never tell if she actually thinks I’m funny or not!”

Maria dropped her face into her palms. It felt like a good time to tell her what he had planned for the next couple of weeks. Well, actually, it felt like a bad time, but when it came to Maria and his fascination with 19th-century romance it was never really a good time.

“And because of my lifelong appreciation,” Michael said, watching Maria slowly peek back up at him, “I’ve decided to go to this place called Austenland.”

Maria blinked very dully at him for almost an entire minute. Michael, on the other hand, was nearly bursting with excitement. He tried to keep it under wraps for her though. If he got too excited, she would get anxious on his behalf all over again.

“Excuse me?”

“Okay, so, it’s this place where you get fully immersed in a Jane Austen experience. Period costume, period events, all that fun stuff. You even get a romance with one of the actors and everything, it has great reviews and I’m just… It’s going to be great, I think,” Michael said, keeping his smile tame even though he’d spent all night watching the introduction video over and over and over.

“Michael,” Maria said slowly, those pitiful ’sweetie, no’ eyes back in full view, “Michael, how much did that cost?”

He pressed his tongue to his teeth and smiled. “Only, like $10,000.” Maria’s eyes bulged.

“Honey, you cannot do that! That is way too much! That-that’s like ten month’s rent!” she said and Michael just smiled tensely. He knew it was a lot, but, God, it felt worth it. All he wanted was to be immersed in that life‒$10k felt like a small price to pay for a lifelong dream.

“It’ll be okay,” Michael said, “Actually, it’s going to be perfect.”

“Okay, you know what, I support this,” Maria decided, nodding as she put her hands over Michael’s, “I want you to go and get all of this out of your system.”

Michael rolled his eyes but nodded. He couldn’t see the issue with enjoying something with his whole heart. He didn’t need some romance that was less-than when he could have the world. There was nothing wrong with knowing what you wanted and going after it and refusing to settle for less. To him, that sounded more healthy than anything he’d seen anywhere.

“Okay. I will.”

“Oh, I didn’t know we were supposed to show up in costume!”

Michael managed a smile as he looked down at his own period garb and then to the woman before him who was dressed to the nines. In fact, it looked far too extravagant for someone just stepping off a plane, but she gave him a kind smile, so he gave one back.

“Yeah, me neither,” Michael joked, “Are you going to Austenland too?”

“Yes!” she said excitedly, eyes lit up like she was bubbling with joy. It was a nice change from the bleakness and the negativity that surrounded everything else back home. “My name is Isobel… Windsor,” she giggled, “I made it up.”

Michael chuckled, “I can hear that. I’m Michael.” She shook his hand firmly.

“Ooh, Micahel, fun!” she cheered, clapping happily. He couldn’t help but smile fondly at her. “I’m so excited!”

“Me too,” he agreed just in time to see a horse-drawn carriage pull up. Excitement began to stir in his bones even more and he helplessly bounced on his toes.

A woman in expensive period garb that he recognized from the introduction video stepped out, grinning a truly sinister grin. Another girl hopped off the front of the carriage from where she had been driving the horses. She had on an outfit not too unlike a traditional stable boy’s, her long hair braided down her back. Michael couldn’t help but smile at them both.

“Good evening,” Mrs. Pennington said, smiling between the two of them, “I am Mrs. Pennington. How was your flight?”

“Great,” Isobel said. Michael barely opened his mouth, before Mrs. Pennington already began to cut him off.

“And this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth, get their bags,” she instructed, snapping the girl with the braid into place. She grabbed both of their bags and smiled at them. “So, Miss Windsor and‒”

“Oh, about my pseudonym,” Michael began, but Mrs. Pennington just shook her head.

“We already assigned one to you,” she said, “Mr. Gilkes.” Michael blinked a few times and thought about arguing, but chose to smile. No sense arguing over something as silly as that.

“Alright, Gilkes,” he repeated.

“Miss Windsor, you can step into the cab,” she said and then turned to Michael, “Unfortunately, it’s only a two-person cab, you’ll need to sit on the back of the carriage.” Michael took a deep breath, but nodded with a smile.

Liz came around the back and helped him get all settled on the back and she gave a sugary sweet smile before mouthing ‘don’t mind her’. He nodded curtly and bowed his chin to his chest. He wasn’t going to let something like sitting on the back of a carriage ruin his time.

This is all he’d ever wanted. He was going to have a good time.

“We don’t usually have men coming here, Mr. Gilkes, you are a rarity.”

Michael managed a smile as Miss Pennington stood behind a nice, old fashioned desk. Isobel had been holding his hand for some time, squeezing every time she got too overwhelmed with excitement. Michael would squeeze when he got too overwhelmed in general. He squeezed right them.

“I’ve been reading Jane Austen’s novels since I was eight,” he told her, “I really love them. I could recite passages from Pride and Prejudice by the time I was thirteen.”

“How quaint,” she said, standing a bit taller, “Now, we have several different packages. You, Mr. Gilkes, are signed up with the basic, copper package while the women have signed up with the premium, platinum package. I feel it would be in your best interest to upgrade seeing as you will be excluded from some things.”

Michael squeezed Isobel’s hand again. He got the cheapest package?

“I’m alright with the package I got, ma’am,” he said as kindly as he could. Mrs. Pennington stared at him for a moment and then gave a really tight smile that had him questioning if he should really break the already broken bank just so she would stop staring at him like that.

“Alright, well, as you already know, with your stay here, you are promised a romance experience with one of our fine actors to truly reenact a better time when love was pure and untainted,” she said wistfully. Isobel squealed softly and squeezed his hand. Michael stayed quiet and chose not to point out just how common affairs were back then. He felt like it would ruin the mood.

“Oh, Michael, this is going to be wonderful,” Isobel said as she leaned closer to him. He nodded. Even if everything was exactly how he pictured it, he knew that he was signing up to get a truly fantastic experience with a Mr. Darcy type. Or, Elizabeth Bennet. Or anyone, really. That’s all he’s ever really wanted, really. Someone who could both sweep him off his feet and challenge him. Maria didn’t seem to understand that.

“If you follow me, now, we’ll get you both dressed up before we head towards the main estate,” Mrs. Pennington said.

They both followed her, Michael being led into one room by a group of stern-looking women and Isobel being led into another. Inside, he was surrounded by men’s clothing ranged from the insanely posh to rags. He genuinely would’ve been happy to play inside that room for days. Hell, if they’d let him, he would’ve enjoyed the women’s clothing for a whole nother day. He wanted to dress in both. Besides, he was very curious to see how he might look in a corset.

Instead, however, he was ushered towards an array of bleak and ragged clothing. He smiled through it all, letting them remove his own outfit and dress him in a loose, billowy white shirt with high waisted breeches to tuck them into. They were paired with uncomfortable shoes that felt a little too snug, but they fit the outfit too well to complain. Michael sat still as they combed his hair, tugging and gelling it to slick back like they wanted. When they showed him a mirror of his curls all tamed, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, Michael, you look so cute!” Isobel squealed when the met in the hall. She had on a large blue dress that seemed to have a million layers, her hips looking impossibly wide in it and a nice corset hugging her tightly. Her blonde hair was done up big and probably heavy on top of her head, curls spiraling down around her naturally pretty face that had very faint makeup covering it.

“And you look beautiful,” he said, laughing as she teasingly scoffed and tossed hair over her shoulder.

They were once again put back on the carriage to head towards the main estate and this time Michael couldn’t find it in him to complain about sitting on the back. It was a never-ending gorgeous view of luscious gardens and woods and carefully tailored, well, everything. There were barns and stables and little sheds and they all looked so accurate. Michael had spent a lot of time studying this period of time and it really felt like he was in the right place. This was where he was meant to be the entire time, truly.

This was his time period.

When they arrived at the main building, he had to pause and take a deep breath. Again, he bounced on his toes and gazed up at all the wonders this week would hold. Just looking at it made it hard to imagine leaving. Couldn’t he just stay right there forever?

“Come along now.”

Micahel and Isobel followed dutifully as they were led into the house and towards their rooms. They went to Isobel’s first, a large room packed with little trinkets and figurines with a massive canopy bed in the middle. It felt like a queen’s room and it seemed very fitting. When she stepped inside, he wondered what she could’ve possibly looked like in a normal house. This seemed to be her space.

Michael was then led down to the servants’ quarters and into a much smaller, less extravagant room. Still, he couldn’t find any complaints in him. It still looked like everything he’d ever wanted. It felt good. If only Maria could see it, she would tease him about just how in his element this happened to be.

“We’ll have dinner in the dining room later,” Mrs. Pennington instructed, “I trust you can find your way.”

He turned to her and tried not to bounce on his toes. He did anyways.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Finding the dining room was much more difficult than anticipated.

He’d found the kitchen first and one of the sour-faced chefs had to boot him in the correct direction. He wasn’t late, though, and that was really all that mattered. He arrived at the door beside Mrs. Pennington at the same time that Isobel did, still looking stunningly gorgeous. She did a little shimmy when she spotted him, raising her eyebrows and sticking the tip of her tongue through her teeth.

Mrs. Pennington opened the doors.

“Good evening everyone, may I introduce our guest of honor?” Mrs. Pennington said, stepping aside to make way for Isobel first. “Miss Isobel Windsor, heiress of the Windsor fortune.”

“Good evening,” one of the men said, standing to be ungodly tall. Michael wished he still had Isobel’s hand to squeeze. Or he wished Maria was here to hug him from behind whenever he got overwhelmed.

“And this is Mr. Michael Gilkes, an orphan of no fortune who we took in from the kindness of our hearts,” she introduced. Michael smiled through it, ignoring the stabbing feeling he had from hearing his truth on display. But she didn’t know that‒that wasn’t her fault.

“Hi,” Michael said, almost cringing outwardly at how bad that sounded.

“This is Mr. Maxwell Evans,” Mrs. Pennington said, ignoring him, “The fourth son of the Earl of Essex.” He bowed with a curt smile. “And this is my dear nephew, Sir Alexander Manes.”

Michael eyed the man who did nothing more than salute with a single finger. He was genuinely gorgeous, dark hair and tanned skin. His hair seemed just as forcibly tamed as Michael’s and he had a little bit of stubble that dotted across his jaw. Michael wondered if that one was for him.

“And, let us not forget, Lady Jenna Cameron,” Mrs. Pennington said and another very pretty blonde woman stood to greet them. Micahel smiled and nodded to her, suddenly feeling outnumbered. Two beautiful women and two gorgeous men and then… him.

The evening dragged on like that. Mrs. Pennington, Isobel, Jenna, and Maxwell speaking and speaking and speaking while Michael sat out of place and Alexander stuck with his nose stuck in a book. Michael had spent a lot of his life imagining what this would be like and he was ruining it, letting it waste away while he sat awkwardly.

"C'mon, Michael," Isobel pressed as they sat down for dinner, "Say something fancy."

Michael smiled at her and nodded, taking a deep breath as he looked around the table to people making small talk. The only one not engaged in small talk already was Sir Alexander Manes.

"Sir Manes," he said, trying his best not to seem too irritating. The man looked up at him. "I know there's a ball to look forward to at the end of the week. Are you attending?"

"I suppose, though I'm not sure it's something to look forward to," he said.

Michael gulped softly, "Oh? Why not?"

"There's something so very ingrained in the human psyche that says we should enjoy social events like that and I disagree," Sir Alexander said, "There's no need for an event that only serves as a place for faux niceties when I can gather whatever from a person like this."

"Like what? A simple first impression?" Michael asked.

Sir Alexander nodded. "That's all that's needed."

"Well I do hope my first impression of you is incorrect," he said. He licked his lips and looked down after that, hoping it wasn't too obvious that his hands were shaking. That was a very Maria thing to say. He hoped he didn't sound rude.

Isobel squeezed his hand under the table. When he looked up, he saw Sir Alexander still staring at him.

"Oh, and Michael, are you planning on going to the ball on your own?" Mrs. Pennington asked. He turned to face her, seeing a simple tight smile on her face.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, I know you've failed at love in the past," she said. Isobel squeezed his hand as he just stared at her. “I mean, how sad is it that you’re nearly 30 and haven’t had a single romantic relationship?”

Michael looked around the table and found a mix of snickering and pitiful faces. It felt like dinner back home all over again‒full of disappointment for Michael’s love life. Great. Beautiful. Pushing through it all, Michael smiled.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said softly, pushing himself out of the chair and walking into the halls.

He considered escaping back to his room but reaffirmed in his mind that he couldn’t let it ruin his night. Instead, he decided to go exploring. He wanted to truly revel in this old house and just play pretend for a little while. Maybe he was unlucky in love, but so what? He didn’t need a person when he had a whole world to explore.

Michael wandered around, managing not to run into a single person as he did so. It made him feel at ease. He considered that maybe he should’ve just rented an old house with the money he spent here and spent a few nights pretending he was Dorian Grey or something. Well, not Dorian Grey‒just maybe as beautiful and lucky as him.

About an hour of wandering led him to the ballroom. Michael grinned as he walked into it, closing his eyes as he breathed it in. It reminded him of when he had a girlfriend for about a month back in high school whose mother made her go to cotillion and he had to escort her to her coming-out party. He’d enjoyed it so much that she had dumped him, but still.

He slowly started doing the waltz alone, murmuring a rhythmic one-two-three under his breath. It wasn't too unlike what he did in the privacy of his own house, but this time he had the extra benefit of the way his shoes sounded on a real ballroom floor. It made him feel at home.

Until a voice broke his peace.

"Are you having fun, Mr. Gilkes?" Sir Alexander asked. Michael stumbled to a stop, staring towards the doorway with wide eyes. He was leaning against the doorway, nothing but amusement on his face. Michael couldn't find words. He tried to think of what Maria would say, but somehow 'more fun than I would ever with you' sounded unwarranted. "I still can't believe people actually pay money to come here. Do you actually enjoy this place?"

Michael blinked a few times, still not knowing what to say.

"You don't speak much, do you? You know that's considered rude in many social circles," he said, stepping further into the ballroom with that smile still on his face and a cane in hand, "And then when you do speak, that in itself feels rather brash."

"Is the cane there to make you look more full of yourself?" Michael asked and then nearly retreated into his body. Why did he have to say that of all things? Thankfully, Alexander just smiled.

"Probably," he answered, but tapped the edge of the cane against his leg and Michael knew his face paled at the hollow sound it made.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean–"

"You said what you were thinking," Sir Alexander said, "So you meant it."

Michael stood there and took a deep breath, waiting for his payback for that stupid, stupid sentence to come. Why did he always speak before he thought?

“Nonetheless, you didn’t deserve to be called out. There’s no shame in taking a while to fall in love or never falling in love at all,” he said, tapping his cane on the ballroom floor. Michael gave a single nod and wished he would leave so he could stop this never-ending cycle of embarrassment. “Felt you should at least hear that.”

Alexander walked away before Michael could construct a response.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ve got you.”

Michael clutched his sketchbook behind his back as they walked around the gardens. It was nearly impossible not to take note of how Jenna was hooked onto Maxwell’s arm and Isobel was hooked onto Alexander’s and he was hooked onto absolutely no one. He wasn’t even jealous as much as he was irritated. This didn’t feel very fair.

Maxwell helped Jenna step up beside a fountain and she gave him a kind smile and Michael took that as his cue to escape. He’d learned very quickly that if he third wheeled, he did something stupid or annoying that ruined it for everyone. Like that time Maria was about to get her first kiss at the movies and he reached between them to steal a twizzler.

He let them get lost in themselves for a moment before quickly taking a step back. Then he took another step back and soon he was out of the garden altogether. Michael very quickly wandered towards the barn that was close by and collapsed into a mound of hay.

“Excuse you, this definitely qualifies as cramping my style.”

Michael scrambled to a sitting position and peered over to the other side of the mound and found Elizabeth sitting there with a pile of hay on her head and her book in her lap. He gave her a sorry smile.

“I didn’t see you there, I’m sorry,” he said. She just giggled and shook the hay off her head. Her hair was in a braid once again and she was still the only woman on the grounds who was wearing pants rather than a dress.

“You’re fine,” she promised, smiling in a way that lit up her whole face. Michael reached over to pick a few strands of hay from her hair. “Needed an escape?”

“I guess,” he said. She scooted closer to his side of the hay bail. “I’m not even really supposed to be out here. Mrs. Pennington is probably going to be really irritated with me for running off.”

“Maybe so, maybe not. I’m sure she’s not really keeping tabs,” Elizabeth tried. Micahel huffed a breath and plucked the last bit of hay from her hair.

“Hopefully. ‘M Michael, by the way. I know she said your name was Elizabeth.”

“Yeah, but call me Liz.”

Michael nodded curtly. “Alright, Liz.”

Michael leaned back into the hay, letting out a slow breath and closing his eyes. He needed a break. And a phone, perhaps, to vent to Maria. This was the longest he’d gone without her in some way and it was making him anxious.

“Not to insult you or anything,” Liz said, swinging her knee to bump his, “But you paid a fuck ton of money to enjoy the fancy shit and you’re sitting in a barn.”

Michael quirked a smirk and looked over to her. She was easier to talk to than the rest of them. It helped that she wasn’t as fancy.

“Honestly, I thought I would be better at all this. I spent so much time studying the time period and wishing I was there, but turns out I’m just as bad here as I am at my own time,” he sighed. She leaned in close and raised her eyebrows.

“Maybe you just need something a little more your speed.”

“I disagree that this is my speed.”

“Hush,” Liz laughed, handing him a bow and an arrow.

Michael looked over beside him to see Maxwell guiding Jenna to shoot her arrow semi-towards the target and then Alexander was helping Isobel shoot it directly at the bullseye. Isobel saw him looking and then gave him a very hyperactive thumbs up. He nodded back and then looked back to Liz. He could do this.

“Come here,” Liz urged, sidling up behind him despite being much shorter. Maria didn’t have to be present for him to hear her teasing him.

She placed her hands on his hips, turning them to some probably specific angle and put her lips by his ear. He looked over at her and felt a bit jittery at how long her eyelashes were and the fact that she was all pressed up against him. Then he remembered it was probably bad to be jittery whenever you had an arrow in your hand.

“So you’re gonna pull it back with three fingers,” she whispered, “Balance your weight. Keep your back straight and push your hips forward just a little.” He gulped when she pressed into him to guide his hips. “Steady and… release.”

It flew and flew and flew straight into the ground about four feet in front of him.

Liz let out a sweet little laugh, “Well, let’s try that again.” Michael nodded and couldn’t really take his eyes off her for a moment. Yeah, sure, he failed, but he failed at a lot of things and most of those things didn’t involve a pretty girl pressing up against him.

“Do you need me to teach him or are you just messing around?” Sir Alexander asked suddenly which made Michael’s eyes very reluctantly move away from Liz. Alexander was staring at them with a look very similar to when Michael had rudely said he made a shitty first impression.

Michael just stared back.

“No, I’ve got it,” Liz said and Michael felt that fuzzy feeling return as she grabbed his hips again.

It took a few shots, but Liz eventually got him to hit the target. Maybe not the bullseye, but it hit the target and it got him squeezed by Liz and that made it a million times worth it.

“Maybe you’ll be better with the horses?” Liz suggested as they started walking towards the stables. He had a permanent smile etched onto his face as he watched her.

“Yeah, maybe.”

He did not.

Michael spent about twenty minutes attempting to get on his horse. Poor thing probably got kicked in the side a million times and Michael would take a second each time to apologize. He would say sorry and pat her on the nose before he tried to climb onto her again and then would promptly kick her in the side again. In all that time, everyone else had managed to go so far with their own horse that they were completely out of sight. Anxiety built in his stomach and he moved to the horse’s face.

“Hi,” he said, giving her his best smile, “I know I’m really bad at this, I know, but… can we just do this one thing together? Maybe you could bend down? Is that bad for your legs? Don’t do it if it’s bad for your legs. You know, I heard that running upstairs is really bad for your legs and that scene in Game of Thrones when Jamie ran up the steps on a horse was probably actual hell on that horse, so... I am rambling to a horse.” Michael sighed and pet her face as she just huffed in his direction. “Could we make a deal? Just let me ride you long enough to get back and I’ll never kick you again.”

Michael really did think they were on the same page, so when she responded by running away, he was a little more than irritated.

“Come back!” he called, trying to run after her, but there wasn’t much to do. Chasing after a horse was basically pointless.

This really was not his day. Or week. Or month. Or year. Maybe Friends was right.

It took a few seconds for Michael to rationalize that he was going to be stuck on foot. Which was fine, he’d definitely experienced worse in life. Walking through a field and some woods wasn’t going to be the end of the world. So, he started trekking after them. He knew he’d probably get there well past when everyone else did, but that was fine. Truly, he needed a good walk in silence. Maybe the horse sensed that and gave him what he was desperately needing. What a kind horse.

Only when it started pouring rain did Michael consider that maybe this just really wasn’t meant to happen. He’d only been there for two days and it had gone about as smoothly as riding a unicycle over gravel. If he hadn’t paid so much money, he probably would’ve just got on a plane and gone home. Maybe Maria would be down for a pity round of rom-coms and popcorn. That sounded better than anything that was happening to him here.

“Mr. Gilkes, did everyone abandon you?”

Michael whipped around to see Sir Alexander riding towards him on his big white horse. He had a smile on his face despite the rain and despite the fact that Michael's hair had completely come untamed and was starting to curl hectically and despite it being too cold to be walking or riding in the rain. Michael could only take it as mocking.

“I’m fine,” he answered. He didn’t like being mocked, he got enough of that in every other goddamn aspect of his shitty life.

“You aren’t, it’s raining and even your horse abandoned you,” Alexander said. He dismounted the horse with a shocking amount of grace for a man who had only one leg. Michael wondered how long he practiced that.

“I can just walk, it’s fine,” Michael insisted. Alexander shook his head.

“What kind of man would I be if I left you lost in the woods while it was raining? I’m not evil,” he chuckled, gesturing towards the horse, “Come on.”

“Well, see, I don’t think we can both get on one horse because I-I don’t, I can’t, and your leg, like‒”

“It’s fine,” Alexander insisted and then suddenly Michael was being lifted onto the horse.

“Oh my‒” he gasped and Alexander just laughed, helping him swing his leg to the other side so he was straddling the horse.

“Now scoot forward,” he said and Michael tried to while Alexander helped push him a bit. Then Michael tried not to have a heart attack when he climbed up behind him.

“Sorry,” Michael mumbled, putting all his focus into keeping from doing anything stupid. Sir Alexander laughed behind him.

“Sorry for what?” When Michael didn’t answer, he added a simple, “I’ve ridden horses since I was a kid, I’ve got you.”

Michael’s face flushed and he nodded. For a moment, he tried to figure out which Maria would tease him for more: Liz pressing up against him to shoot arrows or Alexander lifting him onto a horse and pressing up against him on the horse. He could hear her voice in his mind, ‘Oh, Sir Alexander, what big strong arms you have!’ and then Michael would say, ‘you’re embarrassing me, he’s going to throw me off the horse’ and then Maria would say, ‘no, he won’t, he’s trying to get serious dick’ and then Michael would say, ‘oh my God!’.

Though, he would admit that he liked being held from behind by a guy strong enough to lift him onto a horse.

When they got back to the stables, Alex helped him down and then led the horse away without another word. Michael went inside and tried to figure out if he was embarrassed about what happened or not.

He chose not to be.

“It’s rude for a gentleman to doodle the entire evening, Mr. Gilkes.”

Michael blinked a few times as he looked up to where Mrs. Pennington was all but glaring him to death. He licked his lips and looked around. There wasn’t really anyone to talk to. Sure, Isobel would quickly pull him into the conversation if need be, but she seemed to be trying really hard to seem interested in forcing Sir Alexander to talk about his book. Jenna, who was nice enough, seemed to enjoy the overwhelming attention she was receiving from Maxwell. Then Mrs. Pennington was focusing quite hard on her needlepoint when she wasn’t trying to send daggers into his head with a single look.

“Right,” Michael said, peering down at his sketchbook and then back to Mrs. Pennington, “Men should be outside doing… manly things.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and Micahel was pretty sure everyone else was looking at him too. Which made sense. They were all doing their period things and Michael had come here to also do period things, but instead, he was just drawing pictures of a boy who was acting and thinking of a girl who wore pants in a time where she shouldn’t.

He suddenly had a very strong urge to go find that girl. She probably wouldn’t be staring at him like everyone in this room was.

“I’ll go… do manly things.”

Michael excused himself and very quickly made his way outside. He didn’t exactly know where to find her, but he was sure that he could find her and that he would be able to make it seem like he found her by happenstance and not that he was being creepy. The last thing he wanted was to be super creepy towards her. She’d been the only one who hadn’t made him feel completely out of place here. It reminded him of summer camp whenever he hung out with the camp counselor the whole time because he couldn’t seem to make any friends that like was supposed to.

He eventually heard the faint sound of Dancing Queen by ABBA summoning him towards a tiny shed and decided that was a good place to start. Even if it wasn’t Liz, it was obviously someone infinitely better than anyone inside the house. So, he knocked.

The music stopped and he heard some quick stomping inside that made him smile. When the door flew open, Liz stood there with her braid undone and legs bare with only a long, billowy period-shirt. He smiled childishly large at her and she reciprocated it.

“Hello, Mr. Gilkes,” she said, “What brings you my way?”

“I was just wandering and I heard the music, thought I’d come see what’s going on,” he said, keeping his eyes on hers and hoping beyond hope that she’d invite him inside. He needed to be around someone like her for a little while. She reminded him of Maria in all the ways that he needed.

“Ah, well, I know it’s technically inappropriate for a man and a woman to be alone together,” Liz said, shaking her head teasingly, “But… you wanna come in?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Michael stepped up into the tiny little shed and saw that it was basically functioning as her bedroom. It was quaint and homey and modern and it made him relax a bit. Liz made no move to put on pants or tame her crimped, frizzy hair and she still looked insanely gorgeous. Honestly, nearly everyone here was gorgeous. Was that a requirement?

“How do you feel about an ABBA dancing session?” she asked.

“I feel like it’s exactly what I need.”

Whenever Michael and Maria were teenagers and he either slept in his truck or on her bedroom floor, his only release from hell was blaring Queen and ABBA while he and Maria danced around the room. It was hard to be sad whenever Freddie Mercury was boosting you up and how could they possibly be stressed about life whenever they decided to perform an entire production of Mamma Mia! with just the two of them. And now, how could he be upset about awkwardly being a third or fifth wheel whenever he was jumping around and singing Money, Money, Money with a girl who was this stunning?

They danced through a few songs until they ran out of breath and collapsed onto the little futon in the corner in a pile of laughter. It was the best Michael had felt in days and it actually had nothing to do with the amount of skin he could see of hers. That was just a bonus.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Liz said after they caught their breath, “For yesterday. I should’ve stuck around in case the horse decided to abandon you. That was my bad.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Michael said, waving it off, “I said I could do it. I just didn’t wanna ask for help. And then Mr. Perfect strolled up to save the day. Still not sure how to feel about it.” Liz snorted a laugh.

“Between you and me, the actors are paid to be perfect, you can’t really hold it against them,” Liz explained, turning to face him completely. For a moment, he considered touching her, but he didn’t. It felt too out of place. “But Alex is sweet, so he probably just genuinely wanted to help.”

Michael gave her a skeptical look. “Sweet? He always looks mildly to extremely irritated with my general existence.”

“Yeah,” she laughed, “I think that’s just his face though.”

Michael chuckled along with her for a moment and then they quieted down and just looked at each other. Maria would really like her. He could see the three of them hanging out and bingeing silly romcoms together. If he got anything from this trip, he hoped he’d gained her friendship.

“You think we could play another song? I didn’t realize how much I’d miss music being here,” he admitted. Liz flashed a big smile.

“Absolutely,” she said and stood up. She walked over to her phone and typed for a second and then the opening to Lay All Your Love On Me started playing and Michael was on his feet. That was easily a favorite of his. There was something about it that felt so unabashedly freeing even when it was literally about being possessive.

They started jumping around again, dancing closer and closer until she was touching him and he was touching her. She was a lot shorter than him, but it didn’t take away the charm of having her move against him as she held onto his hands. He barely noticed when they stopped moving.

He did notice when his forehead touched hers.

“You know,” she whispered, her eyes flickering down to his lips. He tried not to get excited. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this.”

Michael moved away instantly. “You’re right, I’m sorry for being so forward.”

Liz rolled her eyes.“Don’t be silly, I like your forwardness. It isn’t there that often, but I like it,” she said. He chewed on his bottom lip and it was the only thing keeping him from smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I think I can arrange that,” he said. She giggled and shooed him out the door.

He felt much better.

“Jesus, you are way too good at that.”

Michael let Isobel lean over his shoulder to get a better look at his needlepoint. He found it wasn’t too hard if you didn’t think too much about it. Whenever he looked to hers, though, he saw that she should’ve probably thought a little harder.

“Isobel, what is that?” he laughed. Jenna leaned over to see the monstrosity Isobel was creating. She quickly joined in on the laughter.

“Is it Cthulu himself?” she asked which had them all laughing harder.

Isobel tried to pout as she held it out in front of them. “No, it’s supposed to be an elephant.”

“An elephant?” Jenna nearly cackled, “From what planet?”

“Ours!” Isobel whined, but it was quickly cut off by infectious giggling, “Listen, we can’t all be Michael.”

“You don’t want to be me,” Micahel said, shaking his head as he put his needlepoint in his lap, “That’s basically the only thing I’ve done right since I’ve been here.”

“Oh c’mon, you can’t let Mrs. Bitchington ruin your time here,” Jenna said encouragingly. Michael shrugged.

“It’s not just her,” he admitted. Isobel grabbed his hand and he immediately calmed down a bit. She had a magic touch sometimes. One squeeze and a weight would lift off his shoulders.

“You know, I feel pretty shitty about the way she excludes you all the time. I still can’t figure out why,” Isobel admitted. Michael had an idea about why, but he chose to shrug. “You want to be here more than either of us do. It’s just not fair.”

“Do I?” he asked. He’d been under the impression that they were both as excited about it as he was. Or at least Isobel since she was the one who always seemed so eager to play along and engage Sir Alexander in conversation.

“My husband is super rich,” Isobel admitted, “He’ll basically pay for me to do anything if it means getting out of his hair.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Isobel said, waving him off, “It doesn’t bother me. It means I can do whatever including coming to this super fun place.”

“Not sure if fun’s the right word,” Jenna mumbled before clearing her throat, “It’s not the worst, but… I don’t know, I’m trying to enjoy it. It’s just not my type of thing, you know.”

“Why’d you come then?” Michael asked. Jenna sighed and leaned back into the uncomfortable sofa.

“My sister loves this stuff,” she began, pulling loosely at the thick fabric of her dress, “She always wanted to come and she planned to one day. But, uh, then she got sick and now she can’t come, so she forced me to so she could live vicariously through me.”

“Man, you’re a good person,” Isobel huffed, “I don’t think I could do something I didn’t want to do just for my sibling.”

“Really? I think I could do something insane for my best friend if she wanted me to because she couldn’t,” Michael said decidedly. He, in fact, had done a lot for Maria and she had done a lot for him. If she wanted him to do something crazy that he didn’t want to, he was sure he could do it for her.

“Still, it’s really sweet of you,” Isobel said, nudging Michael. She had that heartfelt smile on her face though and he felt warm inside. “But, if we’re gonna talk about Mrs. Bitchington, I find it super weird that it’s always the three of us and then two of them. Like, that’s so unfair.”

“It is unfair,” Jenna agreed, “I mean, apart of this whole thing is a romance, right? Where’s your romance?”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” Michael said, but his mind immediately jumped to Liz. He hadn’t seen her since the night prior and she was still hovering around his brain. He was eager to see her again and the more he thought about it, the more he itched to get away.

“I know that face,” Isobel said.

“What face?” Michael asked. She gave him a distinctly Isobel expression that he hadn’t actually seen on anyone else and he was struggling to decide what, exactly, it meant.

“That one,” she said, circling his head with her finger. Jenna chuckled beside him. “The one a boy gets when he’s thinking about a girl.”

“Okay, so maybe I’m thinking about a girl,” Michael agreed. Isobel’s eyes lit up.

“Is that girl around?” When he didn’t answer, she shoved his shoulder. “Michael! Go find the girl!”

Michael didn’t want to say no, so he didn’t.

Wandering around outside, it wasn’t hard to find Liz sitting on the bank of the little lake that wasn’t too far behind the house. He plopped down beside her and focused on his sketchbook. Or, pretended to be focused on his sketchbook even though he was very aware of the way she leaned closer and how she was smiling at him.

“Are you supposed to be out here?” she asked. He scribbled in the weaves of her braid that he happened to be drawing, trying to seem busy.

“I’m drawing.”

“You’re supposed to be inside,” she teased. He licked his lips and tried his best to channel his inner Maria. He looked over to her and grinned, letting his eyes trail up and down her.

“I mean… I don’t have to be drawing.” Liz’s eyes went wide and she giggled, shoving his shoulder gently. “No, but I’m tired of being cooped up in there and playing third wheel all the time. Show me around, Liz, please?”

“How very scandalous,” she mused, “Didn’t you pay to be cooped up?”

Michael gave an exaggerated frown and kicked her foot. Her nose scrunched up and she looked so cute he thought about kissing her right then. He didn’t, though Maria would’ve been proud if he had.

“You’re right,” he sighed dramatically, “I guess I’m going to go be all bored and alone somewhere with no WiFi.”

He pushed off the ground and went to stand up, but Liz quickly grabbed his arm. He hit the ground again and barely had any time to adjust before there was a small hand at the back of his neck and lips on his. He melted into it, letting her set the pace and the boundaries. It was a good kiss. She was a good kisser.

And it was the first kiss he’d had in over two years and kisses were nice.

“Are you sure you can sneak around with me today?” she asked as she pulled away. He realized that, for at least the next couple hours, he was completely at her beck and call. And he was completely okay with that.

“Yes,” he said, “Absolutely.”

Liz stood first and grabbed his hands, tugging him up onto his feet. He smiled down at her when he got there and felt that strong urge to kiss her again. He didn’t really get the chance to even say that before she was on her toes, their noses smushing together as well as their mouths and his heart was slamming in his chest. He missed kissing someone.

“If you stay right here, I’ll go swipe us some lunch from the kitchen,” she said against his lips. He nodded dumbly.

Michael watched as she ran towards the house, impressively light on her feet. His first instinct was to call Maria, to tell her he actually kissed someone, but he knew he couldn’t. He just had to revel in it by himself which, honestly, was a lot to handle. He managed to do it if only so he didn’t embarrass himself in front of Liz.

She returned with a picnic basket in her hands and a mischievous glint in her eye.

Liz led him away from the lake and towards the back garden that he hadn’t actually been to yet. It was secluded and she laid out a blanket before laying on it herself. Staring at her with the sun on her face and the clothes she wore made Michael crave the idea of stealing one of the dresses they had and fixing his hair up like women did back in the day. He wanted to layout in the garden in one and he wanted to feel pretty. He wanted to feel pretty and be kissed senselessly for it and be told things poetically that had his mind reeling.

That wasn’t an option, so he just laid beside her instead.

They spent at least two hours talking and laughing and feeding each other and discussing their lives outside of this place. Liz explained it was a summer job she took on and that for most parts of the year she worked on her Ph.D. in biomedicine. Michael tried not to feel too much less than when he said he was an English teacher at a middle school.

When they weren’t speaking, they were kissing and Michael decided he could get used to being kissed all the time. He honestly didn’t think it mattered who or where, as long as he was being kissed and felt like he wasn’t unwantable. Well, actually, he was fine with being unwantable in most aspects of his life, but if he could kiss for a few minutes a day with a stranger, that sounded fine.

“Mmm, you should probably go back inside,” Liz said eventually. Michael sighed pathetically and pouted.

“I really don’t want to.”

“I really think you should.”

She ran a hand through his hair, tucking the already gelled strands behind his ear. She gave him one last kiss before she started folding up the picnic blanket.

“So, can I see you tomorrow?” Michael asked. She grinned and nodded.

“You can count on it.”

He started making his way back towards the house, working on taming the smile on his face. The last thing he needed was Mrs. Pennington gaining another reason to be irritated with him. He was just fine with the current reasons.

Except, when he got back, the only person waiting around and looking irritated was Sir Alexander.

“Good news!”

Michael looked up from his plate at Mrs. Pennington’s announcement. She was beaming in a way that Michael felt was almost sinister. He wondered if he could get away with sneaking back out to find Liz if only so he wouldn’t have to see Mrs. Pennington do… that.

“Mr. Kyle Valenti will be joining us for the remainder of our time here!” she announced.

As if one cue‒most likely actually on cue‒a man burst in through the doors with an air of importance. He was actually gorgeous with a chiseled face and an easy smirk. His cheeks were stubbly, but it worked almost too well and Michael’s mind scrambled. He’d seen attractive men before‒hell, Sir Alexander was a force to be reckoned with‒but this man knew he was attractive and therefore carried himself to make it even more so. Confidence itself was no match for him.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his words coming out as natural as breathing.

Isobel kicked Michael beneath the table. He tore his attention from Mr. Valenti to look at her. Her eyes were wide with excitement, her smile so big that her teeth were showing. She was interested. Which made sense‒they were both beautiful enough to be models. Michael gave her a quick little thumbs up.

“And who might you be?”

It took Michael a moment to realize that basically everyone had been introduced to Mr. Valenti except for him and that he was sitting beside him and that he was leaning all close. He had to blink a few times to catch up with what he had clearly missed. When did that happen?

“Oh, um, Michael. Michael Gue- Gilkes,” he fumbled. Mr. Valenti grinned and grabbed his hand, kissing it once and then a few more times.

“It’s a pleasure to meet someone who graces the Earth with such beauty, Mr. Gilkes,” he said and Michael gulped. What the fuck was happening?

“Oh, thanks, you too,” Michael fumbled. Mr. Valenti chuckled and Isobel gave Michael a look that said ‘damn, look at you’.

Dinner went on with the new addition, only Michael was no longer left out of the conversation. Not that he typically minded being in his own headspace, but he was here to experience everything. Mr. Valenti made sure that he was constantly being talked to, showering him in attention. Every extensive ramble would end with, “And what do you think of that, Mr. Gilkes?”, and Michael would have to answer. It was overwhelming and alluring all at the same time.

When dinner began to wind down and they went to the sitting room, Michael felt like he was in a haze. This is what it was supposed to feel like. He was supposed to be fuzzy and flattered. That was the whole point of this entire trip. He couldn’t wait to go home to Maria and gush about all the attention he was getting, even if it was all acting.

“So, there I was, and there was a bear,” Mr. Valenti explained, standing up in the sitting room as he told his story. Michael mimicked the way Isobel had looked at Sir Alexander and the way Maxwell looked at Jenna, that wide-eyed interested look. He seemed to feed on it. “And he came towards me! Running, growling‒I had to act fast.”

“Bears don’t attack unless provoked,” Sir Alexander said, voice dull with disinterest as it had been every time he spoke this evening. Which was very little.

Mr. Valenti glanced at him for a moment. “This one did.”

“Unlikely. Unless it was a mother and you got too close to her baby,” he said, then paused, “Or this entire story is bullshit which feels more accurate than anything.”

Mrs. Pennington gasped at his language, looking over at him with overly mothering eyes. Sir Alexander just stared back with a face that said ‘what?’. She tilted her head and he took a deep breath, looking away.

“I need a different book,” he said, standing with his cane in hand. He spared Michael a glance before not-so-subtly hitting Mr. Valenti with his cane. Michael tried not to smile because that wasn’t nice.

But the look Sir Alexander gave him was.

Still, Michael was quite sure Mr. Valenti was there to be his romance and he would at least give Mr. Valenti the attention he so clearly wanted. It wasn’t until much later when he ran into Liz in the hall outside the kitchen that he realized maybe he shouldn’t have been so eager to play along.

“Oh, you look normal. I thought you would never get that ‘oh, sir’ look off your face,” she teased. Heat rushed to his cheeks and he tried to gauge if she was mad at him or not. She didn’t seem mad, but most people weren’t too happy when they saw you flirt with someone else after making out with them.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Liz rolled her eyes.

“It’s okay, you aren’t required to be attracted to women,” she said, leaning against the wall with that fond expression on her face. Michael blinked dumbly.

“No,” he said, “I am, I just… have a broad taste.” Bisexual didn’t sound like a very early-1800s thing to say, but the fact that he didn’t say it made him feel kind of stupid too. He bowed his head and heard her little giggle in response. He didn’t realize how tense he was until she smoothed her hand over his shoulder to make him relax.

“Are you having fun being doused in manly attention?” she asked, nose scrunched up as if she knew she was slamming the ’make him blush’ button.

“You aren’t upset with me?” he whispered. Liz scoffed, her hand moving to his cheek.

“Michael, we just kissed a little, I’m not your keeper and I don’t think you feel like I am. Go! Swoon over all the sexy ass guys that you literally came here to be courted by,” she insisted, “Don’t be ashamed of wanting that‒that’s the opposite of the point. You’re supposed to be proposed to by the end of the story, aren’t you?”

Michael nodded and breathed slowly, quietly thanking her with the tilt of his head. She slipped her hand into his hair and tugged him closer.

“Get up in the morning, dress nice, do your hair how you want, and make them all stare. Stop being scared when you’re here to be someone else,” she whispered, ending it with a firm kiss to his lips.

He went to bed with a plan to do just that.

“Can I speak to you for a moment, Mr. Gilkes?”

Michael would be lying if he said he wasn’t shocked to see Isobel and Jenna outside his bedroom door. While they were friends and very friendly, they never really came down to the servants quarters where he’d been set up.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, moving to let her in. The moment they were behind closed doors, Isobel gave a big wild smile that was a whole lot more Isobel than the structured sentence she had greeted him with.

“Me and Kyle started talking last night,” she said, so giddy that he grinned right back.

“Oh yeah?” he asked. Jenna just smiled and shook her head.

“Yes!” Isobel said, giggling, “I really like him, so… I was wondering how you’d feel about possibly switching.”

“Switching?” he repeated, looking between the two women.

“Yes, you get Sir Alexander and I get Mr. Valenti.”

“Or Maxwell, if you want,” Jenna added, “I don’t really mind.”

Michael blinked a few times and tried to order things in his head. They only had about half a week left here and they were all so ready to switch. That wasn’t a part of the story. However, he didn’t want to ruin her time here. She was actually enjoying it and Michael was having fun with Liz… even if she had just told him to get showered by male affection. It was fine. So, he nodded.

“Sure, I’ll take Alexander,” he said. He was the most attractive of them all, in his opinion. Even if he was sort of a dick who Michael clearly annoyed.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Isobel asked. He nodded.

“Of course not, go be happy.”

“I have a fun little task for you all!”

Michael nearly sighed when Mrs. Pennington announced that. He found that the best way to enjoy this place now that Isobel had asked for Mr. Valenti was to quietly sit beside Sir Alexander and sketch while he read. He wouldn’t say it was accurate bonding time, but it had resulted in some of the calmest moments he’d had since he arrived. He was pretty content on doing that until the ball where Sir Alexander would probably propose to him even though they’d done nothing but annoy each other at the least.

“I have written a play that I would like you all to star in!” Mrs. Pennington said cheerily. Isobel, Kyle, and Maxwell all made sounds of intrigue, Michael and Jenna managed a smile, and Sir Alexander…

“Absolutely not,” he said. She gave him that motherly look like she did quite often. “No, I’m not doing that.”

“Yes, you are, so split into pairs,” Mrs. Pennington pushed. Alexander scoffed, dropping his head into his hand. Michael eyed him for a moment. It felt ungodly disrespectful. He almost smiled. “Ladies choice?”

“I guess we can be a pair, Mr. Evans,” Jenna said. He grinned with what could only be described as heart eyes.

“And, Mr. Valenti, I would enjoy your company,” Isobel said. Kyle looked supremely excited about that. Which left Michael to be paired with Alexander, which was expected since Isobel had asked him to switch suitors. Still, it felt weird. He kept replaying that moment in his mind where he insulted his cane only to realize he had a false leg.

“I guess that leaves us, Sir Alexander,” he said. Alexander picked up his head and looked at him, nodding with a sigh. He looked extremely disinterested in the entire prospect. Michael understood because he wasn’t really keen on the whole thing either.

Still, Mrs. Pennington pushed them to go run lines.

Michael found himself walking through the garden with a man who probably hated walking through the garden with his cane. It added an extra layer of guilt to the whole situation.

“I’m sorry about this, Sir Alexander,” Michael said, holding back a tree branch so it wouldn’t hit the man, “I’ll do my best not to annoy you.”

“You don’t annoy me,” he said almost before Michael finished speaking, “You make me nervous.” Michael froze for a moment and blinked at the man who walked past him. “And call me Alex.”

Michael watched him continue to walk and mulled over his words. Oh, he thought after a moment, this is the pairing I was supposed to have. He cleared his throat and ruffled his hair in hopes that his curls looked alright. Mrs. Pennington had given him a look from hell when she saw it. But, hey, he looked better and Liz had said to enjoy himself and look good. And he was going to look good for the guy he was supposed to be paired with.

“So, you like horses?” Michael said as he followed Alex towards the bench he was sitting at. Alex huffed a laugh and nodded, straightening out the leg with the prosthetic. Michael eyed it for a moment before he realized he was probably being extremely rude. When he looked up, Alex didn’t seem to mind.

“When I was first starting PT, they asked me to decide on a goal-- what I wanted to be able to do again-- and focus on it. I chose horseback riding,” Alex admitted, “It’s the only reason I was able to save you the other day, so… you’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Michael said, sitting beside him, “That’s really impressive.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Alex said, shaking his head. When he looked towards Michael, the fact that they were always intended to be paired made even more sense. “Can I ask you a question? Why did you come to this place?”

Michael chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. I really enjoy everything about the time period‒well, most things about the time period. I like the dramatics of it all.”

“Really? I think the only thing I like is the simplicity. It’s so easy to just exist in a place that feels cut off,” Alex admitted. Okay, this was easy. Holding a conversation with him was easy.

“Absolutely. And the clothing is super fun,” Michael added, nodding towards the proper garb Alex had on. Michael’s was loose and peasant-y, but it was still comfy and simple.

“And it’s quiet. Super quiet. No constant noise like it is everywhere else,” he said and Michael again agreed. He lived in an apartment, quietness was a virtue.

“And,” Michael said, pausing for a moment as he tried to build up his inner Maria. He could be ballsy too, “The men.”

Alex stared at him and a slow smile slinked onto his face. It was world-altering. It was a very comforting thing to see and Michael had to wonder why he didn’t do it more often. He should do it all the time.

“The men,” Alex echoed.

Michael breathed slowly as they stared at each other for a moment. He could feel his cheeks heating up and his mind swim frantically as he tried to think of something to say so he didn’t sound stupid. He found himself desperately trying not to embarrass himself that he hadn’t even felt around Liz. Well, he always wanted to avoid embarrassing himself, but this felt like a life or death situation. It wasn’t… but it was.

“I-I like that there’s time to draw here,” Michael added limply. Alex’s head tilted in interest.

“Right, you’re an artist,” he said, casually snatching Michael’s sketchbook from his arms like that was something you do. He clearly didn’t have the same panicky thought process that Michael did.

“Uh, yeah, but don’t‒”

Michael’s protests didn’t really do much of anything as Alex continued to flip through his sketchbook and seeing drawing after drawing of his own damn face. Michael wondered if perhaps the dirt was loose enough to bury himself under.

“You seem to have a lot of me,” Alex said casually. There was nothing condescending in his tone or anything mocking on his face. He was just curious. Michael imagined Isobel or Maria squeezing his hand and nodded.

“You’re aesthetically pleasing and… quiet and curious. You’re, like, a token Mr. Darcy figure. You’re created to be a fantasy,” Michael answered.

Alex’s fingers gently traced the lines that Michael had drawn of his face, having tried and failed to capture the beauty of him. Still, Alex seemed impressed and entranced and Michael thanked whoever was listening that he wasn’t being shamed.

“So… I’m your fantasy?” Alex asked, tilting his head towards Michael. He felt his heart drop into his stomach and he tried not to gulp. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He channeled Maria once again.

“Well, you do your job very well.”

Alex didn’t smile at this, he just nodded and turned to look back at the sketchbook. Michael wasn’t sure if he’d fucked up or not.

He hoped not.

Three hours of not-so-successful line-running, Michael and Alex made their way out of the garden. It went as well as one could imagine practicing a shitty play would be. They got distracted and talking more about things that felt much more interesting than the play itself. Like Alex’s penchant for cooking and his history in the Air Force and Michael’s job as an English teacher and the existence of his best friend Maria. It had him feeling a little more jittery than expected.

That jitteriness was immediately shut down and replaced by worry when he saw Isobel and Mr. Valenti making out against one of the sheds, hardly even trying to hide behind shrubbery. It immediately soured Michael’s mood and he scoffed.

“What?” Alex pressed. Michael gestured haphazardly towards the pair.

“That’s not right,” he said simply.

“Two straight people kissing?” Alex asked. Michael stuck his tongue out at him without thinking which earned him a smile that he quickly ignored.

“She’s kissing an actor, right? Where’s the line at? Where does truth end and fantasy begin when you do stuff like that?” Michael pointed out. He knew Isobel, not incredibly well, but enough to know that she probably wouldn’t understand that it wouldn’t carry on past this week. It was asking for heartbreak when Valenti turned out to be nothing more than an actor doing his job for a paycheck. Perhaps, more than his job description, actually.

“It’s a dangerous game they’re playing, I suppose,” Alex said.

Michael shook his head.“She’s going to end up heartbroken because of a stupid game and he won’t even feel bad,” he decided. Alex breathed in so deep that Michael had to look over at him. He was already looking right back.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, “A week prior, I never would’ve seen any of this as anything other than a game, but now…”

He never finished his sentence. They stared for a moment until Michael decided that it was far, far too overwhelming and gave him a small nod before walking away. The entire trip back to the house was full of his mind trying to decipher what the hell that meant and then having to remind himself that this was indeed a game. It meant nothing. He couldn’t be stupid.

Which caused him to stupidly bump into Liz.

“Hello there, Mr. Gilkes,” Liz said, smiling up at him fondly. He had the urge to kiss her if only so he would stop thinking about kissing Alex which was a really terrible reason to kiss someone. So, obviously, he didn’t do it.

“Hi,” Michael said. She laughed at him, stepping up close to him and reaching up to spring one of the loose curls.

“So, how’s it all going?” she wondered. He huffed a laugh and shook his head.

“It’s all right out of a storybook,” he answered, sarcasm dripping from his tone. She smirked.

“That’s the point.”

When she walked past him, he didn’t bother to watch her leave. As gorgeous as she was, he had more pressing matters on his mind. Like the fact that Isobel was kissing an actor or that he was going to have to act in a play even though he was a shitty actor.

The main culprit invading his mind, however, was Sir Alexander Manes himself.

Alex was shaking.

“You know, for an actor, you’re pretty shit at this,” Michael whispered to him playfully as they stood backstage. Michael wasn’t really fond of acting on stage, it was actually the worst, but this didn’t feel like acting. There was no audience, it was just the six of them fucking around for Mrs. Pennington.

Alex gave him a pretty nasty glare which didn’t really hit the way it should because he looked downright terrified. It didn’t make sense considering he knew they were going to have to put on this damn play eventually. You’d think he’d be comfortable. But, no, he was nervous.

Still, they galloped on stage at their cue.

“Alas, my dear friend,” Alex mumbled. Michael gave him a smile.

“Louder,” he instructed softly. Alex took a shaky breath and nodded.

“Alas, my dear friend!” he announced, so loud that his voice cracked. Michael squeezed his eyes shut to try to suppress his laughter. “You’ve been stabbed!”

Michael looked at him with wide eyes. He’d casually skipped half the damn script. With a small laugh, Michael got on the ground to pretend to be dead. Alex stood frozen for a bit before he awkwardly went to sit beside him, overly cautious for his prosthetic leg.

“You’re supposed to be crying,” Michael told him carefully. Alex blinked and then frowned, sniffling in quite possibly the least believable way. Michael almost started laughing out loud. With a shake of his head, he said his next line. “Tis but a scratch.”

“Let me hold you, my dear friend,” Alex said, scooting closer. He didn’t actually make any move to hold him which didn’t matter, but it had them both snickering under their breath.

“Oh, this life we have led,” Michael began, gazing up at Alex in the most loving way he could. He wasn’t an actor by any means, but he’d spent enough time playing Maria’s fake boyfriend to pretty accurately capture an ‘in love’ face. “I fear the day we let it go.”

“We will meet again. Ours are meant to be in every lifetime,” Alex spoke back, again too softly but Michael didn’t bother correcting him. He just smiled at him.

“Ah, for this moment, if it may be my last, it seems we are alone in this world. Just you and I in this very moment,” Michael recited dramatically. Alex just stared at him.

“I love you,” he blurted suddenly. Michael’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at him. That wasn’t in the script. Had he really forgotten the script that badly? Alex’s eyes widened at his mistake and Michael just managed a comforting little smile.

Maxwell badly galloped onto the stage behind them in an off-kilter rhythm.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he whispered to them.

“Oh, yeah,” Michael said, dropping to the floor completely in his death and Alex managed an ‘oh no’ that almost revived him with laughter.

A little commotion went on around them as Michael played dead, the image of Alex saying ’I love you’ cycling through his mind over and over and over. What a weird thing to throw in.

“And they all died!” Jenna announced a little too early or perhaps not, causing a slow slinking of his fellow “actors” to the floor. Alex laid on his chest.

If anyone asked him, he would say it was a very successful performance.

High on the adrenaline of the play, Michael grabbed Alex’s arm the moment they got off stage.

“Let’s get out of here,” he pressed. Alex blinked curiously but nodded with a smile.

Michael gave Alex time to grab his cane before they began rushing away from the makeshift stage, speed walking away from it all and towards the house. Alex stayed close as they moved, smiles on both of their faces. It was hard to pinpoint where it all came from. He just knew one minute Alex was laying on his chest and the next he needed to get him alone.

They found themselves huddled behind the door of Michael’s bedroom, bodies all but touching as they took each other in. Alex had been beautiful since the first day, but seeing him smile like that felt like a brand new type of gorgeous. It flurried into Michael with new knowledge of his shitty stage acting skills and soft hair and the way he felt on his chest.

This is what it should feel like.

Michael remembered Maria trying to explain to him what it felt like whenever she really, really liked someone, especially back in high school. She’d explained the heart-pounding, mind-numbing, euphoric feeling of it all. He always thought it was bullshit. While he wanted something out of a book, he couldn’t understand how anyone real could make you feel that way. Now, here he was, giddy to be alone with a boy for once. It didn’t feel like dread or duty like he usually felt whenever he found himself alone in a room with someone. This felt like he wanted it.

He didn’t let go of his hand.

“I feel someone in the early 19th century might have a few words to say about two men who close themselves in a bedroom together,” Alex whispered, though he made no move to back away or let go.

However, his words shattered Michael’s thoughts and rudely reminded him that he was an actor. This wasn’t real. This was a game that he signed up for. He shouldn’t feel so comfortable.

But he did. And, for a moment he considered pleading him to stay.

Instead, he said, “Maybe I should let you go then. Wouldn’t want to get either of us into trouble.” He paused for a moment, squeezing Alex’s hand. As long as he was aware this wasn’t real, he could be a little reckless. Just a little. “I had fun with you.”

“So did I.”

Alex stared at him for a moment before he blinked and looked to the side. He took a deep breath and then gave a curt smile before turning to open the door. He turned the handle and everything, but he paused before he pushed it open.

“Mr. Gilkes, during the ball tomorrow… may I steal a dance or two?”

“Yes, of course, Sir Alexander,” Michael agreed, that giddy feeling slowly but surely rearing its head again.

Alex nodded and then very quickly seemed to make a decision, turning back to Michael and capturing his hand again. Michael held his breath.

“When I look at you, I feel right for the first time in my life,” he admitted, completing the romantic fantasy in Michael’s mind. He truly was the perfect actor.

Alex pressed a kiss to the palm of Michael’s hand and let it linger for a moment. It felt more intimate than anything Michael had ever experienced in his life. It made his heart pound.

“Good night, Mr. Gilkes,” Alex said softly, quickly disappearing outside of the door and leaving Michael alone.

His mind was in a haze as he went to his bed, laying down fully clothed. He wanted to replay those last few minutes in his mind forever. He wanted to tell Maria. He wanted so much.

He wanted that feeling to never, ever go away.

The ball was everything a young Michael could’ve ever dreamed of.

Fancy costumes, beautiful men and women, live early Romantic era music, dancing. He couldn’t even help the smile that overcame his face as he, Jenna, and Isobel made their way into the ballroom. It was the real answer to his fantasies and suddenly the whole week was worth everything awful that had happened.

In the sea of bodies, he spotted Liz who gave him a little wave and a wink. She was wearing a dress for the first time, dressed up in a way similar to Isobel and Jenna. It was different, but she still looked gorgeous. Jenna got whisked away by Maxwell, Isobel got whisked away by Mr. Valenti, and Michael considered whisking away with Liz until a familiar face stood in front of him.

Alex looked even better in his special occasion fancy garb than he did in his daily fancy garb. The pale blues of the suit made his skin look even darker than it usually did and accented his already dazzling eyes. Michael was immediately brought back to the night before whenever they had snuck off to his room for nothing more than a kiss on the hand.

“May I have this dance?”

Michael held out his hand, allowing him to pull him into a very Regency-esque dance that had been taught to them through the week, but Michael had already known. It was something he did in his free time, something he did when he needed to remember what the point was. It was natural to him. Doing it with a good looking man, however, was new.

“You know, I seem to recall you saying you didn’t like social events such as this,” Michael pointed out with a grin.

“I can make an exception, I suppose,” Alex said softly. Michael raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I can make you enjoy this?”

Alex stared at him for a moment, confliction on his face before he quickly pulled Michael off the dance floor. Michael let him, though the confusion never left his face.

“Michael, can we speak for a moment? I need to tell you something that-- that I'm not supposed to tell you,” Alex said, his eyes shifting over to someone. When Michael followed his gaze, he saw Mrs. Pennington all but staring them down. Alex gave his hand a little squeeze. “Please?”

“O-Okay,” Michael said dumbly, letting himself be pulled through the crowd. He overheard Maxwell wistfully propose to Jenna and then Mr. Valenti wistfully propose to Isobel. His stomach started churning.

Alex tugged him outside onto the balcony, closing the door behind them and creating a world for just them. He stood close, his cane beside both of their feet as he leaned in. His eyes were so big and worried and nervous that Michael couldn’t help but listen attentively.

“I-I know that I made quite a horrible first impression on our first meeting, but I hope I’ve changed that. You see, I had no intention to even speak to anyone here more than I had to, much less fall for anyone, but I did and I have and I… I feel connected to you in a way I haven’t before and I just can’t imagine never seeing you again,” Alex gushed, seeming so sincerely honest. Michael stared at him, eyes growing wider each moment. He was a fantastic actor. “Is there any hope that I can see you after this is over?”

There was something awful about how conflicted Michael felt in that moment. The illogical side that was still caught up in the feeling of the night before wanted to say yes. He wanted to tug him close and kiss him and never leave. But this wasn’t real. Every single emotion he was feeling was intended from the start.

“Oh,” Michael whispered, slowly pulling away from him. Alex’s face dropped. “I didn’t realize this would feel so…”

Alex’s eyebrows pulled together, his head tilting like a desperate puppy would. “So what?”

“Fake.”

Michael took a large step away, watching as Alex got a downright pitiful expression on his pretty features. It made it harder to leave.

“No, but it’s not‒”

“No, you were right, this is a dangerous game that I shouldn’t have played in the first place,” Michael said. He didn’t think it would’ve felt so bad had he not had that moment of belonging and security in his bedroom the night prior. That felt too good to be fake. But it was and that made him feel uncomfortable. “I want something real.”

Michael didn’t stay long enough to hear anything else Alex might have to say, instead quickly escaping into the ballroom again to find the one real thing he had experienced in the entire week he’d been there. It took him a moment, but he did eventually find Liz’s short stature in the sea of people, talking to an elderly woman with a smile on her face.

“Liz,” he called. She turned him with pleading eyes. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes, please,” Liz agreed, taking his hand.

Her laughter followed him as they all but sprinted away and out of the house. He made sure she had a good hold on her dress before making a beeline through the grass to the little shed they’d danced in earlier in the week. He didn’t really let himself breathe until he fell onto her couch.

“Any reason in particular we just made a great escape?” she asked teasingly. He closed his eyes, breathing in slow. He tried to push away the conflicted feelings he had about leaving Alex. He was a fucking actor.

“I realized that you were the only person who hasn’t been putting on a show for the whole week,” he said softly. It helped convince himself just a little bit more that he indeed made the right choice.

Until she didn’t respond.

Liz stayed quiet until he pried his eyes open. She looked downright guilty. He felt his heart drop into his stomach. God, he needed Maria.

“I don’t think I was really putting on a show, but,” Liz said, grimacing as she spoke slow and controlled, “I was originally intended to be your love interest. I’m an actress.”

“Of fucking course,” Michael groaned, slapping his hand over his eyes. Of course. The one real thing wasn’t even fucking real.

“But I really do like you, you know, as a person. I had so much fun with you and I felt bad about tricking you like that, so I put some space between us. Nothing I did with you was acting, though,” Liz explained. Michael sighed dramatically all over again. Suddenly, he realized that he was indeed getting all of this out of his system. This was all one giant mindfuck.

“Well, thanks for telling the truth, I guess,” Michael whispered. It suddenly made a bit more sense that Alex didn’t really start giving him any attention until halfway through. She backed out and Alex had to swoop in and save the day. How very Mr. Perfect of him.

“I would want to be told the truth, so…” Liz explained, shrugging. He lulled his head back on the couch and tried to let it all sink in. If he knew how badly this was going to feel, he never would’ve blown so much money on it in the first place.

“Can I admit something, though?” Michael asked.

“Sure.”

“Alex’s character was pretty convincing,” he said softly, again imagining that safe feeling in his bedroom paired with the soft kiss to his hand, “There were moments where it felt real.”

Liz just gave that comforting smile of hers and placed a hand on his shoulder. He decided that would have to do.

“I know.”

“I think me and Kyle are going to keep seeing each other after this.”

Michael looked up from where he was packing his bags and saw Jenna staring too. Isobel seemed very blissfully into the idea that whatever they were was legit. Michael wasn’t sure if he should say something. Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t. He didn’t know and he didn’t want to upset her for anything.

“I have to admit,” Jenna said with a smile, “They could be pretty dreamy when they need to be. My sister is gonna love all the stories.”

“My friend is too,” Michael agreed. As much as he knew Maria was fed up with his obsession, he also knew that she was a sucker for any story that involved a gushy romance. He was walking away with two different versions of that.

They finished packing up their things before heading outside. The carriage was waiting for them, all ready to wheel them away so they could go home and return to modern life. Michael couldn’t tell if he was sad to leave his childhood dream or glad to get away from the drama.

“You know, I had a lot of fun with you guys,” Michael said, sighing softly as he took in the large house behind him, “I hope we can keep in touch. Like, on social media.”

“Aw, me too,” Isobel gushed, squeezing him in a hug. Jenna laughed gave his arm a little squeeze.

“Absolutely,” she said with a smile.

Maybe this thing wasn’t a total bust. If he was walking away with friends, then maybe it was worth it.

“Wait!”

They all turned to see Alex hauling ass after them with his cane in hand. Michael furrowed his eyebrows as Alex came towards him, desperation on his face. Really?

“Michael, please,” he said as he got close, “I never lied to you, you have to know that.” Michael shook his head, giving the nicest smile he could manage.

“It’s okay, I know you’re just doing your job. And you were the perfect fantasy. You can stop now.”

“But I‒”

“No, it’s okay,” Michael assured him, seeing Alex’s face scrunch up in a panic, “I’m over it.”

Michael made his way towards the carriage and gave Alex one last look. The man looked torn, like he didn’t know whether to keep at it or to let him go. He let him go. Michael let out a heavy sigh as he sat across from Jenna and Isobel.

They were silent for a moment as the carriage got going. No one said anything until the large house was completely out of sight. Isobel reached across to put her hand on his knee and gave it a little squeeze. He was able to relax just a bit, even if Alex was still on his mind.

“You know, Alex did a very good job at pretending to fall in love with you,” Isobel noted kindly. Michael snorted, nodding his head.

“Yeah, he really did.”

“He asked me if there was any way I could go with Kyle so he could spend more time with you. Good thing, though, since we really hit it off,” she informed him like it was something to ignore. Jenna’s eyes widened a little and shot a look at Michael. He was already feeling overwhelmed. He gulped.

Michael spent the rest of the ride to the airport trying to rationalize why Alex would have requested him. That didn’t make sense, especially since he was supposed to be with Liz originally. Why would he do that? And, hell, why would he have asked Isobel and not Kyle or Mrs. Pennington?

He got on the plane, trying to convince himself that it didn’t matter.

Dorothy was right, there really was no place like home.

Michael instantly curled up on the couch the minute he got inside, breathing in the comforting smell of home and nothing more. He was going to be alright. Whatever that experience was, it was necessary for him to move on.

He glanced around at all his floral and antique decor and decided that could all stay. Just because he no longer felt the need to pretend he was going to have a great Mr. Darcy love, that didn’t mean he couldn’t like his aesthetic. He would have to remove the giant cardboard cutouts, though.

Michael stood up after a moment and lit a candle, letting it make the room smell like home even more. He needed that comfort. As he settled into the soothing smell of lavender, his phone buzzed and he pulled it out to see follow requests from Jenna, Isobel, and even Liz. That made him feel even more at home. He didn’t need a boyfriend or a girlfriend or anything to be at home. He just needed friends.

He called Maria.

“Hey!” she answered, sounding as cheery as ever. Michael smiled. He missed her a lot. It felt like too long.

“Are you home?"

"Yeah, don't have to be at the bar until later."

"Well, you were right, I’m over it,” he sighed, “Even perfect guys aren’t perfect.”

Maria made a mournful little noise, “Oh, honey. I’ll be right over.”

“See you soon.”

The call ended and he put his phone down. Michael closed his eyes for a moment as he stood there, taking in the smell of the candle and the security that came with Maria being on her way. He was going to survive this. He didn’t need Alex.

Alex, Alex, Alex. The confusing man haunted his mind. The confusing man he wanted out of his mind. Whatever that was, it wasn’t real. Alex was an actor and he played his job well. Too well. Honestly, dangerously well.

A few minutes later, Maria knocked on the door and Michael smiled thankfully. He quickly made his way to open it and prepared himself for the backbreaking hug she was going to give him, only to not receive it. Instead, Sir Alexander Manes stood across from him nearly out of breath and wide-eyed and in normal clothing. Hell, he even had a leather jacket.

He looked even better.

“I tried to catch you at the airport and I missed you by a few seconds, so I got on the next flight here and I ran and I wanted to give you this,” Alex said, leaning harder on his cane as he held out the sketchbook he’d forgotten. Michael’s eyes went wide and he stared at him, more than a little confused.

“You came all the way here to give me this?” Michael asked, very hesitantly taking the book from Alex’s hand. He nodded sincerely.

“Yes.”

“That’s a little extreme,” Michael pointed out. Alex’s face fell again and he nodded once, licking his lips.

“Right, sorry,” he said, using the wall to help him balance. He almost took a step in the opposite direction to leave, but then he stopped. Michael would never admit how thankful he was that he stopped. “Look, I’m an ex-Airman. I just got discharged because of my injury and I haven’t done anything in a long time, so my aunt basically forced me to come play stand-in before Kyle could come. I’m not an actor, I’m just some guy who… who fell for you. Really, really hard. We just connected like something wild, like something…”

Michael took a slow breath and tried not to smile. This felt too overwhelming, too much like a romcom, too fake. But he was here. Would he really be here if it was fake?

“Cosmic?” Michael offered. Alex smiled.

“Yes, cosmic,” he agreed, adjusting his stance to stand up straighter. He fixed his grip on his cane. “I used to think my aunt’s work was ridiculous and I thought all the people went there were too. But, the truth is, I really enjoyed it, just like we talked about. For a moment, love that simple was very real to me. Then I realized it was because it was that simple. Love is the easiest thing and I want that with you if you’ll let me.”

Michael smiled so simply and almost leaned forward. He almost gave in, he almost melted. But this really was too good to be true.

“You don’t even know me,” Michael said softly. He didn’t walk away like his brain was telling him to, though. He didn’t close the door. He wanted so badly to be convinced.

“But I would like to.”

“Alex…” Michael trailed off. Please be real, please be real, please be real.

“You said you didn’t want fake. I don’t want that either. Do you think… we could try to be something real together? I promise I won’t show up at your door without warning ever again,” he said with a warm smile.

The tone he used reminded him of the kiss on the hand he’d given him and how comfortable he felt being alone with him. Even now, he couldn’t find himself to be weirded out that he’d come all this way to give him back his book. It felt sincere. He seemed so, so sincere.

For a moment, he got lost in how sincere the kiss on the hand felt.

For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to kiss him for real.

For a moment, he almost did.

“No, no, this isn’t real! Don’t you get that?” Michael laughed, turning and walking a bit deeper into the apartment before turning back to him. Space would help get his mindset back. Alex never crossed the threshold, he just stared with hope in his eyes. “This is a story, this is a fantasy. You can’t be real.”

“Michael, can’t you understand that you are my fantasy?” Alex asked. Michael sighed and his shoulders dropped, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. God, he wanted to kiss him.

“You can’t say stuff like that when you don’t mean it,” Michael whispered as a last-ditch effort. However, he was already gravitating back towards Alex. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”

“And I will tell you everything there is to know. I will prove to you that everything is real, I swear,” Alex promised. Michael couldn’t even fight the stupid smile from taking over his face even though he wished he could look a little more serious in this situation. “You say I’m a fantasy or something, but you’re the one who is too good to be true. You're kind and talented and beautiful. You're shy while also somehow managing to speak your mind. I'm just so intrigued to learn every little detail about who you are. Please, let me."

“Man, I really wanna kiss you now,” Michael huffed, still smiling. This was real. This was his. He was allowed to have this.

Alex smiled right back.“Then do it.”

Michael closed the distance between them, both of his hands grabbing onto Alex’s face and kissing him. It was easily the best kiss he’d ever had, something better than he could’ve ever imagined. He was so comfortable. He was at home. This was it. This was everything.

This is what he was supposed to feel.

He really was going to get his true fairytale ending.

#malexsanta #malexsanta2019 #malex #malex fic #michael guerin #michael guerin fic #alex manes #alex manes fic #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #rnm #rnm fic #my fic

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onedayiwillflyfree · 4 years

Text

When the Sun Begins to Fall Chapter Five: Dear Gilbert

Read the full story here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255530/chapters/50608787

Chapter 5: Dear Gilbert

May 12th, 1901

Dear Gilbert,

The Notre Dame is quite possibly more ravishing than even I could have ever imagined and I am ever so thankful that you decided to share it with me.

Your letters have been most wonderful but I do find myself envious of your and Winifred’s time in the city of love, finding myself longing for an adventure all my own. Perhaps someday, I too will be able to journey to Paris. But I find that to be unlikely.

Have you seen Diana since your arrival? She sent post that she was going to attempt to make her way to see you at her earliest convenience. She exclaimed she would love to take the two of you about the city with your final stop being the Louvre. If you decide to go, you simply must share your experience with me in your next letter. It is said to hold some of the most romantical pieces of art in all the world.

I certainly hope you are sleeping and eating properly, Gil. You have created quite the most horrible habit of over burdening yourself. Make sure you are taking time to take care of yourself but also taking moments to enjoy the beauty that is surrounding you throughout the streets of Paris.

As for the going ons in our neck of the world, there is sadly very little for me to report. The orchards have begun to sprout lovely blooms as they do every late spring. Bash has done a brilliant job of replanting Mary’s garden fully, filling it with bright flowers and delicious vegetables. Dellie has become a master mud pie maker (they definitely look better than they taste). OH! She has also begun to create the most marvelous flower crowns, I even wore one to class the other morning and received the most cordial compliments. She is truly a kindred spirit, Gil. Hopefully you will be home before the blooms fade so she can make one for you.

Oh Gil, I find myself missing your company horribly. No one can make conversation as lovely as you. No one challenges me or allows me to share my ideas freely. It’s been ever so lonely. I wish you would return home… I wish you weren’t marrying someone else and that instead, you could love me. But perhaps the biggest wish I have is that I could provide you with all of the happiness that Winifred brings you because Gilbert Blythe, I am most thoroughly in love with you. There. I said it. I, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, am in love with you. I have been for as long as I can remember. Not a day goes by that I regret not telling you to stay. Not a day goes by that I wish I would have taken your face in my hands and...

Anne stopped writing as tears flooded the paper. “Oh Gil…” she whispered, longing for the man she knew she could never have. Why couldn’t she have been born into a family of rich businessman, into a family with connections and renown. Then, perhaps, she wouldn’t have had to leave him when he told her he wanted to stay.

Wiping her nose, she pulled out a new piece of paper and started the letter over, word for word, carefully trying to avoid soaking the page once more. Once she arrived to the final paragraph, she stopped, tears welling once more. She couldn’t say those words to him. Never. She had made her choice.

A knock came at the door. “Anne? Are you ready to go?” Roy’s sultry voice called through the closed door. Anne quickly wiped her eyes and nose once more.

“Almost,” she choked out, scolding herself for potentially letting on that she was an emotional wreck. She cleared her throat and adjusted how she was sitting in hopes to raise her confidence. “You go on ahead, I will join you all shortly.”

Roy shifted uncomfortably outside the door. “Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

“I’ll only be a few more moments, I am finishing a letter to....” Her voice caught as a tear fell down her cheek once more. Anne silently prayed he wouldn’t hear it her voice shaking and ask her what was wrong. She wasn’t sure she could bear to answer him.

After a moment, Roy shifted once again, this time preparing to step away to give his fiancée the space she seemed to desire. “Well, don’t take too long, we have a boat to catch if we want to make it to Cole’s exhibit on time.” Anne heard retreating footsteps echo throughout Aunt Josephine’s mansion.

She sighed as she turned back to the letter, unsure of how to end it without making an utter fool of herself. Suddenly, a devilish thought came to her. The pen began floating across the page, words flowing from her that she never expected to write.

Oh, Gil, also I have some exciting news of my own. I was going to wait to inform you of this when you returned home but I simply cannot contain my excitement. I have met someone! His name is Royal Gardner (isn’t his name most devine). He is everything I had ever imagined my destiny to be. Tall, dark, handsome, incredibly smart, and the most marvelous of dancers. When we first laid eyes on each other, it was just as the novels had described: love at first sight. I am thrilled for the two of you to meet, I am sure you will get along swimmingly.

Take care of yourself Gil, and give Winnie my best.

Your Kindred Spirit,

Anne

———-

“Breathe in,” Anne obliged, breathing deeply as Doctor Charles Ward pressed his stethoscope firmly against her under clothes. Marilla stood perched in the far corner, eyes searching for any indication of how her girl was feeling. Gilbert, however, found himself feeling incredibly uncomfortable.

A gentle burn crept upon his cheeks as he stared at Anne’s flushed face, his eyes fighting to glance down to her bare skin. Winifred, you are engaged to Winifred. Anne is just your patient and your friend. He had repeated the mantra to himself at least thirty times. Alas, the words did not appear to be sinking in. Because every time she would suck in a deep breathe, his eyes would stray to a particular freckle that lay just below her collar bone. Had that freckle always been there?

Just as his straying eyes were about to search her for more unique markings, Anne focused her sight on him. He met her deep blue orbs, taking notice of how weary they were. Despite saying she had a full night of rest, the black under her eyes gave her away.

“Mr. Blythe,” Doctor Ward motioned for his assistant to join him. “Come here for a moment.” Gilbert felt his breathing catch.

“Uh sir, I, uh, had a listen to her, uh, lungs yesterday…” The words came sputtering out before he could stop them. The doctor glared up at Gilbert, which sent a chill slide down his spine. He may look like a man who had little to fear in this world, but the man who he had been apprenticing under for over four years had a way to wilt his soul. Mustering confidence, he regained his composure and pulled his stethoscope from around his neck. “Yes sir.”

Gilbert felt Marilla’s eyes bare into him with each step he took towards Anne, as if she could sense the conflict within his mind. Anne smiled gingerly as he took one final step to her side. Doctor Ward beckoned Gilbert’s ear and whispered, “Yesterday, you said that only her left lung was rattling, correct?” He nodded in response. Doctor Ward’s face contorted, his eyebrows scrunching together as he turned back towards Anne.

“Now Miss Shirley, I am going to have Gilbert listen to your lungs now. I need you to take a large breath and let it out over the course of ten seconds, do you believe you can do that?” Anne nodded, eyes slowly closing as if she were dozing off. “Good, now Gilbert, place your stethoscope here.” Before Gilbert could stop him, Doctor Ward grabbed the diaphragm of his stethoscope and placing it against Anne’s right lung.

As Anne was breathing in, annoyance crept into Gilbert’s soul. How could he be using Anne as a teaching moment. It felt wrong. Just as he was about to pull away, he heard the sound that had made him so fearful the previous day. Only this time, it was in both of her lungs. He didn’t want to continue to listen, for he shuddered at the thought of what the sounds meant.

Suddenly, Anne sprung into another round of wheezing coughs as she clenched her chest. “Anne, I need you to remain calm,” Doctor Ward helped her remain upright as Gilbert stood motionless, continuing to listen in horror. Soon Anne began to panic, fighting to catch her breath. “Gilbert, tell her to remain calm, she had to try and stabilize the cough.” But he couldn’t form words, all his thoughts focused on what he was listening to. Anne’s lungs were rattling like one of Dellie’s old baby rattles. Marilla sprang from the corner, closing the gap between her and the bed with a sprint.

“What’s wrong?” Marilla grabbed Anne’s free hand. Anne’s eyes desperately searched for Gilberts, desiring comfort and safety. When she finally found them, he could only see one thing: fear.

Gilbert ripped the listening device from his ears, throwing it on the floor as he tried to think of what to do. He kept his eyes locked with Anne as tears began rolling down her cheeks. In all the time the pair had known one another, he had only ever seen her afraid once, and at that time he had been able to save her. This time, fear was beginning to consume him as well. Through the fear, however, an idea came to him.

“Move,” he demanded, shoving his mentor to the side. Anne’s hand flew from her chest, frantically reaching for Gilbert as he positioned himself behind her, balling his hand into a fist. He brought his fist to the center of her back with one forcefully whack.

A ball of pus flew forward, narrowly missing the doctor before landing on the floor. Instantly, Gilbert heard Anne breathe deeply, pulling as much air into her lungs that she could manage.

“Thank...you…” she whispered through heavy panting, reaching for his hand. Gilbert took her hand within his own, trying to not shy away at the burning of her skin.

“Not a problem Anne-girl,” he responded, giving her hand a brief squeeze. He began to move from behind her when she tugged his hand, almost begging him to stay.

“Gil,” Anne whispered, throat sore from the fit she just had. “Am I going to die?”

Marilla frightened eyes shot to Gilbert as he looked between hers and Doctor Wards anxious ones. Words caught in his throat, realizing that he wasn’t sure how to answer his friend. Could he tell her that he wasn’t sure? Would that bring her any comfort or would it just instill more fear than she was already feeling?

He desperately wished that Doctor Ward would respond to her, give her all the answers she desired, but Anne had addressed him. She wanted the answer from the man she trusted perhaps more than anyone in this world. Because, despite how scared he was, she was petrified. And he knew that he would do whatever it took to protect her.

Sliding from behind her, hands remaining clasped with one another, he took a seat facing her on her bed. “You’re going to be just fine…”

“Mr. Blythe,” Doctor Ward’s voice was harsh, frustration leaking through.

Gilbert glared over his shoulder, demanding the man to silence himself, before turning back to his dearest friend sitting before him. “You’re going to be just fine, Anne.” Calm washed over him as the corner of her lips raised ever so slightly, her eyes drooping. He placed a hand behind her, guiding her into the pillows Marilla arranged ever so carefully behind her. “I promise.” He whispered as he pulled the covers over her shivering body.

“Gilbert.” Doctor ward scolded as Gilbert’s eyes shot to his. Coldly, his voice just above a whisper. “Hallway. Now.”

Without waiting for a response, he stormed out the door. Marilla and Gilbert exchanged glances. “Well, this should be fun,” he mumbled, giving a sarcastic eye roll for good measure.

Marilla, who was attempting to remain stern but worry was consuming her, threw her head back towards the door. “You get out there,” she muttered as she sat on Anne’s bed, not releasing her hand for a single moment, eyes not leaving the resting woman before them. He hesitated, not wanting to leave the room, but he knew that as usual, Marilla was correct.

“I’ll only be a moment,” he muttered before making his way into the hall, ready to receive his scolding.

-------

“What was that?” Charles Ward bellowed as Gilbert gently shut the door behind him. He held a hand out, signalling for his mentor to lower his voice. He passed him, leading him past Matthew’s former bedroom, stopping at the top of the steps.

“What was what?” Gilbert asked, playing dumb.

“You know bloody well what,” The Doctor hissed, trying to keep his voice low. “You cannot promise a patient…”

“She’s my friend,” Gilbert shouted abruptly, fingers beginning to tingle as they did every time he felt frustration boiling within. He balled them, trying to focus his anger anywhere besides his voice. After a deep breath, he leveled his voice as he continued. “I simply had the desire to reassure her that everything was going to be alright.”

“Reassure her?” His mentor let out a dry chuckle. “I have always admired your ability to care for your patients but I fear your judgement is being clouded by this woman.”

Gilbert clenched his jaw, fighting the scream he felt forming in his throat. “My judgement is perfectly fine.”

“Really now,” Charles crossed his arms, speaking to Gilbert as if he were scolding a young boy rather than a man. “ What was her blood pressure last night?” Gilbert looked down, realizing he didn’t know the answer. “What about her pulse? Respirations? Temperature?”

“It was late, she was exhausted…” he mumbled.

“Exactly my point, you are treating this girl as your friend. You”re allowing your personal relationship with this woman to prevent you from seeing what is truly happening!”

Gilbert turned to face Anne’s door once more. “Anne is going to be fine.”

“Gilbert, you cannot be that blind.” Charles response was frigid. “You are not the same boy who asked for my help so many years ago.” Gilbert opened his mouth to interrupt but Charles cut him off, wagging his finger in front of his apprentices face.

“Now you listen to me, son, and you listen good. I have been doing this for a long time. I delivered your father, for Lord's sake.” At the mention of his father, Gilbert’s anger began to simmer once more, readying itself to overflow. “And I am telling you, I have never heard someone’s lungs as horrible as hers.” He threw his thumb in the direction of Anne’s door. “And by you sugar coating her diagnosis, you have done her a great disservice by not preparing her for what’s to come.”

Shock overtook rage and Gilbert found himself unclenching his jaw, trying to process what he had just been told. “Wait, wait, wait,” he sputtered, shaking his head. “Doc, you’re sounding like you’re prepping her death certificate.” He fought to meet his mentors eyes, looking for any indication that he wasn’t being serious, that Gilbert was right in thinking this was just a slight case of pneumonia. But Doctors Ward’s refusal to directly meet his gaze caused his stomach to plummet into the floor. “No.” He felt his knees slack, the room began to spin around him. Frantically, he reached for the nearest wall, feeling the need to stabilize himself before he fell down the stairs.

Charles reached out, grasping Gilbert’s arms tightly in his hands, pulled him away from the edge of the stairs. “Gilbert, breathe. Breathe.” Doctor Ward began breathing in through his nose deeply, urging Gilbert to mimic him. He was unsure of when he had begun to hyperventilate but he forced his breathing to slow, matching his breathing to the man he had just been quarreling with. “Good. Good job.”

He straightened, vision ever so slightly blurred, his knees still shaking but he felt better than he had just moments before. Doctor Wards hand remained on his arm, shooting glances of remorse to his young apprentice. “I am terribly sorry son.”

“For what?” Gilbert questioned, genuine confusion filling his voice. Charles mouth sat agape, wondering if the young man before him had truly become delirious or was simply in shock.

“For the girl, of course.” He spoke each word slowly, articulating each word as if Gilbert was dim.

Gilbert clenched his jaw. “Anne. Her name is Anne. And she is going to be fine.” He yanked his shoulder from the Doctors hand, anger was beginning to find its way back into his soul.

Doctor Ward held up his hands defensively, once again speaking slowly. “Gilbert, son…”

“Stop calling me son.” His voice boomed, Doctor Ward stepping back when his eyes peered down to Gilbert’s slowly forming fists. Gilbert had no idea where this anger was coming from, normally he was able to work through his emotions without it affecting anyone. And he had never minded Doctor Ward calling him son, the man has given him incredible opportunities and taught him many valuable lessons over the years. However, at the moment, it was insulting. He was treating Gilbert as if he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. As if he didn’t just hear that Doctor Ward, the man who was supposed to try and save people, was signing Anne’s death certificate as she lay in the next room. This anger was different, this was pure, uncontrollable rage. “You are writing her off after seeing her for all of five minutes. I have known her for six years! So do not speak to me as if I am allowing my judgment to be clouded when you are signing a death warrant without even trying to save her!”

“Gentlemen!” A voice shrieked from the top of the steps. Both mens eyes shot to Winifred, both unaware of how long she had been observing them. She glided towards them, carrying an air of elegance but also an aura that would strike fear into the burliest brutes. “Now, gentlemen, I hate to interrupt this *discussion but,” she slid her hand down Gilbert's arm, wrapping his fist in her hands. “I do believe that if you so chose to continue, you should do it elsewhere.” Gently, she glanced over her shoulder, pulling Gilbert’s attention towards Anne’s door once more, only this time, he found it open. And within that opening stood a mortified Marilla, who looked as if she could faint at any moment.

Rage melted away as remorse quickly took its place. He tenderly stepped towards Marilla, letting his hand slip from Winnie’s. “Marilla, I…”

“She...she’s asking for you,” Marilla managed to whisper as a tiny sob escaped her lips. Winnie pushed past Gilbert and took the older woman in her arms. Tears soaked her sleeves as she began to lead Marilla towards the steps.

Winnie peered over to Gilbert remorsefully. “I’ll make some tea, give you two some time.” Without another glance, she guided the sobbing woman down the stairs, leaving Gilbert alone with his mentor once more.

Charles rested a timid hand on Gilbert’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Would you like me to go with you?” Gilbert’s eyes remained focused on the door at the end of the hall as a series of coughs began sounding off. Despite the fight the pair had just had, he wished that Charles could come in with him, remembering that years ago, he left him to deliver the news to Mary that she was in fact dying and how difficult it had been. Gilbert had been furious with him for quite some time after that, so far as questioning his career choices, when it was Anne who reminded him why he wanted to become a doctor in the first place. It was Anne who reminded him that caring too much was always was the right thing to do. He owed this to her, to do anything in his power to help her fight this disease.

“No, thank you sir. I will be okay.” He glanced over his shoulder, meeting Doctor Wards eyes. Slowly, he stepped down the hallway, stopping a few steps away from Anne’s door before turning back to see Charles still staring at him. “And sir, I apologize for my outburst.”

“It’s quite alright Gilbert, the news can be hard to handle.” Doctor Ward smiled softly. He had attempted the smile for comfort, but Gilbert felt the rage trying to make a reappearance. “I’ll explain to Miss Cuthbert, start having her make necessary arrangements for Anne.” Gilbert nodded, turning around before he would start shouting again. Instead, he escaped into his thoughts.

*You’re wrong this time Doc. She’s going to be just fine. You have never seen a more powerful force than Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.

-------

“Knock knock,” he exclaimed audibly as he slid through the open door. Anne was still propped up against the stack of pillows, her eyes still fighting to remain open. Gilbert made his way over to the bed, sitting in the chair beside her bed. He had a feeling he would be sitting there quite often over the next couple of days. “Hey Carrots.” Anne’s eyes widened quickly, suddenly alert.

“Honestly Gil, do you think now is the best time for that?” Her voice was hoarse but he could hear the laughter that so often came when he used her despised nickname.

Gilbert leaned forward, leaning against her bed. “Well, I don’t see any slates around, so I suppose this is as good a time as any.” Through her exhaustion, Anne fought off a smile but it was to no avail. Her ocean eyes sparkled with glee as a small chuckle escaped her lips before it was joined by a chesty cough. He leaned forward, ready to sit her up if necessary.

She gave out two more coughs before she spoke. “You know, every time I cough, I can feel that crackling you mentioned.” She rubbed the side of her ribs, as if she could massage away the internal pain. His throat constricted and his cheeks began to burn. Anne turned to him, smiling weakly as she inched her fingers towards his, stopping just close enough their fingertips were touching. “Oh Gil, I’m alright. Calm yourself.”

He knew he wouldn’t calm down, not until she was out of this room. Not until he saw her walking through the forest, greeting each tree good morning and building crowns from the most beautiful blooms. Not until she was teaching young minds that the world is indeed larger than this small minded town they had been raised in. He wouldn’t be calm until he saw Anne, his dearest friend, be her remarkable self once again.

Gilbert’s eyes wandered to their fingertips, wickedly wishing he could take her hand within his own and hold it for the rest of his days. He longed to feel the comforting warmth of her skin against his own, the feeling only she had ever provided.

But then his mind drifted to just below them, thinking of his fiance pouring tea for the distraught Marilla Cuthbert, doing her best to care for people she hardly knew. His thoughts proceeded to drift to Royal Gardner, the man who held Anne’s heart and hand, and would for the rest of their days. Anne and him, they were nothing more than childhood friends who had followed different paths. As much as it pained him, he knew that allowing himself to crave her touch was disgraceful.

Anne’s mind must have been processing similar thoughts simultaneously, because the same instant Gilbert went to sit back, she pulled her hand away and rested it against her chest. Her eyes, however, didn’t leave his as tears began to pool on her lower lids. “Sorry, I just..” she whispered. “I’m so terribly frightened Gil.”

Gilbert felt his own eyes moisten, wishing he knew how to comfort her properly. He would give anything to be the one in her place, fighting as his lungs were slowly filling with pus and fluid. A single tear escaped her lid, leaving a stained trail as it slid down her cheek. To hell with proper. His hand shot towards her, pulling it from her chest and intertwined it with his own.

Electricity shot down his spine, but he fought the feeling. His friend was afraid and he planned to do everything in his power to comfort her and help her heal. No matter what it took. Anne took her free hand, reaching up to his face and wiping a stray tear he hadn’t realized was falling. “Gil,” she whispered, her voice catching. “Be frank with me.” He swallowed, squeezing her hand lightly, already knowing the question she was going to ask. “Am I…”

“Get back here!” A voice screamed from just below Anne’s bedroom window. The pair exchanged glances, unsure of what demon had just been unleashed within the gates of Green Gables. “You’re destroying your dress! This is not how a lady behaves!” Instantly, their faces shifted into amused smiles, all anxieties and woes melting away. The screaming voice could only belong to one woman: Eliza Barry.

The kitchen door slammed below them, soon being followed by the sound of someone sprinting up the stairs. “What on earth..” Gilbert overheard Marilla cry from below as the door slammed for a second time. “Eliza?”

“Oh Marilla, my deepest apologies, I informed her about…”

The conversation was interrupted by heavy foot falls running down the hallway. Gilbert and Anne pulled their hands apart, him bringing it instinctively up to his curls. He peered at Anne from the corner of his eye to find her beaming when the door slammed open.

Gilbert was unsure he had ever seen Diana Barry look so frazzled in all his life. Her bun had loosened, allowing strands of hair to fall wildly around her face, an assortment of leaves and twigs sticking out every which way. And her dress, which he was sure cost more than what he made in a year, was now covered in brown sludge and had begun to fray at the bottom. He tried his best to stifle a laugh as she breathed heavily, eyes searching for Anne. For the first time since his arrival, Anne grinned ear to ear, appearing as if the presence of her bosom friend had cured her of all ails.

“My dearest Diana,” Anne called from the bed, trying her best to hold in a cough.

“Oh Anne,” Diana’s eyes filled with tears, a smile dancing on her lips. “My mother just informed me that you had taken ill and wouldn’t be able to make it today. I simply knew I had to come see you…” Diana began to step closer to Anne, when Gilbert stood blocking her from stepping any closer. “Gilbert Blythe, what is the meaning of this?”

“Well hello to you too, Diana,” he smiled, clearly bemused as his old friend tried to dance around him. “Diana, stop. Anne is very sick, highly contagious. You need to keep your distance.”

“Oh, so only you can be near her?” She asked clearly annoyed, Gilbert felt a blush creeping on his cheeks. “Now, Doctor Blythe, I have been half way around the world for the last two and a half years and if you do not move out of my way this instant, I will be forced to push past you, which would be most rude of me.”

Gilbert weighed his options. If he wanted to follow procedure, he would have Diana remain a safe distance away. It was his job to ensure the safety of those around him and not to spread disease. However, he had determined when he entered medical school that he would always put his patients' needs first. Which, at the moment, meant allowing his patients dearest friend through to hug her.

With mock frustration, Gilbert stepped aside, allowing Diana to pass. Within a second, Diana threw herself across Anne’s lap, wrapping her arms tight around Anne’s torso. Tears began to stain Anne’s nightgown, Diana’s euphoric sobbing muffled within the cloth.

“I have sorely missed you, my dearest bosom friend,” Anne whispered, weakly pulling her arms around Diana as tight as she could. Gilbert watched the pair, unable to fight the smile he had been trying to suppress.

When the girls finally separated, Diana grabbed hold of her friends face, her smile falling instantly. She lifted the back of her hand to Anne’s forehead, recoiling at the heat emitting from her friends skin. “My Lord, Anne, you are burning up!” Her focus shifted to Gilbert, hundreds of questions swimming through her mind.

“I am so happy you are here Di,” Anne coughed into the crook of her arm. “I don’t know if I could bear the thought of not seeing you again…” Before she could finish, she coughed twice more, each one sounding worse than the other. Her lungs were forcing fluid up again.

Her panicked eyes found Gilberts, who in turn ran towards her bed, helping her sit up fully to hopefully prevent her from choking once more. Anne’s breath started to catch once again. Her panic setting in as she latched onto his arm, digging her nails into his skin.

“What’s happening,” Diana panicked, too terrified to move. Gilbert positioned his fist in the center of Anne’s back, fighting the pain he was feeling in his forearm from her nails.

“Alright Anne, I need you to try and cough on the count of three. Just as we did before, remember?” Anne wheezed, nodding in understanding.

“Gilbert, what is happening?!” Diana shrieked.

He ignored her, trying to maintain his calm as best he could. “Alright, one, two…” he lifted his fist high in the air as Diana’s face became void of color. “Three!” As his fist made contact with Anne’s back, she managed a weak cough, causing a thick ball of green mucus laced with streaks of red to fly from her mouth. The ball projected onto Diana’s skirt, trying to absorb into the fabric. Anne gasped, loosening her grip on Gilbert’s arm as she inhaled panicked breathes. “You did it, Anne-girl, you got it.” She leaned into him, exhaustion overtaking manners.

“What’s wrong with her?” Diana asked, tears streaming from the corner of her eyes. Gilbert felt Anne’s breathing began to stabilize, slowing ever so slightly as she drifted off to wherever her dreams were taking her this time.

“Pneumonia.” Much to his dismay, he moved from behind her, leaning her back into her pillows once more. He adjusted them so she was sitting up a bit higher, pulling her blankets up to her chest. “Her lungs are essentially filling with fluid, so sometimes, when her lungs are trying to constrict and can’t,” He turned his attention towards Diana, looking down at the stain forming on her skirt. “Mucus forces it way out.”

Diana’s eyes joined his, though she didn’t seem to show much concern for the skirt. “Gilbert…is she…”

“No.” he replied curtly. Diana glared at Gilbert as he cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “But no, Diana, she is not going to die. I’m going to ensure it.”

Diana considered his response and found it satisfactory, knowing if anyone could save their Anne, it would be Gilbert Blythe.

She turned back towards Anne, clasping her hand within her own. “May I sit with her for awhile?”

Gilbert hesitated, knowing if Diana was there, he would be expected to leave the room and he found himself petrified of what would happen it hr wasn’t around. “I don’t know Di..”

“Only for a little while.” Her eyes pleaded with him as he bit his lip, tempted to refuse her request. Diana glared at him, growing frustrated with his hesitation. “Besides, your fiancé is downstairs. I’m sure she would love for you to join her for at least one cup of tea.” The words were cold, she knew how to hit just the right chord to make him leave. Gilbert bit his lip once more, looking down at the sleeping fire queen before him and then over to the door.

“Alright, but I will be right downstairs if you need me.” When he was met with silence, he turned to make his departure, glancing back only for a moment to see Diana’s gaze had softened as she began humming Anne’s favorite hymn.

Special thanks to: @royalcordelia and @rootedbutfl0wing you are both gems <3

#anne with an e #anne x gilbert #anne with an e fanfic #anne shirley-cuthbert #gilbert blythe #shirbert #i need a nap

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