#he has this undeniable softness and hes genuinely a very sincere man. but he just comes across as extremely insincere
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there was no place in nature we could meet ; suguru geto
synopsis; it’s never fun to run into an ex. especially when the ex in question is your unfairly handsome high school sweetheart — who also just so happens to be a wanted mass murderer.
word count; 3.3k
contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst, exes to [redacted], lots of longing, geto is kind of a cunt but also disgustingly charming, reader is understandably upset, biblical imagery (i just think he’s so serpent coded), curse user geto is his own warning tbh
a/n; i wanted this to be a drabble so bad but it ended up just a little too long for me to get away w it so … :’3 yeah. i hate suguru geto (said w affection)
the moon is out.
in the shadows of the street corner you find yourself in, seated comfortably on the sidewalk, it’s a welcome distraction. something to look at, in the midst of your loneliness; the evanescent glow of the moon, illuminating your solitude.
a solitude soon to be broken. shattered into pieces, battered and bruised beyond recognition, jagged shards littering the asphalt. digging into the soles of your shoes.
”hey.”
for a second, you think you must be dreaming.
the figure obscuring the light of the lamp post in front of you is familiar. too familiar, a little too dear for your liking. as you grasp your shitty cup ramen, seeking the warmth seeping through the polystyrene, all you can do is stare. blinking dumbly, drowsily.
geto looks something like a bad omen.
sharp facial features, even sharper eyes. so dark they almost shift from an amber-tainted cedar into an obsidian black — two abysses, staring into your soul, beckoning you closer. they were always enchanting, but now you think they look almost hypnotizing. not at all in a good way. dark hair frames his face, cascading down his back, longer than you remember it being. and he’s wearing robes.
still has those fucked up bangs, though. of all the things to keep.
the gears of your mind turn, endlessly, untangling the mess of thoughts inside your brain. ensuring you that no, you are not hallucinating, and no, you didn’t fall into a deep slumber somewhere between the moment you exited the convenience store and sat down by one of tokyo’s empty street corners. this is real. a reality you can’t comprehend, can’t even begin to process.
what stands in front of you is a ghost. but ghosts don’t exist, can’t be seen, can’t touch the living.
(so how is he able to haunt you like this?)
what eventually jolts you out of your silent stupor is not the questioning tilt of his head, nor the suffocating sensation of your heart crawling up your throat, but the feeling of soft fur against your leg. the stray cat you met further down the street meows at you, sweetly, trying to get your attention. you think she must be asking for more grilled fish.
so, completely ignoring the apparition in front of you, you turn to reach for the little plastic bag you bought as a midnight snack — digging out a bit of fish for the kitty to enjoy. she seems happy, settling down by your feet. purring softly.
geto watches, eerily silent.
(maybe he’s upset that you’re ruining his dramatic entrance. you hope so.)
finally, you have no choice but to look at him. a lump forms in the back of your throat, clogging up a little more for every second spent falling into the trap he’s laid out for you, trailing over his moonlit features with your tired gaze.
mouth full of noodles, staring holes into his attire, you narrow your eyes. suddenly disgruntled.
his lips quirk up. ”something the matter?” he asks, and you can’t even begin to describe how much you hate his voice. how devastatingly deep it is, during the late hours of the night. even deeper than it was back in high school.
slurping up the soggy noodles, you lean back a little, licking some broth off your lips. finally meeting those abyssal eyes.
”… i was gonna say those robes look like shit on you,” you exhale, weary, ”but you actually kinda pull them off. that’s…”
a beat. you struggle to find the right word.
”annoying.”
geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, and you find a hint of familiar amusement in the vague crinkle of his eyes. barely visible crows’ feet. then he’s moving — plopping down right beside you, robes fluttering with the breeze.
”thanks,” he hums. crossing his legs.
the silence that festers around you is odd. not quite suffocating, nor especially fragile. definitely not comforting. it’s familiar, yet different, and it hurts a bit more than it should. but you choose to look at him, out of the corner of your eye, and he looks right back at you. still smiling.
when your eyes settle on the particular cloth wrapped around his torso, you just barely manage to bite back a taunting chuckle.
”a gojo-kesa, huh?” you grin, and geto doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t miss the meaningful glint in your eyes, either. almost satirical. ”you miss him that much?”
”just a coincidence,” is all he answers. smiling, but you think it looks a little stiff.
your grin widens, for a second, before settling back down. a sad transition. you let it go.
”whatever you say, geto.”
at that, he visibly reacts. barely noticeable, but it’s there — a twitch of his lithe fingers, an unknown something that flickers through the scope of his iris. when he looks at you, a neutral smile is playing at his lips.
”ah. i take it we’re not on first name basis anymore, then?” he asks, jovial. hiding a tinge of something mildly displeased.
a shrug. you pick at what’s left of your ramen with your chopsticks, a little too nauseous to enjoy it. ”call me whatever you want. i just don’t see suguru when i look at you, y’know?” leaning forward, you begin to pet the kitty by your feet. ”he was sweeter.”
geto smiles. almost a grin, but not quite there. a chuckle spills out from his lips, and something about it irritates you. ”was he?”
”yeah,” you nod. without hesitation. a summer-stained memory blooms behind your eyelids, but you try not to look at it. all you catch is a glimpse of cherry blossoms. ”you just seem bitter.”
the grin that finds its way onto your lips is self-deprecating. a shadow falls over your face. ”guess we’re similar in that way, huh?”
a hum buzzes in his throat. he casts a meaningful glance towards your hand, scratching behind the cat’s ear. ”oh, i don’t know about that,” he drawls, smile growing. ”.. you seem just as sweet as always.”
to your grave annoyance, you can’t control the way your face changes at his words. a twitch of your lips gives away your discontentment, and something sour settles on the tip of your tongue.
(your blood begins to boil, beneath your skin.)
geto sighs, suddenly, filling the tense silence surrounding you. a little theatrical. ”ah, but that’s a shame.” he turns to you, soft pout playing at his lips. ”i was hoping i could hear you call me suguru again…”
”— i was hoping you’d come back.”
a beat.
(somewhere outside your vision, a crow takes flight into the night sky. swallowed by the darkness, melting into the sea of black. no longer perceivable, by you or the world.)
”but you never did,” the polystyrene of the plastic cup crinkles beneath your fingers. your eyes look dull. ”so what the fuck do you want, exactly?”
…
”i heard.” geto rests his jaw on the heel of his palm, gazing at you with those piercing eyes. like he’s trying to see inside your brain. ”.. about your decision.”
”ah,” a grin splits across the curve of your lips, showing off the white of your teeth. ”of course. that’s what this is about, huh?”
with groggy movements, you throw away your nearly-empty cup of noodles, haphazardly aiming towards a trash can across the street. it bounces off the steel cover, landing on the ground with a soft thud. leftover broth spilling out across the pavement.
(geto doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, lips twitching upwards as one of his curses goes to pick it up. you furrow your brows in embarrassed annoyance.)
a moment passes, and something in you knows that he’s waiting. it’s like you can practically sense it, like it’s etched into your bones. the same way you always knew exactly when he would begin to get impatient during your nightly convenience store runs in high school, after you had spent about five minutes struggling to decide what kind of chips you wanted.
”what can i say,” you lean back, palms against the rough concrete. breathing in the midnight air. ”you inspired me.”
geto tilts his head. smiling. always, always smiling. he smiled at you the day before he massacred that village, too. ”oh?”
with a deep breath, cool air courses through your body. burning your lungs. ”i realized being a sorcerer is completely fucking meaningless,” you exhale through your nose. ”and that trying to change that fact is even more meaningless.”
a wicked, rueful grin rests on your lips. ”so i left.”
geto doesn’t say anything, so you continue. voice dripping with venom.
”i’m a civilian now,” you purr, mocking. a sardonic coo cast his way. ”does that bother you? feel like killing me?”
…
his smile looks a little off, now. tilted in a direction you don’t want to recognize. you don’t care to examine it further, don’t care to figure out if it might look just a little bit sad, because that’d only hurt more.
so you look away.
a click of his tongue. then he speaks, with that honeyed voice, raspy and husky. almost a groan. ”well, i can’t say i approve.”
he’s looking at you. sharp eyes digging into your skin, dissecting you, a million words he expects you to grasp from that look alone.
”you’re better than them,” he states, and you try not to squirm when his eyes trail over your features. ”worlds better.” his voice sounds almost motherly, a twisted concern that makes you cower a little. like he’s scolding you. a crease between his brows.
”i don’t like the thought of you surrounded by these animals.”
a huff pushes past your lips, but it sounds shakier than you’d like it to. you hope he just chalks it up to the chill of the air. then again, when has he ever made anything easy for you?
”what, you got a problem with cats now?” you reach for the little furball licking grilled fish off the concrete, picking it up. cradling it close. ”gonna go on a cat-killing spree?”
an amused exhale. geto narrows his eyes. ”funny,” he hums, but his eyes say you know what i mean.
it takes you a moment to regain control over your breathing. there’s still something tense in your shoulders, and your heart still feels a little like it might jump out of your throat and crawl into his lap. the stray cat slips from your grasp, moving towards geto, curiously sniffing at his robes. he looks at it with no ill intent, and it puts you at ease.
”well, i appreciate the concern, buddy,” you pat his back, trying not to flinch at the contact. trying to appear relaxed. ”but frankly, i don’t give a shit. i actually like my job, unlike literally every single sorcerer on planet earth.”
geto stills.
”.. buddy?” he echoes, ignoring every other bitter word you just graced him with. for some reason, he actually seems visibly bothered. ”i’m buddy now?”
you click your tongue. muttering, tiredly. a little exasperated. ”.. what else would you be?”
and then he smiles, again. only this time, it looks oddly genuine. the same as you remember, framed by cherry blossoms and the fizzle of youth.
his movements are smooth. like he’s completely unguarded, like this situation doesn’t bother him in the slightest. elegant, in the way he leans back, palms on the concrete to support his weight. keeping eye contact with you, all the while.
when he speaks, his voice has a sweet tinge to it. nostalgic, maybe. wistful. if you hear a touch of longing, you choose to ignore it.
”i seem to recall you calling me baby quite a lot,” he hums, and you stiffen. gritting your teeth. eyes darkening, but he continues. ”what else was there? angel, i think… it was sweet.”
then he’s leaning forward. scratching the cat under its chin, gently. ”ironic, though.”
an inhale. then, an exhale. they’re a little shaky, a little meek, but at least they make the lump in your throat feel less like it’s blocking your windpipe. air fills your lungs, but it tastes like nothing at all.
something like sorrow simmers in your eyes. or maybe more like fatigue. god, you really want to cry.
(you wonder if he gets some sickening satisfaction out of seeing you like this, out of breaking you. maybe it just makes him feel rotten. you don’t know what you’d prefer.)
”suguru,” you murmur, at last. voice dripping with exhaustion. defeated, the sigh that flows from your lips. ”why did you come here?”
…
”join me.”
the words spill out into the open air, slicing the silence in half. heavy. a request, not a question. against your better judgement, you turn your head to meet his gaze.
”we could use you,” he says, and there’s hope in those keen eyes. he maintains his distance, but for some reason you still feel like prey being sized up by a predator. like he’s weighing your value.
a chuckle slips from your lips, but there’s no humour to it. ”use me…” you echo, a tired murmur under your breath. ”you're just straight up admitting it, huh? kinda refreshing.”
”that’s not what i meant.”
he inches closer. slowly, as if trying not to scare you. reaching out, to brush through your bangs, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. tangling them between your locks, inserting himself into your space. testing the waters.
you don’t look at him, completely still. barely breathing. like a wounded animal.
”i want you there,” he says, and it comes out almost as a whisper. ”with us.”
unable to resist the temptation, you indulge in a single brief glance his way. his eyes look warm, and his lips look soft as they part.
”with me.”
there’s a devotion to his voice when he continues, one he’s always had. one you thought you’d always be able to trust. ”i’ll create a world where you can be happy,” he vows. ”i swear it.”
a moment passes.
(you swallow thickly. it takes everything you have not to burst into tears. when you remember how he brushed you off, back then, it gets a little easier. when you remember all the skipped meals.)
”.. like you give a damn.”
geto smiles. you loathe how soft it looks, how similar it is to the one suguru always had. when you used to eat your ramen too quickly and started choking on it, and he brought a palm to your upper back, patting it gently. he’d chuckle, and tell you to slow down, and the softness of his smile would almost be enough to distract you from the amusement in his eyes.
”my love.”
you flinch. breath drawing back at the base of your throat, heart screeching to a halt, and some part of you emerges; the shy, sweet kid you used to be. hanging on to his every world. like he was your sun, your guiding light. back when that purr of my love had you blushing furiously, not choking back a string of curses.
it’s sudden, and you can’t react the way you want to. you want to kill him for calling you that. for thinking he has any right to call you his, anymore.
but that sweet, naive, innocent little kid still exists. even if you want to pretend otherwise. it’s there, somewhere, that part of you — peeking out from behind the curtain. and it stops you from saying anything that might hurt him.
(it’s so hard to hate him when he calls you that.)
if geto notices your inner turmoil — he must — then he doesn’t mention it. you don’t say anything, but you hope the amused, harsh exhale you partake in is signal enough for him to cut it off. now.
yet he continues. there’s love in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. if he’s trying not to hurt you he’s doing an awful job.
”… i never stopped thinking of you,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it. ”not once. i left for you, not just for myself.”
and, despite every part of your being resisting it, a sweetness settles on your tongue. so sweet it’s sickening; the thought that maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe he really has been thinking of you. maybe you’re more to him than just a means to meet an end, or a memory yet to be buried.
geto looks at the moon. bathed in moonlight, he looks a little like a god. like something reverent. his voice is honeyed. low, like a secret.
”this world doesn't deserve you.”
silence.
a subtle anger trickles through your veins, a kind of fury, subdued, carefully tucked away. sparking to life inside the depths of your eyes when you look at him. bitter, given everything. but your voice still comes out sounding something like a plea.
”and you think you do?”
another smile. this time, it looks a little sad. remorseful, maybe. ”… let me prove myself.”
his touch burns. the pads of his fingers against your cold skin, cupping your cheek. slithering down to grasp your hand. and you’re pliant, unable to react. just sitting with that aching hollow feeling in your chest.
”i wasn’t worthy, back then,” he hums, bringing your hand to his lips. ”but now…”
a kiss to your knuckle. featherlight. reverent. you try not to shiver, but when he says your name, dragging each syllable out, like they belong on his tongue —
a chill runs down your spine.
when he speaks, you feel his warm breath on your skin. it’s dizzying. ”i’m not the same suguru you once knew,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. and devotion, frighteningly sincere. ”unlike him — i’ll never let you go.”
what a twisted desire. he wants to take you with him, drag you down to hell. the suguru you knew wouldn’t put you through that. but maybe you’re even more twisted, for wishing he had; for wishing he had taken you with him, ten years ago, instead of leaving without a single goodbye.
geto’s voice is soft. coaxing, like he's handling a frightened mouse. join me, he whispers, and you think of eve. when you look at his mouth you think you see serpents’ teeth behind his lips.
(you're almost sure he notices it. and you're almost sure his smile widens, lips curling up, as if preparing to open his maw and swallow you whole.)
a sickening sense of resignation roots itself somewhere in your gut.
you pull your hand away, and he lets you. the loss of warmth hits you like a freight train, but you aren’t sure you could think clearly with his skin on yours. when you part your lips to speak, only air comes out, just barely forming a sentence. like there are no more words to say. like the world stopped spinning around you both a lifetime ago.
”i don't love you.”
…
for just a second, his smile falters.
”.. no?” he hums, and you wish it didn’t hurt so bad to see him hurt. his eyes carry a kind of patience, something gentle. ”it’s fine… these things take time.”
a bitter chuckle. ”like you’d know anything about waiting,” you spit, and it comes out sounding venomous. a phantom ache sprouts in the spot where his lips touched your skin.
geto closes his eyes.
”.. you don't need to love me,” he says, finally. kind. you hate that he still sounds so kind. so understanding, like nothing you do could be wrong in his eyes. ”as long as you're beside me, that's enough.”
he turns to look at you, and his smile looks very real, for a moment. impossibly fond. ”i have two daughters. i’ve told them about you,” he smiles. ”my family… you’d like them. i know they’d like you.”
dark clouds cover the moon, suddenly, and a shadow falls across you both. illuminated only by the streetlight. in the distance, you hear a car whooshing by.
”don’t stay at the bottom,” he beckons, and your name slips from his lips again. soft, his tongue bending around the vowels. coaxing. stirring your heartstrings like a puppeteer.
then he’s standing up, dusting off his robes, large hands smoothing down the fabric. turning around, towering over you; obscuring everything else. all you see is him, under the glow of the lamp post. a halo of artificial light.
”come. let me show you the world we can create.”
he gives you a sweet smile, two abysses gazing at you. the promise of something, something twisted. something new. forbidden. you think of red skin, yellow flesh. the bite of sin.
and for a second, you see it. the world. a world where laughter comes from the bottom of your gut, and the trees are always ripe for picking, red apples hanging from the branches like glowing rubies.
paradise.
geto stretches a hand out towards you. fingers unfurling, one by one, like a blooming camellia. close, right there in front of you, so close that you’re tempted to take his hand in yours, let him carry you away. burn everything else to the ground.
(you think of the serpent. you think of god.
only one of them banished eve.)
”so,” he smiles. ”what do you say?”
#i just think curse user geto is soooo ……#hes so. hes just so#he has this undeniable softness and hes genuinely a very sincere man. but he just comes across as extremely insincere#n kinda.. suffocating? like just one look from him to you makes u wanna hide. even though hes so coaxing and gentle and eager to care for u#he just has that ’doomed by the narrative’ swagger yknow? the ’distinct air of tragedy’ charm#anyways im completely obsessed and i fear i would fold instantly rip to all non sorcerers#title taken from ’half-light’ by frank bidart btw read it its so good . very stsg coded#geto x reader#geto x you#geto x y/n#suguru geto#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x you#suguru geto x y/n#geto angst#jjk x reader#jjk angst#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n
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Sorry for adding onto your (most likely) already busy pile but is it alright if I put in a request?
I was wondering how/what Leona, Azul, Riddle, and the Leech brothers (all separately) would act/do if they have a crush on a hopeless romantic female reader? (Maybe how they’ll try to “woo” them/get them together?) Emphasis on crush, they’re not together yet 😅
In my opinion hopeless romantics are not so much about the perfect dream lover (chivalrous, gentlemanly, etc), but more about finding “the one” that we’re meant to dedicate all our time to. Sure, we do find ourselves more attracted to guys that’ll fit the description of our “perfect”, but generally we’re able to accept just about anyone, so long as they show their sincerity. It doesn’t have to be anything big, it’s the feelings behind them that counts. Small gestures with undeniable feelings behind them are weighed much more heavily than big gestures with little thoughts behind them. Not my words but I feel like this sentence describes it perfectly “Hopeless Romantics are in love with love”. No, they don’t have to sing me poems and proses, gift me flowers at every meeting, or serenade me under the balcony. Though I’ll admit that I had written pages upon pages of love poems on a single crush We are obsessed with the idea of finding someone made just for us, for us to love and be loved in return.
Just me turning to fictional characters to cope with the harsh reality... we really aren’t made for modern society 😔
+ if you like my writing, you can buy me a ko-fi to support me!
Leona Kingscholar
For a while now, Leona really did think he found hopeless romantics stupid. He just doesn’t get why someone would put so much importance in something as vague and fleeting as romantic love.
Then he ends up falling for you.
Needless to say, his crush is something that constantly taunts him. He really feels so confused around you, as if he shouldn’t like you as much as he does. He never thought someone like you would catch his attention, you just seem so... soft, sometimes. Leona is usually straightforward about his interest in people, but when it comes to you, he doesn’t really know how to go about it.
He knows you’re not somebody who would be swayed through his meaningless teasing, that you’re the sort of person who wanted devotion. And it isn’t like he doesn’t want that with you -- Though, he’d rather die than admit this right now -- but he doesn’t know how to express it.
He still wants to show his interest, but for you, he does it differently. He flirts more subtly, teasing you less, and when you’re alone, he almost acts sweet, way easier to fluster. When you’re sweet to him back, he feels so stupidly warm and fuzzy and he loves it hates it.
Falling for a hopeless romantic definitely is the way to break Leona. It might be the only way to catch him off guard romantically, even.
Azul Ashengrotto
Similar to Leona, Azul kind of looks down on the concept of love, but for a slightly different reason. For him, it’s that he doesn’t like being vulnerable, so letting himself have this level of closeness with someone feels just... too troublesome. The chance he’d be hurt is just too much.
So he didn’t do anything about his crush on you, at first, he was trying to just wait it out like he usually does. Then, he hears your opinions and expectations with love, and things change a bit inside his head.
He’ll always be uneasy trying to make moves on people regarding that, but knowing you were so... sincere, it made him feel like trying might be worth it, this time. Ironically, what a dubious guy like him wants is someone genuine, who he didn’t feel the need to play all these games with.
He gets a little bolder with you. Inviting you to Mostro Lounge often, letting you try new recipes that still weren’t in the menu, sometimes taking you out, even buying you small gifts of things you seemed to like. He wants to show you that you’re special to him, while still keeping some subtlelty.
Riddle Rosehearts
Oh, so you’re the same!
Riddle never talks about it, but everytime he thinks about love, it’s in a similar way to you. He wants to find someone who would be his one and only, a girl who would love him just as much as he loved her. He’s endlessly embarrassed by this, sort of convinced that his expectations are just too unrealistic, but he can’t help but dream.
When you two launch into a rare conversation about relationships and he finds out you agree with him... man, if he already had a thing for you before, now he was just smitten.
Sadly Riddle is very awkward when it comes to romance. He feels like you two would make such a good couple together, he’d be the best boyfriend he possibly could be! But he gets shy when it comes to expressing his feelings, and in the end, all he can do is hope you catch on to what it means when he’s trying to spend time with you often...
He shows his affections mostly by... sort of mundane things, like inviting you to the Unbirthday Party and asking you to sit next to him, or offering to help you study, or inviting you over for tea when you have free time, being sure to remember you favorite drink and desserts... if you’re also oblivious, it might be hard to know he likes you.
He’ll be working hard on a confession plan, though, if you two want the same thing, then he’s more willing than ever to risk it all for a romantic relationship.
Jade Leech
As he starts understanding his own feelings for you, he starts trying to gauge information about your preferences so he could plan how he’d woo you, and that’s how he finds out you’re a hopeless romantic.
He thinks it’s so endearing, honestly. Jade loves to spoil, he wants nothing more than to be the one to give you all this love you crave. He thinks often about how well he’d care for you.
He makes sure to be sort of obvious about his crush, wanting to get his feelings across more than he usually would. Jade is always there for you, happy to help and advise, he’s an acts of service kind of guy so it’s mostly how he’d try to express the fact that he loves you.
It takes a while to get an actual confession out of him though. He knows you have high expectations and has sworn he’d meet all of them. Even if you’ve told him you didn’t put that much weight on grand gestures, he did want to make his confession something impressive, if only subjectively. He wants to make sure everything is meaningful, and shows through how much attention he’d been paying to you for a while now.
“Hopeless romantic” might be part of his type, honestly, Jade is a guy who lives for this mutual devotion you strive for.
Floyd Leech
A hopeless romantic and Floyd would be... a complicated pair.
Floyd is very casual about love, you see. The second he knows he’s fallen for you is the second he decides you’re his, and he’s yours, and that’s it. He’s casual with his affection and doesn’t mind things like relationship labels at all, he doesn’t even see the need for an actual confession, really.
So he’ll be so affectionate with you, he’s constantly showering you in love. But... he’s so casual about it, his feelings might not get through completely to you. You might not realize he’s crushing on you at all, because of how chummy he acts with everybody else.
It’s a strange situation, because you’ll be talking about how wonderful you think it’d be if you found your one and only, and Floyd will be right there wondering why you’re saying things like that when he’s right here, he’s your one and only, right? Are you telling him you just haven’t noticed that he loves you?
He’s confused when you talk about love, if you were all about sincere gestures why aren’t you catching on to his feelings? He’ll actually blurt that out one time, probably. Floyd isn’t one to keep quiet about his crushes for too long.
Once you understand where he’s coming from with all the affection, he might actually be a good partner for you. He loves you so, so, so much, and it shows! Just in, you know, kinda odd ways sometimes.
#twst#twisted wonderland#twst headcanons#twst imagines#twst x reader#leona kingscholar#azul ashengrotto#riddle rosehearts#jade leech#floyd leech#leona kingscholar x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#riddle rosehearts x reader#jade leech x reader#floyd leech x reader#lis writing
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talking to the moon
notes: yoshiwara au featuring samurai!baji x courtesan!(fem)reader! some fluff? angst. tw death! song recommendation accompaniments: yoshiwara lament - teto kasane & talking to the moon - kream!
wc: 2.3k
summary: yoshiwara is not meant for love, but you think it's far too late for you when you meet baji keisuke.
For as long as you can remember, your world has been seen through the bars of the harimise. A display, a product, for hours you would merely sit there and hope someone buys you.
The endlessly same scenery: the temple up north, the colorful vibrancy of kimonos, the bridge that leads southwards. Yoshiwara is always the same hustle and bustle of the lively streets. A day of ethereal beauty and strategic deceit; a night of lust and hushed promises, a so-called love that dispels with the first rays of dawn.
Once upon a time, you wanted to be someone who blooms for one person only, to love unreservedly. A childish dream to be free, to love fiercely. But fate steals your freedom and leaves you in the embrace of men who look at you as just another woman who warms their beds. Each bleak night as you look wistfully beyond the faceless man above you, the moon and stars sparkle, despite your torment, almost as if it’s mocking you for being unable to shine as they do.
With each passing day as you stare at your dull reflection in the polished mirror, bitterness seeps into your hardened heart. As your lips become redder and redder with used paint, the light in your eyes becomes dimmer and dimmer with dull indifference.
As if Yoshiwara bears your profound grief, it’s raining tonight. On such a day, you encounter him under the deep veil of darkness. His navy kimono contrasts vividly against your crimson lips, and the rosy pink that dusts his blushing cheeks gently warms your heart. He’s adorable, you think, as he grumbles and his friend nudges him towards the birdcage. Your eyes meet his, and his friend laughs and jostles him again towards you.
“Sir, won’t you please purchase me?” you smile sweetly, softly.
“I -” he starts.
“He would love to!” a new voice injects. His enthusiastic friend with blonde highlights smiles wolfishly.
“Welcome, please come in.”
You escort him to a room upstairs as the rain pours outside. When he cautiously enters your room, it is nothing like you are used to. He stands there awkwardly and runs a hand through his long locks.
“Would you like to sit? Perhaps a drink first?” you politely ask as you pat to the spot next to you.
It catches you by surprise when you can see the grays in his eyes as he looks at you instead of past you. He sits gruffly beside you and starts promptly, “We don’t have to do anything.”
You tilt your head, not really sure how to naturally proceed from here. But you've merely learned to comply, to satisfy, so you nod affirmatively and agree politely.
“In that case, what would you like to do?” you ask softly.
In a night meant for lovers between the sheets, he tells you stories of his adventures under the moonlight. You learn his name is Baji Keisuke, and he’s a samurai serving his childhood friend and the young lord of the Sano family. The one who ushered him here is one of his dearest friends named Kazutora, and they’ve been together since they were little. He loves feeling the adrenaline in his blood when he fights and often feeds stray cats because he thinks they’re cute. He unintentionally made his mom cry once when he was younger, so he swears he will never make her cry again.
He has dazzling eyes that tell no lies and an enigmatical smile that illuminates your heart, especially when he flashes his sharp canines that strikingly resemble fangs in his boisterous mirth. Outside, the continuous rain slows to a drizzle before it promptly stops. In your heart, he ignites a small spark of attainable hope.
A free spirit that contrasts very deeply against your very being. Unlike a trapped bird, he flies through the unclouded skies and undoubtedly makes life his own. His hearty laugh and vibrant eyes gently remind you what it's like to have hope beyond these four walls, to dream of a life of consuming love. You smile softly as he makes wild gestures with his hands, and you feel every insistent beat of your heart fluttering, thundering as he smiles affectionately at you.
Over and over again, he returns and buys your time instead of your used body. Time and time again, he talks naturally to you like you are someone in this world and listens to you like you are still good enough to be heard. Like the sun that melts away the darkness in your heart, your days spark a little brighter when he’s nearby. Instead of staring bitterly at your reflection as you paint your lips, the girlish dream you abandoned returns back to you.
Love whispers in your ears and knocks on your heart.
"Will you return?" you ask softly into the luminous night when he visits again. Once, twice, countless times to where you think you know him enough to remember what it’s like to love again.
As soon as the night ends, he has to leave. He will soar into the skies beyond the scope of your vision, beyond realms of the world you can only dream of because he's meant for something grander.
Still, you yearn.
"Where else would I go?" he answers as his eyes meet yours.
He clasps his rough hand around yours, eyes earnest and heart genuine, as he brushes against your knuckles tenderly. A hand full of calluses and blood, a hand used to wield swords and destructive weapons, but he cradles your hand so gently, tenderly, fondly.
"I will always come back to you."
You breathe out a quivering breath. You’ve heard these careless words countless times before from many other men, but his affectionate eyes are constantly full of genuine promises and unmistakable sincerity. You know Yoshiwara is the land of foolish dreams and lies, that Yoshiwara is unmeant for lovers.
Yoshiwara is not meant for the undeniable truth that you are irrevocably in love with him.
Still, you hope. You want to believe him, so you trust. You trust him with your vulnerability; you trust him with your heart. Under the veil of the night with the moon as your sole witness, you cut off a strand of your hair.
"For safe-keeping," you tell him as you tie your hair around his pinky, "Until you safely return."
He blinks once, twice before he smiles radiantly, fangs glinting in the light. He tugs a strand of his hair out before he clumsily wraps it around your pinky.
“There is something important I have to take care of,” he starts hesitantly. His eyes are looking into the darkness of the night, and for a moment, you can see weariness cloud his eyes. You reach to cradle his cheek, and at your touch, he looks at you. He holds your hand and presses a soft kiss on your fingertips. Newly found resolve beams through the clouds of doubt in his eyes. “But after that… Will you come with me?”
You stare incredulity at him, wide eyes carefully looking into his promising ones. He squeezes your hand as he stares anxiously back at you. The world is silent, and all you see is his gray eyes that have been your silver lining since the very first day.
He can’t afford to buy you, you know, and the fear of the consequences of running away burrows into your heart. But he looks at you, clear and open, and Heaven is in his eyes. You squeeze his hand back and bring it towards your lips to place a tender kiss on his palm. You think you’re far too ruined to be this optimistic about it, to dream of happiness like this, but you grin and nod anyway.
“I would go anywhere if it’s with you,” you smile, eyes and words honest.
He instantly breaks into an infectious grin, and he hugs you in eager excitement. “Thank you. I’ll be back by the next full moon. Wait for me,” he whispers fiercely into your hair.
You nod again as you melt into his comforting embrace. The flutters of your heart bloom into warmth in your chest, and it feeds into your heating cheeks as you hold on to him. The moon that invariably seems to look down on you, the stars that always seem to twinkle in critical disappointment softens as the lights of dawn overtake the sky.
A new day, a new hope.
He holds his pinky up, your hair tied on and your heart in the palm of his hands, as he looks at you. When you meet his eyes, the first rays of light glows behind him. He looks beautiful, angelic, and he seems so ephemeral. You hook your pinky, with his hair tied around it, with his in hopes that these fleeting moments will last just a moment longer, that this will be more than just a dream when you wake up.
A lie, a promise, you’re not quite sure which it is.
(You hope it’s a promise. You want it to be a promise.)
So, you wait. Day after day, night after night, and all the moments in between. You miss him like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky, but he fuels a fire in your heart that keeps you warm on the nights he isn’t here. It hasn’t rained for a long time now, you think, as you glance at your pinky and sunshine fill your soul. During nights, you keep your promise close to your heart as you stare at the phases of the moon. Waxing and waning, but your heart holds steady as you dream of boisterous laughter and lively eyes.
On the day of the full moon, you wait anxiously as people pass by. You’re on high alert as your eyes eagerly scan the crowd for any signs of him - his navy blue kimono, his long hair, his hearty laughter. As the blue sky turns to brilliant orange before it fades into the darkness of the night, the crushing weight in your heart grows heavier and heavier before the numbing realization that he won’t come hits you.
When the full moon peaks in the unclouded sky, only silence surrounds you. You sit lifelessly in front of your mirror at the end of the night with the full moon as your sole company. You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting here as you mindlessly keep brushing your hair.
The overbearing heaviness finally breaks your heart and breaches the dam that restrains your tears. You muffle your cries in your kimono because you should have known better, should have known that dreams are unmeant for someone like you. You glance wistfully at your pinky before you clutch it close to your shattered heart, and all the energy in your body just comes out as silent sobs. As you bury your face in your knees and hug yourself, each fond memory comes back and replays in your head.
A mistake. This is a terrible mistake because you know Yoshiwara is built of lies like these. But when you think of his sincere eyes, your heart breaks again. Baji Keisuke is many things, but he is rarely a liar. You want to believe in him, want to believe in the dream of a life with him beyond these walls.
Maybe it’s not this full moon, you tell yourself, but he will return one day. The next full moon, the one after that, and all these other ones after, you’ll keep waiting. You believe in him, believe in love, so you will hold on steadfastly, stubbornly, desperately because you don’t think your heart can handle it otherwise.
In just another day of waiting in the similar scenery, you catch glimpses of a spark from the temple northwards. A new sight, but among the lively streets of just another busy day, it’s not a sight you focus on. The sparks are nice, though, you think as you suppress a giggle, because it reminds you of the fire in his eyes.
When it reaches dusk, the scorching winds blow from the northeast. The direction you watch him go from the confines of your birdcage, and when you still see the sparks, a foreboding feeling, a bad omen sinks into your heart as the sun falls.
The initial flare grows bigger and bigger until it bursts into a firestorm and begins swallowing the town. You run frantically alongside the chaotic crowd as the screams fill the air and fear fills your blood. You run, run, run until your legs are burning - from the fire? From fatigue? You’re not sure.
Your heart breaks with every step you take because death comes knocking. You keep holding on stubbornly because you still believe in your promise. But soon, your legs only carry you so far amongst the fleeting crowd and falling buildings and smoke fills your lungs and chokes you.
As fire devours you, you glance at the waxing moon. It ruthlessly tears through your skin and burns, burns, burns, but the pain of breaking your promise rips through your heart.
All you can think about are the moonlit nights under the same skies within the four walls you call home and the man you know as love. You think of his starry gray eyes and the promise you couldn’t keep, and you clutch your hand over your heart. Close, so, so close, but not quite another full moon yet. With sorry repeated on your cracked lips and lament in your anguished heart, your uncontrollable tears fall hopelessly.
(The news of the tragic death of a singular samurai, holding his bleeding hand to his heart, in the Battle of Valhalla never reaches you.
After all, fire travels faster than words.)
The deafening sound of crackling fire plays your requiem and ends the unfulfilled dream of love.
end notes: harimise is a viewing cage where courtesans were placed in, like products on display at shops. they sit there the whole day until someone buys them.
the act of cutting off your hair and tying it around someone's pinky is a lover's pact. basically, it's a vow of love between a courtesan and their customers, where they offer their hair, nails, and blood to seal the deal. it could be used to extort more money from the customer, but it could also just be a promise of love.
also fun fact: historically, yoshiwara did end up burning in a huge fire that originated in a temple! :")
#baji x reader#baji keisuke x reader#baji angst#tokrev x reader#tokrev x you#baji x you#baji keisuke x you#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers x you#tokyo revengers angst#i was working on another baji wip but then this took over LOL#one day we will have happy baji stories but today is not the day 😔#but literally baji in his navy blue kimono/yukata and high ponytail plagues my mind#so here we are <3#sometimes i write things#i hope this shows up in the tags lol#also i read somewhere that palm kisses mean i trust you#i hope hes not too ooc?? i feel like baji is awko taco when it comes to love tbh HAHAH
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The Art of Inversion
Neil x Reader
Chapter 28 - This Ain't No Hymn
Masterlist; Chapter 27
Summary: Time is running until Stalsk-12 and whatever awaits you there. You and Neil try to make the best out of what you have left.
Warnings: 18+ (implied and not so implied content); teasing; swearing.
Author's Notes: Gosh that was a long month... and I'm sorry it took ages. But it's here...! And it's over 14k for which I am terribly sorry. This one is my final stall before we kick off the action and I do hope you'll enjoy the absolute crackheadery of whatever goes on. Feedback greatly appreciated, as always!
During the final two days leading up to the battle, you did wonder how life can be at once so wonderful and yet terrifying. It was easy to get used to the new reality, letting Neil stay in your cabin for most of the time and only use his own for those brief periods when he would need a change of clothes. Or when you would be busy dealing with the assigned tasks, and he would get bored (as he proclaimed). Still, there was barely a time when you were not together.
Mornings were undeniably something else. As the remains of Morpheus’ spell wore off, you snuggled the duvet closer to your chest, relishing in the warmth provided by the blanket and the man sleeping beside you. One last heavy sigh before you opened your eyes, squinting in the bright light falling through the porthole. The sun rays aiming directly at your face, causing you to turn onto the side and face Neil. Despite the numerous mornings spent like this, the sight of him never got old. Your eyes slowly swept over his features. The relaxed brow, blonde hair falling over the forehead in complete disarray. Lips slightly parted, letting out quiet snores. You grinned, overwhelmed with love and gratitude. Because this was worth all the heartache and drama. Absolutely priceless.
Scooting a little bit closer, you felt his hand instinctively tighten over your waist. The hold, which has been placed the previous evening, not shifting throughout the whole night. Keeping you secured and warm. Just as if you were always supposed to end up like this. And perhaps you were. Gently, you reached out to brush your fingertips over his temple. Tentative touch making his breath even out, waking him in the process. Using the momentum, you swept the hair away from his eyes, ending the caress by running the pad of your thumb over his nose and mouth. If only because he was within your grasp.
Neil opened his eyes then, blinking twice to get used to the brightness. You watched as he took in the surroundings, consciousness needing few seconds longer to catch up. Once his eyes landed on you, his lips curled into a soft smile. Gaze immediately showing you nothing but affection. You mirrored his expression, letting yourself extend the staring. It was easy to waste the morning just doing that, gazing into each other’s eyes, getting used to the unbelievable luck. The comfortable silence stretched for a few minutes when Neil grinned and pulled you closer, hiding his head in the crook of your neck and inhaling the scent with reverence. The happy giggle rose in your throat, tinting the words with breathlessness:
“Morning, sleeping beauty,” the nickname coming out of nowhere, yet fitting too well.
You could feel Neil’s smile widen. Cradling you close, he kissed your collarbone and slipped his hands underneath the shirt to caress the skin. It was always like this, slow and blissful, with every minute spent cuddling reminding you why loving him was something essential.
“I should be annoyed at you for waking me up,” the pretended sulking accentuated with a huff let out by Neil.
Still, his hold over your waist tightened. Another kiss laid on the collarbone, teeth lightly grazing over your skin. At this point, hickeys were just another thing that had to be accepted. With the military fashion aboard the icebreaker depending largely on pullovers and combat trousers, you did not need much to hide them. Now, feeling the sleepiness gradually make way for other emotions, you wound your arms around his middle, tangling more to prolong the contentment.
“What’s the but there?” dropping the cheeky question, you made sure to press a kiss to the top of his head.
Taking a moment to drag your fingers through his hair, arranging the eternal mess someway, a job you took on most days now. It was only a pleasure, making sure he looked presentable and yet still like his chaotic self.
“But… this way I can spend few more minutes like this” another blissful sigh, “And this is rather nice,” the adjective complemented with a final trail of kisses down your neck.
Using the loose cut of the t-shirt, Neil ended the study with a longer caress on your bare shoulder. Earning a gasp from you. And then, to sober up, you remarked:
“I love it when you become this incomprehensible in the mornings,” another tactical distraction in the form of tracing your fingertips down his forearm.
His cluelessness first thing after waking up was endearing. Despite always being rather dependent on touch and closeness, it was in those hours when he tended to seek comfort. As opposed to your evening need of hugs and cuddles, helping your anxious brain settle in for the night. It worked. Very much so.
“Very funny” Neil raised his head, joining you on the pillow, “You’re quite gorgeous, did you know that?” eyes showing you the unimaginable extent of infatuation.
You grinned, the charm never failing to get to you. In moments like this, it was easy to believe him. To accept the fact that he was in love with you. Exactly as you are.
“You might’ve mentioned it once or twice. I’m not convinced though” sensing the potential in this line of conversation, you made sure to put up the act.
It worked if judging by the way his eyes lit up with the familiar glimmer. As if that was the needed push for him. The wake-up call.
“I’ll convince you then,” a predatory smirk reminding you of the defeat.
There was no point in fighting him. With excitement fluttering in the pit of your stomach, you watched as he shifted to hover over you. Hands settling comfortably on your waist. One last wink before he leaned down, crashing his mouth into yours with hunger. Your hands ventured up his arms to enlace on the nape of his neck, offering leverage. To pull him down as you deepened the kiss. Easily letting his tongue brush against yours in the intimate moves. Every glide of his lips against yours resulting in flickering fire, electrical sparks trailing down your veins. Muffled sighs and gasps breaking the silence. It was never something effortlessly brushed off. Each kiss sharpening the need and affirming the convictions. Unforgettable.
You broke off the contact only once it felt like you both would suffocate if letting it continue. With a permanent grin, you watched as Neil flopped back on the pillow and took a greedy breath, hand taking yours instinctively and lacing up the fingers to extend the touch. After a few seconds of the recovery period, you decided to pick up on the playful strand once more. For good measure. Raising on the elbow, you glanced down at him with a cheeky smile:
“Do you always kiss that good?” you slowly dragged your tongue along your lips, saving up the remains of the taste.
With satisfaction, you observed as his eyes darted to your mouth, pupils darkening as though that was enough to entice him. The attraction never failing to surprise you in its intensity. Fate and related synonyms constantly on your mind. Because what else could it be?
“You tell me” following your mood, Neil smirked, never easily thrown off by the banter.
Shots fired and all that. Naturally. You broke into a laugh, half-collapsing against him. Only the arms wrapping around your waist keeping you secured. There was nothing left to do but let the giggles die down, listening to his steady heartbeat.
“My god…” words choked out with immeasurable happiness, “If it’s going to be a lifetime of talk like that, then I’m not sure I’ll survive it” admitting the eternal truth, you peeked up at him to see the reaction.
A widening grin and a hint of insecurity brewing underneath were a fascinating mix.
“Maybe you’ll get tired of me and my bullshit. And dump me for someone with the charisma of a cardboard box,”
It was the way he was so utterly wrong that made you let out a quiet laugh then. And also, the concern over his self-doubts that would need to be dealt with immediately. As the true bullshit must be treated.
“So… like Jasper?” the joke earning you a genuine burst of laughter from Neil and a tightening hold over your body “Wouldn’t count on it,” raising once again, you kissed him lightly on the lips and the tip of the nose.
As a reminder.
“Good. Because something tells me I’m a lost cause,” the sincere look causing another wave of love for him, “There’s no getting over someone like you, Miss” in response, Neil bopped your nose with his playfully.
There it is again. With curiosity peaked, you ignored the need to get lost in another kiss and chose to ask a question:
“What’s with the new nickname?” your interest betrayed only by the restless fingers trailing down his chest, smoothing out the wrinkles in the shirt.
Not that you did mind. It was rather cute. And strange.
“I’m trying it out... to see how I feel about it” as usual, Neil caught your meaning with a pensive look.
For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, staring at you unseeingly. Beauty like this first thing in the morning should be made illegal. Your heart once again building up the fire that could only be extinguished by letting yourself have what you wanted. And that was rather simple.
“And?” trying to distract the intensifying thoughts, you took hold of his hand once again.
Carefully relaxing the fist, fingertips inspecting the web of veins and scars covering his palm. The long, slender fingers never failing to amaze you. A sudden reminder about the piano in his flat making everything worse. Because that would be quite a sight.
“I like it. Once we get married, I’ll amp up the game anyways,” Neil’s oblivious ramblings disrupting a detailed daydream concerning him and the piano keys.
Thankfully. It was only once you have brought yourself back to the present moment, the exact meaning of his words caught up.
“Once… not if?” that flicker of hope burning bright and steady.
It was in the way Neil studied you closely that you knew he understood. The smirk spread across his lips; eyes glimmered dangerously as he cupped your cheek:
“Why you got any other plans?” a suggestive glance at your mouth yet again.
No reason to deny it. You glanced at the phone to confirm your hopes. It was early. Enough so to spend a little bit longer in bed. Perfect.
“For now, yes,” meeting his gaze with a half-smile of your own.
Quickly untangling from the current position to provide yourself with more options. Not that he would mind how you would go about it. He never did.
“Care to share?” the want written clearly on his face, nothing but an invitation.
No verbal response needed as you straddled his lap and kissed him eagerly. Your hands followed, inching up his shirt and giving more places to study. The look full of curiosity and excitement in the blue eyes only providing more reasons to continue. More kisses. Hands exploring the familiar territory, waking up the desire, and raising the temperature. A quick fix for the addiction. Breathless moans and groans, breaking the silence of the morning hours. Gathering the courage to do what you wanted never felt this sweet.
***
Whenever Neil was busy with assigned work or training, you would wander the ship looking for something to do. A way to pass the time without triggering worrying thoughts or staring at the plans for the hundredth time. Two days were still left. And the objective was to survive them as peacefully as possible given the circumstances. You were owed as much.
That morning your feet carried you to the bridge. The quiet space offering a perfect place to settle down with the coffee and a blanket on your lap. With the panoramic windows giving an excellent view of the horizon, you could comfortably stare at the endless sky and sea. That close to the Siberian shores the only land visible were the occasional Russian islands, partially covered with snow or laid with grassy steppes. Otherwise, the emptiness could be easily overwhelming. Silence deafening. No soul nearby not belonging to your party of agents and soldiers willing to save the world from the bomb that could still go off. (Or did it already?) It was thoughts like those that caused most drama. Tiny brain worms rooting deep inside to come out at night and bother you with difficult questions and uncertainties. An ideal spark for anxiety.
Too lost in your head, you never heard the airlock open.
“Morning” you looked up, startled to see Kat take off the oxygen mask.
“Hi,” you grinned, suddenly relieved to have company.
She hesitated, eyeing your set up on the sofa and then the scene outside of the window.
“May I join?” upon your nod, she smiled and joined you on the settee, noticing wistfully, “The view from my porthole isn’t half this good”
You observed as she took in the scenery, large blue eyes full of wonder.
“This is quite something else…” you added, gaze coming back to the picturesque view.
The comfortable silence stretching out for a few minutes, when sudden thought prompted you to speak up:
“I never came to thank you for helping me back then-” the incoming apology stopped with a hand resting on your knee.
“Don’t mention it,” the reassuring smile shutting up the worries, “It was the least I could do” another pat on your knee before her grin turned wicked, “Where’s Neil?”
Caught. If it was not due to your accurate portrayal of the deer stuck in headlights, it was probably the blush that confirmed her thesis. There was no reason to pretend.
“He’s got shooting practice,” feigning nonchalance, you wondered aloud, “How do you…?” the question not needing finalization.
The look on Kat’s face nothing short of welcoming.
“I saw you on the deck during the Northern Lights,” the explanation tinting your cheeks darker “You were stood close, away from everyone else. And then you looked at him and kept on staring as though he was more beautiful than the Aurora to you” right…your breath hitched, the realization hitting with a needed kick, “I noticed you leave right after, hands holding tightly…” she trailed off, the knowing smile gracing her lips.
More beautiful than the aurora… yes, definitely. Finding words again, you chose to be honest. She saw you at your worst, offered a shoulder to lean on and a spark to light the flickering hope. To say that you were grateful was an understatement.
“We’ve managed to talk it out. Turns out he was just an idiot trying to save me while willing to ignore his feelings” thoughtlessly, a smile appeared on your face; joy uncontainable “You were right, he loves me,”
It still felt strange to say it. Even though it was true. The last time Neil told you as much was less than an hour ago. A parting affirmation as he was putting on the pullover and leaving your cabin. The new normal.
“As he should,” Kat grinned, optimism in her eyes exhilarating, “You both deserve happiness” you mirrored her smile, taking a sip from the abandoned coffee cup in a bliss-like daze, “From what I’ve seen the last few days… you’re giving him everything he was missing” the addition making your grin wider, the dangerous hope unstoppable.
Both of you went silent then, pondering on the view and what could be said. Silence comfortably stretching out and giving you a sense of companionship that you missed. While sharing thoughts and feelings with Neil was like second nature, sometimes you wished for somebody else to talk to. It was that necessity of being candid that prompted the confession:
“I like to believe that maybe now things will turn out alright somehow… but it’s difficult to keep it up with whatever awaits us at Stalsk,” the reminder settling with the anxiety cast all over your mind and heart.
The sombre turn of the conversation seemingly alright with Kat, for she eyed you closely before speaking up:
“Neil told me you’re going with him on the special unit” it was an observation.
But one that needed confirmation. The possibility to discuss it with her suddenly sounding like something you desperately wanted but never dared dream of.
“Yeah, I have to” a nod if only to reassure yourself, “Maybe it’s crazy, but I’ve got a feeling that I should be there. That it’s where I’m supposed to end up” words ringing out in the quiet space with defiance “And do whatever will be necessary to help him get out unscathed” the unsaid hanging over you, bestowing imperceptible shadow.
Kat looked at you thoughtfully; the quiet observation weighed with thousands of things that could be said. Finally, she ended the scrutiny and turned back to the horizon, breaking the silence with a comment:
“After everything I’ve seen, that’s far from crazy,” low chuckle permeating the space with a sense of faked lightness, “I’m more concerned about that part with whatever will be necessary…” the emphasis making your cheeks turn a darker shade.
Of course. She would understand what you meant. It is the only way. The belief in that one statement giving enough courage to defend your position:
“I know how it sounds. And perhaps its emotions talking… but he must survive” hiding the rising wave of emotions, you finished the lukewarm coffee, stubbornly staring at the edge of the navy sea covered with waves.
Anything but to face the attentive gaze. In the fear of losing the conviction. There was no time to falter now. Whatever would happen, you had to proceed with the plan. If not for yourself, then for Neil.
“Even if that means your sacrifice?” the question asked with a neutral tone.
The meaning simple. Taken by surprise, you looked up to meet the blue eyes staring at you inquisitively. There was no point in lying. It was another thing that you pondered on often. The question of what if. What if it comes to it and you’ll have to choose between your life and Neil’s? The answer was undeniable. Even if unspeakable.
“Yes,” a nod to assert it with all your might, “And I know he sees things the same… he told me that it’s why he’s doing it. To make sure the world won’t end taking me with it” you added, as though to validate your statement.
To show her that it was not only you who was that crazy. That perhaps what you have is something extraordinary. Worth more than anyone else can understand. Judging by the glimmer in Kat’s eyes, she knew what you were trying to say.
“I’ve only encountered love like that in fiction,” a hint of a melancholic smile on her face tugging at your heart with force.
Desperately searching for something else to say, you remembered everything Neil told you about her. Of why you were very much alike even if it did not seem so at first sight.
“You’re willing to go to similar lengths for your son. Max, right?” uncertain about the name, you hesitated.
She nodded, her expression turned serious, eyes showing the steely resilience you have seen before. A strong woman willing to do anything to save her son.
“Yes, I think… I’m not sure what’s going to happen on that bloody yacht but…” you watched as she searched for the right words, hands clenched tightly in her lap, “I’ll do what must be done to make sure Andrei doesn’t win this one” her tone turning cold, determination resounding through every syllable “He’s done enough harm,”
It was the flash of resignation passing through her gaze that caused another heartbreak. Suddenly you wished for nothing but a reckoning. Vengeance against this horrible man and the tortures he has inflicted upon Kat.
“I’m sorry,” words rolling off your tongue for the lack of anything better.
Instantly, you cursed your awkwardness, ready to come up with something different, when a hand placed on your forearm stopped the panicked stream of thoughts.
“Don’t be,” she squeezed your palm quickly before saying, “I hate it when people look at me with pity. The poor woman who married a monster. I want to be seen as a victor, not a victim,” the confession carrying with it a rising sense of strength.
Because she certainly was a victor. Someone to admire for the resistance and unyielding force of will. To be good and to put her son’s life before hers. That was something to aspire to. A quote from a few years back resonated through your head as you commented:
“Nevertheless, she persisted,” the mysterious smile spreading on your lips upon seeing Kat’s surprise.
And then she beamed. Gratefulness better than anything else you could ask for.
“Yes, exactly,” a nod, hope shining bright in her eyes, “Maybe this is my chance,”
Using the quiet moment, she stood up and wandered over to the panoramic window. The sun has begun to shine through the low clouds, adding a little more charm to the view. A tiny bit of optimism. Because maybe… With her back turned to you and the increasing sense of courage, you spoke up:
“You’ve already won. You’ve survived a wound like that… and you’re here, free from him. That for me is being victorious” finishing the sentence, you wavered.
When Kat turned back to face you with a smile full of gratitude and eyes shining with happy tears, you knew it was worth it.
***
The early afternoon before the very last night proceeding the battle was difficult. Left to your own devices, you have been idly sitting in the cabin, pondering on the various ways to stop the anxious thoughts. Even for a minute. But all the ways you could come up with either involved seeking out Neil, who has been hired to give the soldiers a quick physics-related pep talk, brushing up on their inverted combat skills and how to survive on the battlefield when the forces of gravity work against you. The other coping method you came up with had to do with spending hours in the shooting ground again. And there were hardly any bullets left for training, with stocks reserved strictly for operational use. Limits set by yourself as per order. Not omittable.
That is how you have found yourself setting up the hastily packed speaker (because why not?) in the small sparring ground in the training zone. You have changed into comfortable sweatpants and a tank top, deciding to use up the excess of energy in chilled solo sparring of sorts. It mostly consisted of finding proper bops and prancing around the space, trying out different kicks and punches Ives taught you. It was easy to get lost, feeling the rhythm, setting the pace, and choosing the right kind of moves to deal with the invisible opponents. A backfist here, roundhouse kick there. An attempt at a flying kick just because the guitar solo got you a little bit too entranced. That one ended with a groan, face flat on the mat. Thankfully there was no one to see.
You got lost in the movement, music drowning out everything else, until it was just you, your body in the fluid movements and the breaths punctuating the silence. Aiming a perfect backhander, you turned around only to freeze when your eyes landed on the intruder leaning on the plastic screen separating the spaces. Impeccable grin and a shrug answering your wide gaze. Blue eyes appreciatively sweeping across your body. Nothing new there for him. You stared back, heavy breaths catching up after minutes of intense practice. After what seemed like an eternity, Neil’s smile widened as he pushed himself up and crossed the distance.
Hands landing on your waist, without a second wasted, he pulled you closer, forcefully enough to draw out a startled yelp. That was rather unexpected. You barely had time to comprehend anything when he kissed you with hunger. On reflex, your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck as you opened your mouth to let him in. Teeth clanked when Neil reached out for more than you could offer, breath caught in your throat, unprepared for something like this. The need resonating through your tangled bodies as you let the stream of feelings take you under. Temperance forgotten as Neil tugged on your lower lip, bruising the skin and softening the damage with his tongue. You moaned, the sound getting lost in the haze of sudden frenzy. As though you were bound to die tomorrow, and this was the last chance to show each other the love you feel.
It was that thought that prompted you to break away. In search of oxygen mostly.
“Wow…” you gazed up at him, feigning nonchalance, “Thought we agreed on no PDA in the public spaces,” the stern glare breaking underneath the lovesick smile you could not hold back.
Because, after a kiss like that, how could you?
Neil shrugged, keeping his hands firmly on your waist, thumb gently stroking your side through the shirt. There was no remorse in those eyes, only fondness, and mischief. Whatever brought him here was bound to end in trouble. Perhaps that was the distraction you were seeking…
“It’s not my fault you’re stood here looking like this” another admiring look over your figure, finishing with a quirked smile and a pull to bring you closer once again.
It was difficult to deny him anything.
“Like what?” arching an eyebrow you searched his eyes for clues.
Up close, you could fully marvel at his long eyelashes and the exact colour of his eyes. The darker rim encircling the blue-grey depths, pulling you in and making you fall even harder. You always should have known that it was inevitable. There was no escape from eyes like those.
“Irresistible,” the word, falling from his lips in a pious whisper.
Inches left between your faces, gravity doing its work in bringing your nearer. Nothing left to do but breach the gap and kiss him, another way of thanking him for the compliment and getting the fix for the addiction. Now there was no need to hold back, after all.
“Huh…” you grinned, catching your breath once more, “How did you find me?” taking a step back to stop the temptation.
Because perhaps that was enough. The rest could continue in the privacy of your room. Whatever that might be.
“Intuition, mostly” Neil swept his gaze around the room, focusing on the speaker laying in the corner “And a little bit of luck since only you could be listening to ‘Big in Japan’ while training” his eyes narrowed, cheeky smirk dangling in the corner of his mouth.
Ah. The song choice coming back with a vengeance as you blushed for no reason.
“What’s wrong with Alphaville? That’s a banger,” the defence coming with an unnecessary but satisfying push aimed at the center of his chest.
Working perfectly, if the surprised gasp was anything to go by. He only needed a second to recover, the sparks in his eyes telling you that the response was bound to be quite something, and you better prepare.
“I’m not saying it’s not. Only that this is very much in character for the woman I’m honoured to call my girlfriend” a wink perfecting the delivery.
Yep, on point. Your face warmed up a notch, happiness almost incomprehensible.
“Ain’t you smug” masking the softness with sarcasm, you attempted a harsh glare.
However, all the intent crumbled the moment your speaker started playing the next song via shuffle. The soft piano, opening the ballad with a flourish. Nothing but corniness of the 90s and a love song to defy any other. As Bryan Adams started singing out the first lines in his husky tone, you groaned. Fuck you, Spotify.
“I didn’t take you to be this sentimental” Neil eyed you closely, mirth betrayed by the barely contained laughter.
Using the weapon you have been hoarding for too long, you aimed to school your features before noticing:
“Well… wise man once told me that we’ve all got our weaknesses…” the meaningful gaze doing the job as Neil grinned.
“Very wise, indeed,” the self-satisfied expression only deepening.
Before you could perceive his movements, he closed the distance, took your hand in his, and placed the other palm on your shoulder blade. Following instincts you did not even know you had, you hastily put your hand on his bicep in the ballroom dance position you have seen on tv. What the hell.
“What are you doing?” question coming out breathless as you stumbled to fall into the correct steps following his lead.
Lead to a slow waltz, of all things.
“Using the opportunity,” Neil adjusted the pace, letting you feel the rhythm before continuing, “Haven’t you ever dreamt of waltzing with the love of your life in a glitzy ballroom?”
It was the nonchalance that caught you. The way he said it without a stutter. As though he has used the words before, perhaps in the quiet of his mind or in a conversation.
“Maybe I have,” forcing the doubts to shut up you chose the noncommittal answer for the moment.
Letting your eyes speak instead as you met his steady gaze. A flash of a gentle smile and a thumb tenderly stroking your shoulder blade. Calming down and grounding within the moment.
“I know I did,” the affirmation added to the mix, complete with the kiss on your forehead.
'Look into your heart – you will find
There's nothin' there to hide
Take me as I am, take my life
I would give it all, I would sacrifice'
Bryan Adams kept on crooning as you moved slowly across the room. The relatable meaning of the words sung out making you hide your head in the crook of Neil’s neck, disrupting the formality of your position. Turning the waltz into a slow dance by making Neil pull you closer. He tightened his hold, fingers carefully stroking your skin, the contact keeping up the spark alive. A few more slides across space, your feet following his without hesitation. The synchronization perfect in the matched tempo. It was surprisingly easy to find the right rhythm; perhaps the chemistry did its work in that aspect too.
It was only once the song has reached the guitar solo part that you have managed to break the comfortable silence with a comment:
“This is… nice,” the adjective being the only one you could come up with.
All the other words disappearing one by one, dissolved in the wave of feelings. Happiness, most of all. And love you never imagined existing, let alone to experience. Neil chuckled lowly, his chin resting comfortably on the top of your head.
“Mhmm… Remember how we’ve first met?” the question catching you off guard.
Enough to miss one step and earn a little ‘tsk’ from him.
“Of course, why?” the audacity of the assumption frustrating.
As if. Because even now, you sometimes found yourself reminiscing on that day. The conversation, seemingly innocent, and yet have led you to this point. To everything you did not even know you were missing but now could not live without.
“Even then… when we were chatting over the coffee, I was intrigued,” the wistfulness in Neil’s voice causing long-forgotten questions to resurface.
You have never discussed that day in detail. But maybe that would be the chance. Gathering up the courage, you waited until you have completed the spin around the room to admit:
“Me too… I’ve always wondered… what was it when you’ve eyed me and said I’ll pass the training without issues? Just flirting?” curiosity creeping into your voice.
Not going unnoticed and acknowledged with a thoughtful hum. That was another thing you have thought of. Back then, his gaze only increased the interest. Now, knowing it was not only you that had many impressions after the meeting, it was harder to ignore.
“That was one of the few times when I broke my own rules of looking at people objectively” the explanation given with the needed depth “I always try to be respectable… to see everyone for their minds rather than their bodies” unasked, your heart let out a painful thump in awe over him “But with you, I- I guess my fascination got ahead of me” sudden shyness surprising, causing you to disrupt the dance by freezing in the spot “I was right, in the end” Neil met your questioning gaze with an apologetic expression.
That alone vouching for a kiss and a reassuring squeeze of a hand. You gladly accepted an invitation back into his embrace and another slow dance. Spotify proving itself useful with the next song choice – ‘Forever Young’. By Alphaville, again.
Neil’s snicker was met with a glare on your side and a light step on his foot, for good measure. It took you another few seconds to let the doubts speak up again:
“Was that really enough for you to see me? That one afternoon?” once the questions started, there was no end to them in your mind.
“Yes,” no hesitation on his side “Trust me, I was surprised too, but with every passing day I was thinking about you more. And now I know why” a nuzzle to the top of your head before he asked, “What about you?” inquisitiveness almost hidden by the neutral tone.
Might as well show your hand. Laying a small kiss on the side of his neck, you began:
“I’m not sure… I was curious about you” an understatement but always something, “You seemed so different and charming, like no one I’ve ever met before. And obviously, I had to acknowledge that you’re handsome as hell but… then I saw you flirt with Anna, and I thought that you’re one of those” the admission coming out with the resigned edge you did not fully intend.
It was quickly extinguished with a spectacular dip and a pirouette that managed to knock the breath out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your brain. Nothing but Neil left. As usual.
“I see… mind you, I was flirting with her only because I didn’t know how to talk to you yet” he carried on the conversation without a hitch.
Interesting.
“Did it matter?” you raised your head to be able to see his face for this one.
As though he was expecting scrutiny, Neil met your gaze with a steady look and a confident smile.
“Surprisingly, yes. I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea,” the intensity of the eye contact increasing.
The song starting to fade out amidst its 80s glory, the last of the synthesizer giving out its swan song with the needed cringe. Your dance slowing down to a small two-step, prolonging the moment a little longer.
“Which would be?” another question, because why the hell not.
Using your momentum, Neil slipped his fingers underneath the strap of your tank top, grin widening once he realised the lack of bra. The familiar sparks, making you wonder about wherever this was bound to lead you. About what could happen. A vague idea formed in your head, needing only closure to the chat.
“That I’m not serious,” Neil’s response bringing you back to the moment.
All the movement stopping, leaving you standing in an embrace in the middle of the space.
“Are you?” just a final test.
Even though you did not need an answer, everything that happened within the last days proving time and time again that he was in it hundred percent. That finally you have found the one.
“Very much so, my love” stepping out of the hold, Neil tipped your chin.
The depth of adoration in his gaze only bringing out fierce blush and the deepening softness threatening to make you melt on the spot from too many feelings and too much happiness coursing through your veins. Enough. For now.
You grinned at Neil as a means of accepting his answer and took a definitive step away from him, noticing the curious look on his face. Ignoring it for the moment, you quickly searched through the library to pick up something a little more appropriate. And less cringe. As you pressed play on the right playlist and faced Neil again, the smile you saw told you he had ideas towards your next suggestion:
“Do you want to join me for a little sparring?” you approached him slowly, the unexpected nerves making an appearance, “We’ve never done that together, and maybe… you can say no of course but-” as you faltered, the plan seemed to make less and less sense every passing second.
Because perhaps there was a reason why he never suggested it. Or perhaps, it was not something he would want to do with you, his girlfriend, of all people. Maybe-
“I’d love to,” the answering smile reassuring enough to let you know that all your issues have been noticed, “Don’t pull your punches just because it’s me” Neil closed the gap and took your hand in his with a wink.
There was no way of stopping that grin from appearing on your face. Tightening the hold over his hand, you made sure to put on the most intimidating expression in your arsenal.
“You wish, sunshine,” a kiss on the cheek just because, followed by a wink to tip off his mirroring smile.
Let the games begin or something. You watched as Neil took off the pullover, leaving him in the t-shirt, and joined you on the mat. The final thought was that this sort of activity could end in many ways. Some of them rather intriguing. However, all distractions had to be left behind if you were to win this one. Which was easier said than done, as you eyed your opponent, coming up with the strategy. Because of those damned blue eyes and fascinating body proportions that were hard to ignore, no matter the circumstances.
With the final nod, it began. You crossed the space to aim a kick at Neil’s shin, using the element of surprise and height difference. As you hit the mark, he let out a surprised yelp and glared at you offendedly. A giggle escaped your throat as you made sure to put up the guard, expecting retaliation to follow. And it did. A lighter kick in your ankle, and then an attempt at punch towards your shoulder. That one, thankfully blocked, with your rendition of the shooting daggers.
The sparring followed this rhythm for a couple of minutes, drenching your shirt with sweat and increasing the adrenaline with every move. As it proved, Neil was an excellent partner for that too. Your dynamic working perfectly as you bounced off the different techniques and styles, learning from each other in progress. Soon it became a matter of prediction, of staring at him intently to determine the very next step and to block it efficiently. A few mistakes resulted in bruises here and there, but it was nothing compared to the elation flowing through your veins. The occasional compliments and teases interrupted the flow, bringing out more feelings than you ever deemed possible to exist. At once. Joy, excitement, fatigue, and desire slowly combining into the strangest mix inside your head.
Because one thing was certain – it was increasingly difficult to ignore the way it felt when Neil got close. His strong arms, usually acting as your refuge, now a barrier you had to get through to win this battle. The closeness intoxicating as you tried to wrestle out of his hold, imposed by using the moment of hesitation on your side. But then who was to blame you for getting lost in his eyes? Again. With his chest pressed against your back and the forearms blocking any form of movement, you decided to put it all on the card of fate, hooking your leg around his in an attempt at a backflip taught by Ives. That was another fatal mistake.
You only realised how badly you have fucked up when you opened your eyes to see Neil peering down at you with the most annoying of grins painted on his face. Eyes sparkling with satisfaction that certainly should not be there. Shit. He got you pinned to the mat with hands trapping you underneath him. Not much space between your bodies. A fierce blush bloomed on your cheeks; embarrassment combined with sudden arousal once the exact placement of your limbs sunk in. The earlier misstep resulted in having your legs wound tightly around his waist and crossed over the back. Just like-
“This position is rather… familiar” the husky whisper broke through the sudden onset of feelings and thoughts as you met his gaze.
The darkness of the irises and the boundless depths of desire you found there providing the missing piece in the puzzle. The heat turning up a notch. Unable to break the eye contact, you watched in fascination as Neil seemed to consume you on the spot. His pupils widened, betraying the feelings reigning free over his mind as he contemplated the very next move. Frozen, you could only wait helplessly, feeling the well-known tension rise, causing havoc in your head. Still, what he chose to do next, caught you off guard.
He leaned in and captured your lips in an eager kiss, easily stealing away the breath and distracting you from anything else in the whole world. As you opened your mouth for him without hesitation, Neil used the moment to strike. His tongue caressed yours in exact opposition to the way his hips jutted forward, creating friction. The surprising ploy, drawing out a gasp and making you break the kiss with a telling hiss. The answering mischievous smirk the only warning before he did it again, rocking his body forward against yours, upping up the temperature, and making the warmth pool in your lower stomach instantly. The wetness, collecting on your underwear and sticking to the skin in an impulse you could not control.
“Jesus, Neil- You can’t just-” frustration poured out in incoherent sentences as you fought for sanity.
He, naturally, took that as the cue to up his game. The deadly smile was the last thing you saw before he bowed down, tongue darting out to lick down your neck and then cover the space with kisses. A groan escaped through your lips as you grabbed onto his biceps in search of support. A logical part of the brain told you to stop the madness (and drag him to your room to continue), but that voice could be barely heard through the overwhelming haze. More kisses, teeth grazing over the skin, hands slipping underneath your top, and using the lack of bra to cause more drama.
The added touch onto your breasts was what defeated the sanity and caused you to roll your hips against his, matching up the tempo in the frantic attempts at getting something out of it.
“Fuck” heaving out the curse, you could not stop the moan caused by Neil sucking on your pulse point below the ear.
All the reasons against continuing something this good disappeared one by one. The synced-up movement, making you breathless within seconds. The arousal, seeping through the underwear, only increasing with the way you could feel Neil react to it as well. The telling signs of his lust rubbing off against your crotch upon every thrust. Getting ever harder to ignore with sounds breaking up the forgotten sparring soundtrack.
“That good?” Neil’s question dripping with need as he rasped out the words upon your hungry kiss stolen in the moment of eagerness.
No point in holding back now. Grasping onto his chin to stop him from distracting you with yet another trick, you made sure to show the extent of want raging in your veins:
“It would be without all the bloody clothes in the way” piecing the sentence, you huffed with dissatisfaction.
Because after something like this, you wanted him. No, needed him. Anything to finally release the tension and catch the high. Because, as you began to discover, it was too easy to get addicted to him. To the pleasure, he always seemed happy to give you. To being wanted and needed like never before.
Even now, Neil seemed entranced, eyes searching your face for something. Whatever he needed, you delivered with the want in the unguarded look, for he grinned and nudged your nose with his.
“I like seeing you this needy, darling” choosing no mercy whatsoever he stole yet another hungry kiss.
All the while keeping up the friction. As if you could ignore the feelings building up for a minute longer.
Using the opportunity, you caught his bottom lip between your teeth and tugged at it with force. Drawing out blood and groans. A punishment. To strengthen the effect, you made sure to tangle your fingers in his hair, imposing light pressure. Enough to make him suffer a little more, but not as bad as to make him more predatory. That was another thing learned in the past days. You were right Neil had a hair thing. And using it right could work to your advantage. With satisfaction, you broke the kiss and watched as he opened his eyes, unfocused gaze and shallow breaths giving the needed bravery.
“Bastard,” you whispered and used his moment of hesitation to initiate the retaliation.
The answering smug smile giving more reasons to push on with the plan. With the full attention provided, you slowly licked your lips. A trick that always worked, making Neil stare with that same look of starvation hidden in his eyes. It was the confidence you were seeking to hook your leg around his and find the impetus to complete the switch in one smooth attempt.
It worked. You comfortably straddled his lap, pinning him to the floor. Only a shocked gasp told you he caught up with the change. You met his gaze smugly, using the new position to run your fingers up and down his chest, light teasing included in the act of vengeance. The answering groan more than gratifying, making you even happier to give him the taste of his own medicine and roll your hips forward.
“I like this new development,” Neil breathed out the comment, hands settling on your hips, “You know what, though? I’d love to see you snap one day. Get annoyed by my antics and punish me” it was the way he said it that made you freeze with one hand already underneath his shirt.
As though it was exactly what he wanted. Interesting…
“Is that what you’re into?” arching one eyebrow, you trailed your nails over the skin on his chest.
Watching the goosebumps with fascination. The light bruises on the sides reminding you of the morning the day prior and the sudden passion that resulted in marks all over your bodies.
“I’m into you, but yes,” Neil observed you with strange pensiveness, “Even a man like me needs to be dominated from time to time,” the challenge in his eyes already inspiring scenarios within your mind.
“That can be sorted then” you winked and used that moment to stand up, leaving him on the floor with mouth open wide.
Perfect. Grinning, you brushed off the dust from your clothes and strode over to the speaker, ignoring Neil pointedly. Only an exasperated sigh told you he managed to pick himself up. Using the towel, you wiped off the remains of sweat from your brow and turned back to him with a neutral expression:
“I’ll go shower,” you quickly eyed him, taking in the ruffled hair and flushed cheeks, “I’d ask you to join me… but I don’t want to traumatise anyone using the communal bathroom for that” a meaningful look making sure he understood.
The slight double-take all the needed confirmation. Neil swallowed hard, as though the suggestion was enough to make the images appear before his eyes. But then he flashed you a confident smile.
“Fret not once we’re back home, we’ll catch up on that. I’ve got that spacious shower for a reason,” a tiny shrug as though to make you remember.
Right. Another thing to add to the bucket list, no doubt. However, for now, you were not done with the taunting. He did deserve it.
“I see… do you often use it for those kinds of purposes?” draping the towel around your neck, you strolled towards him with an inquisitive look.
Another shrug. Hands reaching out to be placed on your waist and to draw you closer, keeping that one metre of space just for show. His eyes searched yours with feigned nonchalance before responding:
“Not really. But with you, I want to change that up a little. After all, I’ve got to convince you that having sex with you is wonderful,” followed with a nose nudge and a smirk.
For once, there was no shyness. Mirroring his moves, you put your hands on his sides, thumbs slowly stroking the hipbones, pulling him closer. Once your bodies were flush against each other, you grinned:
“Mutually” and then, upon noticing the well-known beat coming from the speaker, “One might even say you’ve brought the sexy back” a wink, using the lack of inhibitions in the air.
The answering gaping mouth and eyes widened in shock were good enough indicators that whatever this mood was, it should continue. After a second of confusion, Neil started laughing hysterically, collapsing against you with ease:
“… Jesus Christ,” he choked out the words, drawing you into a skewed hug if only to preserve the closeness.
The sudden outburst of happiness was not controllable even if you wanted. Giggling quietly, you waited for him to calm down, running your fingers up his back in a soothing manner. Once his laughs eased, you whispered:
“Sorry, blame that on JT” an apologetic shrug followed with a chaste kiss pressed to his temple.
The cheerful sparks in his eyes, telling all you could need to know. Thanks, universe.
“No, I love it” Neil’s words brought you back to the present moment as he took your hands in his “I love you,” the sincere confession breaking up the ridiculous atmosphere with tenderness.
“You better” your smile widened as you squeezed his hands in a non-verbal response.
It was only once you were heading out of the room, after at least three passionate kisses and some more infatuated gazing, that Neil chose to pick up the abandoned line of teasing.
“Make sure to think of me during your shower” you turned around, mouth open wide “For inspiration. I’ll be waiting” there was no mistaking the look in his eyes or the intentions behind it.
There was nothing left to do but walk out with cheeks burning red and head too empty to do anything but what he proposed.
For a good purpose, as the afternoon then showed you.
***
With the night falling on the last day before the fourteenth and the battle, you could feel the internal darkness creeping with every passing hour. By the early bedtime, there was nowhere to hide. Laying on the bed and waiting for Neil to come back from his shower, you could do nothing but stare at the ceiling blankly. Thousands of worries, questions, and scenarios multiplying in your head, threatening to steal away the remains of peace. It felt as though the curtain has fallen over your blissful days, leaving nothing but uncertainty. Because God knows what would happen at Stalsk. The plan was one thing, perfect execution - a different one.
With lungs failing to expand properly you considered getting up and marching outside to let the cold air give you something else to worry about. That is when the door to your cabin finally opened, and Neil walked in. A sight for sore eyes personified. Mindless of your struggles, he sent you a smile before placing the morning outfit on the chair. It became a ritual of sorts, with him bringing back the change of clothes to prolong the waking up period and stay in bed with you. Despite the anxiety rising exponentially, you could not help but smile at the tradition upheld on the eve of the battle. You watched in silence as he took off trousers and placed his phone on the bedside table. It was only once he sat down on the bed and faced you with fondness in his eyes that you knew the act of staring has been caught.
“Alright?” Neil reached out and tipped your chin to make sure you could not hide.
Gently his fingers caressed your jaw and down the neck, soothing the nerves and asserting his presence. You leaned into his touch and whispered the white lie:
“Yeah…” desperate to extend the bliss even a second longer, you joked lightly, “Was beginning to worry you’ve decided to ditch me tonight” shifting forward, you rested your forehead against his.
Closing your eyes and letting the feeling of being wanted envelope you in its sweet embrace.
“You wish,” the tint of joy in his voice adding on to the perfection of the moment, “There’s no getting rid of me that easily” Neil tucked the hair behind your ear, stroking your temple slowly in the process.
It felt almost unreal to have someone love you like that. So carefully, yet with a passion that did not seem to wane. The only thing left was to believe it. And let your feelings lead the way. You opened your eyes to find Neil staring back with the softest of smiles gracing his features. That was enough to whisper back the answer:
“What a shame,” and capture his lips in a hungry kiss.
Knowing the moves by heart, you have tangled your fingers in his hair and opened the mouth to deepen the kiss. It was always too simple, an act of devotion and a drug you could not imagine giving up. Each brush of his tongue against yours bringing sparks of electricity and pleasure, a promise of so much more only waiting to be taken.
Without breaking up the contact, you shifted to lie on top of Neil, stealing small pecks interrupted with smiles and sighs. Not knowing what bliss feels like, you assumed it must be like this. Because nothing seemed to come close to the feeling of being loved and wanted by him. To feeling the steady heartbeat as you pressed up against him in the closest of embraces. To having him grin against your mouth, interrupting the kisses with happy giggles, and stroking your back underneath the shirt in a simple act of tenderness.
It was once you felt his touch tread onto that well-known territory bridging the line between want and intimacy that you leaned back to meet his gaze. Slight confusion found in the blue eyes as you fell back onto your side and took his hand in yours:
“Can we… not do this tonight?” the tentative whisper broke the silence as your nerves spoke up again.
Because despite never having enough of Neil, tonight you wanted something innocent. Something easy. Asking for it felt almost wrong as if it could be too much. With the countless worries anchoring within your mind, you focused all your attention on studying his hand attentively. The thin scars scattered across the skin. Neatly trimmed fingernails and elegant fingers betraying the sensitive nature of the man you loved without any inhibitions. Neil as always noticed the sudden shyness, for he kissed you on the forehead before answering:
“Of course,” the affirmation given without a stutter, as he retracted his palm from underneath your clothes, “What do you need?” with the free hand cupping your cheek, he forced you to meet his gaze again.
Concern and affection. All the needed encouragement to speak your mind. To reach out for everything he wanted to give you.
“Hold me, please,” forcing out an uncertain smile, you wound your arms around his waist, snuggling in to find the perfect position.
But it was not enough.
“How do you want me?” the question asked with the glimmer in his eyes that told you he remembered the night from London.
Months ago, while also something that has not happened yet. Linearly, that is.
“Closer” this time, the answer could not have been simpler.
Neil accepted it with a hint of a smug smile as he pulled you close. Spreading his legs for yours to fit in-between. Hips flush against each other, heartbeat synced. Hands clinging to the warmth of your skin, his lips pressed against your temple. No inch of space left. Exactly as you needed.
With the brain strangely quiet, you breathed in his scent, letting the reality catch up. Yours. The soothing warmth of the embrace and solidity of his body underneath your fingertips making you feel safe. Even if only for the moment.
A short moment? Prompted by the harsh reminder of time running out mercilessly, you tensed and splayed your hand over his heart. A clear signal for Neil to tighten the hold and nuzzle your temple. Waiting for the words to come spilling out of your heart.
And they did.
“I- There’s so much goddamn noise in my head, and it’s beginning to drive me mad” after finishing the sentence breathlessly, you hid your face in the crook of his neck.
Smelling the bergamot and hints of your perfume, increasing the love held within your system. Following the instincts, Neil started running his fingertips up the curve of your spine, giving you something to focus on. The steadiness of the movement grounding you back in the present.
“It’s okay, I’m here,” the soft tone melting the edges of sharp blades penetrating your mind with anxiety, “I can’t stop the thoughts, but I’ll make sure you know I’m not going anywhere,” confirming the meaning, he took hold of your hand lying on his chest and laced the fingers.
Another way of showing support. Of letting you believe your luck. Nothing left but to press a kiss to his neck and whisper:
“Thank you… We’ll be alright, won’t we?” the question forcing itself on your tongue.
Because it was all that mattered. For you and Neil to survive. To have time to love each other. But… tomorrow is promised to no one. The counterarguments preparing to strike with force as they assembled at the bottom of your heart. You could die tomorrow. That was a fact, as true as the knowledge that the world could end. The bomb could go off. This could be the last moment of peace you would have. And there was no way of knowing whether it was. The fear creeping in with nothing to stop it.
“I hope so,” as though sensing the growing unease, Neil raised your joined hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles.
You need not look at him to know what you would find in his beautiful eyes. It was the knowledge of feelings reciprocated that gave you the courage to speak the truth. To reassert what he already knew. Just because it could be the last time.
“Earlier today, after we’ve… I’ve realised that… I’ve never been more in love,” stumbling through the sentence, you whispered the confession against his skin, “And I don’t want it to end” a deep breath to gain back the momentum “I need you, Neil. You’re everything I have…” you faltered, feeling tears blur the edges of your vision.
As if your heart knew something you did not. As if being this vulnerable was the trigger you were seeking. There was much more you could tell him, but no words were found for it. Instead, you felt the embrace tighten as Neil kissed the tip of your ear tenderly.
“We’ll be alright, my love,” the endearment getting lost in the quietest of sniffles “I’ll make sure of it” he hesitated, the edge of your breakdown impacting him too with the emotions betrayed in every syllable, “And I don’t know if it needs saying, but… You’re my everything too. I’m not going to give up on us,” the definitive promise offering all the strength for you to raise your head.
Tears shining in your eyes as your gazes met. Worth fighting for.
***
The feeling of safety gave way to worries not longer than an hour after you finally gave in to sleep. Gasping, you opened your eyes in a flash after a particularly terrifying and confusing nightmare full of inverted rounds and ticking bombs. Blindly you rolled over to the side where you would usually find Neil, only for your hands to clutch at nothingness. Shit. The realization working better than any alarm clock as you sat up and turned on the lamp.
Empty room. Darkness outside. Neil’s phone left by the bed. Next to it a piece of paper torn out of a notebook:
“Couldn’t sleep. Find me on the bridge if you need me. Yours, N.”
The initial tugged on your heartstrings as you quickly made up your mind. It was only past one. And there was hardly any chance of going to sleep now. Without him by your side and with the brain haunted by terrifying dreams. You stood up and quickly got dressed in the hoodie he left the day before and joggers.
The moment you stepped outside the cabin corridor, the silence and cold hit you with their starkness. Usually, at this hour, the icebreaker would be alive with the sounds of the crew and troops getting ready for the night. There would be groups chatting in the mess or the galley. Soldiers catching late-night sparring sessions or betting on who would get more bullseye shots at the shooting range. Not tonight, though.
Without stumbling upon a single soul, you walked over to the bridge. Cold hands clutched together in the hoodie pocket. Untangling only to deal with the zip by the airlock.
Once you crossed the threshold, you knew you were in the right place. The silence finally interrupted with voices. Most importantly, with the sound of Neil explaining something in those soft tones that always brought you peace. The darkness of the room enlightened by the single fluorescent above the empty table. Kat was sat in the chair opposite him, focused on what he was saying. As you took off the oxygen mask with a quiet sigh, they both turned to you. Neil brightened up in a flash, a soft smile lightening up his face as he reached out for your hand. You sent Kat a shy nod as you let your boyfriend pull you down onto the sofa:
“Hello,” she grinned, giving you both a satisfied once-over.
The echo of the conversation you had the day before ringing out in the spaces between words. Nothing left but to relax into the pillows and give them both an apologetic shrug:
“Hi… Hope I’m not interrupting” you watched as they shared an amused look, followed by Kat getting up to make tea.
You knew instantly what this was. A moment of privacy.
“Never” Neil’s voice made you turn to him only to see the affection pouring out from his gaze.
Gently he took hold of your ice-cold hands and warmed them up between his palms with care. It was too easy to feel the love fill your chest again. As if switched back on whenever Neil was nearby. Somehow the darkness felt less frightening with him by your side. After a beat, you answered the unasked question:
“I woke up without you, and…” trailing off, you looked at Kat pouring water from the kettle into the mugs.
She seemed entirely focused on the task, mindless of your conversation. Using the encouragement, you moved closer to Neil and captured his lips in a quick kiss. He responded instantly, placing his hand on your cheek to draw you nearer and take whatever you wanted to give him. This time, because of company, the contact ended in a happy sigh a few seconds later as you pressed your forehead against his for a moment. Just enough to share a look of love and a shy grin. Hearing the unmistakable sound of teaspoon clanking in the mug, you leaned back, away from him yet keeping your hands locked in the space between you on the sofa.
“Sorry. I couldn’t fall asleep and didn’t want to wake you. So, I came here and stumbled upon Kat,” Neil explained, breaking the silence and acknowledging the other woman with a sympathetic nod.
Using that line as her cue to turn back to you, Kat handed you both warm mugs. Only a grateful grin could be given before you took a sip and let the tea melt the remains of ice that settled in your chest. With the comfortable silence setting in, you asked:
“Nerves?” giving the woman a quick once over, it was easy to determine that she too has been struggling with the night-time demons.
The shadows under her eyes, hands clutching tightly at the mug as if to find comfort in the warmth it provided. Making you appreciate the hand holding yours even more than you deemed possible.
“Yeah,” Kat swallowed hard, her gaze focusing on the darkness outside “Suppose it’s nothing for you, in a business like this but… I’ve never had to deal with a world-ending situation. Let alone have it depend on me. Partially” she finished the confession with eyebrows knitted together.
“In truth… neither did I” Neil leaned forward, the sombre look in his eyes settling on Kat, “Sure there were some missions of a bigger caliber than a few boxes of inverted artillery smuggled across Scotland… but nothing exactly like this” hiding grin caused by his answer, you took a longer sip of tea.
There was something incredibly true about him at this moment. Discussing the topics of deadly nature yet adding jokes and anecdotes to keep you all that one step away from despair. Tightening the hold over his hand, you added:
“The grand plan,” murmuring the words you once heard TP say, you reflected, “I bet my uni professors would never quite believe it if I told them that this is where international relations got me” feeling Neil’s gaze, you turned to look at him.
A crooked smile and hair falling into his eyes. Perfection.
“More like fate,” he countered, thumb running over your knuckles absentmindedly.
Biting down on your lip to stop yourself from grinning too widely, you nodded:
“That too,” or I’d like to believe it is.
After a beat, you both faced Kat again, only to encounter her knowing smile, curling the lips with a sharp edge of steel. Then her expression softened as though realising the reality once again.
“Are you scared? Of having to do this… together?” it was the hesitancy that helped you understand the meaning.
You knew Neil caught up too, for her moved an inch closer. Shoulder to shoulder, knees touching. No unnecessary gaps. Together. Just when you thought of answering her question, Neil cleared his throat:
“A little… It’s like… on the one hand, I’m glad we’ll be on the same team, as then I can keep an eye on you” he gave you a little shoulder bump as if to accentuate the addressee, “But then I’ve always been warned about being emotionally compromised during missions. Trouble is I’ve been compromised like that for months, at least” an apologetic shrug to complete the sentence.
He was not even looking at you. Yet, it was too easy to understand what he meant. An excuse for the warmth to settle in your heart again. Months. More reasons to keep fighting for the future.
“Sorry,” returning the nudge, you frowned, “On my side, ever since you came up with this idiotic idea to deal with the lock, I knew I’d follow. Because there’s no way in hell, I’d let you do it alone. But, as you say, the element of emotional compromise is there. God knows I’m terrified of whatever might happen,” the ramblings only stopping because you have run out of breath, “It’s like… when you’re young, and you want to change the world. Sometimes you even begin to believe that it’s going to be your purpose. To be the hero and save the day. But most people grow out of that and never even get the chance” ending the observation, you noticed the two pairs of eyes focused on you.
Kat’s light blue gaze, staring wistfully, nothing but understanding and melancholy. As if whatever you said triggered something deep within the confines of her heart. As if she was grateful.
Neil looked as though he could not quite believe you existed. As though your words made him fall even harder. And then he shook himself awake again, clutching your hand tightly.
“But we do” he nodded lightly, offering support should you need it.
Letting you know that the fate of the world was not only on your shoulders. We. That pronoun again. In response, you could only give back the voice to those things that you still wanted to share with them:
“Yes, exactly. And the child that still occupies parts of my heart… she’s excited to be the hero. While grown-up me is just terrified of the stakes” staring at the dark horizon, you noticed quietly, “Never did I dream of saving the world from an inverted atomic bomb-”
“-Well, actually-” Neil interjected with his picture-perfect, MA in Physics tone, making you roll your eyes affectionately.
Idiot. You exchanged an exasperated grin with Kat before stopping him from starting up a lecture about the details of the Algorithm with a hand clamped over his mouth.
“Shut up, mister smarty-pants” your smile widened at the shocked look in his eyes before you lifted your hand and continued, “But at the same time it makes sense… sort of” faltering, you looked around the space looking for something else to say.
“I know what you mean. I never expected any of this to happen to me, but now that it did… I guess I should’ve seen it coming” Kat had your back, agreeing with your words with the same sense of apprehension in her voice.
It was easy to tell what she meant. The guilt entirely unnecessary yet unavoidable for someone this good. Your need of protest got cut short by Neil:
“Kat, don’t blame yourself for not knowing what Andrei is doing. None of that is your fault” upon her pained look he gave her a reassuring smile to confirm the sentiment.
“It’s easier said than done… but thank you” she offered him a weak attempt at a smile and then looked at you with sparks in her eyes, “You got yourself quite the catch there,” a tiny nod in the direction of the blonde man.
Indeed. Unable to stop the happiness rising in your chest, you countered her look with a smug grin of your own:
“I know” ignoring the blush spreading across Neil’s cheeks, you patted him on the head, “He’s incredible,” an appreciative look at your boyfriend and the free hand placed on his knee.
That woke him up.
“He? I’ve got a name, you know,” the feigned spitefulness making a giggle rise in your throat.
Neil glared at you, the act only betrayed by the very way the corner of his mouth curled up, disrupting the frown. Forcing a poker face, you chose to just go for it:
“Yes, and it sounds as though you were English pensioner spending days playing bingo on Malta,” the slight delivered perfectly.
Gratification instantaneous, with Kat laughing hysterically in the background as you observed Neil’s reaction. He froze mid inhale, eyes widened, showing nothing but confusion. And then his mouth opened to choke out:
“…what the-” before he could get to the expletive of choice, the sound of the zip lock interrupted him with abruptness.
Before either of you turned to check who the newcomer was, you met Neil’s bewildered gaze and shrugged. Squeezing his knee as addition and lifting your hand to make the position a little bit more neutral.
“I see it’s not just me who can’t sleep” Wheeler’s voice ringing out in the room made you turn to look at her.
Stood by the entrance, she gave you all an assessing look. Somehow her appearance felt right. Another grounding voice against the rising unease and panic. Someone to pull you back down from the anxious high horse.
“No rest for the wicked” Neil seemingly got over the previous paralysis, for he offered the woman his best rendition of a devilish smirk and threw his arm over the back of the sofa.
Hand landing perfectly by your shoulder. Simple intimacy.
“What’s on the agenda?” Wheeler strolled across the room to sit on the chair by the table.
Dark gaze nonchalantly slipping over the two of you on the sofa. She was never the one to comment on what she observed, but the way she looked at you was enough. The label was painted in the cheeky smile, hidden in the corner of her mouth. Lovebirds. Somehow you knew that at some point, you would be cornered and made to tell the story with necessary details. If only so that she would have digs in the arsenal of sarcasm at a ready. Ignoring the desire to run away, you answered the question:
“Mostly discussing how strange it all is. You know, us of all people, getting a chance to be the heroes” sensing the apprehension rise again, you added, “I feel like if they knew their fate is down to us… they’d be terrified,” a chill running up your spine.
Suddenly uncomfortable, you inched closer to Neil, using his raised arm to lean into his side and find solace. He understood the intent in a second and pulled you nearer, shooting you a quick concerned look. Questions were no doubt coming after.
“And I wouldn’t blame them,” Wheeler agreed with your grave statement with the usual pensiveness, “Normally I don’t get this jittery before missions… but this one feels more important” she stared at the horizon, lost in thought.
With the anxious thoughts waiting around the corner, you searched your head for anything to light up the mood. A stupid joke or a snide comment. But there was nothing.
“Like something could go wrong?” Kat interrupted your train of thought with the simple question.
Alarmed, you looked up to notice the two women exchange a tense look. It really could go wrong. The worst type of wrong.
Neil sensed the way you stiffened, for he pressed his lips to your temple and gave you a quick kiss. His hand tightened the hold over yours, increasing the feeling of being protected. Got you. As always.
You barely noticed when the airlock opened again. Or when another person walked into the room and took off the oxygen mask.
“What’s all this then?” Ives looked around with the eyebrow raised pointedly.
With the whirlwind of emotions, the only thing left to do was to plant your face in your palms, groaning loudly. What the fuck.
Feeling the questioning gazes of everybody else, you slowly raised your head and asked the soldier with blatant tone:
“Could you be any more British?” a mirrored arched eyebrow for the additional effect.
Maybe he was the distraction you needed. The final piece in the puzzle.
No bullshit taken as Ives grinned and gave you the showpiece bow borrowed from The Crown.
“Top of the morning to you, luv” straightening, he raised his hand to tip off the invisible top hat.
The snicker coming from Neil was the only response you ever needed as you rolled your eyes and hid your face in his chest. No point in pretending.
“Couldn’t sleep?” stroking your back slowly, Neil asked the question.
You appreciated how he accepted your sudden need to be comforted. With the careful touch running up your spine, gently scratching the skin, your thoughts slowed down to an acceptable white noise.
“Yeah. The bunk beds are fucking awful, and I’ve no one to cuddle me” it was the neutral way he said it that made you break out into a violent laugh.
The kind when it is increasingly harder to catch your breath, yet the lightness permeating the chest makes everything worth the aching diaphragm and tears running down the cheeks. You heard Kat follow suit, the light giggles bringing hope you wished to find in the darkness of the night.
“Sorry mate, I’m taken,” Neil shrugged, gesturing towards you.
From the comfortable position, you could make out the smirk on Ives’s face as he threw the remark:
“Traitor,” he sat down on one of the empty chairs and noticed, “Anna will be heartbroken, mind you” a passing glance at the two of you snuggled on the sofa.
At the reminder of the receptionist, you sighed heavily. Because yeah, sure, there was nothing to regret in the best turn your life could have taken. But spiteful looks and cold treatment from Anna were not on the list of things you wanted to keep on experiencing.
As if following your line of thoughts, Neil waved his hand dismissively:
“Oh, she’ll get over it,” you grinned at the hint of irritation in his voice, “Plus, it’s not like I’ve ever promised her anything… Not my fault this one came along and stole my heart,” placing his palm on your thigh, he gave you a loud smack on the forehead.
You raised your head in time to see Ives look as if he was close to getting sick on the floor. For once, you could not blame him.
“Dramatic much,” glaring at Neil, you bopped him on the nose with a poker face.
The only sign he noticed was the deepening state of perplexion visible in his blue eyes.
“Who’s Anna?” Kat’s innocent question was the one to throw you out of the strangest conversation and back into the present moment.
Exchanging a glance with Neil, who shrugged as though permitting you to share the tale, you began. Right where it started for you, with the flirting over the admission papers on that first afternoon. Omitting the more private details of your story, and with Neil’s help with the background, you have managed to entertain her with the account of all things Anna. By the end, Kat was looking at you both with eyes wide and cheeks wet from laughing.
It only got better with Ives and Wheeler contributing to the discussion with tales from the past and anecdotes of their missions long before you came into the picture.
When the silence finally fell again, it was less charged with tension. Sipping a second cup of tea, you rested your head over Neil’s chest, comfortably curled up and content.
“What do you want to do after this?” Wheeler asked the question after a beat with a smile on her face.
Nothing needed clarification. An attempt at making the morning seem less daunting. A spark of hope for after – the magical space where you desperately wished to find yourself already.
“Go to a pub and get pissed” Ives grinned from over the rim of his mug, devilish sparks lightening up his blue eyes.
Too tired to react, you chose to sigh heavily and catch Wheeler’s bemused glare as she scoffed:
“How typical” she rolled her eyes and smiled at you as though sharing a private joke.
Men.
“I was planning to invite you along, but now I’m not so sure” the solder cut back with a feigned sulk.
“I’d rather catch up on all those missed boxing classes,” the retort coming without a second missed, causing a giggle to rise in your throat.
Who knew team banter would be the cure for all ails?
That and the steady embrace, holding you close with hands resting on your knee and waist. Letting you know that no matter the future, he was there. All yours.
“Boring,” Ives murmured the response lowly, earning shooting daggers from his second in command.
You felt Neil chuckle as he rested his chin on the top of your head, observing the conversation silently. Your eyes fell upon Kat, a little separated from the idiotic narrative that overwhelmed the four of you. Suddenly feeling a wave of sympathy towards her, you asked:
“What about you, Kat?” as your eyes met, you sent her a small smile.
“I want to go home to Max and finally live my life without that fear of Andrei lurking in the shadows behind my back,” the candid answer whispered almost shyly, “Sorry, I’ve made it all dark-” she added, looking at the rest of you with panic.
Before you could jump in with reassurance, Ives spoke up:
“It’s alright,” he countered her embarrassed look with a stone-cold resilience, “I offer to shoot that fucker on sight if he somehow comes out of this alive” a shrug to complete the proposal.
The genuine grin on Kat’s face was unmissable.
“Appreciated” she nodded curtly as if to mask the initial reaction.
Before you could ponder on it for too long, Wheeler broke the silence again:
“Neil?” her gaze slipped over you once again, the smirk still hiding on her lips.
You felt him raise his head, tightening the hold over your waist as if it was necessary. And then…
“What I want to do is between me and my girlfriend,” the cheeky undertone making you blush instantly and slap him across the knee in an ill-fated attempt at chiding.
That spark of curiosity not easily diminished, however. You made a mental note to ask him as soon as you were alone what that meant. Because, admittedly, doing things with Neil was the height of your wishes too. And most of those were best kept private.
“Thank fuck”
Ives’s candid reply brought you back to the moment in time to hear Neil add:
“-But… I just want to go on holiday. Spend at least a week without stress and the weight of the whole world on my back. And maybe visit my parents… it’s been way too long” the melancholic tone did not get unnoticed despite the panic that crept up your spine.
Following the basic instincts, you lurched forward to be able to look at him. There was no mistaking that confident expression.
“Should I begin to worry? Because ‘meeting the parents’ sounds… official,” you whispered the word with apprehension.
Yes, that sort of thing was probably expected, given how serious he was. But still. The fear of making an idiot out of yourself in front of Neil’s family enough to trigger the anxiety once more. Somehow it sounded worse than dying in the Siberian shithole tomorrow.
With the tense silence that fell, you could almost hear the way the rest of those present were staring at the two of you with curiosity.
“We are official” Neil reached out to brush away the hair falling into your eyes, “We’ll talk about it later. After,” the soft smile administered perfectly, cutting through your worries in an instant.
Maybe you could survive it. Maybe.
“So… Y/N?” at the mention of your name, you looked up at Wheeler.
Right. Diplomatic, subdued answer it is.Somehow it got easier to find the words with Neil’s hand resting on your knee again.
“Holidays would be nice, certainly” stealing a glance at your boyfriend, you exchanged an excited grin, “And maybe some time to walk around London, appreciate life… I don’t know I think I miss the mundanity. Getting coffee on my way to the lecture; visiting random shops and browsing the shelves just because I could. No inverted bullets, no timey wimey bullshit” with the spite thrown in, you left out a long exhale.
That life seemed so far away now. Almost like something out of a dream, rather than your reality before Neil and Tenet. While you would never wish for anything but your current circumstances, sometimes you missed the normality. The lack of danger waiting upon every corner. No necessity to consider fatal sacrifice in the name of love. Normalcy.
“Think you two have travel agency visit booked,” Wheeler commented, looking between you and Neil with a knowing smile on her lips.
Using the most basic of gravitational pulls, you turned to face Neil with a hopeful look. With how close you were seating, only inches of space left between your faces. Despite the tiredness and insomnia, he was utterly stunning, taking your breath away within seconds. A part of your brain wanted nothing but to press your lips against his, mindless of the audience. As though using the same wavelength, Neil glanced at your mouth for a split second, causing a resurgence of butterflies in your stomach. They never seemed to get a rest anymore. Sharing one last long look, you nodded at the unasked question and awaited his response:
“Mhmm… I like the sound of that” another happy grin and a hand grasping yours tightly, “But now, I think we should try sleeping” stifling a yawn, he finished the tea and stood up to wash the mugs.
Using the slightly awkward silence, you jumped up from the sofa and sent the rest of the group a grateful grin:
“Thanks for this… whatever this was” shrugging lightly, you felt a wave of gratitude fill your chest with warmth.
Suddenly the morning felt a little less terrifying. Perhaps for once, you did belong. For once, you were not alone.
“Always up for chatting shit on the eve of the battle” with the bemused smirk on his face, Ives got up and gave you a quick pat on the back.
You only registered that Neil was back by your side when he placed his arm over your shoulder protectively:
“One could even say… that the real treasure is the friends we made along the way” it was the casual way he said it that made you look at him incredulously.
“Is that… Disney?” with your eyebrows knitted together, you tried to find remains of coherence.
Again: what the fuck.
“Maybe,” shrugging, Neil grinned at Ives as if nothing happened.
“Are you regretting your life choices?” the soldier ignored him and stared at you without a shadow of emotion discernible.
With the overwhelming tiredness and brain cells dying one by one, it was easy to choose.
“Maybe,” parroting Neil, you grabbed his hand “You, with me” without protest, you steered him towards the exit, “Think you need rest,”
Just before you could zip up the airlock after the two of you, Ives’ comment broke the silence:
“Take care of each other out there. I want to get an invitation to that wedding” he shot you a serious look, hiding the concern evident in the blue eyes.
Biting harshly on your lip to prevent the sudden need to run back in there and hug him, you raised your hand in mock salute:
“Yes, sir,” a final nod of understanding before you closed the door.
It would be alright. It had to.
#tenet#tenet fanfic#neil tenet#neil x reader#neil tenet x reader#neil tenet imagine#neil tenet fanfic#robert pattinson#the art of inversion
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Pedro Pascal
Character Preferences
How They React to You Saying You Love Them ♡
Warnings: fluff!
Notes: it's gender-neutral
❥ Dave York
This really depends entirely on your relationship prior, and how much he trusts you - which it being Dave, probably is about as far as he can throw you. Even if he loves you back, and knows he loves you, he won’t react well. He’ll think of his kids, the danger he’s putting you in by being with you - he’ll think of everything before finally realizing you don’t care and you love him anyway.
❥ Din Djarin
He’s an adorable idiot. He hears you, but it doesn’t clearly register in his head until you say it again. Then, he’s like a blue windows screen - literally unable to compute. He’s known he loves you - even without thinking the words. He watches the way you are with Grogu and imagines you as a clan of three, yet he didn’t expect you to vocalize it. He says it back quietly - his voice echoing inside the helmet. Then, seeing your face of uncertainty, he says it again, this time louder with the intention of making you know he means it.
❥ Ezra Prospect
He tries his absolute best to not lose his composure, but his smile says it all. He’s loved you for a while now - a lot longer than you loved him, he knew. But he was okay with that, because he loved you the whole time, and he got to watch you slowly fall in love with him too. He watched the words slowly fall more into place during every mission - during every joke he made, every nickname he called you, every obstacle you faced knowing he was there to lean on. He watched the slow-motion feature of your love form and enjoyed every minute. “Oh, moonbeam, you cannot imagine the genuine adoration I hold for you and only you."
❥ Frankie “Catfish” Morales
He kisses you before he even thinks about saying it back. He’s so enthralled in the moment all he can think about is wrapping his arms around you and never letting go. You made him feel things he never thought he’d find. You understood him. You were patient with his issues (especially the ptsd he claimed to not have). You gave him the kind of love he’d choose over anything. Now, he says I love you every chance he gets, and every time he says it, he means it just as much as the time before.
❥ Jack "Whiskey" Daniels
You almost expected a sarcastic comment or cheeky line because that is what Jack always does when there are genuine expressions of heartfelt emotion. It's his defensive mechanism - one he had learned to be very good at. But when you said those three words, he didn't have any deterrence at all. He felt a sincere happiness he had not felt in a long time. "Darlin', you're the love of my life." The words held a greater significance than any response you could have imagined. You spent your relationship trying to compare yourself to his first love, but with those words he granted you all of the reassurance you could have ever needed.
❥ Javier Pena
Terrified - he was undeniably terrified and the expression on his face showed that clearly. He had been thinking of those three little words for a while. He knew how sincerely he felt about you, and he knew if he was going to say those words to anyone, it would be you, but nonetheless, he could not escape his uncontrollable fear of commitment. You reassure him that you do not need him to say it back - that you knew how he felt about you, and if he wasn't ready to say it, that was okay. Later that same night, while you're laying in his arms, he blurts it out. There was no deep conversation attached to it - no profound declaration of adoration - just three simple words and a kiss on your forehead, but you it meant the world to the both of you.
❥ Marcus Moreno
He didn’t think he’d love again after the passing of his wife. He was too afraid to try. But hearing you say the words changed everything. The love he felt for you was unique and incomparable. He watched you with Missy, watching the way you treated her like your own - with patience and trust. He wanted you in his life, and in that moment, he realized he was willing to do anything if it meant waking up next to you every morning.
❥ Max Phillips
Well, there’s the way Max Phillips would react, and there’s the way an AU Max Phillips who actually has a heart would react... so we’ll delve into both because we can. The canon Max Phillips would probably laugh at you. I’m imagining the words “that’s adorable”, and then him trying to fuck you because you just confessed your love - so how could you say no to him now? And our beloved AU Max who only has a soft spot for you... well he’d probably push you away, but for different reasons. He’d hear those sweet words and wonder what possessed him to want to say it back. He wonder what it is about you that made him change his bachelor lifestyle. He’d kiss you passionately - allowing heat to build up before pausing to say it back. He just needed a little encouragement, and a little reminder of what he never wanted to lose.
❥ Maxwell Lord
Success has always been important to him, and in that moment of hearing you say those three little words, he thought he was the most successful man in the world. He didn't know what he did to deserve you, but through everything you stood by his side and encouraged him to grow. He loved you back immensely. You were everything he ever wanted. You had his ambition and fully supported any endeavor he wanted to embark on. When he imagined his pinnacle of success, he imagined you next to him taken care of and happy. He especially loved the way you treated Alistair as your own, always putting his wellbeing ahead of yours. He wanted you to be a part of his family, and he was willing to do anything to get that.
❥ Oberyn Martell
His belief in love was not nearly as intense as most others. He believed love came in many forms with many people. To him, it was less of an expression of commitment or responsibility and more of an elocution of passion. "My little dove, I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you and I will love you until my last dying breath." Of course, his love for you was far more profound than with his other lovers. Even prior to you revealing your sincerity for him, he had already spoken with Ellaria about his amorousness towards you and they agreed to include you in their vows.
❥ Pero Tovar
It is hard for him to understand why you love him. His mind raced with insecurities and hesitations. To him, you were the most alluring person he had ever met. You were sweet and soft and good. He was rough and hardened and damaged. His hesitation caused you concern, but he quickly reassured you. "Hermosa, I do not know why you choose a harsh mercenary like me, but I love you more than you will ever know and I always will."
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character preference#preference#headcanon#dave york#dave york imagine#din djarin#din djarin imagine#the mandalorian#the mandalorian imagine#ezra prospect#ezra prospect imagine#frankie morales#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales imagine#jack whiskey daniels#jack daniels#agent whiskey#agent whiskey imagine#javier peña#javier pena imagine#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#marcus moreno#marcus moreno imagine#max phillips#max phillips imagine#maxwell lord#maxwell lord imagine#oberyn martell
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hello!! may a request an alastor x reader where the reader is charlie’s older sister?!
I am sorry this took a weirdly long time, I had to rewrite it literally four separate times before I had a semi-solid idea for a plot, and this is where it got me
I do sincerely hope you like it!
The Magne Match Maker
She was lucifer's oldest and most powerful daughter, holding a reputation for being a high energy leader who didn't take any shit, and often stirred fear in the hearts of those around her. Everyone in hell knew who she was, Alastor alone had read about her in papers, seen her in paintings and portraits with her family, and even caught a glimpse of her on the picture show once or twice in passing. He found himself knowing of both her and her reputation when they met, so the shock wasn't from her personality or anything of substance - he just hadn't anticipated how much prettier she was in person.
Despite her initial skepticism with his relations to her sister's dreams, she never shunned him, but rather allowed him closer in an attempt to grasp any hidden intentions he had. She allowed him to talk and dance and joke with her like he did with everyone else that allowed him to, and he found that she herself was brilliantly funny, charismatic, and quite the dancing partner, she was bold and fun and all around gorgeous - and Alastor would never admit just how quickly she had him wrapped around her little finger.
Charlie watched it all go down too, from the moment her sister arrived at the hotel she had a premonition about those two, and as the weeks passed their chemistry became more and more undeniable. Her sister, who was usually stubborn and quick witted, seemed to turn to putty in Alastor's hands every time he swept her into a dance, she'd blush and lean into his grip, and has a smile that just wouldn't leave regardless of how much she tried to force any other expression into its place. Alastor himself even seemed hesitant any time he had to remove the demon from his gaze and found that his face flushes against his will any time she'd laugh at his jokes.
This went on for months, both parties infatuated with the other while doing nothing to officialize any sort of relationship.
Charlie had to do something
While y/n had accepted the idea, Alastor was thrilled at the principal of a ball! So many bodies crammed in one room in the midst of an event would surely result in some delicious chaos, and even if there wasn't any, perhaps he could treat himself to a dance with the queen-to-be!
Said demon herself was more excited at the ability to use the event as an excuse to go dress shopping with her little sister (dad had her off on business so often it seemed she never got to see Charlie anymore) it had been a long time since she'd been to a formal event and who better to consult than her! The Magne sisters would surely rule the event with their outfits.
Boy did they, Alastor was stunned when he saw y/n, who entered with Vaggie and Charlie, the three of them were talking and at one point when y/n threw her head back in laughter his long-dead heart seemed to leap back to life. He had never meant to stare, of course, she just completely caught him off guard with her striking appearance. Both Magne sisters wore dresses in the same style with skirts that met the floor with a gold trim, charlie's was primarily black and pink - like her typical outfit, and her sister was wrapped up in her own favorite colors, golden fabric trimming both dresses. He himself was quite dressed up, an old fashioned suit adorning his thin frame (red suited him best, he thought), his bowtie was replaced with a hand-tied bow, and a silken vest showed slightly beneath his coat. Her eyes finally met his after a few moments, and he reveled in the way her cheeks instantly flushed upon seeing him. It wasn't long then, before he approached her for a dance, earning an excited squee from Charlie.
"You are gorgeous as always Ms. Magne, I would be eternally grateful if you'd grant me a dance." He asked sweetly, taking her hand and bowing to press a kiss to her knuckles
Her face flushes even more and she looks to Charlie who nearly shoves her sister into his arms in reply. He is barely fazed, only moving to ensure she was steady before returning to his previous position, "I'd be honored to" she says finally, her words barely leaving her mouth in a breath.
His smile widens and he immediately begins guiding her to the floor where many couples were already moving to a jovial rhythm, proudly showing her off to those who saw, as if staking claim to her right then and there. As usual, she was a wonderful dancer, and he adored every second he had with her in his arms, twirling and spinning her in time with their fellow dancers, even she seemed to be having a blast. He was so caught up in the moment that he barely noticed when the music slowed to the next song and she ended up curled up into his arms with her head to his chest. His left hand gripped her right one gently, and his other hand was held softly to her waist as he led her between the other dancers.
"You have a heartbeat." She observes in a soft voice
“That I do." He hums in a jovial tone, sending a delightful chill down her spine
"My father and mother don't, I have just never heard one before…" she says softly, and her face flushes slightly once again, "I don't know why I brought that up, I was just thinking and I guess I started talking."
He shook his head “Nonsense, I’d love to know whats going on in that pretty little head of yours,” He hummed continuing their soft sway across the floor, “Many people find the sound of a heartbeat to be relaxing, while I have met others who rejected the idea of a demon with a pulse, I’m curious of what your opinion is.” He continued the topic, hoping to keep her talking
“I like it.” she says contently, “I think I could always listen to it.”
Now it was his turn to feel blood rush to his cheeks, and he was silently thankful that she couldn't see his darkened flesh from her angle against his chest
"It's funny how much I disliked you when we first met," she continued, "I'll admit, Charlie is the only reason I let you stick around at all - and it seems that it's because of her that I'm here with you now."
He hummed, "She is quite persistent regarding you and I, isn't she?" He muses, his eyes shining with amusement when she finally picked her head up to see him
"Quite," she says, mirth decorating her features, Charlie was naturally very excitable, but her biggest downfall was her inability to be discreet - she didn't know just how much her proclaimed OTP knew of her set up, and the two of them got quite the kick out of watching it all unfold. "You don't have to listen to her ramblings, mister, I don't wanna hear you complain!" She said with a laugh
"Who said I was complaining? Your sister is quite entertaining, her little matchmaker game is one of the highlights of my days at the hotel!" He replies, "And you, Ma petite chou, play quite the role in that, too. Your smile shines brighter than the sun ever dreamed!"
She makes a face, unable to hide her light blush at his compliments, "I've never seen the sun, Al- and did you just call me a little cabbage?"
He laughs, "It's a term of endearment, chér, the french use it to relate the subject to something small, round, and cute, which you my darling, are." He flirts, that familiar sparkle of amusement manifesting in his eyes once more, "and why have the sun when you exist in this world?"
She rolls her eyes, her cheeks still burning slightly, "Why do you say such things to me? Charlie cannot hear, so there is hardly any cause for you to continue this game."
He seemed confused for a moment, "game? Oh darling, you wound me with your accusation. I may be a demon, but I am a man of my word, and though I admit I have a flair for the dramatic, none of my actions toward you have been anything short of genuine." He confesses, and the look on her face was one of complete shock.
Then in the most amazing twist, an excited smile graced her features
"So you're saying that Charlie is absolutely correct about us and after all of it, you really do like me, and I am the most oblivious being on this plane just like she said."
He blinked, "now I'm not-"
She rolled her eyes again, shaking her head, "shut up and kiss me, you silly cabbage."
He laughed then, humming "as you wish, mon drôle de petit chou" before spinning her about and pressing a sweet kiss to her lips
Before she could even process the situation she was in, she heard her sister squeal in delight at the sight of her parallel to the floor in the radio demon's arms, and she couldn't help the excited smile into Alastor's own at the sound.
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first: some defense for my assumption—azuma just has that like pleasant but also kind of shady vibe around him so like, he could convince me he’d done a murder even if he hadn’t, and then I don’t know everything abt hisoka but the part where he’s like “don’t approach me from behind” totally could have come with the words “...or I’ll kill you” afterwards it’s just the Vibe I get. perhaps itaru is the weakest argument bc all I have going for him in this respect is the gamer rage but like then chikage brings it home bc although I’ve never met him the little I’ve seen from incorrect a3 has convinced me this dude has canonically murdered. anywayssssss!!! let me talk more abt winter troupe lmao is this this first / second thing going to become a pattern?
second: HOMAREEEEEEEE 🥺🥺🥺 I like related so hard w/ his entire like problem and I was like oh.... oh.... this guy cares So Much. yknow and I don’t think it’s like not nothing that this guy just came into the troupe and like immediately committed himself to like helping out hisoka like he just so very clearly Wants to be here... ahhhh. oh I also think it’s fun that everyone in winter troupe are like. Adults. it’s a nice touch that makes them suitable for both the play and the final showdown I think. meanwhile summer troupe def seems to skew the youngest which like, again. also fitting for their plays. I liked how he just left the loupe of sincerity alone after he used it!! like... it was nice of him to make that choice and understand it was a crutch. anyways I’m so excited for their show, I just like checked out the theater version of it and ahh..... now that’s gonna be a fun play in the sort of bawling at tasukus closing lines way....
First: okay i get the feeling (if you have it check Azuma’s backstage for his base SR, SE [About to Bloom] A Lively Home part 1, because Sakyo makes the exact same assumption you do XLKJFDLKFJDF)
For Hisoka i won’t say but yeah he is shady indeed. tbh i was mostly surprised at the assumption for Itaru and Azuma but now that you mention it for Itaru, i get it.
as for Chikage...
“ but like then chikage brings it home bc although I’ve never met him the little I’ve seen from incorrect a3 has convinced me this dude has canonically murdered. “
THE REPUTATION WE’VE GIVEN TO THAT MAN............
Second: yay more winter troupe rambles :3c
AND IM SO GLAD YOU LIKED HOMARE’S STORY I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!! i just genuinely love how the game took a character and told us he had low empathy and still made him the most caring and loyal and LOVING person you could ever get. He loves so muCH, he cares so much, he gives his everything about it, even if he doesn’t understand other people as much as he wishes to, he tries because he CARES and he wants to help and i’m just. so soft about his whole storyline. He’s such a sweet and kind and loving character and it’s so undeniable how much he cares for everyone.
I also really loved that he let the loupe of sincerity behind. It’s like, it was helpful to give him the push he needed but now he managed to make his feelings clearer to his troupe and he knows his troupe cares for him and understands how he might be struggling and so that they’ll be understanding toward him, so now he can try by himself. I just find it so.. so sweet 😭😭
But also big agree on the fact Winter being all adult makes it very nice. It does help with the mature vibes of their plays in general and that can tackle the issues they have with another angle. Plus with their conflict avoidance in general it means that when they raise their walls the rest of the troupe doesn’t especially know how to push to know what to do about this issue (the Homare arc was really an attempt to break that pattern in a way i think) and it makes it more complex to navigate.
Especially when like, compared to Summer who are so earnest in general, like all of them had their walls up too but when someone was being a douche (well. Tenma.) they’d call them out, and most of Summer is all “so we need to address this issue or what.”.
And i do think there’s this sort of parallelism of the earnestness of youth, still growing, still learning, and this sort of maturity of adulthood that also comes with the fact that they have learnt to keep their feelings for themselves and deal on their own.
And it fits their respective troupe’s themes - all of the troupes really, and i love that. I really love the dynamic of Winter in general im just hhhhh
and as you say yeah that helps that therefore Winter is the one who have to take care of the final showdown. Hell just the fact they didn’t have problem with acting but problem with connecting with their feelings, unlike the others troupes, already preparing them for the biggest challenge but forcing them to connect with how they feel and let those emotions shine through. so good.
As for the play OH BOY YEAH.. YEAH. the play is sure something and it’s a TRIP to experience live so i hope you’ll enjoy it when you reach it :3c
Thank you again for sending your thoughts, loving them <3333
Take care :3c
#ichafantalks a3#sonnets-of-beauty#ichareply#also i cannot wait until you reach hiso's arc but *holds breath* this is fine i care a Normal ammount.
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Feels Like This (Part 9)
Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.
A/N: Hello everyone! So I have been on a nice long break from writing over the past month or so, and please believe it was not by choice. I am still feeling a high level of burn out from school and from 2020 in general and I just couldn’t seem to sit down and write. Instead I have been trying to relax and enjoy the end of summer and this beginning of fall. Luckily, this week brought my muse back into focus, and I was able to get more of this chapter on the page that I have been building to for a long time. As I promised, the angst of this story is now behind us, but the intrigue is not exactly over. This chapter shows some still remaining pieces of the puzzle beginning to fall into place. Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and I really hope you enjoy this new installment!
The dreaminess of a Montenarran morning was hard to describe to someone who had never experienced one before. The magic of this place hung in the air, dancing on the coastal breeze and glistening through that perfect Mediterranean mix of sun and spirit. The golden hues that lit up the world here were different than the paler lights Emma and Henry knew back home, and the crystal blue waters were nothing like the Long Island Sound or the harbors in New York.
Other places in this corner of the world must share similar splendor. People loved visiting Spain and Italy and Greece for a reason, and perhaps Emma was merely untraveled and so could not really compare this place to those, but in her estimation she and Henry had yet to face a less than stellar day in this beautiful country. Somehow, through a higher, stronger power, the weather always held, and the mood was always happy. People were calm but vibrant, kind and filled with purpose. It made for a delicious melody of life that pierced the soul with the same humming happiness of a favorite lullaby. This tangible energy was a constant here, and in meant that even a normal walk from one point to another was enjoyable. In short, every day here felt remarkable, and this morning was no exception.
“Do you really think everyone will like my surprise, Mom?” Henry asked, filling in the comfortable silence that hung between them on their stroll from their home to the Center. “I know you said that everyone loves to try new things, but maybe this isn’t as great an idea as I thought.”
Emma turned her gaze from the bustling street they were walking on to her son, who for the first time in a long time looked younger than his years and moderately hesitant. She tried not to chuckle in the face of Henry’s anxiousness, as that would not be kind, but she wished she could tell him just how unfounded his worries were. Henry’s intended surprise for the children at the Center today was going to be well received. In fact, Emma anticipated it would start an institute-wide revolution.
“Believe me, kid, they’re going to love it. They ask me all the time about what things are like in America; the movies, the food, the sports. They’re going to love learning about baseball, I guarantee it.”
Henry nodded, resuming a more assured nature as they continued down the street. He was so cute and determined like this, and Emma wished she could capture this moment in time and freeze it so she could remember it always. In a few years Henry would be a teenager, but for now he was still at that place in childhood where the world was filled with only hope and good and possibility.
In the interest of sharing those good vibes with others, Henry was bringing everything needed to teach the kids about America’s favorite pastime. He carried his whiffle ball bat slung over his shoulder, and a bag of plastic balls in a sack in his other hand. It felt like a miracle to have these silly simple things from home, but to get these items shipped to Montenarro had taken some finessing and plenty of help from Mr. and Mrs. H. It was no exaggeration to say that Mrs. Hubbard had moved mountains for her favorite neighbors in shipping these supplies, and when they finally arrived, they came with the most beautiful note, and a reminder from their dear landlady to soak in every moment and follow their hearts. They’d been speaking with Mr. and Mrs. H each week on Facetime, but these words still made an impact, both for Emma and her son. Now Emma was thrilled to see Henry follow his passion and lead an activity at a place she loved so surely with kids who meant so much to her,
“Do you think Cecelia will want to play?” Henry asked, singling out the child Emma had a special bond to. Henry’s own personal fondness for the little girl rang out in his voice, and the question was sincere and sweet. Over the now many times Henry had come to the center, he had grown attached to Cecelia too, and he was always bringing her into things, even if he spent most of his time with the older kids. Those actions and their bond touched Emma’s heart, and always left her with this ache in her chest like these few moments shared all together were not enough.
“I think Cecelia will do absolutely anything that you deem cool.”
“Yeah, and if we get Killian to play she’ll totally join.” Emma laughed at the undeniably accurate assumption. It was true after all, for as much as Cecelia had bonded to Emma, she’d grown just as close and comfortable with Killian too. It was so good to see how energetic and extroverted she’d become in the last three months. Little Cecelia was truly coming into her own, and growing more confident each and every day.
“Didn’t Killian tell you he would play last night?”
“Oh yeah. He promised me, and Killian never breaks a promise.”
Emma was aware of that and in the two months since they’d had their first date, she had only grown more invested in their relationship because of this tendency. It was insane that it had only been two months, given how much she felt for him, but at the same time they were so lucky to have had all this time without public interruption. For the moment, she and Killian were still keeping things private. No one in the press or outside the bubbles of their little world knew, but at the Center, and on their own time, they never lived in hiding. They saw each other nearly every day, both at work and at his or her home, and Emma had seen Killian on more one-on-one dates as well as outings and evenings with Henry. It had all been so natural that, honestly, Emma was prone to forgetting that he was a prince. To her he was just the man she loved fiercely, who made her feel like anything was possible.
I need to tell him how I really feel soon, she thought to herself as she and Henry made it to the front gate of the Institute.
This was hardly the first time she’d thought this. She had known for some time how she felt and what she wanted, but there were still a few key things that were up in the air. For one thing, her position at the Center, and thus in the country, still had a time stamp. She thought that Marco and Marie may offer her a chance to stay on in a few months, but it was by no means a definite. Also, making such a permanent change would have huge implications for her and Henry. The plan had always been to go back to New York, but if she was transparent with her feelings, Emma could admit that New York no longer felt like home. In a very short time Montennaro had taken root in her and Henry’s hearts and it felt like the place they were always supposed to be.
Then there was also the little matter of Killian’s family, who Emma was told knew of her, but whom she had never met. Even now, she didn’t know how she felt about that. On one hand she was glad that they hadn’t crossed that bridge yet, because meeting his family would no doubt be stressful and have all this weight and expectation. But on the other hand, Emma was really feeling like this was a forever kind of love, and so she had to meet them someday, right?
“Well if it isn’t my two favorite Yankees,” a voice called out from behind the gate. Emma and Henry looked to find Anna who was waiting for them with a huge smile and her hands on her hips. “See what I did there, because baseball. Wait, did I do it right? Elsa, are the Yankees baseball?”
“How should I know?” Elsa joked from across the lawn before gesturing to Emma and Henry. “Ask them.”
“It was a solid pun,” Henry agreed, “But we’re actually Mets fans.”
“Mets?” Anna asked, looking to Emma for confirmation. A soft tug from Henry told Emma to play it cool, so she kept her poker face in check. “What on earth is a Met?”
“It’s another, way worse, baseball team in New York. But don’t worry, I’m just teasing. Yankees all the way.”
“You may look like an angel, Henry, but there’s a rascal spirit in you,” Anna said with feigned huffiness. Now Elsa laughed full out, prompting smiles from the rest of them at her genuine joy.
“Anna should know about rascal spirits; she was chastised for having one by our Grand-mère for years.”
“That’s a fancy way to say grandmother right?” Henry asked eagerly. “Like in that movie with the missing Princess we saw. Anastasia, right Mom?”
Emma nodded, but she couldn’t help but notice the way both of her friends went pale at the mention of the film. Elsa mumbled something about Anastasia technically being a duchess while Anna barked out a quick mention of it being a French custom. What was with her friends and these weird moments any time someone probed about their pasts or lives beyond the Center? Emma didn’t know, but she didn’t have time to linger with the curiosity, for at that moment they made their way inside and were greeted with a swarm of kids, all of them clamoring to see Henry again. Emma laughed outright at everyone’s excitement and said hello to all of the cuties who greeted her too, but before long, her eyes were called across the room, landing on a man she’d been missing for the last 12 or so hours.
“Good morning, love,” Killian said, coming forward and taking her hand before pressing a kiss atop it. It was their little routine now, his way of saying hello when they were surrounded by the kids.
“Long time no see,” Emma said, trying to sound sarcastic but failing miserably. The wry grin that pulled at Killian’s lips made her heart race as he whispered his reply.
“Trust and believe it’s been torture for me too, Swan. But tonight I’ll have you alone once more.”
The promise in his words made her tremble slightly, and she hoped he wouldn’t catch on to how affected she was, but he definitely tracked it, smiling once more and pressing a kiss to her cheek before diving into the morning with the kids. The two of them got caught up in all of it, and having Henry there as well only added to the good times. Unfortunately, they only had about an hour of this bliss before things went off the rails.
It started with a phone call, which was hardly unusual for a placement home, but the call did draw some notice as this was a weekend. Emma wondered if this was an intake request for a new child, but when Marco and Marie departed to take the call, she threw herself back into the morning rush. About five minutes later, however, she watched as both of them emerged with Marie looking pale as a ghost, and even the unflappable Marco looking surprised.
“What do you think is going on there?” Elsa asked, and Emma shrugged, completely unsure. Things only grew stranger when Marco called Killian over to speak with him. Now Emma’s heckles were up. Was everything okay? No sooner had she thought that then Anna appeared, darting from the back hall looking flushed and flustered.
“They’re coming!” Her words were loud and automatically the other adults in the room and a few kids shushed her for the outburst.
“Who’s coming?” Emma and Elsa asked at the same time, quietly inquiring so as not to rile the children.
“Killian’s family.”
“You’re kidding,” Elsa said forcefully as Emma’s jaw dropped. When Anna shook her head, Elsa continued. “Oh my God you’re serious?”
“Heard the whole thing when Marco left the office door open. They’ve just left the castle. King Liam, and the two dowager Queens. It’s about to be a very full, and incredibly fancy, house.”
“Oh my God,” Emma said, her voice more a raw squeak than anything else. Fear began to descend, and her eyes looked at Killian across the room. She expected to see a similar sense of dread or panic, but he was… calm. As in completely and totally unphased.
“Do you think he knew?” Anna asked, obviously seeing the same sense of cool that their resident Prince was donning in this moment.
“No,” Emma said with confidence. “He actually told me last night that he wanted to introduce us all soon. He mentioned the Montecarri festival in a two weeks. He said Henry would love the palace’s party. I didn’t give him a real answer, but…”
“But you were going to say yes.”
“Yeah,” Emma agreed, exhaling a shaky breath. At that moment the conversation between Marco and Killian finished, and immediately Killian’s eyes found hers. Silently they exchanged a mountain of words, and both of them knew they had to touch base, so with a quick goodbye to her friends, Emma moved towards him, finding a quiet alcove away from the others.
“Let me guess, Anna’s somehow heard and told you everything.”
“Pretty much,” Emma said with a nod. “Are you okay?”
“Aye. I’m strangely - I don’t know - relieved? They’ve all been asking me for ages about this place, and about you, I’ve tried to tell them, but nothing compares to the real thing.”
“This will change things,” Emma said anxiously but Killian’s hand came to cup her face in a reassuring gesture she had no choice but to lean into.
“Nothing is ever going to change how I feel about you, love. I won’t lie and say my family isn’t prone to over-involvement, but they’re harmless, and I swear to you they’ll love you. Who could resist loving you, Emma?”
Her heart sped up so much at his words but all she could do was kiss him. It immediately helped ground her and made her feel better, but too over it was soon, as Killian pulled back, still holding her but putting a little distance between them. Her brow furrowed in question until she heard it.
“Hi Mom, Hi Killian.” Henry. Oh thank God Killian had heard him coming. She did not need to be scarring her kid with some hot and heavy, stress-induced PDA. Looking over to her son, Emma noticed Cecelia holding Henry’s hand tight. She looked a little bit unsure, and Emma immediately shifted her focus. Whatever was wrong she wanted to fix it. “We saw you guys head over here. Is everything okay?”
“Aye, lad. Just a bit of a plan change. You know how you asked about when you and your Mum might meet my family?” Henry nodded. This was news to Emma, but she kept quiet, intrigued to watch Henry’s reaction. “Well it turns out they’re coming here today.”
“They are?” Henry asked excitedly. “That’s so cool! I can’t wait to meet them. Maybe they’ll stick around for the baseball game!”
“Mes too?” Cecelia asked, her free hand coming to cover her mouth in a shy gesture that made the words a bit more mumbled.
“Aye, little lass, you too,” Killian said brightly. This prompted a big smile from Cecelia who ran over to Killian and threw herself into him. Instinctively he picked her up, and Emma swore she felt tears in her eyes. God so much was happening right now, but this moment felt especially important.
The next few minutes were filled with Henry’s palpable excitement, and Emma decided to hold onto that as her own apprehension grew. They returned to the main room with the others, who had all been told of their soon to be arriving guests, and the reactions of the children were mixed. They all seemed to be in awe of such an arrival, but all it took was one reminder that these were Killian’s family members, and everyone calmed down. The little boys especially went on and on about how Killian might be a prince but he was mostly their friend. He played pirates with them, and he was their pal, and they had to believe his family must be just as wonderful. Emma would never bring it up, but she watched as Killian wiped away a few stray tears at their compliments. Unknowingly, this had prompted a center-wide affirmation of how much Killian was loved and appreciated, and it was touching to say the least.
Shortly thereafter, a fleet of cars, including a palace limo, arrived and the hush that settled over everyone was instantaneous. There was rarely any quiet in this place, but in this moment the anticipation manifested into total silence. Even the tiniest babies in the home were still and through the window they all watched as Queen Meera, Queen Eleanor, and finally King Liam left the confines of the automobile and headed into the front hall. Marco and Killian were set to greet them, and Emma could see how relieved Marie was to not be part of this welcoming party. Going off of how agitated she was when Killian came the first time, Emma could only imagine the pressure of three royals at once.
“It’s going to be fine, right, Els?” Anna whispered and Emma looked back to her friends. Elsa was currently holding one of the infant babies, a lovely little joy named Ariana who had arrived a few weeks ago. Though she too was agitated, Emma could see Elsa taking comfort in the affectionate baby, and she finally turned her more grounded gaze to her sister.
“Of course it is,” Elsa confirmed. “It was a long time ago, Anna.”
“A lifetime ago,” Anna agreed with a nod. Then she noticed Emma looking at them. She appeared torn between saying more and playing it off like nothing happened, but then Elsa took her hand.
“We can trust Emma, Anna, and we do. We’ll tell her everything when they’ve gone, okay? No more secrets. Not between true friends.”
Anna and Emma nodded at Elsa’s request and then the movement of their guests into the main room called everyone’s attention. Emma had been momentarily distracted from any kind of worry, but now, seeing Killian’s family in the flesh, she was surprised. Oh they were beautiful and regal and poised to be sure, but they were also dressed in a much more approachable way than she’d expected. There were no gowns or crowns or anything like that. They’d clearly made adjustments to come here, and if she didn’t know better, she’d think all of them completely normal people.
They probably are normal, they just live a completely abnormal life, she thought to herself.
It was impossible to not compare this meeting to holiday parade, the first time Emma had seen all of them in person, but immediately it felt like an incomparable set of circumstances. The three people gathered here may be the same, but their sense of approachability was so different. At the precesion they’d been decked out in their finest ensembles, designed to look like royalty who may care for the people, but who ultimately stood apart. Today, they could have been any attractive, well dressed family. Queen Meera and Queen Eleanor especially carried themselves with genuine smiles and eagerness, looking upon the children with affection and excitement. Emma also noticed their continued glances at her and Elsa and Anna, but both women were able to tamp down any outright staring.
King Liam, however was another story. He may not look the part of reining monarch per-se, but his stance was so formal and still a bit too stiff to seem comfortable. He had dressed down for the moment, something Emma was sure he rarely did, and while there was curiosity in his gaze, she wouldn’t say he had the same soft affection for the children. If anything, the King looked intimidated, as if he’d never seen so many little people in one place before. That made Emma’s heart warm to him, but it couldn’t even begin to compare with the next moment that came.
“Hi, Killy’s family,” Cecelia said eagerly, the L’s sounding more like a w in her excitement. In an instant, she stepped away from Henry’s hand with a smile and approached Liam, Eleanor and Meera without fear. They’d all been caught in a kind of quiet moment where no introductions had yet to be made, and Cecelia, it seemed, had no patience for that. She was taking matters into her own tiny hands. “I’s found these for you.”
“Oh my dear, how precious you are,” Meera said crouching low to accept the flower. Emma saw they were all wildflowers from the back way, and she wondered how Cecelia had had the forethought to do this. Then she looked at Henry and she realized this was a joint effort. Damn, her son was as thoughtful and cute as could be.
“Thank you, little one,” Eleanor said happily as she took her flower. “So very kind of you to give us a gift.”
When Cecelia came to Liam and gave him the flower, Emma watched the large man begin to crumble, and a smile formed on his face. Just as with Killian, it was amazing what a smile did for his features. King Liam was handsome already, as Emma expected any man born into this family would be, but when smiling, he looked younger and even more engaging. It felt very much like a rare occurrence, and it brought tears to Emma’s eyes to know Cecelia had faced her own fears to help all of them feel welcome.
From there, Killian accepted a tight hug from Cecelia before introducing them all to his family. The kids, having watched the kindness given to Cecelia, were immediately more comfortable, and just as when Killian first arrived, a sea of questions broke out. But in the midst of that madness, a rather remarkable moment happened. It began with Liam looking at her, and in an instant Emma knew that he knew who she was. They exchanged a nod, an acknowledgement that they’d be better introduced later, but when Liam shifted his focus beside her, his face totally changed. Something like awe and fascination appeared across his features, and Emma looked to see what could be the cause, only to find Elsa with the same starstruck response.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Emma asked Anna and her friend nodded.
“If what you’re seeing is the King falling in love with my sister at first sight, then yeah, I think we’re all seeing that.”
“Anna,” Elsa said, flushing with embarrassment as she turned to both of them. “It’s not love at first sight.”
“I don’t know, Els, unless you guys have met before, I think Anna might have a point.”
Emma didn’t know if it was her insistence that there was some real chemistry sparking, or the insinuation that they’d met before that threw Elsa, but suddenly she was overcome with emotions and was saved by the baby, so to speak, when Ariana began fussing for some food. Never had anyone looked so grateful to escape, which just made things weirder and weirder. Emma looked back to the King and watched as he closely monitored Elsa’s movements. He appeared to be seconds away from following her when Killian grabbed his arm and redirected him to the kids. A tightness came to Liam’s features, but then he relented and joined the larger group. Henry was in the mix there, and Emma felt her heart in her throat. God, she hoped these people could accept her son. Whether or not they liked her meant less to her. The most important thing in her world was Henry.
As if he could sense her worry, Killian chose that moment to step to Henry, his arm on his shoulder as he further introduced him. Emma could hear the introduction of Henry as Emma’s son, and immediately all of Killian’s relatives looked intrigued and excited. Emma noticed that they paid him some extra attention, and when Killian looked back at her with a grin, she wondered if she should join them. Was this the right moment to do this? She couldn’t be sure. There were so many other people around. It might be a little odd, right? But in the end, it wasn’t entirely up to her.
“All right, everyone. I know we are all eager to greet our guests today, but we have many other things that must be done.”
“You mean like eating lunch?” one boy asked and everyone laughed.
“Joseph, you’ve only just had breakfast an hour ago. No I was thinking more along the lines of getting out into the sunshine and seizing the day. Seems a marvelous day for adventure, what do you all think?”
All of the children were eager for a day in the sunshine, even the older kids who sometimes lacked for enthusiasm. With barely restrained exuberance, everyone made their way outside, and in the meantime, everyone broke apart in groups to do different things. Emma was assigned to the gardens where some outdoor games had been set up, and where a group of kids were out ‘bug hunting.’ It was so funny to watch these kids trying to collect all of these different kinds of insects, especially since she herself didn’t care for bugs. That fancy had never appealed to her at any age, and there were a few kids who heartily agreed. Cecelia was one of them, and instead of engaging with the bugs, she was far more interested in talking about her latest obsession – fairies.
A fierce devotion to these magical, mythical creatures was not something Cecelia alone carried. There were half a dozen little girls who had all glommed onto imaginary games and elaborate stories about faeries over the last few weeks. It all started with a book that Emma read one rainy afternoon, an offshoot of the Peter Pan story wholly focused on the tiny magic weilders. She hadn’t thought much of it when she chose it off the library shelf, but all of the kids at story time had been spellbound, even the boys, and the older girls who had already gone through a similar phase. The interest in faeries had only grown from there. Soon the little girls were asking every adult at the Center for any information they could get on faeries, and the tidbits they’d been given were equal parts funny and adorable.
“Did you know that faeries protect the garden?” Cecelia asked Emma and Emma shook her head.
“I didn’t realize that. But it makes sense, faeries love flowers, right?”
“They do, they do! Just like me.”
“And me too!” a number of the other girls chorused.
“Miss Emma, Cook said that faeries can be mi-mi -michevus,” Evangeline, another little girl noted and Emma bit back a smile at the girl’s inability to say mischievous. Still, at her age, that was a very tall order. “What does that mean?”
“It means that while usually faeries are perfectly behaved, sometimes they cause a little trouble.”
“Like when they moved the special stone in the story and hid it from Peter?”
“Exactly. No one got hurt, but it wasn’t the nicest thing to hide the stone, was it?”
The girls all agreed with that, before a newcomer caught their eyes. Emma followed their gaze to see Queen Meera at the edge of the gardens, having taken a tour of the whole outdoor space. She was smiling at all of them, her beauty really something to behold in the midday sun. Again, Emma was struck by how young the Queen appeared when she had two grown sons, but instead of being intimidated, Emma rallied and offered a welcoming hello.
“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but hear you all speaking of faeries, and I was wondering, have you all found a faerie kingdom here yet?”
“A faerie kingdom?!” They all asked excitedly, and Queen Meera patiently explained a Montennaran legend that hadn’t yet been shared with the children.
“How many of you have heard about Montecarri magic?”
Some of the girls chattered that they had heard, but from the looks on their faces, Emma could tell none of them knew very much about it. Cecelia meanwhile was completely unaware, and all of them looked desperate for more information. Queen Meera sat down beside them on their blanket as she continued.
“Well as you know, Montecarris are very delicious, yes?” The children nodded. “And they’re very important to Montennaro because they only grow here. But montecarri bushes are not our only special plant. We also have trees that only grows within our borders. They’re called Montecarri Dogwoods and legend has it that Faeries build their kingdoms in them because the flowers in the trees branches never die. They bloom in spring and last all summer, and then when winter comes, they close their blossoms but stay intact, protecting the faeries from the cold and the chill.”
“How do we find one?” one girl asked.
“Oh they’re very special trees, that stand out to even the least familiar eyes. They have light gray bark that swirls with shades of cream and ridges all over, some deep and some shallow. These ridges are the doors for the faeries. The safest way for them to travel. Sometimes the trunks also have giant knots, big bulks of wood that are taut and strong, and they are filled with magic. Those knots are the foundations of the faerie kingdom.”
The little girls chattered amongst themselves. The description of the bark sounded like a few trees here, but they were desperate to know if they had a Montecarri Dogwood.
“I don’ts knows so much about trees,” Cecelia said, when none of them could come up with anything. “But I love flowers and I sees all the ones we have here. Even the ones from the trees. What does the magic flower look like?”
“Well, it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen any myself. We have many at the palace, but I never stray too far from my roses, and the trees are farther in our grove of woods. But if I recall they are a mix of pink and pearl, with the slightest tint of yellow in the middle.”
“Oh!” Cecelia said excitedly, patting the Queen’s leg in an exuberant affirmation. “We has a tree like that! It’s over there, see it?” Queen Meera looked over and clasped her hands as if genuinely surprised. Emma knew though that she had seen the tree before. The older woman never would have given these little girls hope without knowing there was one nearby.
The Queen went on to explain how her mother always said faerie kingdoms should be honored and protected, and she ended up giving the little girls a mission that gave them purpose and increased their excitement. Faeries, in this legend, liked flower offerings, and now the girls were desirous to collect lots of wildflowers and leave them all around the tree’s trunk. This new adventure meant they were all still perfectly within view of the others, and Emma was impressed at the Queens’s ability to inspire them all so swiftly.
“That was a beautiful story,” Emma said.
“Indeed it was,” another voice said, and Emma realized it was Queen Eleanor. Oh good. Now she was meeting both Killian’s mother and grandmother without him. Excellent. Despite her nerves, however, Queen Eleanor, at first appearance, proved to be just as kind and welcoming as Queen Meera.
“One of the many folktales I grew up with. My mother never lacked for pretty stories. Funny how something I held so dear at their age was so long forgotten. But it’s like looking at a glimpse of the past. I was like them once, desperate to find magic and hold it in my heart.”
“Theoretically I suppose I was too, but the prehistoric age was so different you see, it’s difficult to distinguish what species of plants were abundant in those times.” Emma let out a low barking sound that would have been a laugh but was stifled at the last second. The comment was clearly comical, but too late she realized she didn’t know Queen Eleanor’s sense of humor. Maybe it was a test, and not a purposeful joke.
“Oh Eleanor, you are so bad. What will Emma think of us?”
“From the laughter she’s bit back, I say my jest has land fairly well. Good thing too. After all these years, you’re all too used to my quips. I’m in desperate need of a new audience. Between Emma and young Henry, I finally stand a chance of receiving the comedic recognition I deserve.”
The mention of her son had Emma looking in his direction, and she was happy to see him kicking around the soccer ball with a number of his friends, as well as Killian and Liam. For the moment his baseball lesson was on the back burner, but this afternoon he’d introduce them all to the sport. In the meantime, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. His smile was evident even from here, and though she couldn’t hear his words, Emma caught the happy tone of her child as it wafted in the air across the way.
“He’s a lovely boy. My goodness the way he was with that little Cecelia this morning, it was just so sweet. But I suspect he gets that generous spirit from you, dear.”
The kind words from Queen Meera made Emma flush pink, but she accepted them, knowing that her son was a good kid and that he would one day grow into an equally good man. She had worked hard to develop and enable his best qualities, and though it was sometimes hard to see her own strengths and good traits, she knew, deep down, that they both shared a loving, hopeful heart.
“We hope you’ll forgive us, Emma, for this lack of traditional introduction. Obviously custom would dictate that we wait until Killian was ready to introduce you and Henry to us all.” Queen Eleanor’s statement was blunt and filled with understanding, if just a tiny bit of frustration. “But you see, patience has never been a particular strength of mine.”
“That is an understatement,” Queen Meera muttered conspiratorially, but Emma could see the affection between the two women.
“When you get to be my age you’ll understand. Time is not promised. It’s of the essence.”
“One thing you’ll come to learn is that my mother-in-law makes regular reference to her age, but she’s fit as a fiddle and likely to outlive every single one of us. She’s also sharp as a tack. Very rarely is there a smarter person in the room.”
“Now, now Meera. Don’t go giving away all my secrets. Let the girl discover them for herself.”
It was hard for Emma to know exactly how to respond. Here were these women, the most important women in Killian’s world, showing her kindness and a willing repartee. It was easy with them, and Emma’s nerves had been settled by their witty banter and their lightness of air. But there was an awful lot of assumption being made in their words. The belief that Emma would definitely be with them enough to learn these quirks and tendencies was loaded, and while Emma was glad that she seemingly had some early approval from Killian’s female relations, she was more than surprised at how bold they were in their estimations.
“In the end, despite the unusual nature of this visit, I believe it’s for the best. Here, we can see you in your most natural state. Correct me if I am wrong, but this seems to be a place where you are truly at peace. You love it here. I see it in the way you are with these children, in how you speak with your friends, and in how you steal glances at my grandson nearly as much as he steals glances of you.”
Ignoring the part about staring at Killian, which was more than a little embarrassing, Emma nodded. “I do feel peace here. The Center reaffirms to me that all the things I believed could be real, truly can be. There’s a way to care for children who need it most in healthy and encouraging ways that make them feel cherished and valued, no matter what life has thrown at them so far. Providing anything less is the product of bad policy and funding shortfalls. I knew that was the case, but seeing it, and feeling what kind of positive impact can be made gives me hope. And as far as I’m concerned, hope and peace really go hand in hand.”
“It’s no wonder he’s so drawn to you. You’re a beautiful woman, but that passion, that belief… yes I believe it’s exactly what Killian’s been needing in his life.”
“And how are you liking Montenarro?” Queen Meera asked, pivoting before any kind of quiet could descend in the face of Queen Eleanor’s commentary. “It’s very different than New York I know.”
Emma’s brow raised at the mention of New York. She hadn’t said where she was from, but then again these women had shown a propensity for knowing a hell of a lot prior to so much as shaking her hand. Someone had probably let it slip at some point this morning.
“This is nothing like New York. It’s really nothing like any place I have ever been before. I didn’t expect anything like this at the beginning. I was so excited about the fellowship, the place we landed was somewhat secondary, but now I couldn’t imagine a better situation, for me or for Henry. We’re both really loving it here. It’s like a long-term holiday, but somehow it’s our life.”
“Oh how wonderful,” Queen Meera said with a delighted smile. “It’s truly better than we planned.”
“Planned?” Emma echoed, not following the word choice, and the looks in the other two women’s eyes were damn near opposites. Meera immediately looked remorseful, like Henry did when he spilled something he hadn’t meant to give away. Eleanor, meanwhile, was flustered for a moment and then pivoted to a calm demeanor, giving only the barest hint of frustration away.
“Oh Meera. Meera, Meera, Meera. What ever will we do with you?”
“Am I missing something?” Emma pressed, feeling the word ‘planned’ as if it weighed a hundred pounds and had settled on her chest.
“I just meant you know, ehrm, how lovely it was for you to take to the country so well.” Stuttering like this from a woman as well spoken and measured as Queen regent of the country? Oh no, Queen Meera was definitely hiding something.
Still, while Emma was wholly unconvinced, she didn’t feel like she could press too hard. Killian’s mother had definitely said the word planned, and now she was way less collected than she had been. For Emma it set off the alarm bells in her head. Meera was verging on a lie right here, but why would the Queen be so open and welcoming with her only to start being evasive and cagey?
“But that’s not what you said, is it mother?”
Killian’s voice was close, and they all turned to find him well within hearing distance. Emma hadn’t noticed his approach before, but there was no denying it now, not when he was so on edge. Instinctively she reached her hand out to him as he came to her, and he took it without hesitation, pressing a kiss to her temple as he came to her side. The action calmed Emma, and felt so natural she didn’t think twice about it until she followed Killian and looked back to the Queens. Only then did she think of how bold it was to do that in front of his mother and grandmother, but while both of them looked on at Emma and Killian with fondness for the display, they were quickly pushed to fend off a new question from Killian.
“What did you mean when you said planned?”
“I meant – well you see, it was just… um?”
Meera was at a total loss for words and eventually she stopped trying, looking to Eleanor for some kind of aid. The older woman was quiet for a moment, weighing her options with the reined in control of a capable monarch. In the end, however, she squared her shoulders, exhaled a long breath, and steadied herself for whatever was to come. Though Emma was curious and a little anxious about whatever they were about to say, she couldn’t help appreciating the humor of the moment. Killian’s Gran was a bit of a diva, and dramatic in a way that didn’t fit with usual imaginings of royalty.
“She means that when you came home in need of a little guidance, we made sure the winds were blowing in the proper direction.”
“And how exactly did you dictate these winds, Gran? What have you two done in the name of commanding the weather?”
“Everything I’ve done, and yes, it was mostly me, so please refrain from being angry with your mother, was in the interest of securing the future of this family.”
“The future... of the family,” he replied. “What right did you have to get involved in my choices?”
“I have every right because I love you, because I want the best for you, and because I know that underneath the pain and the changes you have faced, you are still the same Killy, the same sensitive, loving boy you always have been. We faced a problem at your return. You were unanchored and unhappy. You had seen so much in war and avoided every part of our world here. You needed to come home, but more than that you needed to find something good that was just for you.”
“Yes, I needed to find it,” Killian said, his words low but determined as he squeezed Emma’s hand. She ran her thumb across his shin gently in a quiet show of support and agreement. “And I did. I found Emma. We found each other. Now you’re saying that wasn’t just fate?”
“Well of course it was fate. It was fated that I would do some research and scope out our options.”
“Gran,” Killian said, his voice strained from the bevy of emotions he was facing.
“Killian,” she replied, not in the slightest intimidated by his reaction. “I fear you may be overblowing my abilities to intervene. All I did was speak to Marco about his newest fellow during our quarterly check in. When he gave such a glowing review, I was intrigued, and then I saw Emma’s picture in the file on his desk and I thought it didn’t hurt to read some more. So when he stepped out to speak with Marie, I took it.”
“You took it?” Killian asked, shocked at Eleanor’s bit of thievery.
“Well see there’s where we reach a gray area. Technically I lifted it from the desk, but Jefferson took possession of the documents.”
“Gran?”
“All right, he smuggled them out for me.”
“Gran!”
“What? Marco was none the wiser. I had Jefferson make copies and it was replaced within the day. No one was bothered in the least.”
“I’m bothered, Gran. You shouldn’t have done that. It’s not right.”
“In this case we must agree to disagree, Killian. I believe it was right. In that moment I made a calculation based on hope. I hoped that Emma would take to you as much as you would take to her and that love may come from it. Was the means of achieving that dream unsavory? Perhaps, but I stand by it all the same.”
“But why?” Emma asked, cutting in before Killian could. “You didn’t know me at all. Why go to the trouble? Why take the risk in pushing us together?”
“Well for this, of course,” Gran said, gesturing at the two of them, who had only come closer together as Gran confessed the plot. Instinctively they’d been comforting each other, and it was so clear how in tune they were together. “Sometimes, life hands you a crossroads, a choice amongst the many. It may seem small or even questionable, but it matters. I knew in my bones this was what needed to be done, and while I regret tarnishing your trust in me, I will never regret these actions. My instincts were right. You two are a match, and our Killy has returned, better than ever.”
For a moment it was quiet, as they let the meaning of Queen Eleanor’s words settle. This was a revelation for sure, but for Emma there was no sense of maliciousness. This was the work of a dedicated grandmother, and yes, maybe it was over the top and a bit too heavy handed, but at the end of the day it was also a gift. Without her intervention, Emma and Killian never would have met each other, and that was something too painful for Emma to consider.
“Please don’t be angry with us, darling,” Meera whispered when all was revealed, and only then did Emma notice how rigid Killian still was. This had made him angry, or perhaps it had scared him. She ran her hand along his arm and he looked to her. There was so much in his eyes and she could read that his real worry was her. How did she feel about all of this? She offered him a smile, small but true, and then watched as he exhaled a breath. The stiffness of before had softened, and she knew in that moment the would-be-storm had passed.
“I understand why you did it, and if it brought me to Emma… well I can only be grateful really. But please, for the love of all that is good, let us live our own lives now, please?”
“Absolutely,” Meera said at the same time that Eleanor said “Within reason.”
Despite the lack of total agreement from Killian’s grandmother, Emma had to laugh. It was funny after all, and made all the better when Eleanor put her hands on Killian’s cheeks, looking at him with fondness and love, and sincerely promised never to manipulate a scenario of his heart again. Meera and Eleanor then offered similar promises to Emma, each of them giving her a quick squeeze and an honest apology for any discomfort on her end. She accepted it all, but was grateful for a new interruption. It was finally time for the baseball lesson, and Emma and Killian were both needed straight away.
“Are you sure you’re okay, love? I know it was a lot and I warned you before, but I never imagined…”
“Killian, it’s all good, I promise. It’s just a little meddling. And besides, it worked out in the end, didn’t it?”
“Aye, love. Better than any such plot has a right to.”
Unable to resist, Emma stole a kiss from his lips, melting into the sensation but pulling back before it could become too big a display in front of the kids. It was hard stepping back but she had to, and yet she saw a curious look from Killian that she needed to figure out. She asked him point blank what he was thinking.
“Nothing, Swan. It’s just, well did you notice my Gran’s words? She said no more scenarios of my heart again.”
“Hmm. Makes you wonder, who may still be on her list.”
Without saying it aloud Emma and Killian both knew the only logical option was Liam, and as they looked to him they found him caught up in another bought of staring at Elsa. This time though the would be love birds were closer together, actually interacting, and the electricity between them was palpable. It gave Emma a secondary thrill and she grinned, because as much as Liam was feeling Elsa, Elsa was obviously just as intrigued by Killian’s handsome brother.
“You don’t think she’s planned that too, do you?” Emma asked.
“Truth be told, I wouldn’t put anything past her. Not after all we learned today.”
He made an excellent point, but the more she thought about it the more it made sense. Queen Eleanor must have known about Elsa if she knew about Emma, and perhaps fate may strike twice. Who knew? Maybe brothers could find lovers in the same place. Only time would tell, but by the looks of things, it wouldn’t take much for something to blossom between King Liam and her friend.
“Mom, are you ready?” Henry asked, poised and prepared for an afternoon of Baseball 101. He stood beside Killian, and the two of them looked like a father and son, part of one big happy family that had always been meant to be. In an instant Emma could see that future Queen Eleanor made mention of, and it was perfect and precious and good.
I’ve never been more ready for anything, she admitted to herself, and as she joined her favorite people in a fun-filled afternoon, Emma knew they’d turned another important corner towards the kind of happy ending she wanted most of all. Now all she had to do was tell Killian she loved him and convince him that their future should start sooner rather than later.
Post-Note: Okay so there we have it. The big reveal of Gran’s meddling has finally come, and there was an introduction to another couple I just love writing, which is Liam and Elsa. So funny how I can ship them so much even though they were never on the show together. Anyway, next chapter is actually picking up right after this one. I definitely want to include the truth about Elsa and Anna and also show a glimpse of Emma and Killian getting some alone time together. Not sure when the next chapter will be here, as 2020 is kind of kicking my ass on an energy and motivation level, BUT, I want to thank you all for reading and I’m sending you love and good vibes in these trying times. See you next time and stay safe!
#captain swan#captain swan fic#captain swan ff#captain swan au#captain swan mc#emma swan#killian jones#ouat au#ouat fic#CS modern AU#Modern Royalty AU#single mom Emma#prince killian#Prince!Killian#the whole storybrooke gang#meddling family#cs fluff#cs cuteness#feels like this#feels like this au#feels like this 9
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so i just finished rhonda wilcox's essay on hush, and she comments that - much like angel the episode predicts what will happen to buffy and angel - hush predicts that riley will go on to rip buffy's heart out by becoming part of a patriarchal institution (wilcox does a lot of work establishing what the gentlemen represent and focuses on the moment in buffy's dream where riley turns into one of them). (1/2)
(2/2) so my question for you is do you see that any one episode cleanly predicts the path spike and buffy eventually go down together? and if there isn't, how does that deviation from the pattern affect the reading of the spuffy dynamic, if it does at all?
hmm, really interesting question. sorry it took me a while to answer! the thing about the spike/buffy dynamic is that we know a lot of it wasn’t planned out. i don’t have links to interviews at the tip of my fingers, but it’s something i’ve seen mentioned multiple times. that they didn’t know that spike would fall in love with buffy until starting season five, but that it was like they’d been writing to it all along. which means that we’d need to look to season five to find a thesis statement episode for the relationship. in which case, as obvious as it might sound, i think the episode we’re looking for is fool for love.
here’s why. i’ve talked about the spike/buffy storyline as being about both boundaries and the id before. but actually perhaps the more obvious thing to say their relationship is about, is power dynamics. and what power dynamics mean for love. and fool for love is all over that.
first, what fool for love does is it establishes spike as someone who wants two different things. he wants power and confidence, and he wants to be loved. when he becomes a vampire, he is able to find that power and confidence through violence. instead of caring about the opinions of his peers, he puts railroad spikes through their heads (or is implied to, anyway). his relationship to love and women is also all wrapped up in violence. heartbreak leads directly to him becoming a vampire, and therefore a soulless killer. drusilla turns him (a violent act), delights in his violence, and sexually responds to him killing the chinese slayer. more importantly, i don’t think you can or should get away from the imagery of slayer-killing as well, the violent conquest of powerful women. i see people claim that if slayers were men, then spike would be just as obsessed with killing them, that he just loves violence for the sake of violence. but whether or not that claim is accurate, i think it misses the fact that this is buffy, in which so much of the horror is various, more or less supernatural, versions of violent misogyny. so while i agree that spike is a person who takes glee in destruction of all kinds—his love of killing demons, “a little violence before bed time”, etc—and is not specifically obsessed with destroying women for being women the way, say, the trio (or ted, or pete, or etc) are…he does, nonetheless, relate to women in ways that we are meant to see as bitter and resentful or otherwise messed-up. his treatment of harmony, his frustration at dru leaving him, and of course everything in crush. that’s sort of the contradiction of him. he genuinely loves women, and makes himself abject to them and to the act of loving, but he also genuinely has a messed-up relationship to all of that. in other words, whether or not spike at all cares about killing slayers because they’re women, it still matters, in terms of symbolism, that he is a man killing women. his relationship to killing slayers is undeniably sexually coded, too. everything from his innuendo and sexually loaded gazing in school hard, to him asking nikki if “this is good for [her]”, to him asking buffy if she’ll “like it as much as [nikki] did.”
with that in mind, i would say that the problem the show is trying to have spike resolve, and the reason that he’s the id of the later seasons, is that he has this sincere desire to love and be loved, as well as to generally be confident and appreciated, but the only tool he has—especially when it comes to slayers—is violence. ie, acts of domination and power. or at least, violence is the only tool that’s ever rewarded him. he was a doting caretaker to drusilla, yes, but he only got drusilla in the first place by becoming a murderous creature. and later lost her by “going soft.” killing a slayer made drusilla sleep with him, while helping a slayer made her leave him. so in total, you have this character with all of these very human yearnings, but who has them repeatedly frustrated, and so tries to fulfill them through monstrous, vampiric behavior—through acts of power. his instinct when he is in love is to be a doting, romantic lover, but his instinct with slayers is to kill them. so by loving buffy he is made to confront the contradictions in his attitudes towards women, love, and power.
one of the fundamental questions of buffy is “how do you act when you feel like you have no control?” and in fool for love, both buffy and spike are feeling out of control. buffy feels out of control of her mortality, and later out of control of her mother’s mortality. meanwhile spike feels out of control of his deviant feelings for a good person that he cannot have. both characters have a tendency to assert control through violence, which is one of the reasons that spike is such a good id for buffy. buffy is used to protecting herself and the people she loves by physically fighting things, and struggles every time that’s not an option (but also struggles with what she thinks it says about her, that she is so intimate with violence). so in fool for love she goes to spike hoping that he’ll give her some sort of violence-related answer to her problem. she wants to know how he killed the other slayers, so that she can physically protect herself. moreover, she repeatedly manhandles him to get that information. meanwhile spike tries to seductively intimidate her, playing up his physical dangerousness, and ends up offering her a violence-related answer that she realizes she doesn’t actually want: him killing her. except that answer is as much about him as her. spike doesn’t really want to kill buffy, he wants to kiss her (or to be fair, let’s say he at least wants both), but when it comes to interacting with slayers, all he has is that language and mindset of violent conquest. so spike tries to assert control over buffy (“you know you want to dance”) and buffy responds by asserting control right back (“you’re beneath me”). she wins the contest of wills, and establishes herself as the person with more power in their dynamic. for all spike’s posturing all evening, buffy ultimately stands over him, dismissively tossing cash at him.
but the episode does not finish on that note. instead, it finishes with buffy feeling powerless yet again in the face of her mother’s sickness. spike goes to buffy, standing over her with a gun, intending to reclaim his power in the way he knows best: killing a slayer. but ends up as powerless in the face of his emotions as ever. instead of ending on an unbalanced power dynamic, the episode ends with buffy and spike on the same level, equally bowed by the weight of the feelings that they can’t control. neither standing over the other. neither asserting power over the other.
all of which is, in my opinion, their entire arc in microcosm. their story is the story of two people who struggle to relate to each other in a way that isn’t fraught with issues of power, especially sexual, gendered power. and who eventually, with up and downs, succeed. over the course of season five, spike lets go of more and more of his control. in crush, he’s tempted to return to his vampiric ways—keep in mind that for spike vampirism is associated with empowerment—and tries to literally shackle up the women he loves. which ends badly. in intervention he tries to cheat by only controlling a fake version of buffy. but that ends badly too. it’s only when he gives up control in the gift and doesn’t try to get in buffy’s house, that buffy begins the process of equalization by letting him in. using fool for love as a model, you might say that spike spends the season learning over and over how to set down his gun, to let go of the idea of an upper hand, and respond with his more humane and caring half.
but their dynamic is still very uneven. spike letting go of his power is not the same as them being equal. and season six digs into why that’s a problem if two people are involved. if fool for love is the spike/buffy arc in microcosm, then i would say that the alley scene is their season six arc, and the porch scene is their season seven arc. in season six, both spike and buffy feel out of control the way they felt in fool for love, and try to regain that control by playing violent power games with each other. even if it’s not what they actually want. spike’s intimidation/seduction during the alley scene reminds me a lot of his attempts to keep buffy at his level during their sexual relationship, because he thinks he can’t have her otherwise. buffy having a death wish, buffy belonging in the dark, etc. the ambiguity about whether spike fully believes what he’s saying, and is trying—in his vampiric way—to be helpful, or whether he’s bullshitting, seems similar in both situations too. meanwhile buffy’s flustered violence towards him (slamming him against things, choking him), reminds me of her side of their sexual relationship. she feels freaked out about her mortality, just as she feels freaked out about her “deadness” in season six, and turns that into conflict with spike (note how in both instances spike is a figure of a death, and buffy is reckoning with death). the scene then ends, just as their season six relationship does, with spike pushing buffy because he thinks she feels something (“come on, i can feel it slayer”), and buffy decisively pushing him away. revealing to spike that he’s misread their interaction.
season seven then is about the mutual laying down of arms. if season six is about love as a power struggle, then season seven is about love in the absence of power struggles. the implication is that letting go of power struggles and uneven dynamics is necessary for genuine and healthy love to develop. i’m very interested in the choreography of buffy and spike’s scene in touched. spike starts out above her, standing while she sits on the bed. then he kneels so he’s below her. then they end up on the same level on the bed together. much as they ended up on the same level on the porch in fool for love. they are not trying to take power from each other. spike gives his power. and so she stops looking down on him, stops trying to keep him at a hierarchal distance, and invites him to her level.
(there’s a parallel there with smashed, too. both scenes take place in an abandoned house, but instead of crashing to the basement and missing any sort of bed, they are in an upper-level bedroom together. and the next day she returns home—ie, returns to herself—empowered, rather than bruised and ashamed. in other words, their interaction was an affirmation of self rather than a destruction of self. in a relationship that is a power struggle, people will end up dragging each other down to the basement, in a race to the bottom. whereas in a relationship that is not, people elevate each other.)
honestly, for all that i understand why people don’t like it, i do think it’s a pretty potent storyline for a season that claims it’s “about power,” but turns out to be about sharing power. the bait-and-switch of thinking that power is about violence and control, when it’s actually about generosity, is basically the whole spike and buffy dynamic. both spike and buffy often think that violence is the only way to solve their problems, but yearn for things that don’t involve violence in the slightest. so for them to finish the season and the show peaceably sleeping in each other’s arms, on the same level? it strikes me as a very coherent resolution of their arc as a whole.
so, there’s your answer. fool for love. i also think it’s telling that in fool for love spike noticeably supplants riley in importance, and occupies buffy’s attention. which predicts the fact that he will ultimately replace riley as a sexual/romantic interest.
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Somebody Else ~ Part 4
SOOO, I got inspired last night and ended up starting/finishing the next update. I hope you enjoy it and stay tuned for the next part! I have excellent plans for a few more chapters. Feedback is always welcomed!
Angel Reyes x Reader/ Ezekiel Reyes x Reader
Word Count: 1.6k
CATCH UP HERE
Warnings: language, general angst, brother jealousy
Translations
He estado mejor: I’ve been better.
Estás preciosa: You are beautiful.
Por que, mi amor: Why, my love?
Vigila tu espalda hermanito: Watch your back, little brother.
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She knew he was here before she ever heard the knock at the front door. It had been fourteen pathetic days since she asked him to leave her alone and he walked away. Her body tinged with anxiety mingling through her nerves, she wasn’t ready for this to see him. Y/N gaze shifted when she heard the inevitable sound of a motorcycle turning onto the street, Y/N reluctantly braced herself against the counter trying to find any courage still residing within her. The door rattled open as the cool air found residence on her skin, Angel Reyes was a goddamn Adonis.
“Hey Ba-.. Y/N. ¿cómo estás?”
Angel stepped closer to her immediately causing Y/N to recoil, her new-found courage evaporating into momentary fear. When he noticed her hesitation his right hand unknowingly found home atop his heart as he gently rubbed at the aching spot. Angel felt his heart break all over again. ‘This was all your fault’ constantly replayed on an infinite loop as a haunting reminder, ingraining itself into his daily thoughts. Why did Adelita get under his skin? How did he stray from the one girl who’s remained by his side since the very beginning?
“He estado mejor.” Apprehension lingered in the room; unhappiness etched its way into the bare concrete walls. The air maintained a stagnant, stale, and smothering ambiance. But if she knew one thing for sure it was her undeniable energy with Angel even when he the cause of her heartbreak.
“Estás preciosa. I miss y—” Suddenly, she stormed towards him firmly placing her soft hands over his smooth lips effectively cutting him off mid-sentence.
“Cut the bullshit, Angel. Have you talked to her since we broke up?” Her ocean blues were glazed with unshed tears as she impatiently awaited his response unsure if she was actually prepared for the answer. Even on Y/n’s deathbed she would never admit it aloud, but some deeply rooted and fucked up piece of her yearned to be by his side once again, and that terrified her more than raising their unborn child.
Seconds crawled by before a tear slid down Y/N’s blushed cheek. Angel’s muteness was more than enough of a response to her question. She was officially an idiot…again.
Y/N’s lip quivered with melancholy; her pulse raced against her skin; her once quick-witted tongue momentarily muzzled as defeat seeped into her very core.
“I need to stop imagining situations in my head that aren’t going to happen.”
Once more Angel attempted to close the gap between them slowly inching her way. She was so close he could almost graze his fingertips against her freckled skin. Too focused to comprehend his surroundings, Angel neglected to hear the tiny whimper leave Y/N. Her hand placed defiantly in front of her frame halting his movements. “Please, stop. Don’t come any closer.”
“¿Por que, mi amor? His breathe tickled along her jawline causing her spine to shiver. Angel was a man of many skills. He so desperately wanted to push the loose tendrils of her blue hair and look into her eyes. They always reflected nothing but the honest truth, it was her God-given power and imminent downfall. But Y/N refused him forgoing his selfish whims.
“When I think of our love, I think of pain, and that shouldn’t be so. But I love you so much. That’s what makes this next part so tricky.” Stay strong, Y/N.
The fire blazing in her dark and injured heart seemed to glow around her like an unwavering flame. She loved him because Angel had seemingly brought her back to life. She had been like a lonely caterpillar in a cocoon, and he had drawn her out and shown her that she was a butterfly. Then he proceeded to rip off her delicate wings.
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Y/N?” He was losing her. There was no absolutely doubt in his mind.
“Goodness can be found sometimes in the middle of hell, Angel. I’d say this is pretty fucking close, wouldn’t you agree?... I’m pregnant.” Y/N shuddered as air rushed past her lips releasing itself from the confines of her lungs.
Shock radiated every neuron in his entire body suddenly feeling himself come alive. Suddenly Angel was hyper-acute of the stunning figure in front of him. The edges of his vision darkened as blood rushed throughout his ears. It reminded him of the first time he heard the ocean; distressingly peaceful.
“Angel, you, uh, look a little pale. I think you need to sit down.” Still lost in translation, Y/N reached for his forearm guiding him towards the kitchenette chair. Stagnant electricity remained claustrophobically between the duo. She kneeled against the cold tile finally at eye level since he walked in.
“I’m sorry for coming in and fucking up your life. I never meant for things to get so fucking twisted. You have to believe me, Y/N. You are genuinely the best gal I’ve ever had the pleasure to call mine. Never forget that.”
A sad smile graced her lips, her muscles pulsated with uneasy energy. “That doesn’t change the fact that you want her. It was my fault, I fooled myself into ever believing I was your end game.” Her gentle hands rested on his dark denim jeans rubbing small circles all while subconsciously soothing his anxiety, allowing him the luxury of simply inhaling some much-needed air. Even after he dumped her, abandoned her for his interest in another dangerous woman filled with her own deceitful secrets, Y/N still somehow grounded him.
“Every morning, I wake up and forget just for a second that it all happened. But once my eyes open, it buries me like a murderous landslide of sharp, sad rocks. Once my eyes pry themselves open, I’m heavy, like there’s too much gravity on my heart. I’ve been in love with you my whole life but I think it’s time for me to walk away. For good, this time. I’m ... letting you go. Consider yourself free.”
Y/N pivoted off his knees standing up straight while taking a few steps away from him.
His voice a mere murmur; “When did you find out?”
She internally chuckled recalling the shitty day in question. “The day we ended things.”
Unexpectedly, Angel became the question king in concerns with all matters of Y/N’s life.
“Does anybody else know?”
The words left her mouth before her brain had a moment to register. “Simple, Ez.”
“Why did my brother know before me??”
“Because he’s my best friend.”
Shaking his head in disagreement; “He might be your best friend but he’s in love with you. He’s been drooling over you since elementary school. You run into his arms literally any time something happens. You think I don’t see this shit?” His angered tone seemingly increased forcing the veins along his tanned neck to bulge out ferociously.
“He was always the better Reyes brother. Papa Reyes never could understand what made me glued to his eldest son.”
Before Y/N could blink, Angel rushed her, invading her personal space. Her breath quickened as she quietly huffed. Angel’s hand was clasped securely along her jawline forcing her to see him, to feel his all-consuming, unbridled rage before he leaned in even closer. The hair on her neck stood up sickeningly straight as he spoke into the shell of her ear.
“When I was balls deep in Adelita, there wasn’t a moment where I even considered how you’d feel. I was blinded and betrayed by lust. You think my baby bro would want my sloppy seconds?” His malicious tone oozed with venom scaring Y/N into suspended submission. Down the road Y/N heard the tall-tale rumble of a engine cruising towards her house.
“I just wanted you to know, Angel. No matter how much I hate you, this is our child and I won’t deny you your basic rights. Trust me, I don’t expect anything from you…not at this point. Hopefully one day soon you wake the fuck up and see that I’m not the goddamn enemy. Now get the fuck out of my house.”
The wood frame rumbled as a strong fist met Y/N’s yellow front door breaking the already shattered tension. The moment was spoiled as Angel walked towards the foyer. He fingers connected with the chilled knob, twisting until success. He was met with rich, hazel eyes gleaming back at him. Fucking Ezekiel.
“Vigila tu espalda hermanito.”
Y/N appeared in Ez’s line of sight deciding to stay quiet in the background. Curiosity and awkwardness engulfed the threesome.
Ezekiel wasn’t going to back down. He finally had his chance and he would be damned to maintain his silence.
“The best man has already won.” With that, Ez clapped Angel’s rigid shoulder before moving to greet Y/N. He didn’t dare glance back no longer caring about what his brother thought and proceeded to close her front door.
“You sure do have perfect timing Mr. Reyes. I think you pissed him off.”
His chuckle aerated the room bringing a warmness to the peak of her slender neck. His muscular arms found her waist pulling her close into his chest for an embracive hug.
“Don’t shoot me. I just came for the hot meal…and enticing company.”
It was good to hear her laugh, and not just any plain laugh, but one buried within the borders of your chest that vibrated the room. His nerves soon calming as he dared a look in Y/N’s direction. She smiled sweetly, sincerely happy to be in his presence. All her life, she had learned that passion, like fire, was a dangerous force to reckon with. For it so easily spun out of control.
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Tags: @pupyluv247 @feelingsonfiire @partypoison00
#mayans mc#mayans#angel reyes x reader#angel x reader#somebody else#part 4#my writing#ez reyes x reader#ez x reader#angst#fanfic#fx#mayans mc imagine#reyes brothers#ezekiel x reader#ezekiel reyes x reader#mayans mc x reader
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All I know is a simple name, and everything has changed- Thirteenth Doctor x female!reader
(GIF NOT MINE, FULL CREDIT TO THE PERSON WHO MADE IT!!)
WARNINGS: Pretty big focus on gambling and casinos at the start as the reader works in one! Outside of that though, there’s nothing major here! This also doesn’t contain any spoilers for the show, so don’t worry there!
REQUESTED BY: @anahiranz
Thank you for being my first request, I hope this brings your idea to life!
WORD COUNT: 2,275! This is a long one! I had a lot of ideas for this one, so it’s super long! Hope you enjoy!
Also, Y/N is your name, and Y/F/C is your favourite colour! The dashed line is meant to represent a timeskip!
In this line of work, you had seen a lot of things. Fights. Drunks. Corrupt table dealers. Very shady looking businessmen who you’d learned very quickly not to focus on for too long. Quite frankly, you thought you’d seen it all. And then, one fateful evening, she turned up, and proved that your assumption couldn’t be further from the truth.
It was a Thursday evening. Business was thriving, as always, and the clock had just passed 9pm when she first caught your attention. There was nothing super absurd about her at first glance, so quite truly, you weren’t sure what had drawn your attention to her in the first place. Perhaps you were just bored. Providing entertainment and feigning interest in the frequently tedious conversations of patrons at the tables night after night tended to do that to you. Not that you hated your job. It was just… rare that anything unexpected happened. However, you immediately brought your attention away from the woman in question before you had a proper chance to try and figure out what it was that had drawn your focus to her in the first place, as she met your gaze. Knowing better than to hold the gaze of anyone in this place, especially strangers, you quickly snapped your focus back to the table.
The man that you’d been assigned to that evening and told to entertain was about to take a bet, so you decided to focus on your job. At this point, it all came instinctively to you, the playful laughing at what were frequently unfunny jokes, batting your eyes to motivate the patrons to bet more, playfully blowing on the dice when prompted to ‘bring luck’, it was a routine that you’d been doing for years. Just as the dice you’d blown on hit the canvas material of the table, an unfamiliar voice reached your ears.
“Can I play?” Glancing up from the table before you once more, your attention soon moved in the direction of the voice, your heart plummeting into your stomach the mere moment you realised who it was. It was the woman. The woman who you’d been staring at. Oh god. Oh god. Had she come to ask why you were staring at her? She didn’t seem to have an aggressive demeanour, not in the slightest. If anything, the vibe she gave off was excitable and warm, a very welcome difference to most of the people you encountered in here. Anxiously, you swallowed down the lump in your throat, deciding to not take any risks and to try and behave as formally as possible.
“When this round is over, of course,” you responded, a courteous smile soon forming on your expression as you met the blonde woman’s gaze. You were rather surprised when that response earned you a beaming grin from her.
“Great!” She responded enthusiastically. The blonde soon leaned slightly towards you, clearly intending for her next comment to be solely heard by you. “Now, this isn’t the variation with the exploding cards, is it? That version always seems to end in a very… messy way.” What? Had you heard her question properly? Exploding cards? Where did she think she was?
“Um. No?” You responded, your tone reflecting the undeniable confusion you were experiencing in that particular moment. This didn’t seem to faze the woman though, as she gave a gentle nod and pulled away from you.
“You seem to know a lot of things. You work here?” The blonde queried. You supposed it was a fair enough question. You weren’t dressed in the typical uniform that the rest of the employees wore, with you currently being dressed in a loose y/f/c dress. It had been decided by the big boss man in a rather questionable move that dressing you in a more classically beautiful outfit would make it easier for you to do your job of providing entertainment.
So, you gave a soft nod in response. “Yeah. Is there something I can help you with, ma’am?” You didn’t feel the need to elaborate on your exact role. Just leaving it as ‘yes, I work here’ would be effective enough.
The woman once again perked up at your response. “You don’t need to call me ma’am. It’s the Doctor.” You couldn’t help but tilt your head somewhat at her response, finding yourself once again confused by her strange mannerisms. This time though, you got an answer. “My name. I’m the Doctor. Now, tell me…” It took you a few seconds to realise that she was trailing off to indicate that she wanted your name.
“Y/N. I’m Y/N.”
“Y/N, that’s a nice name.” Her compliment was warm enough that you genuinely believed that she meant it, resulting in a small smile to form on your expression. Perhaps that warm vibe she’d been giving off earlier was a little more genuine that you’d believed. “Now, tell me, Y/N. You noticed anything a little off recently? You know, people going into rooms they’re not meant to? Weird noises? Strange visitors?” Once again, her question caught you a little off guard. Was this woman some sort of inspector? Could you get into genuine trouble if you answered her question sincerely? This job might not be ideal, but it was the only one you had.
The Doctor seemed to pick up on your hesitation once more, her expression softening as she proceeded to meet your eyes once more. “I know that you don’t know me, but you can trust me. I’m here to help, I promise.” Her tone was soft once more, clearly indicating that her words were meant solely for you. In that moment, you took a brief moment to internally curse yourself for having a soft spot for pretty blondes. You really were about to divulge company secrets to some stranger just because she was nice to you, weren’t you?
“Are you here with someone?” The question fell quickly from your lips. If you were going to tell this lady the truth, you needed to ensure that she wasn’t with some sort of organisation. Immediately, the Doctor softly shook her head.
“Nah. Just me. Left my friends on a luxury vacation planet in the next galaxy, they said they wanted a break.” Was she drunk? She didn’t seem it. After working here, you’d become more than acquainted with the obvious signs of someone being intoxicated to some degree. Perhaps she was just joking. Either way, once again, you decided to not question it, allowing a small but polite laugh to escape your lips. You took a quick moment to glance over in the direction of the dealer at the table, wanted to make sure that if this did turn out badly, it wouldn’t necessarily backfire on you. After doing so, you slowly brought your attention back to the Doctor.
“There’s a locked room in the back that most of the staff aren’t allowed in. It was only put in last month. Sometimes when I’m here too late, I hear weird noises from there. Drilling, I guess.” It was strange, sure, there was no denying that. However, you’d decided that it wasn’t worth the risk checking it out further. “I wouldn’t recommend checking it out though. The boss doesn’t appreciate people looking into things they shouldn’t.” You tried to warn the Doctor, but this only seemed to encourage her more.
“That never stopped me. Never could resist a locked door.” You could only stay silent as the blonde once again gave you a grin. “Thank you for your help, Y/N.” The Doctor then proceeded to turn on her heel and walked off in the opposite direction, causing your heartrate to spike inside your chest in anxiety.
Oh god, she was being serious, wasn’t she? She was actually going to investigate.
Ignoring your more rational instincts that just wanted you to stay at the table and act like nothing had happened, you proceeded to quickly apologise to the person you were meant to be accompanying, claiming that you’d be right back, and then, you quickly followed after the mysterious blonde. You easily caught up to her, gently placing your hand on her right arm to get her to momentarily pause. “You’ll get lost, it’s a bit of a maze back there. If I can’t dissuade you from doing this, at the very least let me show you where the room is. You’re less likely to get caught and hurt if you’re with a member of staff.” Nerves caused you to soon allow your hand to let go of her coat, your hand falling down by your side as the woman proceeded to enthusiastically nod.
“Alright. C’mon then, Y/N. Lead the way,” she responded.
And so, you began to lead her in the direction of the backrooms, having absolutely no idea about how much that decision would turn your life entirely on its head.
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Needless to say, things hadn’t ended well. You’d always believed that your boss was a little less than human, but the revelation that he was actually an alien android hell bent on destroying humanity? Now that was unexpected.
And yet, the thing that had captured your mind the most and what was still revolving around your mind as you stood outside the now destroyed casino was how the Doctor had reacted to this and everything that you’d witnessed her do in the building.
She wasn’t phased by the revelation your boss wasn’t human in the slightest, and she hadn’t hesitated to save the day with your help when her pleas hadn’t brought your boss over to the side of humanity. The woman was undeniably strange, but also incredible. You’d truly never met anyone quite like her.
“Hey, Y/N.” That now familiar, accented voice caught your attention, causing you to glance over your shoulder, looking away from the ruins of your former employment. There she was, leaning against a dark blue box that you’d never seen there before. “I, uh, I just wanted to thank you for your help.” Quite why she was thanking you when she’d been the one to do most of the saving, you weren’t quite sure, but you appreciated the sentiment, nonetheless.
You gave her a soft nod in response, a smile momentarily painting your lips. “You don’t need to thank me. You were the one who saved everyone. I just… led the way and got everyone out before anyone got hurt. No big.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you soon continued to speak. “So, what’s next for you? Got more people to save?”
You asked your question, purely because you presumed this had to be a frequent thing for her, just from the way she held herself in dangerous situations and the way she spoke.
“Probably gonna go get my fam back. I’ve got more stuff to show them.” The Doctor answered. Ah, yes, you’d heard a lot about her friends. Ryan, Graham and Yaz. Based on what you’d experienced that evening, they were either the luckiest people in the universe for getting to experience such bizarre things, or the unluckiest for constantly being in some kind of danger. You weren’t entirely sure which it was, but either way, you couldn’t deny. A small part of you somewhat envied them.
“Good. You need someone to keep you out of trouble.” You jokingly remarked, earning a brief laugh from the blonde. “Don’t know what I’ll do now, given my job kinda… exploded, but I’ll find something. There’s bound to be other casinos that need an entertainer that aren’t run by evil androids, right?” Your words sounded so preposterous and had someone told you a day ago that those words would fall from your lips in a sincere manner, you would have declared it insane. But, no, this was your life now. How you were meant to bounce back now that you knew aliens existed, you weren’t quite sure, but you were sure that you could power through.
As you came out of your thoughts, you realised that the Doctor had a clear look of contemplation on her expression. You watched quietly as the blonde momentarily glanced back at the box behind her, before returning her attention to you. “I, um…” Her hesitation once again caught you off guard, and your body language once again reflected this, as you tilted your head somewhat. Your actions apparently motivated her to keep talking. “I was wondering. Did you wanna, maybe… I don’t know, come with me?” For what felt like the hundredth time that evening, you were speechless. It was undeniably an appealing offer, a chance to see something new each day and essentially start over, even if it did possibly come with the downside of danger.
“Won’t your friends mind?” That was the first thing you were able to say when your voice returned. Surely, they’d object to a random stranger just turning up and travelling with them?
The Doctor gave a soft shake of her head, soon gesturing to the box behind her with her right hand. “Trust me, there’s enough space in here for everyone. I’m sure they’d love you.” She reassured you. Would the weird things she came out with ever make sense? You weren’t entirely sure. Perhaps this woman would always be something of an enigma to you.
However, you didn’t need to contemplate her question for too long. The mere moment that it had sunk in, you had made your mind up. You took a moment to briefly glance behind you at your former place of employment, almost as if you were bidding it goodbye, before you turned back to face the Doctor.
“Then I would love to.”
AN: And, I’m gonna end it there! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! It’s my first piece of long-form writing in a solid while, so I appreciate it might not be a masterpiece but hopefully it was readable! Do not hesitate to send requests to me (especially if they’re for Thirteen, I adore her and I had so much fun writing this, I would love to write some more!) You can find my ask here, feel free to send me any request you would like!
Hope you’re all having a good day, I’ll see you all next time!
#thirteethdoctorxreader#thirteenth doctor x reader#thirteenth doctor#jodie whittaker#doctor who x reader
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@lethalwit said : 𝙸 𝙰𝙼 𝙱𝙴𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄, 𝙵𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝙾𝚁 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙴.
HIS SMILE LINES HIS EYES, and Halwn lowers his head with it, as he tends to do. He imagines that one day he’ll have to grow weary of hearing such things, perhaps he is beginning it already---though he values it, and is moved by it, the weight is undeniable. Zevran’s tone, however, has such flippant confidence in it that the Inquisitor has both an impression of his sincerity and a clearer picture of the teasing. He has only just ridden in from weeks away and, though sore and tired, he’d expected to arrive to heaps of work ordered neatly on his desk. A welcome home present from the Ambassador, with a bottle of an Antivan red set atop the stacks as a consolation. Josephine is endlessly diligent, and endlessly thoughtful, after all. She knows what he loves, and what he could do without. The paperwork is there, the missives and contracts and petitions, and the wine is there, too, still corked, though someone has peeled the wax away---
Halwn had not expected to find a potential contract sitting in his chair, boots propped up on that very desk, looking as comfortable as though it were his own.
Before beginning his answer, the Inquisitor lifts his sword and shoulder belt over his head and props them against the balustrade beside the bed. His left shoulder aches from a bad bruising, and he rolls it to loosen it---before taking a moment to shed his dusty hauberk. The weight of the mail coming off of him is like a cool wind. Or perhaps that’s the actual wind---Halwn’s chambers are a damnable ridiculous place, perched atop a stone spire perched atop a glacier. The graces of command, as they say. The grandest rooms in the castle by far, that also serve as a windbreak for the icy alpine weather---and the recruit responsible for tending the fire here had no doubt been warned by one of Leliana’s people to hold off on the exercise until after the business hereabout was finished.
Halwn doesn’t bother to shake the dust from his shirt or brush it from his trousers. It’s stuck onto him with dried sweat, layered under the smell of horse, and if Zevran had the expectation of his being presentable, of looking the proper condition to preform his role in this exchange of loyalties, he wouldn’t have climbed in through the window, or the chimney, or however he’s managed to do it. Halwn kicks the loose dirt from his boots against the top step to spare the rug, and crosses the room to sit.
To sit in the chair on the near side of his own desk, before it instead of behind it, as if he were the petitioner.
It’s likely considered foolish to disarm in the company of a stranger with the history that this one has, even one recommended by friends---but Halwn isn’t a man who cares for posturing. He’s also not a man who feels genuinely threatened often, which, he has been assured by those same friends, will be to his detriment one day. ‘ As I approached the stairs not three minutes ago, Leliana stepped out of the shadows to warn me that you were waiting above. She also warned me to ignore whatever was said when you inevitably began to speak in superlatives---as the words were certain to be either intentioned as their opposite, or a joke at my expense. ’
Halwn folds his gloved hands across his belly. His posture is upright, and a little noble, since he has so much limb with which to contend, but he’s loose with relief to be home (strange, that thought, and the awareness that he should have it over this place all of a sudden) and with the absurdity of the situation that, to him, is an amusing distraction. Better than paperwork, at least---though not yet better than the bath he’d hoped to be having by now.
‘ Of course, she also once said the same of herself, so it puts me at a disadvantage when attempting to decide when I’m being laughed at. ’
He smiles again, the same closed lip curl. A soft smirk, though utterly lacking the sharpness usually associated with the expression.
‘ But I don’t mind to be laughed at---and I will tell you honestly that there will be fire. Fire and trial, and real danger of a kind that I would not expect anyone to enter into on a whim, or out of a sense of obligation to old friends, though that’s better reason than some might have for getting themselves killed, and I admit that I would value it, ’ the Inquisitor’s tone has lapsed into an earnest sincerity, grave and honest, because it is truthfully not a joking matter. The lack of brevity is brief once the point has been made, and Halwn’s smile returns, settled in the sun-touched creases at the corner of his mouth. Evidence of many such smiles, over many years. ‘ Famine, less so---though that may depend on your estimation of your value, which I was also warned that I should not neglect to discuss before petitioning my Ambassador to let us keep you. ’
#lethalwit#answered.#hmm why is this so long ??#like i saw the scene and#then i had to write the scene and so exposition could be spared#rip @ me
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@glennatohowerton
42. “Why are you shaking?”
64. “Yell, scream, cry, please, just say something, anything.”
It was 3:27 am, the last time Dennis checked his watch, which meant that Mac has been out for approximately 6 hours.
He was on a date with some asshole named Sean, who appeared from the grindr profile that Mac had gleefully waved in his face over their shared cartons of Chinese takeout earlier that night, to be all of 25 years old, and, undeniably, a total beefcake. When Dennis had made some snide remark about the kid probably needing to be home in time for curfew, Mac had just laughed it off in between mouthfuls of vegetable lo mein (stolen from Dennis’s plate), his eyes scrunching up at the edges. It made him look younger, somehow, vulnerable. Dennis had stared at the table.
Mac had bounced out the door donning a dark green t-shirt, sheer and fitted so it clung to his muscles. Mac’s hair was soft, ruffled, and he looked more confident and at ease than Dennis had seen him in years, casting a bright smile over his shoulder while Dennis not to wait up for him. Dennis had nodded. Dennis had counted the beer stains on the beige living room carpet. Dennis had thrown a mug against the wall. Dennis had cut his fingers picking up the tiny pieces of china that covered the kitchen floor. Dennis had paced the length of the apartment over and over for approximately 45 minutes.
Inevitably, Dennis finds himself awake in the middle of the goddamn night, taking generous swigs from a bottle of whiskey he had unearthed from the depths of the kitchen cabinet, and flipping aimlessly through channels featuring scantily clad women on a quest to find their soulmate while jump-starting their model careers and rich housewives whose faces were more plastic than flesh and bone- who talked too much but said nothing. He ultimately settled on some nature channel showing a series that documented different species of birds. Tonight, they were talking about blue jays, he noticed, watching as one of the stern-looking little birds soared across his screen to settle on a tree branch next to another.
Blue jays mate for life, apparently. Dennis hadn’t known that. The soft drone of the narrator served as adequate background noise for Dennis’s increasingly loud, alcohol-fueled thoughts.
It was fucking ridiculous, really. Dennis knew Mac had been with men in the past, so he really shouldn’t be so fixated on the happenings of Mac’s date. For all the grief Dennis gives him, he realizes that Mac is an objectively attractive man, and now that he’s happily out of the closet, there’s no reason he shouldn’t be out playing the field, catching up on the feelings and experiences he’d pretended not to want for the past thirty years, embracing the parts of himself he’d tucked carefully away from the outside world (or only acknowledged in the dim backrooms of seedy bars, caught in the middle of glittering crowds of moving bodies on the dance floor, drunk enough for a moment that he forgot what he was so afraid of in the first place, under some spell that inevitably broke the next morning. This thought makes Dennis’s chest constrict sharply, a dull, aching feeling he can’t quite pinpoint).
But now, Mac was healing. Mac was growing. Mac was out with a man with dimples and a six pack who was probably laughing at all of his stupid jokes, touching his arms lightly as he leaned in to whisper something in his ear, making Mac’s cheeks flush and his eyes gleam in the same way they would whenever Dennis would dole out a rare compliment or words of praise. Mac was out with a man who presumably had a career and goals and real adult relationships, who could wake up in the morning and eat three meals a day like it was nothing, who would probably call Mac baby when he’s sober and let Mac hold his hand; someone who wouldn’t lash out at him with unnecessarily sharp words, but would make him feel good about himself, who would give him Valentine’s presents and stay to make him breakfast in the morning. Mac would like that, Dennis thought.
Dennis pictures Mac as he always looked first thing in the morning padding quietly out of his bedroom blurry eyed and sleep-soft, expression warming when he lays eyes on Dennis. Imagines someone else seeing him like that every day. Dennis thinks of getting drunk with Mac, leaning heavily against his shoulder on countless late night walks home from the bar, peering up under his lashes to catch a glimpse of Mac’s face; his gelled hair falling messily across his forehead, mouth open in concentration on getting them both home in one piece. The smell of his old leather jacket mixing with his dollar store shampoo and cologne samples ripped from men’s magazines, his arm tightening around his waist when Dennis inevitably stumbled over an empty beer bottle or groove in the sidewalk.
He thinks of Mac as a teenager: the two of them sitting silently in his room after his father went to prison for the second time, Mac’s arms circled tight around knees, his gaze fixed vacantly on the paint peeling off his bedroom wall, sitting closely enough that the outside of their thighs just touched. He thinks of Mac as he might be when he’s older, with more specks of gray painting his dark hair, more wrinkles around his eyes, but with the same unchanging, almost childish smile.Thinks again of Mac dating, maybe even getting married, someday. Growing old with someone.
At this point, Dennis realizes he is having difficulty breathing, his breaths coming out shorter and quicker than they normally would, his heart beating so loudly he swears it echoes in his ears. The adrenaline sets in. Dennis goes to take another swig of whiskey to calm himself down, before he notices the bottle is empty. Fuck. He immediately senses that has to get out. He has to get out of this fucking apartment and flee to somewhere, anywhere else. He is vaguely considering going to the 7-11 down the street to pick up a 12 pack of beerbeer, and at least burn off all this weird fucking nervous energy when his thoughts are interrupted by sound of the front door opening.
Mac’s moving as quietly as possible, as if trying not to wake anyone up. Painted in the yellow light from the hallway, he kicks his shoes off and gently sets his keys on the kitchen counter, before he notices Dennis sitting on the sofa.
“Jesus Christ, Dude! I had no idea you were awake,” he all but squawks “Fuck, man, you almost gave me a heart attack”
“Sorry,” Dennis offers, tonelessly.
Mac exhales through a tired grin, stifling a yawn with his fist as he steps closer to Dennis, flinging himself into a chair opposite the couch and stretching his arms over his head. Dennis’s gaze lingers the curve of his upper arm, his fingers resting lightly against the back of the chair.
“Oh man, at first I was super worried I was gonna get catfished, and it was gonna turn out to be like a gross old woman or some shit like you see on tv, you know?” Mac makes a disgusted face, lip curling up dramatically before laughing. “But then I get to the Rainbow and it turns out Sean is like. An actual personal trainer, and he sells his own line of like, protein shakes, I think? And like, I’m pretty ripped dude, but I mean this dude is absolutely shredded, like way more bigger in person than the pictures.”
As Mac proceeds to talk more about his date (who apparently had been very interested in watching Mac’s Project Badass tapes, though Dennis expected this was mostly to get into his pants), Dennis finds his focus drifting. Mac has a stray piece of glitter decorating the skin just above the collar of his t-shirt, Dennis notices absently, glimmering mildly in the faintly lit room, and drawing attention to the part of his body where the meat of his neck meets collarbone, surprisingly delicate.
Dennis looks down at the floor, then forces his eyes back on the tv screen, barely registering the shapes of the tiny, brightly colored creatures collecting twigs to build their nest together. Vaguely, Dennis wonders what would happen if something went wrong. If nature maybe fucks up now and then and one of the birds can’t figure out how to build nests properly, was born without the instinct, or just doesn’t know what to do when the time comes, and he fucks it all up? What happens to him then? Does he just fly away?
Mac must notice that something is off, because he stops talking.
“Dennis. Dennis dude, are you okay?” He looks genuinely confused, as his gaze skates across Dennis’s face. Suddenly his eyes widen, his brow creasing with worry.
“Dennis? Why are you shaking?”
Was he? Dennis hadn’t noticed.
“I’m going to get you a blanket, man. Just wait here a second.” Mac’s wringing his hands, biting his lip as he stares at him earnestly, like he does when he realizes Dennis hasn’t eaten all day or when Dennis finally emerges from the bathroom after having locked himself inside for the better part of the night.
The softness, the sincerity of the expression makes something in Dennis snap, and all he hears is static electricity, all he sees is red. Just as Mac turns to go get the blanket from his room, Dennis calls out to him:
“So fucking typical isn’t it? You’re so desperate for affection you’ll open your legs for the first decently attractive person who gives you the time of day, as if they actually give a shit about you” he punctuates the sentence with a cold, strangely strangled sounding laugh, schooling his expression into one of mock pity.
“ Anyway, this guy was probably just bored, looking for a quick lay to kill some time. Absolutely pathetic.”
Mac freezes from his position in the doorway, his back stiffening, and Dennis’s entire body goes suddenly cold with dread. But Mac just stands there, with his back to Dennis, as the seconds tick unbearably onward.
“Come on!” Dennis croaks, desperate now to evoke some kind of reaction. “Yell, scream, cry, please, just say something, anything!”
Mac turns slowly back to face Dennis, and when he does, Dennis sees an array of emotions plastered on his face; there’s pain etched into his features, and anger, but worst of all there’s this strange acceptance, like he had half expected Dennis to lash out like this, like he’s had years and years of practice. His voice is carefully controlled when he speaks next.
“Yeah, well, if I’m so pathetic, if I’m so desperate, then why the fuck did you come back in the first place? We were finally starting to get back to normal or like, I don’t know maybe an even better version of normal when you waltzed back in without any kind of explanation or apology for leaving us alone for over a year, Dennis.” Mac’s voice cracks, the way it does when he talks about his dad in prison, the way it does when he can’t but help but allow his carefully maintained facade of toughness to drop for just a moment.
Dennis sits frozen still, stunned. He wasn’t expecting this. He doesn’t know what he expected. Dennis doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but Mac’s eyes are glossy when he continues
“There were… weeks, Dennis. When I couldn’t get out of bed, when Charlie would come to make sure I was….” he flounders “to make sure I was okay. And even after that I was trying so hard not to think about it I did so much stupid shit just trying to forget about y-to forget about it ” He clears his throat, raises his head slightly to look Dennis in the eye. “I was in a really bad place, man. You leaving didn’t just affect you.” He pauses, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. Dennis swallows, suddenly, against, a growing lump forming in his throat.
“And now you’re back and you keep talking about how much you hate me, or how annoying I am, or how much you wish you didn’t live with me?” he chuckles bitterly. “So what I’m having a hard time understanding is- why? Why, Dennis? Why did you leave your kid and your cushy life with Mandy and come back to Philly, back to our home if I’m so goddamn terrible?”
Mac has these bright pink splotches high on his cheeks, his chest heaving with barely restrained emotion.
Dennis is paralyzed. He wants to flee. He wants to reach out and touch Mac. He wants to become as small as humanly possible, so small that no other person can ever see him again. He feels wetness forming on his cheeks, has no idea how it got there.
Mac’s body visibly deflates as he takes in the scene before him. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck for a long moment, features softening. Moving quickly, he steps closer to Dennis, reaching out to touch him, hand hovering near his shoulder before he thinks better and it drops to its side.
“Fuck, man. It’s late.” he forces a watery laugh, hand running through his own hair. “We’re just tired, saying shit we don’t mean.” He won’t quite meet Dennis’s eyes. “I’m going to go get you that blanket.”
Mac exits the room, and swiftly returns with the soft blue flannel blanket from his own bed, wrapping it loosely around Dennis’s shoulders with gentle, careful movements. He sits next to Dennis on the couch, leaving enough space that their legs don’t touch, but Dennis can still feel some of the warmth radiating from his body.
“Did you know that blue jays mate for life?” Dennis asks, abruptly. Mac pauses in his fussing with the blanket to lean back enough to look into Dennis’s eyes, cautious and confused. His whole face shifts, like he’s on the brink of something, but can’t fully bring himself to understand exactly what’s taking place.
“What? I don’t-” he starts
“Their whole life,” Dennis manages, feebly maintaining eye contact, his nails digging into his own thigh as he forces himself onward. He chokes on his words for a minute before continuing. “ It’s just the one.”
“Dennis,” Mac breathes, his eyes wide with confusion, and fear, and something that looks suspiciously like hope. He reaches out and this time grabs Dennis’s hand where its curled into his thigh, squeezes it tight. “You’re okay. Dennis, it’s going to be okay.”
And for the first time, Dennis thought, maybe it was.
#macdennis#macdennis fic#iasip#iasip fic#sorry if there are errors i only got to proofread once#also sorry if this is bad im not really a fic writer#my writing#my fic
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In his 14 minutes of screentime in Always Be My Maybe, Netflix’s latest rom-com phenomenon, 54-year-old Keanu Reeves — now 30 years into his stardom — skewers and subverts the personas we’ve come to attach to him.
Reeves, playing an outsized version of himself, cuts an imposing figure in his introduction. Time slows to a crawl. All eyes gravitate toward the velvet-jacketed figure with striking beauty and prickly charisma. After his entrance — a show for everyone in the farcical restaurant Maximal — he slides toward Ali Wong’s celebrity chef Sasha, offering spiritual platitudes in the face of her unfettered lust. “I missed your thumbs,” she breathily exhales. “I missed your soul” is his reply.
It’s a maniacally delightful performance that both reminds audiences of Reeves’s place in Asian-American Hollywood history and allows him to flex improvisational skills as he cycles through the various masks we have grafted onto him. There’s the impossibly otherworldly Keanu, who says with utmost sincerity, “The only stars that matter are the ones that you see when you dream.” There’s action-star Keanu, who smashes a vase against his own head in a game of Icebreaker and easily puts the jealous protagonist, Marcus (Randall Park), in a headlock — fully committed, physically graceful, and beautifully dangerous. The Keanu of internet memes and viral threads is here, too, in the very fact that he’s playing himself.
Reeves is having a dynamite year with the success of Always Be My Maybe, the outrageously violent John Wick Chapter 3: Parabellum, and Toy Story 4, in which he plays Canada’s greatest stunt driver, Duke Caboom. (Another sly nod perhaps? While born in Beirut, Reeves — who is of Chinese-Hawaiian and British ancestry — was raised in Toronto.) The actor’s more recent evolution into a meme may flatten his complexities, but it does signal why he has endured all this time, despite the persistent claim that he’s a bad actor, or just a limited one. As I’ve contended in the past, this is a gross misreading of a great actor. In her tremendous 2007 masterwork The Star Machine, film professor and historian Jeanine Basinger praises Reeves amongst his generational contemporaries: “Reeves is a neo-star fighting the concept of stardom itself, working steadily against persona to the point where no one has a clear idea of who Reeves is onscreen anymore. This has hurt him, but it has also allowed him to maintain versatility that means more to him than fame. […] His career would have been limited, and thus short lived. Instead, he has used his freedom to move on and slowly force audiences to accept him as a real actor.”
Just take a look at the arc of his career — as a teenager going through an existential crisis in the blackhearted wonder River’s Edge (1986); the affably dimwitted Theodore “Ted” Logan from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989) and its sequel; the bodaciously supple and yearning FBI agent and surfer Johnny Utah in Point Break (1991); a bruisingly courteous SWAT officer in Speed (1994); the beatific savior Neo in The Matrix (1999); the violent redneck in The Gift (2000); an occult detective radiating self-loathing and suicidal yearnings in Constantine (2005); and of course, the titular tenderhearted and violently dangerous assassin of the John Wick franchise. In looking at all of his performances, I am reminded of what the great Roger Ebert wrote in his review of the Bill & Ted sequel back in the early ‘90s: “I have seen Keanu Reeves in vastly different roles (the FBI man in the current Point Break, for example), and am a little astonished by the range of these performances.”
Throughout his career, Reeves has eschewed obvious transformation in favor of something trickier and more subtle. What has allowed him to remain a star, 30 years later, is a blend of virility, vulnerability, and an aura of mystery, hearkening to a bygone era of stardom that contradicts the current moment, which requires stars to seem endlessly accessible; his sheer joy for the medium that makes him a cinematic sensualist; his racial dimensions as a star; and his gimlet-eyed understanding of the female gaze. These qualities are unique in the current market of stardom in Hollywood, allowing him to straddle various cinematic contexts with ease — mainstream romantic comedies, somber indie flicks, gloriously decadent action flicks.
They come through in one of his earliest films, My Own Private Idaho, a meditative character study about two young hustlers — Mike Waters (River Phoenix), a shy narcoleptic in search of a sense of home, and the strikingly beautiful Scott Favor (Reeves), a trust-fund kid slumming it until his inheritance kicks in at 21. Reeves and his late co-star imbue their characters with a particular mix of virility, vulnerability, and mystery. I’d argue that all the greatest leading men in the annals of Hollywood stardom have existed at this intersection to varying degrees — something I feel has been lacking from modern male stars, partially because they are being formed in franchises that lack interest in the visceral aspects of humanity. (It helps that Reeves has declined offers to join Marvel, even though they’ve been trying to woo him to their stable for years.) Humphrey Bogart’s cool is consistently undercut by his own anger and self-loathing. William Holden held something dark behind his megawatt smile and gleaming blond locks. Paul Newman always felt a touch remote, like he was hiding bruised aspects of himself from the audience. Marlon Brando, of course, epitomizes these qualities. Reeves is brimming with similar contradictions. He reflects this tradition by being at once beatifically still and emotionally expressive, defined by loneliness and a yearning to be saved from it.
In My Own Private Idaho, Reeves is the object of desire not only for Mike but the camera itself. Deep into the film, Mike timidly reveals his love to Scott while they camp out in the desert, a fire crackling before them. Phoenix plays Mike as wild with energy he has no real outlet for, leading to an awkward physicality. Reeves grants his character a languid brio. He takes up space, laying close to the fire, his head dipped back to study Mike as he timidly expresses his feelings. He’s outstretched, willowy, and aware of Mike’s gaze; he examines the weight of it. The scene reveals one of Reeves’s greatest skills as an actor: being an active listener. As he studies Mike, he invites and toys with his feelings. “I only have sex with a guy for money,” he notes offhandedly as if it were a random truth, not a response to a declaration of love. But just as the prickliness of his character comes into view (foreshadowing later betrayals), Reeves displays a burnishing sincerity. Arms outstretched, he says, “Let’s go to sleep,” and proceeds to cradle Mike.
The full-bodied listening Reeves exhibits in My Own Private Idaho is a hallmark of his work opposite women as well. Reeves is a great example of what Roswell New Mexico writer Alanna Bennett deemed The Look: “The number one thing a man in a romcom needs, TV or movie, is the ability to look at their love interest REALLY WELL. The man barely even needs to speak if he just knows how LOOK at a person.” Reeves has given that look in multiple contexts — his face is bright with awe when he looks at Carrie-Anne Moss’s Trinity in the Matrix films; it has a touch of admiration when he gazes at Sandra Bullock in Speed; and it is filled with unmitigated desire for Diane Keaton’s Erica Barry in Something’s Gotta Give.
Nancy Meyer’s 2003 ode to beachside property and an older woman’s sensual awakening stars Keaton as a successful playwright who finds herself falling for two very different men — Harry Sanborn (Jack Nicholson), who briefly dated her daughter (how this didn’t disqualify him immediately continues to baffle me) and has to go through a damn heart attack before he can see what’s attractive in a woman around his own age; and Julian Mercer (Reeves), a sweet doctor with a penchant for black turtlenecks who is immediately smitten when they meet.
In the film, Reeves is attuned to the female gaze in its most literal incarnation — an understanding of how women see the world, what they want from it, and how they make sense of desire. During a dinner scene with Julian, Erica’s face and neck are flush. She’s skittish and nervous in the face of his undeniable — but never disrespectful — sexual and romantic interest. Reeves’s face shows the depth and breadth of The Look, as he glides from teasing lust to a spark of genuine intellectual attraction. At one point, when their conversations turns to women his own age, he says, “I’ve never met one I’ve reacted to” — stumbling for a moment, as if shocked by the depth of his own feeling — “… quite like this. When something happens to you that hasn’t happened before, don’t you have to at least find out what it is?” He’s a man overcome and humbled by his own desire. Is there anything sexier? Then he leans in, his face going soft, gently kissing the groove where her neck meets her shoulder. “I knew you’d smell good,” he whispers. Only Reeves could pull off a line like that.
Many actors of Reeves’s caliber are too invested in being in the spotlight of a scene to play a romantic lead like this. After the fall of the studio system in the 1960s, Hollywood no longer looked at women as a viable market, and while romantic comedies continued to get made, going forward, there was a notable shift in whose desire was centered — and how little male actors seemed interested in exploring romance and desire. Reeves’s willingness brought another layer of intimacy to his relationship with his audience, offering a more flexible, vulnerable portrait of masculinity that sets him apart from other name stars.
That intimacy is key to Reeves’s longevity. It’s what makes him such a great cinematic sensualist. In 2009, Matt Zoller Seitz argued that directors Michael Mann, Terrence Malick, David Lynch, Wong Kar-wai, and Hou Hsiao-hsien were the “the decade’s best sensualists filmmakers.” He wrote, “They share a defining trait: a lyrical gift for showing life in the moment, for capturing experience as it happens and as we remember it. The sensualists are bored with dramatic housekeeping. They’re interested in sensations and emotions, occurrences and memories of occurrences.” I’d argue that being a cinematic sensualist is a distinction that can apply to acting as well. For actors, it is about bringing texture and complication to a film, existing wholly in the moment, and a keen interest in the human body.
When we watch films, the body keeps score as much as the mind does. Reeves demonstrates an understanding of this. This is apparent in the delicate neck kiss in Something’s Gotta Give; the careful way his hand skitters across broken glass before deciding on which shard to slit his wrists with in Constantine; the calm he engenders with merely the sound of his voice in Thumbsucker. But it’s most impactful in his career as an action star. In many ways, the John Wick franchise is the perfect marriage of director and star. The third film is a tactile feast. Consider a scene early in John Wick 3, in which Reeves methodically takes apart and reassembles a gun for a single shot. This scene is, of course, a testament to the character’s skill as an assassin. But it also acts as a reminder of how out of step John is with the world around him, betraying a desire for the quieter moments in life — despite the brutal milieu he finds himself in — and a strange empathy for the world around him, whether it be object or animal. This allows a humanity to glitter throughout his performances that often feels absent from many action franchises that sacrifice character on the altar of plot.
There’s another part of Reeves’s star image I suspect has played into our abiding fascination with him. Until Always Be My Maybe, the most under-discussed part of Reeves’s persona was his race. Late in his slim but potent book-length essay Mixed-Race Superman: Keanu, Obama, and Multicultural Experience, Will Harris astutely writes about a particular aspect of the 2005 film A Scanner Darkly that, metatextually, speaks to Reeves’s whole career:
“To be mixed-race is to exist in a state of paradox. Race is an illusion that depends on purity and singleness. […] In A Scanner Darkly, set in a paranoid surveillance state in the near-future, Keanu plays a government agent called Bob Arctor, who because he works undercover, has to wear a ‘scramble suit’ in the office. The suit projecting 1.5 million constantly shifting representations of different people — male and female, black, white, Latinx — keeps his identity cloaked. Even the people he works with have no idea who he is.”
Like his persona, Reeves’s face itself is considered unplaceable. Growing up, he never read as white to me, but he has read that way to Hollywood, which allowed his career to be mutable in ways that very few people of color ever experience. But for much of the moviegoing audience, seeing his face has always been a point of connection. It’s the undercurrent of why his turn in Always Be My Maybe felt like such a significant moment in his career. It was as though something had been revealed about him for the first time, even though it had been present all along. That it was such a joyful, brazenly comedic role added yet another twist on his image. There was a sense that, even after 30 years in the spotlight, Reeves can still surprise us.
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The Arranged Marriage AU Part 16 [Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15]
Chauvin doesn’t even try to approach Laurent that day, which is both unnerving and a little relieving. Perhaps he’s just here to spy on Laurent for his father. But no, that’s naive and hardly worth the effort of his father. There are two possible options that Laurent sees as likely. Either his father has sent another demand for Laurent, or he’s realised that Laurent is ignoring the letters and is going to punish him in some way. Maybe he’ll get dragged back to Vere for the trial that he narrowly avoided a couple of years ago.
Damen, blissfully oblivious to Laurent’s internal worries, requests a private lunch for them together in his private gardens. Damianos is a man made to be in the sun, his dark skin glows in the light and he is a sight to behold. Laurent tries to focus on that, rather than what may be happening with Chauvin.
“My father,” Damen says in a soft voice, “had these gardens made for my mother.”
Damen is clearly still mourning his father’s death, but lately the burden has seemed a little lighter, as if he has decided to concentrate on the best memories. “It’s beautiful here,” Laurent says. There are picnicking - an unexpectedly sweet gesture on Damen’s behalf, especially when the intention here seems to be genuinely picnicking, rather than a ruse to fuck in the open like it would be in Vere.
“Have you been towards the East wing of the palace?” Damen asks. “I suppose not. It’s where Hypermenstra lived when she was alive.”
“I haven’t,” Laurent agrees.
“I am trying to decide,” Damen says, “what quarters to give you and Nikandros. If you would like to live in the palace, that is? You’ll obviously be given your own lands, suitable for a Kyros of Ios.”
“I had assumed we would live here, with you. That is the point of all of this maneuvering after all.”
Damen smiles. “Good,” he says. Then, seemingly moving onto his next topic, “What would you have done in Vere, had you not been married to Nik?”
Laurent picks a blade of grass, twirls it between his fingers. “It was my hope,” he says, a little wistfully, “that I would be an advisor for my brother when he became king.”
“I have noticed that you are well-versed in statesmanship,” Damianos agrees, as if this is the answer he expected. “And I thought I’d ask if you wanted a position like that in Ios. My father always advised me to surround myself with men I could trust.”
He says it like it’s an easy thing - to declare trust for a foreigner who he met only months ago - and Laurent is struck speechless for a moment. He, almost overcome, irrationally considers just telling Damen everything that is going on which Chauvin and Aleron. Perhaps Damen will sympathise, and they can take this on together. Except. Except Damen would not keep the information from Nik, and Nikandros would not forgive Laurent for the early manipulations that occured in their relationship.
He will take care of Chauvin - and his father - himself, and then they can truly build a future together.
Laurent smiles, slowly at his lover. “The only position I want right now,” he says, “is to be lying under you.”
Damen’s soft expression shifts into something more assured. It’s undeniably attractive. “We are outside,” he says, but he doesn’t sound displeased with the idea. In fact, he is leaning towards Laurent now.
“Lucky you brought that dipping oil for the bread,” Laurent replies.
“I want to make an offer,” Damen says.
“Are you trying to negotiate bed play with me right now?”
Damen is undeterred by Laurent’s amusement. “I know you are more comfortable when you are in control, but I would like for us to try it my way.”
“Have you not liked what we’ve been doing so far?”
“I treasure every moment you let me spend in your company. I have liked everything. May I show you a different way?”
He’s so sincere and beautiful. Laurent would probably be up for anything at this point. “Different how?”
Damen kisses him, very sweetly on the mouth. Then he kisses him again. This extends for an indeterminable amount of time, and then Damen undoes only the top of Laurent’s jacket so that he can make a path down Laurent’s neck with his lips. Laurent thinks that Damen is taking long enough that they could have fucked and redressed in the same amount of time. He feels unsteady.
“Don’t think so much,” Damen says, gently. “I adore you. I want you to feel that in every touch so that you never doubt my sincerity when I say it.”
“Okay,” Laurent says, breathless despite how little they’ve done. “Let’s do it your way.”
-
After Damen has taken his time taking Laurent apart in the sunlight, Laurent allows him to leave to do whatever Kingly business he has been putting off, and then continues to lie down in the grass, only partially redressed.
He feels the bizarre urge to write a letter to Nikandros, chastising him for not warning Laurent that Damianos could be like that. But then he also thinks once he took a quill to paper, the only thing he would be able to write to describe such an experience would be a series of exclamation marks. He also thinks that he could send that, and Nikandros would understand completely.
Eventually though, Laurent manages to recover his senses, and he redresses and then leaves the gardens. He wishes that he could just stay there, among the flowers forever, but he has to deal with Chauvin first before he indulges in any such fantasies.
He finds the man in town, drinking at the Inn where he’s probably staying.
“You took your time,” Chauvin says, when Laurent takes the seat next to him.
“There are more important things than you,” Laurent tells him. He accepts a cup of wine from the barmaid, out of politeness than any intention to actually drink. “Out with it.”
Chauvin smiles. “I have a message from your father,” he says. “It is spoken, as some things shouldn’t be written down.”
“Get to the point,” Laurent demands.
“Your father wished for me to congratulate you on dispatching Theomedes so quickly, and leaving the Akielons with no suspicions.”
If Laurent were any less than Veretian royalty, he thinks he would not have been able to hide his surprise. Laurent can only assume this means that the letter he tore up contained instructions to murder King Theomedes. Laurent forces his expression to stay impassive. “Is that all?”
“No.” Chauvin is outright grinning now. “He also wants you to know that he is impressed by your initiative to whore yourself out to Damianos and gain his favour. Once Damianos is taken care of, Akielos will be unstable enough to be ripe for the taking.”
“Father wants me to-” Laurent begins, and then cuts himself off before he says it.
“You should murder your Kyros husband as well,” Chauvin says, easily. “Just to close all loose ends. I’ll be waiting here in the capital to escape you back to Arles once the deed is done. Then you can be reunited with your family again.”
Laurent is silent for a long moment. “How much time do I have?”
“Two months,” Chauvin replies. “If you somehow haven’t succeeded by then, there are a few backup measures in place.”
Laurent stands up. He needs to get out of here. “I understand,” he says, and then makes his hurried exit. He is at the door when Chauvin calls back to him.
“I have something else for you,” Chauvin says. He comes over and presses a vial into Laurent’s hands. “I heard this is your preferred method.”
“What is this?” Laurent asks, hands closing around the vial. He already knows, he just wasn’t aware that Chauvin also knew.
“Poison,” Chauvin replies. “The same kind you used to murder your uncle with.”
#captive prince#writing#the arranged marriage au#i think there's only like 5 parts left now#the end is nigh#thank goodness#d/n/l#n/d/l
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Wrong Number (Baekhyun x OC) Part 5 : Final
Synopsis: In which Hwang Jinae insistently leaves voice messages to her boyfriend every night since he's gone to Veterinary College, only to discover that she has been confessing all her struggles and hardships to the wrong number. More specifically; to his roommate Byun Baekhyun.
Part: One | Two | Three | Four | Five
The flowers smell odd.
That’s what Jinae thinks as she puts them to her nose, inhaling shakily before leaning down to set them onto the gravestone. Brushing off some of the dirt that is tainting the concrete, she leans back on her heels and for a moment, a silence engulfs her being, wraps her in a small bubble of condolence.
Tears brimm at the corner of her eyes once they sweep over the engraved letters that make up a name that breaks her heart in two. A year ago, she’d been angry at Taehyung for ditching her and using long distance as his excuse to evade her calls.
And now, there’s nothing but regret left.
She’s suddenly jolted out of her misery when her phone starts ringing.
Her pale fingers reach for her bag and fishes for the device, pressing the green call button, ‘Hello?’
‘Hey.’
It’s Baekhyun. A faint smile etches its way across her lips at the sound of his voice. With all the things that have happened this past month, it is more than comforting to hear a familiar sound for once.
She settles herself more comfortably on the grass, not really caring whether her pants are getting stained with dirt, ‘What’s up?’
‘I’m guessing you’re still there?’
She nods before realizing he can’t see her, ‘Yeah.’
‘Want to rant?’
Her lips twitch at the familiarity of the memory. This is how it has all started after all, ever since they started talking through the phone. As far as she knows, Baekhyun has been the pillar of support that she needed every time whether it had been to cry or to laugh or to share her happiness with. After Taehyung’s surgery had failed, he’d held her in his arms and hadn’t said anything, only let her cry in the silence and comfort, only gave her the security of his presence as she told him about how unfair this all was, about how the world was playing tricks on her, that Taehyung wasn’t supposed to depart so soon because they’d planned so many other things to do.
She’d blubbered on and on, unsure how much time had passed before he’d reluctantly dragged her back to his flat. She’d stayed over for the night and had been surprised at how gentle Baekhyun had been with her. He’d cook her breakfast and managed to sort out all the things that had to be sorted out due to the suddenness of the situation, and Jinae had gladly let him take the lead. They had attended his funeral together and met his parents. Taehyung’s mother had bawled into her shoulder, thanked her for spending the last moments with her baby boy, while her father had instructed her to contact their family whenever she needed it. After all, Jinae had been introduced and had been quite close to the other family members ever since they’d started dating in high school.
Twelve months have passed ever since and though time has given Jinae the space and the ability to heal from her boyfriend’s sudden departure, there are still many things that remind her of him wherever she goes; whether it’s from a familiar song they used to sing together or the flavour of a food that he had cooked once upon a time claiming that his food wasn’t all that bad. It still brings tears to her eyes to think about it, but without Baekhyun, Jinae admits it would’ve probably been worse.
The said young man calls every night, practically taking over most of her time whenever she’s alone and meddling with her own thoughts. At first she had been annoyed, not wanting to talk to him because he reminds her too much of the deceased man. But Baekhyun’s insistent nature finally drove through her ice cold walls and soon enough she’d find this natural to call him after her classes, whether it’s while cooking or just chatting amiably before going to bed. The more she gets to know him, the more she can see the resemblance between him and Taehyung. The way they talk, the intonations in their voices, even the stupid jokes they both crack are somewhat reminiscent of each other, and while Jinae’s heart is slowly opening up to another man, the guilt is just as prominent and causing her to watch her behaviour, reel in her emotions.
‘I don’t know. I guess I was expecting to feel better sooner rather than later.’ Jinae tries not to let her emotions show through, but her voice cracks anyway, ‘That was stupid of me.’
‘It’s only been year,’ Baekhyun soothes gently, ‘it’s okay to hurt.’
She wipes at a few stray tears escaping the corner of her lips, ‘I know.’ She mumbles as she feels her lips tremble from the self-restraint, ‘I know it’s okay. Taehyung wouldn’t be too happy about it, though. He’d probably tell me to stop moping.’
‘I bet he would.’ Baekhyun laughs, ‘and he’d probably tell you that you look ugly when you cry.’
‘Yeah, I don’t think he’d like it very much.’
When the young man speaks again, she hears his voice through the phone as well as behind her. Jinae turns in surprise.
‘Then, stop crying.’
Baekhyun’s gaze is soft and warm when they land on her own red-rimmed orbs. He holds his phone pressed against his ear and his expression is one of sympathy and concern.
Ending the call, he puts the phone back in his pocket before extending his hand out to her.
‘Come on.’ He murmurs softly, ‘let’s go home.’
Jinae doesn’t hesitate to let her fingers entwine with his own before he pulls her up next to him. He feels strong and solid and there, and somehow her heart flutters despite her attempts to restrain herself. She can’t help but notice that he keeps a firm hold of her hand in his as they walk back to Jinae’s flat.
‘Why did you come?’ She finally asks as hey weave their way through the gravestones. She hasn’t expected him to come all the way to her part of the city just to see Taehyung, and it’s not like they’ve been close enough for Baekhyun to be deemed as a friend. But it’s true that the last weeks during Taehyung’s last fight with his own body, Baekhyun had been more than persistent in being of help. The genuinity had been there and Jinae really likes that about him: his sincerity.
One more thing that he shares with Taehyung.
“I was on the way back from my mom’s place,’ Baekhyun shrugs as if to tell her that it’s no problem, although Jinae isn’t sure whether he’s just ying to make her feel better, ‘So I decided to stop by. Good thing I did.’
He pointedly looks at her, to which she flushes in embarassment, ‘I would’ve been fine alone.’
‘Yeah right,’ he jokingly flicks at her forehead and Jinae can’t help the heat that creeps up at the back of her neck at the undeniable flutters that start to vibrate through her heartstrings, causing her to look away in attempts of controlling her emotions.
The girl persists that Baekhyun stays for the night when they reach her flat, and he agrees on the condition that they order takeout that he gets to pay. She grudgingly agrees and a thirty minutes later, they’re sitting in the living room watching a stupid korean sitcom while slurping up their bowls of fried noodles.
‘Taehyung used to hate fried noodles,’ Jinae says to him as they sit in companionable silence, ‘He used to beg me not to eat those in front of me.’
‘Why?’ Baekhyun laughs, lips licking the remnants of the sauce from his lips. Jinae can’t help but stare, only to avert her eyes before he notices.
‘I think he didn’t like the taste. He had a bad memory of fried noodles, something about it falling on his face when he tripped.’ she shrugs, ‘There were a lot of things Taehyung didn’t like to eat, now that I think about it.’
Baekhyun is about to tease back that not everyone can be as perfect as her when his brown orbs suddenly fall on one of the shelves. He frowns, and Jinae follows his gaze to what is now a space void of memories.
The only picture she’s kept of Taehyung is the one by her bedside. All the other pictures they had together hurt too much to look at.
‘You removed them.’ Those three words slice a bit of her heart in two. She gulps. Yes, indeed she has.
And he’s noticed it too.
She feels the young man shifting beside her, his gze open, curious, wallowing with a thousand questions that he doesn’t voice out and instead keeps to himself. But she can still see them, see everything he wants to say but leaves unsaid for fear of going over a boundary, crossing a line he isn’t supposed to cross.
When he speaks again, his voice is soft, almost shaky: ‘Why?’
Jinae lowers her bowl, the noodles now forgotten in her lap, ‘Why can’t I?”
She realizes a little too late that her voice might have come out too harshly for his liking, for she notices how the said man winces slightly at her tone. She softens, wanting to hit herself for being so cruel to someone that’s been nothing but supportive of her all these months that she’s had to depend on him.
Except that she doesn’t want to depend on him.
She doesn’t want to be that person. For god’s sake, he’s Taehyung’s roommate and what’s more, he reminds her so much of the said man that it’s hard to know whether her source of her attraction is due to Baekhyun himself or due to the fact that he makes her think of Taehyung the more time they spend together.
‘I didn’t mean to pry, just--’ he clears his throat, ‘You’ve never done that before.’
----------
Baekhyun has tried his best.
He has tried so hard to keep his promise to his roommate ever since the day that the horrible news had been announced. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, hadn’t wanted to come to terms with the fact that in a way, Taehyung had been right. He’d been right all along about his kidney failure and yet, even as he had stood next to his grave, he hadn’t wanted to shake hands with the realization that death had taken the young man away and had left him with a broken hearted girl and a responsibility upon his shoulders.
It isn’t that he hates the idea of taking care of JInae and making sure that it’s alright. He’d been doing it ever since they met anyway, it doesn’t really affect him or change his lifestyle. On the contrary, he really genuinely enjoys Jinae’s company, wishes that every moment takes longer than it should, wishes that time would freeze long enough for him to savour every second of it. But he’d really hoped to meet her under different circumstances.
With his promise to Taehyung and with his responsibility and sense of duty towards his girlfriend, Baekhyun has become more of a big brother than a friend (cough) potential dating partner (cough).
He doesn’t even allow himself to think of such a thing, for fear that it would just ruin the relationship he’s built with the latter.
Every night, Baekhyun tosses and turns in his bed, staring forlornly up at the ceiling in hopes that somehow, by crazy chance, he can rewrite their history and start all over again.
Because how can he love a girl that another man has loved as deeply? And how can he love a girl who’s been entrusted in his care, when that love may destroy their relationship?
And the guilt. He can’t bear the guilt. Just looking at her makes him remember of the last words Taehyung had said to him, the soft smile that had etched across his lips when he’d asked him to keep Jinae safe.
And of course, Baekhyun will. That’s the least he could do.
So when he notices that the pictures of the said couple are missing on the bookshelf that now seems a little too big and a little too void for his liking, his brain can’t help but muster up a flock of questions that open up a series of possibilities that Baekhyun has to restrain and reel back in, in hopes of keeping his thoughts sane and to himself.
‘I thought it was about time.’ Jinae murmurs in response to his startled surprise, ‘They hurt too much to look at.’
She plays around with noodles, looking for anything to do to distract her from the suddenly awkward atmosphere. Baekhyun’s throat runs dry as his brain skips to the concluding fact: She’s still very much haunted from the memory of her said past boyfriend, and though Baekhyun wants to scream in frustration because it just hurts too much to be in the same room as her, let alone see her face everyday and hold himself back from the flood of emotions that swarm through him every time he thinks of her. And yet, he can’t find it in himself to be mad, for he emphasizes and sympathizes. He understands how it feels somehow, knows that she’s having a hard time coping even though it has been a year.
But a year isn’t that long, now that he thinks about it.
So he does the only thing he can. He winds an arm around her shoulder before bringing her closser, tucking her tense body under his arm, under his warmth.
Grabbing her bowl from her lap, he puts it on the coffee table while the girl finds refuge in the space between his neck and shoulder. He can feel her breaths hitting onto his skin, goosebumps forming at the sensation, and dismisses it.
‘Sorry,’ she manages to mumble as sobs slowly crawl up the back of her throat, scratching at her voice box.
Baekhyun shakes his head, ‘You don’t have to be sorry for hurting, Jinae.’ He brings her even closer and pillows his head on top of hers. His hand starts stroking along the back of her head in comfort, and Jinae unknowingly burrows even closer if possible.
‘No, you deserve it.’ she mumbles, her voice merely above a whisper, ‘I don’t know how you do it.’
‘I don’t know how I do it either,’ he jokingly teases, and the girl nudges his arm playfully. A grin forms on his face.
‘Do you regret it?’
Baekhyun’s eyebrows furrow, kissing at the center when he looks down at her, at the light falling across the planes of her face. He can’t help but think how fragile she looks, how innocent she appears. It makes him want to put her in a box and hold her as close as he possibly can, to keep her away from all the bad things that can hurt her.
‘Regret what?’ his voice comes out muffled against the side of her head.
‘Regret picking up the phone.’
A pause ensues. ‘You mean, when I called you back that first time?’
Jinae nods.
He feels like laughing because it is absolutely the most ridiculous question she has ever asked him. ‘What?’ he leans away before shaking his head at her, noticing how confusion sweeps across her features at his reaction, ‘Are you serious? Why would I regret it?’
‘You wouldn’t be here, then.’ Jinae responds, ‘Maybe your life would’ve been much easier. You wouldn’t even know about your roommate’s kidney, just that one day he moved out for an unknown reason.’ Her brown orbs suddenly flutter up to his and they locks gazes. Baekhyun’s throat runs dry at the intensity swimming in those swirls of maroon that seem to pin him down with the truth, the reality of the situation.
‘You’re right,’ Baekhyun murmurs, tone soft and eyes gentle, ‘Things might’ve been different. But I don’t regret it. Not one bit.’
Her head lifts up so suddenly that it startles him, causing him to draw back as their eyes found each other. It’s hard to figure out what is going on in that head of hers, but Baekhyun is sure that his own emotions are shining right through his chest, as transparent and as apparent as he makes them out to be. He traces her features, outlines the shape of her nose and traces her lips, fingers tingling at the desire to feel their softness.
Gulping, he looks away. ‘Do you regret it?’ he throws back the question at her, not really keen to find out the answer to that question.
‘Of course not.’ Jinae replies instantly, ‘you were practically being my mom after--’ she swallows, continues after a brief pause, ‘after Taehyung passed.’
Baekhyun stifles a chuckle, ‘Well I couldn’t just leave you like that. You looked like you just crawled out of a morgue.’
‘Hey, I went through a lot.’
His hand reaches out, smoothing down the side of her head in affection. He smiles crookedly, ‘I know you did.’
Silence falls between them, as comfortable as the sun on one’s skin after months of winter. There’s something that flickers in Jinae’s eyes, something that he can’t quite decipher and yet, guesses that it’s something which looks like tenderness. There’s an intimacy in the way they sit, with their knees touching and her shoulder practically on his chest. Baekhyun can feel the warmth from her body, the scent of her skin washing over his nostrils, and he hasn’t realized that his hand had gone up to stroke the side of her cheek until Jinae stutters out a:
‘B-Baek, what are you doing?’
He blinks, arm jolting away as though he’s been electrocuted. The girl’s eyes are wide with surprise.
‘Nothing,’ he mumbles out. The sudden closeness has shocked him and he is horrified at the lack of self-restraint he has over his body.
He jolts up from the couch, ‘I should probably take a shower.’ he mumbles out while moving towards the bathroom, ‘I won’t be long.’
It takes all of Baekhyun’s power not to collapse right then and there, making it as quickly as he can to the bathroom before shutting the door and sitting on the floor in a sprawled out fashion, wondering how he can go on both protecting his heart and protecting the girl he loves when they are both so out of his reach and out of his control.
--------
‘How have you been, then?’
Jinae’s fingers are wrapped around her tea mug, wound so tight she fears the porcelain might break under her grasp. An elder lady sits opposite her, probably in her mid-fifties, her posture straight and her features-- though giving away to age-- reminiscent of her beauty in her younger years. Taehyung’s mother is a refined and beautiful woman, both in heart and soul. Though Mrs.Kim has been raised in a family where rank and social class were tossed around like jean tags, her heart had been captured by a farmer’s boy -- Mr.Kim-- for whom she’d give the world. Jinae remembers the amount of time she’s spent in Taehyung’s house because her parents’ was too far away for her to go back during the weekends off. She remembers all the family dinner conversations whereby her and Mrs.Kim would make fun of Taehyung, the time when the said older woman had invited her over for Christmas and had given her a woolen, hand-knitted sweater that Jinae still has kept safe and sound all these years.
After Taehyung’s death, she has made sure to visit Mrs.Kim more often than not, always bringing back treats or small gifts to the Kim household. While Taehyung’s mother would always be full of protests while telling her that it isn’t necessary for such extravagancies, Jinae manages to reassure her that it comes from her own pocket money and that it’s the least she can do for everything that the older woman has done for her. Mrs.Kim had turned out to be her second mother and this kind of kindness is something that Jinae will forever be grateful for.
‘I’ve been alright.’ Jinae takes a huge gulp of her tea to mask her lie, but coughs as the hot liquid burns her tongue.
Mrs.Kim hands her a tissue, tutting sympathetically and murmuring about waiting for the tea to cool down.
‘I’m fine,’ Jinae waves away her concern, ‘nothing I can’t handle.’
‘You’re still so clumsy, as always.’ Mrs.Kim smiles, ‘You remind me a lot of my husband.’
‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’ Jinae jokes as she decides to blow on her tea instead. The older lady lets out a small snort of laughter, ‘I don’t know myself. I mean, he was always getting himself mixed up in trouble. Yet, I guess that was his charm.’ She smiles fondly, as if she recalling a memory that is left unknown to Jinae. But then, her expression turns to one of concern, ‘But Jinae, are you sure everything’s alright?’
JInae nods, ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘So,’ Mrs.Kim leans forward with an expectant look on her face, ‘are you still hanging out with Baekhyun often? How is he doing? You should’ve brought him along.’
‘He’s doing fine.’ Jinae hopes that Taehyung’s mother misses out on the dryness of her tone.
‘He reminds me a lot of Taehyung, don’t you think?’
The younger woman laughs rather awkwardly, unsure of how to respond, ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘They’re both so bright. Baekhyun’s studying Psychology isn’t he? Isn’t that brilliant?’ Mrs.Kim continues. It’s obvious that she has a soft spot for the said young man and yet, Jinae’s heartstrings can’t help but clench in guilt at the thought that Baekhyun is somehow someone just there to replace Taehyung.
Of course, Baekhyun is definitely not Taehyung. And she knows that.
And yet sometimes, she isn’t sure whether her attraction to him is because of their striking resemblance.
Which is why Jinae prefers playing it safe. Nothing can happen with him.
Nothing.
‘And they’re both so quirky. Whenever I talk to Baekhyun, I feel like I’m talking to my own son. They just have this glow about them, don’t they?’ Mrs.Kim gushes, ‘They even look alike sometimes, though Baekhyun looks more like a soft pup. Don’t you think so?’
She can feel her throat closing up, choking her words.
‘I-I don’t know,’ Jinae finally answers.
But Mrs.Kim doesn’t seem to notice her discomfort. She leans even closer while lowering her teacup. There’s some kind of mischievous glint in her eyes, ‘Jinae,’ she says, giggling softly like a middle schoolgirl, ‘What do you think of Baekhyun?’
And that’s when Jinae’s mind goes blank.
She blinks at Taehyung’s mother, unaware that pain and confusion and guilt are playing across her face. Her expression is as transparent as glass and she doesn’t have to say anything, the flush creeping through her two cheeks are enough to speak out the truth she cannot face herself.
‘Do you like this boy?’ Mrs.Kim’s tone softens into one of motherly concern when she finally gets a glimpse of the turmoil of feelings that Jinae has been keeping inside her for so long.
The said girl averts her gaze, embarrassed that she’s been caught shamelessly advertising her own heart.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs.Kim.’ she answers in what she hopes is a diplomatic, almost dismissive voice.
‘Darling girl,’ Mrs.Kim lets out a sigh, before moving forward and -- to Jinae’s surprise-- grasping her forearms lightly in a motherly gesture. Her face is tired, full of wrinkles. Jinae hasn’t noticed that before. She seems to have aged a lot since Taehyung’s death, and the younger woman understands, considering that she’s the only one living in a huge house alone.
When Mrs.Kim starts speaking again, her tone is firm, yet gentle and laced with worry that Jinae can’t ignore, ‘It’s okay to love again, Jinae. You can’t run away from it forever.’ Peering down at her eyes, the older woman lets out a soft smile, ‘Don’t be like me. I didn’t want anyone after Taehyung’s dad left, and look where that got me.’ she chuckles, though its weighed down with remorse, ‘Taehyung wouldn’t want you to be this way. Do you think he’d like it, seeing you miss out on life just because of him?’
Jinae’s head lowers. There are tears burning at the corner of her eyes but no matter how much she tells herself to stop crying, it’s like a dam has broken inside of her and suddenly, all the water comes gushing out like a damn tsunami.
Arms wrap around her body. Her head comes to a rest on a soft bosom, Mrs.Kim’s. It’s comforting, gives her incentive to continue crying. And so she does.
She cries for all the times she’s felt lonely. She cries for the pain and the sorrow that’s been weighing heavily on her heart since the day Taehyung has left. It’s like a wound has been opened up again, raw and new and fresh to the touch, leaving her out to bleed and calling for help that will never come. But Jinae cries most of all, for all the times she held herself back because of the guilt that wallowed in her heart every time she’d do something without him, like a child being caught stealing. She hadn’t wanted to put him through so much pain and the fact that she’d though he’d been cheating when he’d been sick all alone hadn’t helped matters in her moving on.
And finally, finally, she feels released and free from that cage that’s been holding her back for so long. Here in Mrs.Kim’s arms, she can almost smell Taehyung’s warmth as he envelopes them in his strong arms, his comforting embrace. She hasn’t realized that the tears trickling down her shoulder aren’t her own but are of Taehyung’s mother, and both women sit there crying for a son, for a lover that isn’t going to make its way back, for the realization that life does goes on, with or without the main placeholders of their hearts.
----------
Baekhyun knows he’s screwed.
His hand, his goddamn fucking hand. He feels like chopping it off, burning it, incarcerating it until he forgets the memory of her hair sliding between his fingers, of the dewy skin that is so gentle underneath the roughness of his palm.
Maybe if he’d actually listened to his brain telling him to get the hell away from her, he wouldn’t have found himself in such a predicament. Now he isn’t sure whether he can still be redeemable as Jinae’s friend, or whether she’s been disgusted at his attitude. In truth, he’s seen the way she looks at him, can identify traces of affection. It’s almost like he gets the message, except not quite. The fleeting glimpses of her emotions flash by like flickering lights in darkness, leaving Baekhyun confused and lost as to what to do with himself.
After that weird encounter during his weekend stay, he decides to go back to his own campus and doesn’t bother talking about whatever has happened between them. Trying to keep his voice as light and as casual as possible, he notices the slight traces of uncomfortableness that has made its way through Jinae’s voice ever since. Before he knows it, communication is exchanged less and less, they grow apart and it’s no surprise that Baekhyun’s heart feels uneasy because of it.
He is so used to having her voice at his ear like a soothing lullaby that the first day he doesn’t call, he feels like something is missing. But then again, she doesn’t call either so that gives him enough of an indication of where he stands.
It’s a clear sign that she wants him to bugger off, that boundaries are boundaries.
And Baekhyun is sure not to make that mistake again.
The week crawls by, one day at a time and Baekhyun does everything to distract himself from the sudden gaping hole that tore through his life. He busies himself with work and tries new recipes, skype calls his friends from other cities and makes sure to go out at night with peers, even if the company isn’t one he genuinely enjoys. And still, there is nothing from her. No contact, no call.
Not even a simple message to ask him if he’s doing okay.
Part of him-- the selfish part -- wishes that everything could go back to normal, to how it had been before that weekend. He wishes he hasn’t done anything and actually restrained himself. It would’ve been the proper thing to do, especially when a girl is so vulnerable. His lack of self-restraint has now caused an impasse to lodge in the space between their friendship and he isn’t sure how to mend it back without confessing the whole truth.
Because the truth is that he likes her.
He sees her, not as friend, but as someone that he wants to share his life with.
Someone that means just so much more.
And deep down in the bottomless pit he calls his heart, he knows that she wants him to, except that she can’t.
Because it’s too early.
Because of the circumstances.
Because it’s Taehyung.
It had always been Taehyung.
And Baekhyun hates many things, but the one thing he cannot stand for is to be a replacement for someone who’s already dead.
As he unlocks the door to his empty flat and lets himself inside, he throws his jacket on one of the hangers, not caring that it slides right down to the floor, as he practically launches himself on the couch. He lets out a heavy sigh, the day’s tiredness sweeping right through his muscles as he forces himself to take a breather and relax. His mind is buzzing with too much; too much information and too much of the said girl that captured his heart.
There are so many tasks left undone. He spots the pile of dishes in the sink, the dirty pile of clothes in the corner, and shakes his head. Why had he let it come to this? He’s usually a neat freak, a clean guy with basic principles so as not to live like an animal.
And plus, his final thesis has been stressing him out for a while. It is taking more time than expected and Baekhyun isn’t sure in which direction he is actually going. He has tried asking his profs for any guidance but they’re not of much help, always being too vague or abstract about the information he actually has to provide. That’s the thing with profs, you never know whether you can rely on them or not. Then again, he thinks sourly to himself, you can’t really rely on anyone but yourself in this world.
Especially not the ones that are closest to your heart. The small knot in the space where his heart should be pinches inside his chest. Though Baekhyun merely shows it, he does feel it still.
He isn’t a goddamn robot.
Oh well. With a soft groan and hearing his body’s protests at his movements, he forces himself up from the couch to make a start on the household chores. He walks towards his sink, only to pause upon hearing the sound of the doorbell echo throughout the flat.
He frowns.
Nobody’s usually looking for him, especially not at -- he throws a glance at the clock-- shy past eleven.
The doorbell rings twice more, the sound piercing through like an insistent alarm. Whoever is standing on the other side must probably be one of Baekhyun’s neighbours, for they’re always complaining about something. It’s probably a broken light that he has to fix, he thinks to himself while wearily moving to the door.
He opens it while saying, ‘I’m sorry, it’s kind of late--’
Air is knocked out of his chest when someone jumps onto him. Automatically, his hands go around to grab onto the person’s waist, stumbling back and trying to ground his heel to avoid himself from falling. Surprise turns into shock, which turns into utter confusion as his mind scrambles to put two and two together. Baekhyun is prepared to push the individual away, when realization dawns.
He recognizes that figure, knows the scent wafting through his nostrils, the warmth that’s traveling from her body to his.
Slowly, as if fearing that this is all a dream, Baekhyun leans back.
‘Jinae.’ he breathes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she looks back at him, breathless and going off like a steam train, ‘I’m sorry, Baekhyun. I was scared after what happened and didn’t know what to do because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship nor did I want to make you feel like you were being compared with Taehyung or were fighting for his place, but I talked with his mom and then it just clicked, and I’m just so sorry for not--’
‘Jinae,’ his hands grasp the back of her elbows, thumbs brushing gently against her skin, ‘It’s alright. Calm down. Breathe.’
‘I just--’ her eyes suddenly fill with tears, ‘I shouldn’t have ignored you like that when you were always there, I’m sorry--’
‘Jinae,’ Baekhyun murmurs, ‘take a deep breath, and start again.’
Her hands, initially at his waist, impulsively bunch in the material of his shirt, not that she notices.
‘What happened last weekend,’ she says, biting her lip and eyes averting to the ground, ‘I felt it, too.’ taking a deep breath, Jinae continues with a shaky voice, ‘I didn’t mean to become so cold. I knew that there was something going on but I didn’t want to admit it, because I felt guilty.’
‘Because of Taehyung?’
She nods, ‘I didn’t want you to think that I was using you. To be honest, I wasn’t sure myself. I didn’t want you to be Taehyung’s replacement, because you’re not. But then I talked to Taehyung’s mother.’
Her brown orbs flutter up to lock with his own. He sees the tremor, the mixed feeling of guilt and remorse etched across her features, and suddenly understands that while he’d been busy fighting his own battle, she in turn has had it just as hard.
‘I realized that I was being stupid. All this time, I had just been running away from you and it’s not fair,’ the corner of her eyes fill with tears and as if on instinct, Baekhyun’s thumb wipes away at the crystal trails, ‘I had to let him go, I had to realize who was actually here with me. And you were, you’ve always been.’
Jinae’s head then bows, as if she’s ashamed of what she’s done, ‘I’m sorry for not calling you, I-- I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to hurt you--’
‘Hey hey,’ he shushes her gently, tugging her closer so that she’s breaths away from him, ‘I know, it’s been hard. Don’t be too hard on yourself, okay? I think Taehyung would be proud of you.’
Soft sniffles start erupting from the girl’s nose, causing a chuckle to erupt from Baekhyun’s chest. He pulls her closer, murmuring a soft, ‘Come here.’ Enveloping her in his arms, he relishes in the way her curves seem to fit right into his frame, the way her jaw fits right into the crook of his neck. He breathes in her scent, light-headed with her scent.
‘I’m proud of you,’ he murmurs with his lips moving against the side of her head.
It takes a few seconds for her to reciprocate the motion and Baekhyun is about to pull away in slight embarrassment at having been too forward, when her arms suddenly circle his middle, hugging him back.
----------
Jinae can’t believe it.
He’s hugging her. He’s so close, she can smell the hint of his deodorant mixed with that natural manly smell that reminds her of pinewood and nature and how leaves smell after the rain. It’s sharp and soft at the same time, velvety and clean.
Taehyung felt like warmth and sunlight. Baekhyun feels more like the coolness of water, a relaxation of her limbs.
Taehyung felt like sunflowers and open fields and great vastness of the sky. Baekhyun is an ocean that she can spend years swimming in, lost, he feels like the drop of rain on her nose and of mellow evenings at twilight.
And Jinae realizes that the more she thinks of them both, the more the difference shows.
She hugs him tighter when a sudden burst of happiness hits her chest. The overwhelming feeling of warmth fills up her stomach with butterflies and for a minute, she feels like giggling like a shy middle school girl. Jinae feels Baekhyun’s breaths hitting against the top of her head, and right here, she feels safe and secure in his arms, as if there’s nothing that can touch her, as if everything will be alright because he’s right here.
----------
His fingertips gently flutter over her face, cradling her cheek in the palm of his hand when she looks up at him through her eyelashes. Has her eyes always been so brown and open with so many feelings? He isn’t sure whether he’s used to seeing her from this angle, up so close, but he decides that he likes it better.
The air suddenly feels charged with electricity when he nudges her closer still, his other arm finding purchase around her waist only to pull her close and press him to his chest. Baekhyun hears the girl’s breath hitch inside her throat as his eyes roam over her features, before glancing down at her lips.
Time seems to have stopped, the world coming to a pause as they gaze into each other’s eyes with the unsaid question lingering at the edge of their lips.
And then Baekhyun can’t wait. He leans down, voice almost choked with self-restraint when he asks:
‘Can I?’
The girl’s orbs widen slightly. A giggle suddenly erupts from her throat.
Baekhyun blinks at her, eyebrows furrowed, ‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ she tries to restrain the giggles as her eyes crinkle in amusement, ‘I’ve never been asked that kind of question before. It’s kinda cute.’
He scowls, ‘shut up.’
And before she can say something back, his lips flutter over hers before claiming them completely. Mouth moving over her own with a sinuous rhythm, he feels Jinae’s response through the kiss, tilting her head for better access. He isn’t sure whether he’s tasted something as beautiful, as sweet and as innocent.
Biting down lightly on her bottom lip, Baekhyun stifles a smile when he hears a slight whimper die at the back of her throat, proceeding to kiss her even deeper, longer, slower. He’s asking her to a dance, a dance that she can only answer with kisses of her own. They move with a rhythm, lips searching each other like magnetic fields conjoined in a single embrace, and it isn’t until Jinae’s back suddenly meets with the cold surface of the countertop that she realizes how far they’ve moved.
They part for breath, breathing in each other, taking in every single detail, every single second they are spending together. It feels like a miracle, something that she fears will disappear and fly away the moment she blinks. But when she reaches up to cradle his face in her palm, Jinae is reassured by his mocha coloured orbs swirling with affection, with a fragile kind of tenderness that makes her heart pound inside her chest.
She feels like she can’t breathe, as if her legs are like jelly. Right now, she’s thankful of the tight grip he has on her waist.
She can’t help but smile despite herself. He catches her full in the act.
‘What?’ Baekhyun’s lips curve up into a playful smile, can’t helping himself. He feels high from the happiness.
‘Thank you,’ Jinae murmurs, ‘I think it’s long overdue.’
He hums, pulling her closer and nuding his nose with hers, ‘It’s alright. I already got my reward.’
‘Oh shut up,’ she lets out a small laugh, hand absentmindedly fondling the hair at the base of his scalp.
Baekhyun looks back at her, and she looks back at him. There is just so much there, so many possibilities and opportunities that have opened up the world for the two individuals in love staring into each other’s eyes.
And though he’s not one to butt into other people’s business, he can’t help but be thankful that he butted into hers.
----------
A/N: And voila! This is officially the end for Wrong Number! I hope you all enjoyed reading this short story even though there was a lot that went on. I have to say even I was impressed by the amount of ideas that came up as I kept writing. But hey, inspiration is always welcome ;)
Anyway, just wanted to thank all of you for having read and for those who enjoyed reading this story. I know that many of you weren't expecting the big dramatic drop at the end of chapter 3, but I hope you enjoyed the ride nevertheless and were satisfied with the ending.
I guess the take-home message of this story is that no matter how hard you find life, there's always going to be someone who understands your situation, whether it's a stranger, a friend, your brother... we're all struggling and we all have different kinds of problems, from little to big. But just like Jinae, we have to forgive ourselves and not wallow too much in the guilt that our mistakes have brought upon us.
Once again, thank you all for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed it and have a wonderful rest of the day/night :) xx
love y'all,
-nutmeggu
#exo#exo scenarios#exo imagines#baekhyun#byun baekhyun#roommate au#romance#fiction#romcom#fluff#drama#angst#baekhyun scenario#baekhyun imagine#bangtan boys#bangtan#bangtan scenario#bangtan imagine#taehyung#taehyun imagine#bangtan sonyeondan
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