#how is he supposed to fathom the fear that his absence could cause?

[kiwiaok]

early aaron and andrew dynamic is giving eurydice and orpheus in the sense that andrew would turn around (of course he would, that is his brother, that is his blood, he has to know aaron is safe) and aaron would spend eternity blaming him for dangling false hope before his eyes only to take it away at the end of the journey (andrew would blame himself too)

[queersouthasian]

Since Pit Babe's end is knocking at the door, I am back in my CharlieBabe feels. I think no relationship will get to me the way they did. I will always be in awe about how human they are and how much humans can love if they want to.

I will never get over how pain shaped Charlie and Babe so differently. Pain shaped Charlie's kindness, his way of loving and caring, his want to give. He has grown up to be the exact person he wished he had growing up. A kind soul who cares so much, who loves so much. But Charlie isn't naive or stupid. Even though he is a natural caretaker he doesn't let people take advantage of him. He is careful and smart while being a giver. And there is Babe, who just wanted to be loved and wanted to love, but was wounded in the attempt to do so that it ruined the definition of love for him. He started believing that love can only bring him pain. This pain shaped his defense. Even though he had found a family of his own, he didn't let anyone venture into those parts of him which hurt the most. He was a desirable sexy alpha racer for everyone, the "Pit Babe", until he became someone's "Phi Babe",

Charlie's arrival was like a gentle knock, where he lets him in thinking he could kick him away anytime, until he could no longer do so, till he feared the idea of the latter's absence alone. It's the way Charlie buries his pain under his smile whereas Babe does it under his cockyness, smugness, so called ego. Charlie picked up babe's broken pieces, some being so sharp it cut through him, but he kept picking those up. And he caressed them. Whereas babe took Charlie's and made them his. They both shared each other's pain. Charlie is loud in love and silent in pain just like babe is the opposite.

But what makes them and their love so human is their flaws. It's the way babe wants to fight along side Charlie but Charlie pushes him away so that he doesn't even get a single scratch on him. But can you blame him? Babe himself wants to fight together but at the face of danger, covers Charlie with his whole body, pushes him back so he doesn't get hurt, so no one can touch him. They can't find equality to save their fucking lives 'cause they are each other's priority, at the face of danger, they would both die and kill for the other.

Their love brings pain and grief as well. Charlie lies and lies 'cause when it comes to his beloved being safe and happy, he would do anything. Anything. Babe may hate him but atleast he will be safe and in peace but Charlie can't fathom that. Charlie fears babe hating him, misunderstanding him. That's why instead of being happy after the "death" that babe is safe, everything assured, he is grieving and is in guilt. He has caused his lover pain again unintentionally. Whereas for babe this grief hits different. He thinks he deserved it, 'cause he didn't let Charlie know how much he meant to him, how much he loved him when he could. He lost Charlie, he lost that one thing he had which he didn't even dare to wish for before, a love, a genuine lover. It was like loosing something extremely valuable for him. He was supposed to keep him safe. But he lost him. He blames himself for not loving his beloved in the same volume. Whenever they locked eyes before, babe had this "I can't believe I have you, What did I do to deserve you" whereas Charlie has this "you deserve every piece of me and more" look on their faces, in their stares. Babe would look like he has found the most beautiful angel whereas Charlie would look like babe has hung stars in the sky. In the last ep, when Charlie comes in to save, even though still physically weak, driven by rage that people hurt babe, his face changes from anger to concern and love and guilt, "I am here for you" whereas for babe his eyes immediately turn red glistening with tears, bewilderment mixed with hope. A hope of finally finding that lost thing, a "finally you are here"

This relationship will last beyond generations and lifetimes, in which every version of them, will search for the other. A love so human it feels like a hope. A hope to love again.

[juminly]

The Death of Me (Nobunaga x Reader)

Fandom: Ikémen Sengoku.  Pairing: Nobunaga Oda x F!Reader.  Summary: After being away from you for a while, Nobunaga finally comes back... and he misses you so.

Rating: Explicit. (Minors, DNI)

Warnings: Fingering, Teasing, Nipple Play, Dom/Sub Undertones, Slight Exhibitionism, Very Very Light Choking, Dirty Talk, Marking, Implied Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Doggy-Style.  –♥– ”Why is my queen looking up at the midnight sky when she should be waiting and watching the woods, seeking my arrival?”

His low husky voice swept into your ears without warning, it was unclear whether it was the sudden gust of wind that sent your skin shivering or if it was the sensation of having your Devil King pressed against your back, hovering behind you as he settled his chin on your shoulder and his hands found home on the top of your thighs. You knew better than that, feeling the minuscule movement of his hands as they began to travel up your body. He murmured against the column of your throat but all you wanted to know was if your Nobu was safe and sound and if his mission was successful. When you parted your lips to speak, the way his name fell from your lips in an inquisitive tone, your lover knew exactly what you were going to say and what was going through your mind and reassuring you was absolutely his top priority before anything else. He was still human after all and you would fear for his life, even from a mere cold and he has seen it with his own two bloody eyes.

“Tsk, when all my victories are sure and certain, my Queen, you worry about such trivial matter when it seems that my apparent claims of territoires that are exclusively mine and occupied by myself have been fading?” His hands meandering over your supple curves squeezed your small waist, right over the obi that had the kimono you were wearing tied together, tearing your mind away, wondering what your Devil King was talking about and what he was planning to do to you.

"I suppose my fireball is due for a reminder since she's been fiery enough to be wearing my clothes upon my unexpected return." The heat of his breath increased as you felt his lips part against your skin, his teeth grazing ever so gently before sinking into your flesh as he soon sucked on you as gently as he could. Not.

This was only a preamble to what he had planned for you and having spent over a week away from you already had him reeling and aching for a taste of you. The thought finally clicking in you brain, the blemishes that clearly marked you as Nobu's were no longer there. And the thought did not please him in the slightest. However, there was a silver lining. Now he could claim you over again, as he had many times before. As he will continue to do so as long as he is able to breathe.

Sucking in your breath with an audible hiss, you could feel the blood rushing through your veins as Nobu began so diligently marking very visible spots, tactically choosing the lands in which he wanted his claim to be the most apparent. His breathing seemed to be controlled yet you could feel his heart beating fast, hard and strong against your back, his hands were now cupping your breasts, over the fabric of the kimono of his that you had so brazenly worn, the same kimono that you had worn from the desire of wanting to be surrounded by them, the feeling of having him on you, his scent... anything of his.

It was all you needed, especially when he was away. You looked beyond delectable to him...The fact that you were dressed in a piece of apparel of his taunted him in inexplicable ways, especially since you did so when he had been away. What were the thoughts that you had of him when he was away? Were you thinking of him as much as he had been thinking of you? There had been so many thoughts whirling through his mind even as he had been so immersed in his role as King during his mission, yet deep down, nothing could change the fact that he was your lover and he would yearn for you, in any time, any place. He was irrevocably yours and the way you had occupied not only his heart and soul but his mind as well spoke volumes. Someone had to pay and it had be both of you.

His lips were ruthless on your skin, visible dusky spots appearing in his wake as his tongue teased your earlobe as he sucked on it ever so gently and whispered in your ear. "Is my queen glad that I have returned or maybe we shall allow your body to speak for you, hm?" Tracing a wet trail over the seams of your earlobe before speaking once again, every word from him blowing on it and eliciting the slightest of trembles while his calculated motions only caused the sleeves of the kimono to slowly fall off your shoulders, slowly but surely exposing more of your chest, the fabric barely even covering your breasts.

He could feel your pebbled nipples as he gently brushed his fingers over your breasts, the hardened beads noticeable even through the barrier that had dared to separate you from your lover and almost, excruciatingly so, he finally allowed the fabric to fall and unveil what you both sought.You wanted nothing more than his hands on you and he wouldn't even fathom the thought of depriving you of that wish.

Finally, his calloused fingers flicked over the sensitive pebbles while he palmed at the tenderness of your mounds, every part of you hanging on every word he spoke as you were aching to turn around and be utterly consumed by crimson, a pool of darkened blood that had every ounce of your being screaming in yearning. You knew the moment you looked upon it, you would then be rendered completely helpless, not that you already were. You were lying to yourself. As you tried to wriggle in his grasp, wanting to act upon your thoughts, Nobu pinched you, hard enough to elicit a small gasp from you and gentle enough not to hurt you.

"Nobu, please. Let me hold you. I've missed you and I want to just.."  Pushing you against him as he pressed you against the railing of the balcony, you couldn't help but squeal, a surge of adrenaline mixing with the desire rushing through you. "You better not let me go, Nobu. I've waited long for you. Let me have you first and then you can let me go."

Nobu chuckled, the resounding sound making your heart fluttering with happiness as if it were a bell that chimed in reaction to the blissful echo coming from the depth of his throat. ”My fireball has enough energy to tease me even in a compromising situation such as this.”

Finally turning you around, you were finally able to lay your eyes upon your lover. Finally taking him in, knowing that he was safe, knowing that he was back where he belonged, in your arms. You were expecting to see that devilish smirk of his, that expression that made your skin tingle and a deep knot being tied so tightly in your stomach. Yet, you were welcomed by a serene smile and eyes shining with emotions that you could only identify as affection and adoration. Bringing your hands to cradle his face, he leaned down and greeted you with an enrapturing kiss, his tongue stripping you from any thought that wasn't of him in your mind while one of his, hastily slid over your midsection and over the obi that was the only piece that kept the kimono on you, traveling down to smooth his hand over the apex of your thigh.

A deep chuckle resounded from his chest. You, out of everyone in Japan, being able to read his mind on specific occasions and especially in intimate ones, knew what he was thinking and aiming for. As he pressed himself harder against you, pinning you against the railing so you couldn't even move, even if you wanted to, the imprint of his hardness becoming imminent as you felt it probing your waist but you were far more distracted by what he planned to do with those fingers that had been teasing the softness of your inner thigh.

Right when you broke the kiss to catch your breath, Nobu pushed two fingers inside you and curled them immediately, caressing your inner walls and watching you with a fierce gaze, with bated breath that matched yours. “I know how the fire of impatience burns within you, love, I can tell by feeling how wet you are for me. But patience..." His smile grew wider as he watched your back arch and your mouth fall open as he easily slid in a third finger inside you.

"You shall find what you seek. See, I have all the intention to ravish you after I watch you fuck yourself with my fingers and tell me how much you have longed for me in my absence. Move, my love. I want to see your hips thrusting down on my fingers, bringing yourself over the edge, using me just for your own pleasure." One of your hands gripped his hair tightly when the other scratched at the skin of his nape, not even eliciting a wince from him as he watched you with a pleased smiled while you hump his hand, his thumb finally joining to drive you even closer to your climax.

"May the past lie in the past yet I can’t help but find myself curious and jealous of the thought of you not thinking about me the way I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve rode miles before my men as I left them to rest just so I can be here with you, my warrior Queen." Noticing how you had bitten your lips, the influx of sensations coursing through you, your legs quivering and barely managing to keep you standing, your grip around his shoulders even loosening as your strength is slowly drained out of you with the sheer intensity of your desire. His lips crashed down on yours, biting your lower lip and prying your mouth open, taking in the delicious sweet and soft moans that you were making in your kiss.Taking your breath away, his lips still hovered against yours, his eyes now even closer to yours, an unmistakable yearning in them.

"This nonsense of you being my future Queen than actually being my Queen is nothing I want to hear from you. Especially when you know the power you hold over me. People know you as The Queen that reins over the Devil King himself and that is not something that I'm saying.” What he told you were not just mere words, coming from him, they meant more, they weighed so heavily on your heart as you continue to get more acquainted with how deep his love truly runs for you. Brushing his lips gently across your cheeks, he whispered in your ear.

"It is what the people say. And I can tell you... It's true." And that's when you snapped. Your vision blurred as the waves of pleasure came crashing down on you, your core clamping down on his fingers which he was now pumping in you, helping you ride out the aftershock of what was just the prelude of the night. And he wasn't going to stop there.

"You're going to turn around for me, Queen of mine and let me fuck right under the midnight sky, so that the Heavens can look upon us and watch me as I claim you as mine and no one has a single say in it but me... and you." He spoke as he licked your slickness that dripped from his fingers, his attitude as haughty as it had always been but there was so much more in it than that. The vulnerability dripped from every word he said, the way the crimson of his eyes shined for comfort, for solace that he could find within and with you.

Removing your hands from around his shoulders, he brought of your hands to his lips, kissing your hands and your palms before turning you around and placing them on the rails of the balcony. "Since you had so eagerly took it upon yourself to decorate your body with a kimono of mine, you will not be taking it off until I am through with you." Pushing the fabric of the kimono to the side and exposing the lower half of your body to the cold wind, shivers ran over your skin but soon, you would have enough to warm you up.

"Nobu, I don't think I can stan... Ahh..." With a swift thrust, your King had completely sheathed himself inside you and began rocking his hips against yours, the slap of his skin against your behind joining the chiming of the cicadas that accompanied you in your intimate reunion. Your slick from your previous release only aided him in thrusting in and out of you at an intense pace, each time he plunged deep inside of you, the head of his cock would brush that sweet spot of yours and your body rocking forward with the sheer force of your warrior.

One of his hands were wrapped around your neck when the other had been placed on your lower stomach, his middle finger running incoherent and cruel circles over your sensitive nub. By the end of that night, you knew that you would be shaking from overstimulation and it was clearly bound to happen. Squeezing his hand around your throat briefly, Nobunaga growled against your neck. "Right after I'm done fucking you on the balcony, I'm going to carry you to my room and you're going to show me exactly what you were thinking of doing to me while I was gone." He chuckled lightly and kissed your cheek, the gesture almost a little too sweet for what he was doing to you. Completely and utterly wrecking your body.

"I'm going to watch you 'bounce on my dick' as you always say in the middle of your sleep, your naughty thoughts always revealing themselves to me. Shamelessly. And I wouldn't accept otherwise. Just like how your body tells me how much you want me. Your cunt is milking my cock so good... Gods... What are you doing to me?"

Gripping you a tad bit tighter, he turned your head so he could kiss you senseless, his hold on you the only thing keeping you both seemingly grounded. "You'll suck both your cum and mine off me, looking at me with those fiery eyes as you devour me whole and show me how determined you are to make me weak for you. Hah... Before I... take you all over again... Until you are completely spent. Don't you know how weak for you I am, my love? You... If I'll allow anything or anyone to be the death of me, it would be you..."

Only you... –♥– Tagging: @delicateikemenmemes, @sweetlittlemouse come get your man... again hehe.  Please feel free to leave some love in the comments or some feedback!💜 You can also check out my Masterlist ! 

[moonlight-escapade]

The King & I (Pt 10)

Hello everyone! Im SO SORRY I’ve gone so long without a post. My hard drive failed on me and I had to get my computer taken in to recover my data 😭 Pro Tip: GET A RELIABLE EXTERNAL DRIVE. It will save you in the future 😭

But guess what? THE FIC WAS SAVED!!! I was so worried I’d lost all my work 😭 I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and bear with me for the next updates as I’m a tad behind since I haven’t gotten to work on the story in a bit. 

Thank you so much once again for reading!

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HISTORICAL AU (but not necessarily historically accurate bc this is a fanfic not a research project lol): King Henry V & “Street Urchin” reader who takes in and cares for abandoned/orphaned children.

CHAPTER 10: IM NOT THE ONE

It had been weeks since I’d seen him. There were rumors that the King had fled to France, having been taunted by the French Dauphin with a gift of tennis balls. Mrs. Quickly explained to me the dealings of Kings… how the Prince’s- now King’s reputation had preceded him long before his acquisition of the throne. “He was a regular at the tavern… as well as…” her eyes shifted to the second floor, where a different line of work was performed for tavern guests. 

I nodded curtly, hoping she wouldn’t continue. I was no one to judge him, but I didn’t particularly need to hear more than that. Still… for someone to insult him in such a manner was somewhat surprising. I wonder how many women he’s been with. I curse my subconscious for butting in yet again.

Regardless of his absence, the wages kept coming in. I don’t know how he’d arranged it, but it seemed strange to me to go so long without a word from him yet. I only had the drunken gossip of tavern goers to base myself off any news of Hal’s whereabouts. And it wasn’t exactly the most pleasant to bear…

“The blasted King’s gotten us all entwined with his cock,” a heavily bearded patron yells across the bar. “Not I, but I so suppose you’re pretty enough to weasel your way in there,” another retorts, causing the bar to erupt with laughter. “Shut up you drunk bastard!” the bearded man yells, throwing a swing at him and falling flat on his face, causing another wave of laughter and hollering to sound throughout the bar. 

“He’ll have us all in a row soon enough, taking the Frog King’s daughter in  front,” someone yells. I wince at the vulgarity of their speech. Having grown up in a brothel certainly didn’t make the disgusting words of men any easier to stomach. 

But what did catch me was the part about Dauphin’s daughter. I walk back to the bar, filling pitchers up with ale as Mrs. Quickly wipes down the countertop. 

“Mrs. Quickly… who is the Frog King?” I ask her. She huffs, working at a stubborn spot on the countertop as she answers. “The King of France. The addition of the ‘frog’ is on account of their ideas of… delicacy” she says. I finish filling the last pitcher slowly, “And his daughter… would be a match for the King?” I ask. She stops then and turns to me, her cheeks flushed and her eyes somewhat strained. The work of the tavern throughout these years well painted on her face. 

“Those are the dealings of Kings, my dear… I can’t rightly say. But it’s not uncommon for a princess to be exchanged in these negotiations between nations.” She says. I feel my throat tighten and hold the table for balance. Not because I feel physically swayed, but my heart and mind… I feel as though they could reel off any second. 

“Don’t worry (Y/N), I’m sure you’ll be his favored mistress,” Ned hollers across the tavern. The room bursts out in laughter and drinks are clinked together. 

I can hardly fathom the thought at his exclamation and feel my stomach begin to turn. 

“You’ll shut your blasted mouth!” Mrs. Quickly yells back, placing a hand on my back as I lean down to hide behind the bar. 

“It’s best not to let their words settle in your mind dear,” Mrs. Quickly says. She helps me back up the reaches around my neck to remove my apron. 

“What are you doing?” I ask her. “Take your leave , I fear their discourse will only grow more unsavory by the minute.” 

I stop her and pull the apron back on. “No, I wish to stay. If I leave I’ll only linger about to hear more…” I admit. She smiles at me nodding. I take a rag and move to begin bussing the tables around the bar. 

“You’ve seen it, (Y/N), is his cock well enough to catch a Princess?” Hubert calls from behind me. I feel heat rise up to my cheeks but refuse to turn or allow my voice to give my worry away. “I’ve not seen it,” I say. 

“How now? You’ve been his for this long without feeling his cock?” He presses on. I turn quickly and slam a pitcher onto the table.

“You dare disrespect his Majesty with such talk?” I spit. Hubert’s face goes from surprise to a false air of confidence I can only pinpoint too well after witnessing his various outbursts and fights with nearly every patron in the bar. 

“You’re nothing but his whore,” he slurs. I slap him, watching him fall backwards on his drunken arse. I grab the tin tray and raise it above my head. 

“If any of you say one more thing about the King, I’ll—“ 

Someone’s hand wraps around my waist then, pulling me backward. I stumble angrily but am quickly stunned by the sight of Hal before me. A silence befalls the noisy lot and we are all left to stare in awe at Hal’s timing.

“While I don’t doubt (Y/N)’s ability to knock each and every one of you on your arse’s, I’d rather not see my soldiers fall before they’ve seen France.”

My heart leaps as I take him in and I want to lunge and wrap my arms around him— but I stop myself. Hal hasn’t looked at me yet, and I see his concern is placed on the group before me. I can recognize a King making a point. Hubert stands, ever the embarrassment to himself. He crosses an arm across his chest, his hand over his heart while bowing before Hal apologetically. Whether Hal accepted the apology or not was unclear, for he simply turned away, placing a hand on the small of my back and leading us outside. 

“H..Hal? Where are we—“

“Don’t say anything just yet, there are too many people watching.” He says curtly. I press my lips tight and allow him to help me onto Perseus. The familiar scent of him… honeyed wine, sweat and dirt is all but suffocating me. It takes everything in me not to kiss him as I stare down at him from upon Perseus’ back. I wait for him to hop on with me, but he does not. Instead he places a hood over his head and walks beside me, leading the steed out towards the grasslands. 

He is quiet, and it’s nearly unbearable to not hear any words fall from his lips. Not to mention my fear of riding and the urge to screech every time I peak at the distance I am to the ground. Is he excited to see me? My heart clenches… perhaps he was angry with me for causing a scene at the tavern. I shake the thought away. Whatever it is, he’ll tell me. In the meantime, I shift uncomfortably at the stares I receive while atop Perseus’ back. I hide myself behind my hair, hoping no one will recognize me. 

“Who are you to be recognized?” My subconscious jeers at me. I can’t help but let her voice ring through my mind.

As we reach the clearing, I peer uneasily over at Hal, waiting for the approval to speak.

“May I at least get down now?” I unintentionally snap at him. I truly hated being on the horse’s back. 

Hal stopped then, reaching over to me, placing his hands around my waist before setting me down on the ground before him. I gazed up at him, his presence looming underneath the heavy wooden cloak that draped over his head. 

“Where were you?” I hear myself ask before I’d even thought to. The desperation in my voice embarrasses me, but I’m also frustrated and… lonely. He’d been gone for nearly three weeks.

“France,” he answers plainly. I wait for him to continue but hear nothing more. 

“Am I to know any more?” I ask. His blue eyes are piercing in the light of the grey day. He raises his hands to remove his hood then, and I see his hair has grown somewhat longer behind his ears since I last saw him. Still, the clear sight of him made my heart swell. I silently prayed he saw a similar beauty in me… 

“War is imminent,” he states. I feel my stomach turn. 

“And you are to lead your army,” I say.

“Yes,” he says. His curt answers frustratingly insufficient for my racing mind. 

“Oh, will you say nothing more? Perhaps why the bloody hell you left without a word for three weeks! I was scared!—“

“Scared? Of what?” His antagonizing voice struck a chill down my spine. I look staunchly back at him feeling my anger stir. 

“That you—“

“I am a King, (Y/N),” he interrupts me. I take a step back from him, unfamiliar with this Hal… the King Hal. It’s uncomfortable and cold and I don’t understand what it is he has to say to me as Henry V. 

“Yes, and to be married to a Princess,” I blurt angrily. I hate the way it feels to argue with this person, and I don’t want to, so I turn to make my way back to the city. 

“Just where do you think you’re going?” King Henry V calls from behind me. 

“Back to the place you’re sending me,” I spit at him. I turn and begin trudging through the muddy fields, mentally cursing him for bringing me out to the coldest, wettest marsh he could find. Maybe it was all part of his plan, and perhaps I would find out, because suddenly his grip was on my arm and I was turned back toward him, feeling his lips press onto mine fervently. 

——————————-

HALS POV

Why couldn’t she just stay put? I chuckled to myself, knowing that wasn’t her way. 

“What’s… so… funny,” she asks between heated breaths. I press my lips onto hers, taking her tongue into my mouth, her back into my hands, and her hair between my fingers. Oh god how desperately I needed her now. If I could take her here I would… if I could take her far, far away from this kingdom, I would. 

“Why must you always run?” I ask her, leaning to press kisses onto her neck. Her soft gasps at my touch fill me with energy and it takes everything in me not to go farther than I should. I pull away from her, waiting for the snide remark that will quickly leave her reddened lips. 

“Why must you always chase after me?”

I stare back at her, feeling my heart swell in my chest.

“Because I love you, (Y/N),” I admit simply. Her eyes widen and somehow sparkle at my words. She stares at me as though I’m a ghost, or an angel, or an apparition of some unearthly sort. I stare back at her carefully, awaiting her response. 

“The King’s daughter,” she mutters, tears welling in her eyes. The sight makes my heart clench. I’d hoped to be the one to tell her about Catherine, but gossip spreads faster than fire these days. 

“My marriage to Catherine will, if carried out, symbolize nothing more than a union between countries,” I assure her to the best of my sincerity. 

Her shoulders fall and a tear drops from her eye. She sighs with a smile before looking back at me, “Hal.” 

“Please, believe what I say,” I ask her, taking her small hands between my own. Her fingers are cold, and so I quickly remove my cloak and move to place it around her shoulders, but she stops me.

“This is pointless,” she says, half smiling. I shake my head, taking her hands in mine again. 

“No, (Y/N), it’s not. This is how these things are done… I assure you… even my father had a…” I stop myself, searching for the right word. 

“Mistress?” She finishes, her eyes stare at me knowingly. I nod, pleading her to understand that she would mean so much more to me than someone with whom I’d simply pass the time. 

“I’m afraid I am not the woman you hope me to be, Hal,” she says, taking her hands back to her sides. “I will not be the object of your affection and that of the kingdom’s scorn.” 

Frustration wells inside me. “(Y/N)—“

“I’m not a whore,” she jabs. Her fiery gaze on me causing me to stand straighter.

“Never,” I agree with ardor. I look back at her, searching her eyes for some sort of opening, something that told me she would hear my argument, my reasons… but I could see, plain as fortress, I would not be allowed inside. 

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 7

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

FIVE DAYS LATER

BJORNHEIMR, THE TEMPLE

Eivor cradled the basket in his hand, meticulously examining its contents to ensure that everything was in order.

At the moment, he was preparing to make an offering to Thor as thanks for their good fortune on the day of the ambush, and had arranged a humble collection of different gifts for the mighty god.

Inside the basket, he had placed a variety of meat, beer, mead, sweets, and a dagger from his own personal armory. Normally, Eivor wasn’t the type to depend entirely on the gods for safety, but considering recent events, he wanted to secure a strong relationship with them in case a tempest were to strike the village. He had no idea if Kjotve was planning any other attacks in addition to the ambush, and he could think of no one better to appeal to other than the Defender of Midgard. 

He just worried that his offering might not have been sufficient. It was a well-known fact that the thunder god enjoyed things in great quantity, and Eivor didn’t have that much to give at the moment. Ingrida always said that no offering was too small, but even then, the man prayed that his gift wouldn’t be considered measly. Things were precarious enough in Bjornheimr as it was; Eivor did not wish to vex the gods as well.

Working his way up the hill, the Wolf-Kissed spread a layer of cloth over the basket’s opening and held it tightly underneath his arm, careful not to disturb its contents.

He could hear the drinks sloshing inside their bottles to the rhythm of his footsteps, and a handful of scattered clinks reached his ears as they softly bumped into each other. Meanwhile, tiny snowflakes began to gather on the fabric lying above, and sunk into the cloth’s neatly-knit threads. They dotted the surface with jeweled specks of ice and clung onto Eivor’s skin, giving him a slight chill. 

The weather wasn’t exactly ideal for spending any time outside -- the snow seemed to be piling up higher than usual today -- but the young man carried on with his plan nonetheless. 

Reaching the top of the hill, Eivor strolled past the charms decorating the sides of the path, only to stop in his tracks when a nearby pair of voices caught his attention.

Up ahead, Eivor saw Ingrida and Sigurd talking with each other underneath the roof of the temple, just barely avoiding the snow that came blowing their way. The prince wore a wary expression on his face and spoke to the seeress about a matter of deep concern, causing a sense of anxiety to swell in Eivor’s chest.

It was fairly clear to the Wolf-Kissed that his friend spent a lot of energy concealing the many troubles in his life, but the fact that he felt the need to reach out to their völva worried him to a significant degree.

He hadn’t seen Sigurd ever since their conversation in the tavern after all, and he was oblivious to any new issues that may have risen during their time apart. It was unusual to see the prince in such a state, and Eivor had to admit that his curiosity was beginning to get the best of him.

He only hoped that Ulfar wasn’t the source of his perturbed nature. The man made his feelings about Sigurd quite plain back in the tavern, and Eivor had never known him as a person to shy away from confrontation. It was a blessing of a trait in most situations, but a hinderance in this one.

“...You’re certain there’s no other explanation?” Sigurd asked, clearly unhappy with the response he got.

Ingrida crossed her arms, reiterating her point. “I will tell you the same thing I told Eivor. I cannot speak in absolutes, for I do not know the gods’ intentions. I can attempt to decipher the messages they convey, but ultimately, it is impossible to offer anything unambiguous.”

The prince let out a troubled sigh. “I... I see.”

“I realize this must be disturbing news, but look at it this way. At least you are prepared now. You have an inkling of what to expect, and sometimes, a mere suspicion can be enough to save one’s life. Obviously, I do not mean to stoke any paranoia within you, but a little caution would be wise.”

Sigurd nodded, taking the woman’s words to heart. “Of course, but you understand if I say this is difficult for me to accept. I don’t doubt your prediction, seeress, but... I just can’t fathom why anyone would--”

The man came to an abrupt pause, stopping mid-sentence when his eyes fell upon Eivor in the distance.

“--Oh,” he said, his voice still laden with unease, “Eivor. I didn’t see you there.”

Ingrida followed Sigurd’s line of sight, smiling in the Wolf-Kissed’s direction. “Ah, hello, little cub.” She eyed the basket in his hands. “Come to make an offering?”

Eivor hugged the object close to his chest, admittedly growing somewhat weary of bearing its weight.

“Yes, seeress. I hoped to thank Thor for our survival in the forest.”

The woman appeared pleased. “An excellent idea. Go on and present your gift to the gods. I will ensure that nothing disturbs it.” Ingrida brought her eyes back to the prince. “As for you, Sigurd, try not to let this revelation suppress you. You are a man of many responsibilities. Your clan needs you to stay focused.”

“...Of course. You’re right.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Ingrida began making her way back inside the temple, strolling through the arch. “This war is nearly over, but the battle has not ceased. Do not surrender just yet. Either of you.”

Shutting the door behind her, the seeress disappeared behind the temple’s walls and returned to her duties, leaving Eivor and Sigurd alone. Meanwhile, the younger man approached his friend and glanced at him in an inquisitive manner, hoping to calm his nerves somewhat.

“Sigurd?” He asked. “Are you alright? A cloud of unrest hangs over you.”

The prince took a moment to gather his thoughts, not wanting to alarm his companion too much. “I’m... I’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.” He glanced at the basket in his grasp. “What’ve you got there?”

Eivor lifted the cloth. “Just some food and drink for Thor, and a blade as well. I figured I should bring something of great quantity considering our luck that day. What about you? What brings you to the temple? You looked... frightened when I arrived.”

Sigurd sauntered towards the other man, speaking as he walked. “Nothing of immediate urgency. I’ve just been having these strange dreams lately. Visions.”

“Visions? Really? Of what?”

“A wolf.” He answered. “At first, I merely dismissed the dream as a simple nightmare, but it’s been occurring over and over again. In the same way, and in the same order. So, I came to Ingrida for answers.”

Eivor’s interest was hooked. “Tell me about this wolf. What did it do? What did it look like?”

“The wolf was as white as snow,” Sigurd described. “Its eyes split the darkness with a predatory glare, and its stature challenged that of a fully grown man. Its snout and teeth were stained red with the pigment of fresh blood, and hiding behind its features, I... I could almost... recognize someone.”

“Recognize?” Eivor repeated. “What do you mean? This was a wolf, was it not? How could it resemble a human?”

The prince shrugged. “I have no idea, but... I felt it. There was something familiar about the wolf’s face. It was a sensation that I have no proper words to describe.”

The young man tilted his head towards the temple. “And? What did Ingrida have to say about these visions?”

Sigurd was quiet for a second, hesitant to tell the truth.

“...She believes this vision foretells a betrayal.”

Eivor’s eyes widened in surprise. “A betrayal? At whose hands?”

“She doesn’t know, and neither do I. I have no reason to suspect anyone just yet, but somehow, that almost makes it even worse.”

“How did the seeress come to this conclusion?” Eivor questioned. “What makes her believe betrayal is the only answer?”

“Because she had a similar vision,” Sigurd explained. “Ingrida tells me the gods sent her a dream the night before I arrived. Apparently, she saw a man who looked just like me. He bore the same mark upon his neck, and his eyes glowed with a raging fire. The ground beneath him was soaked in blood dripping from the stump of his own arm, and standing behind him was another white wolf, prowling in the shadows.”

A thought crossed Eivor’s mind. “...I suppose that explains why she called you ‘the one who walks with Tyr.’ It also explains why she was skeptical of you when you first met.”

“I suppose it does,” the prince agreed. “But what connection could I possibly have with Tyr? And why me? What makes me so special?”

Eivor shrugged. “I don’t know. You mentioned you used to have dreams about a kingdom constructed of iron when you were a child. Do you think that could be related?”

“...Perhaps? But I don’t see how it would fit into all this. The kingdom I saw looked nothing like any of the places I’ve ever heard about. Not Helheim, and certainly not Valhalla. It likely originates from a place beyond this realm, but the purpose of its existence continues to elude me.”

Sigurd sighed deeply, resting his hands on his hips. “...Forgive me. I don’t mean to dump all of this onto you. You probably have enough on your shoulders.” He switched to a lighter subject, deciding to put his fears to rest for the time-being. 

“How have you been, Eivor? Is your wound feeling any better? I planned to check on you multiple times, but I fear that my duties always got in the way.”

“No worries. It’s just started to heal. Ingrida says it’s going to leave quite a prominent scar in its absence, but well, it’s better than dying.”

A smirk twinkled on Sigurd’s face. “...I like it.”

“Really?”

“Why not? It gives you character. It makes you look like a warrior.”

Eivor chuckled. “That, or a fool who wasn’t able to handle himself in a fight.”

Sigurd’s smile only brightened. “Nonsense. Each scar you bear is a battle that you survived. Wear it with pride.” He patted his friend on the arm. “But enough about that. I was actually planning to visit you after speaking with the seeress.”

The Wolf-Kissed quirked a brow. “What for?”

“I wanted to take you up on your offer. For fishing. I was down at the docks earlier today, and saw some decent-looking fish roaming in the water. Still in the mood for it?”

Eivor nodded, grinning joyously at the man. “Without a doubt. We can find a boat and take it into the fjord. There are plenty of spots I can show you. Just let me finish my offering for Thor first.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you there when you’re ready. In the meantime, I’ll gather some supplies. See you soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

THE DOCKS

Pacing eagerly towards the pier, Eivor strolled excitedly through the village with an unusual spring in his step, smiling to himself as he briskly made his way past all the other buildings.

It had been a while since he last got the chance to spend any time with Sigurd, and he imagined that the two of them would have plenty of catching up to do. Even though they hadn’t bumped into each other for the past few days, Eivor always spotted the prince zipping back and forth around Bjornheimr, tending to his never-ending list of duties.

The man always looked so busy. Eivor was well-aware that a prince’s life wasn’t nearly as laid-back as other people expected, but even Sigurd’s schedule seemed to be overflowing with a ludicrous amount of responsibilities. He hardly had any time to even sit down, and the sockets around his eyes had darkened slightly due to a lack of sleep.

Eivor just hoped Sigurd was okay.

Finally arriving at the docks, the Wolf-Kissed came to a halt and gazed at this surroundings, trying to single out the prince’s head of red hair from the crowd. He eventually located the tall man standing at the edge of the pier with a basket and a pair of fishing rods, but to Eivor’s surprise, he wasn’t alone.

Dag seemed to have also joined the party, in spite of the sour expression plastered on his face. He was conversing with Sigurd in an agitated tone, and his brow had crinkled in a manner that displayed obvious annoyance. Strangely enough though, the prince didn’t appear to mirror his temperament. 

Just what was going on?

“Sigurd!” Eivor called out, causing both of them to turn their heads.

“Ah,” Sigurd replied radiantly, “Eivor. There you are. I was just asking Dag if he wanted to join us. I hope that’s not a problem?”

The younger man would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t somewhat disappointed, but he didn’t have the heard to tell him “no.” He knew Dag was a close friend of Sigurd’s after all, and he didn’t want to interfere. But still... part of him had been looking forward to spending the day with the prince alone.

“No,” Eivor lied, “not at all. He can come if he likes.”

“Great.” Sigurd brought his gaze to Dag. “So, what do you say? Care to go fishing with us?”

To Eivor’s relief, the man refused.

“I appreciate the offer,” Dag said flatly, “but I can’t accept. I have other things to do. You two go on without me.”

“Are you sure?” Sigurd asked, somewhat put off by his friend’s dour mood. “The weather has calmed down since this morning. Now’s the perfect opportunity to take a break. We’ll only be gone for a short while.”

Dag nodded in a dismissive fashion. “Yes, I’m sure. I have many things to take care of, and I’m afraid they cannot wait. Like I said, you two can go without me.”

Sigurd’s eyes dimmed at his friend’s response. “...Well, alright. If you’re certain.”

“I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” 

Storming off like a pouty toddler, Dag practically stomped away from the scene and swiftly made himself scarce, leaving Sigurd and Eivor with an uncomfortable silence. The two of them watched in confusion as the man disappeared in the distance, and not too longer after he vanished, they exchanged glances with each other, bewildered by what just happened.

“What was that about?” Eivor asked. “Is something wrong with Dag?”

Sigurd sighed in frustration, reaching down to grab the basket. “You know what? I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Dag’s been acting this way ever since the feast, and I don’t know why. This kind of behavior is unusual for him.”

“Have you talked to him?”

The older man lifted the basket onto his shoulder, walking towards the end of the pier as Eivor followed him from behind.

“Not yet, no. And even if I did, I’m not sure he would give me a straight answer. Dag’s never been the type to open up so easily. I’m just wondering if it’s because of something I did.”

His friend was quiet for a moment. “Does Dag always behave like this?”

Sigurd shook his head. “No, actually. He’s still the same man I know most of the time, but... recently, he’s been going through these random bouts of anger. And they’re always directed at me.”

The prince placed the basket down on a boat waiting beside the pier, carefully stepping onto it as it gently bobbed up and down with the water’s movement.

“I just wish he would talk to me. Dag is a dear friend of mine, and I don’t want anything to be wedged between us. Especially not after hearing Ingrida’s prediction.”

Eivor gave him a sympathetic look. “Try not to let it worry you. I’m sure Dag’s just stressed out from the constant battling with Kjotve. I know we all are. He’ll open up to you when he’s ready.”

Sigurd let out a breath. “...I hope so. I have enough on my plate at the moment. I don’t have time to be running around in circles with Dag. The sooner he opens up, the better.” 

He suddenly glanced up at his companion, deciding to leave the subject alone. “But push that aside. You came here to fish, not to listen to my life problems. Are you ready to go?”

The younger man stepped off the dock and took a seat across from Sigurd, excited for the ride ahead.

“Ready when you are.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for coming with me, by the way, Eivor. I apologize if I seem more stern than usual. I fear that this past week taken a toll on me.”

Eivor took no offense. “There’s no need to apologize. We’re all going through a lot. It’s only normal. Just try to forget about it for now.”

“I’m glad you understand. You seem to be the only one these days. But... you’re right. Today is a day meant for relaxing. Let us not spoil it. Come on, why don’t you show me those fishing spots you mentioned? I’m eager to see them.”

The Wolf-Kissed grabbed the oar and smirked at Sigurd, pushing their boat away from the pier. “As you command, my prince.”

~~~~~~~~~~

BJORNHEIMR, THE FJORD

Venturing deep into the fjord’s divine embrace, Sigurd and Eivor traversed across the water’s glassy surface, steadily gliding along with its rippled waves. They made sure not to put too much distance between them and the village as they did with the waterfall, but even then, the sheer size of the fjord was enough to make them feel as if they had stepped into another world.

All around them, mountains extended into the sky for what seemed like miles, and appeared to kiss the base of the clouds. Their peaks were frosted with fresh snow that floated down from the heavens, and their base remained concealed beneath the ocean, forming a basin fit for the gods themselves.

Meanwhile, a thin curtain of fog draped itself over the mountains’ rugged forms and obscured the landscape waiting ahead, encompassing the world in a layer of mist that stood as a barrier between the two men and the secular village they left behind.

It was the perfect place to clear one’s thoughts, and Eivor could see that Sigurd was already beginning to unwind. The disquieted expression that once hung on his face had vanished, and at the moment, he was currently sitting peacefully on the boat, watching contently as fish poked their fins out from the water’s surface. 

They were completely alone out here, and Eivor wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“So,” the younger man said, “what’ve you been doing these past few days? I haven’t had the chance to talk with you in a while.”

“Oh, nothing too exciting,” Sigurd answered, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve joined your father and Ulfar at the war table quite a few times now, and I’ve also been getting to know Randvi more. It’s difficult to juggle between the two, but things have been going according to plan so far.”

Eivor threw a puzzled look at him. “What about your father? Does he not take part in your conversations in the war room?”

The other man hesitated for a second. “Oh, h-he does, but... well, he’s been occupied lately. Sometimes I take his place.”

Eivor couldn’t deny that he found the response a bit odd, but he decided not to pry any further. “I see. And what about Ulfar? I hope he hasn’t given you any trouble.”

It was Sigurd’s turn to be confused now. “Ulfar? No, none at all. Why would he?”

The Wolf-Kissed sighed sheepishly, unsure of how to explain. He assumed Ulfar would have already expressed his concerns to the prince about his ability to be a leader, but evidently, he was wrong. 

“I, well... I suppose there’s no harm in letting you know. The day you and I went to the tavern, Ulfar stayed for a drink after you left. Initially, he was in a rather foul mood, and it was directed at you. He said you almost got me killed in the forest.”

A look of guilt spread across Sigurd’s face. “...Ah, I see.”

“I spoke with him, though,” Eivor reassured. “I convinced Ulfar it wasn’t your fault, and he told me he’d withhold any further judgement for now. That’s why I asked if he had given you any trouble. I was curious to know if he still harbored these doubts. But don’t let it bother you. Whatever Ulfar does, it’s only to keep me and my siblings safe.”

Sigurd shook his head in disagreement. “No, he’s right. I should’ve been more careful that day. I made a foolish decision, and you nearly paid the price. It’s a good thing you’re a skilled warrior. Otherwise, I’d probably be responsible for your death by now.”

Eivor’s expression sank with pity. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault what happened in the woods that day. You could’ve run off at the first sign of danger, but instead, you risked your life to save me. And everyone knows it. Even Ingrida.”

“Well, I may not be at fault,” the man conceded, “but I was ill-prepared for such an ordeal. If I’m going to be king someday, I need to be able to protect people. That includes you.” Sigurd shifted his position slightly, sitting more upright. “I promise, Eivor, I won’t endanger you like that again.”

The young man grinned. “I appreciate it, but we’re in the midst of a war. I’m afraid we don’t have much choice. Anything can happen at any time.”

“True, but I’ll still do everything I can to keep you and your people safe.” Sigurd displayed a small smile. “Death may be inevitable, but that’s no reason to let it take us so willingly. That’s why we have shields.”

Eivor chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.”

The two of them trailed off into silence briefly, only for the prince to bring up another topic.

“Hey, speaking of Ulfar, did you hear his report?”

“No.” Eivor said.

“Well, apparently, he and his men found two camps in the woods not too far from where we were attacked. They both belonged to Kjotve.”

“Really? How many men were there?”

Sigurd conjured a rough estimation. “About ten each.”

“Ten?” The Wolf-Kissed repeated in alarm. “That’s nearly two dozen in total. That’s enough men to carry out a small raid.”

“Indeed. We’re lucky Ulfar was able to drive them out before their numbers grew anymore. Thankfully though, he didn’t uncover any plans to attack Bjornheimr. He believes these particular men were just scouts sent here to keep an eye on the village and send information back to Kjotve. Our encounter with them wasn’t coordinated. A few of his people simply decided to take matters into their own hands.”

Eivor found some comfort in that. “Well, that’s a relief, at least. Still, I wonder how Kjotve will respond to this.”

Sigurd raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“If these men were sending regular reports to Kjotve, he’s going to realize something’s wrong when they come to a sudden stop. He might even send reinforcements.”

The older man couldn’t help but admit he had a point. “Hmm. That does sound likely. I’ll have to warn your father and Ulfar about the possibility of retaliation. We may be preparing for a wedding, but Freya knows that won’t stop Kjotve from spilling blood.”

A shiver traveled down Eivor’s spine. “What if... what if he comes to Bjornheimr? What do you think we’ll do?”

The answer seemed fairly clear to Sigurd. “We’ll fight, of course. What else?”

“No, no,” his friend corrected, “I didn’t quite mean it like that. I just...” Eivor gazed down at his father’s axe, tracing a hand down its grip, “...I’ve spent so many years thinking about how I would take my revenge on Kjotve; for what he did to my parents. I’ve convinced myself that I’d slit his throat without a second thought, but... if he actually shows up, I don’t know if it’ll be that easy. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

A sense of empathy softened Sigurd’s eyes. “It won’t be easy. But whatever happens, make sure you fight for what matters. Ideally, Kjotve will never set foot on your shores, but if he does, fight not for revenge. Fight for the honor your father lost. Only then can you know true peace.”

Eivor stared aimlessly at the water surrounding them, trying to block out the memories of that horrible night. “...I’ll try. Even if it kills me.”

The younger man watched the soothing rhythm of the waves dancing around them and fell into a deep train of thought, only to be pulled out again when Sigurd’s voice reached his ears.

“Hey,” he said gently, leaning closer to his companion, “are you alright, Eivor?”

The Wolf-Kissed blinked a few times, still somewhat lost in his own past. “Yes. I’m fine. It’s just... difficult to think about, you know. My parents were killed over a decade ago, and yet, their words from that night remain fresh in my head. It’s hard to ignore them sometimes.”

“Of course,” Sigurd replied. “I understand.”

“Anyway,” Eivor said, not wishing to dwell on the grim subject any longer, “you mentioned you’ve been seeing Randvi more earlier. How are things going between the two of you?”

“We still don’t know each other that well,” Sigurd confessed, “but she strikes me as a kind woman; an honorable one. I think we can make this marriage work. Although, I must admit... it’s bizarre to think about how she’ll be my wife in only a week from now. The future felt so far away when I first got here, and yet, these past seven days have fleeted by within a heartbeat. It just makes me wonder how fast the wedding will arrive.”

Eivor caught onto his tone. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes, and so is Randvi. But I think we’re both slowly coming to terms with it.” A glint of curiosity formed in the prince’s gaze. “What about you, Eivor? Have you ever considered marriage?”

The man laughed. “Me? No, not really. I’ve had partners in the past, but... nothing serious. It’s difficult to imagine someone marrying me, if I’m being honest.”

Sigurd scoffed. “Psh. Nonsense. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their spouse.”

“You think?”

The older man shrugged. “Why not? You’re compassionate, humorous, handsome, and--” Sigurd suddenly froze in shock, utterly embarrassed by his own words.

Meanwhile, Eivor simply gave him an appreciative smirk, undeniably amused by his slip-up.

“You consider me handsome, do you?” He teased.

Sigurd stammered bashfully and brought a hand to the back of his neck, barely able to hold eye contact with the Wolf-Kissed anymore. “Gods above... erm, f-forgive me, Eivor. I... I didn’t mean to--”

“--It’s alright.” He interrupted. “The truth is, I think you’re handsome too.”

The prince paused at Eivor’s remark, calming down somewhat. “You... do?”

Eivor chuckled, leaning forward in his seat. “Yes, you fool. Who wouldn’t? You’re strong, kind, caring, and you...” the young man caught himself before he could say anything else and stopped mid-sentence, abruptly retreating from his comments as Sigurd watched him quietly.

“...No,” Eivor said, his tone much more sullen now. “I can’t do this.”

Sigurd found himself growing concerned. “What’s wrong?”

The other man sighed in despondency, looking shamefully away from his friend. Eivor assured Ingrida that he wouldn’t allow his emotions to interfere with the upcoming wedding, and yet, he had barely been able to stop himself just now.

His thoughts slipped free from his lips as if they carried a mind of their own, and if it weren’t for the fact that everyone’s safety was depending on this alliance, Eivor had no idea how far he truly would’ve gotten. 

His ability to restrain his desires was already being crippled just after a week of knowing Sigurd, and the looming reality of his feelings was enough to send Eivor into a state of panic and loneliness. 

These next few days were going to be nothing but absolute turmoil for him, and sooner or later, he’d have to accept it. He just didn’t know how.

“Sigurd...” Eivor whispered sorrowfully, “...can I be honest with you?”

The older man nodded. “Of course. What’s going on?”

The Wolf-Kissed looked him directly in the eye, taking a deep breath. “...The truth is, ever since we met at that feast, I’ve been infatuated with you.”

Sigurd’s brow furrowed in shock. “...You have?”

“Yes. Whenever we’re apart, I’m always thinking about when I’ll see you next, or how you’re doing. I care about you, and I worry about your well-being despite being no more than an acquaintance.”

The prince knotted his hands together in thought. “And what about when you’re with me?”

Eivor showed a faint smile to him, but its facade was quickly betrayed by the pain in his gaze. “I feel at peace. I feel like nothing in the world can touch us. I feel a certain way that I’ve never felt before with anyone else, and it... it frightens me sometimes.”

The young man continued. “But I can’t allow these feelings to develop any further. No matter how persistent they may be. We’re both bound by our duties, and yours is to secure an alliance with my clan. The only thing I can provide for you is a distraction that you can’t afford.” Eivor slunk back to his end of the boat, hiding inside the shell that he constantly wore. “...I’m sorry, Sigurd. But our relationship can’t go beyond this.”

Sigurd offered nothing other than silence in return and simply delved into his own thoughts, gazing downwards in a desolate manner. It was clear that he mirrored the same affections that Eivor expressed, but he felt even more reluctant to share them now that he knew about the other man’s views.

It was the burden of being a prince, he supposed. Everyone always told Sigurd that his choices were his own, and yet, he was being forced to repress something that others would’ve been more than happy to admit. His life had been nothing more than one big preparation to rule the kingdom someday, but he felt as if he hardly had any control over his own life.

Still, Sigurd knew Eivor was right, and he knew he couldn’t afford to deviate from the path set out in front of him. The war with Kjotve was much bigger than either of them, and everyone’s safety was depending on this alliance.

“I... understand, Eivor.” He said quietly.

The younger man hung his head low, unable to ignore the guilt settling into his mind. “I’m sorry it has to be like this, Sigurd.”

“Don’t be. What you’re doing is noble. Not everyone would have your restraint.”

Eivor’s mood barely lightened at that. “It doesn’t feel noble. But I know it’s necessary.”

Sigurd nodded solemnly, unsure of what to say anymore. “...Indeed.”

Having had enough of this place, the older man took hold of the oar and stuck it into the water, eager to return to solid land.

“We should starting heading back.” He said abruptly, earning a tilt of the head from Eivor.

“Already? Are you sure? We haven’t even been out for that long.”

“I know, but I fear that my free time is rather limited today. An abundance of tasks awaits me in Bjornheimr, and I’m almost certain that my father will require my presence as well.”

Eivor peered at Sigurd with concern, clearly able to see that he had been affected by their conversation.

“Okay.” He agreed tentatively. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. Come on, I’ll row you back to the village. Just sit back and relax.”

Guiding their boat away from the fjord, Sigurd steadily drove them back to the shoreline without uttering another word as Eivor sat quietly on his side, admittedly feeling somewhat remorseful for having dimmed the mood.

Initially, he had been excited to spend more time with the forlorn prince, but now, he wondered if he had made a mistake. It was no question that a special type of bond connected the two of them, and Eivor mentally scolded himself for allowing it to strengthen even further.

At this point, part of him was considering the idea of severing their relationship. It was difficult enough battling the constant temptation that he felt whenever he was with Sigurd, so Eivor thought that, perhaps, it might’ve been best if he simply eliminated the chance for it to show up again.

There would be no need to practice restraint if the prince avoided him altogether. They would be complete strangers just like before, and Eivor wouldn’t have to worry about clashing with his desires on a daily basis.

But... he knew he wouldn’t be able to do such a thing. He cared about Sigurd too much, despite only having known him for a week. That man housed something special within his heart, and the last thing Eivor wanted was to cast it aside.

Still, he didn’t know how he would proceed from here. Sigurd was aware of his admiration now, and any interactions between them would’ve bred nothing but awkwardness.

They both needed some time to get their thoughts in order, and frankly, Eivor was starting to feel grateful that the other man decided to make such a swift exit. He needed to be alone for a while, and it was evident that Sigurd also had plenty to think about himself.

It was one of those moments where Eivor felt the urge to seek out guidance, and he knew exactly who to get it from. 

He just worried that they would tell him precisely what he didn’t want to hear.

~~~~~~~~~~

BJORNHEIMR, THE DOCKS

“Here we are.” Sigurd announced, letting the boat drift towards the pier as he gazed into the distance. “...And it looks like Dag is waiting for me. Just like I expected.”

Eivor stood up from his seat. “What does he want from you?”

His friend put down the oar and climbed back onto the docks, taking their supplies with him. “Nothing. It’s my father who probably wants something. Dag is merely the messenger. I just hope it’s not what I think it is.”

Walking briskly ahead of the other man, Sigurd strode down the wooden pier and made a beeline straight for Dag as Eivor hurried to his side, abandoning the boat. 

A newfound irritation had worked its way into the prince’s usually serene demeanor, and the Wolf-Kissed wondered if he’d finally learn the reason behind Styrbjorn’s aforementioned absence at the war table.

“Dag,” the redhead called out in a firm tone. “What are you doing here?”

The bulky warrior removed himself from the tree he had been leaning on and approached Sigurd, appearing no more pleased than before.

“The king requests your presence at the longhouse.” He informed. “There’s a problem he needs your help with.”

Sigurd sighed in defeat, plopping the basket down in frustration. “Of course he does. Is it the same ‘problem’ as yesterday?”

Dag nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

The prince shook his head angrily. “That drink-addled fool...! He promised me this wouldn’t be an issue. What is he doing now?”

“He’s waiting for you in his chambers. Same as always. I suggest you hurry. He’s in a worse state than usual.”

Sigurd’s face stiffened with ire. “And it’s no one else’s fault but his. What is that man thinking?” He paused for a second, recomposing himself. “...Thank you for letting me know, Dag. Hopefully, we’ll never have to have this conversation again.”

The raider began strolling away from them, pessimistic about the idea. “Hopefully, but not likely.”

Removing himself from the scene, Dag disappeared once again while Eivor took his place, confused as to what just happened. It was quite obvious to him that Styrbjorn seemed to be at the core of this issue, but he hadn’t the faintest idea what the issue was exactly.

“What’s going on?” Eivor asked. “Is your father safe? Do you need any help?”

Sigurd quickly rejected the offer. “No, no. He’ll be fine. He’s just being an idiot. It’s best if I deal with this alone. Believe me.”

The younger man’s curiosity remained fervent, but he decided not to press anymore. The prince was evidently in a state of heightened exasperation at the moment, and Eivor suspected that any further questions would’ve only earned him more animosity.

“...Alright. If you say so. But don’t hesitate to ask for my aid if you need it.”

“Thank you, Eivor. I appreciate it.”

Forcing himself to relax, Sigurd rubbed his temple out of stress and turned to face Eivor, softening the jagged edge of his voice.

“Forgive me. I don’t mean to be so irate, but things are chaotic enough as it is, and my father is only making things worse. He’s ignoring all of his responsibilities, and piling them on my shoulders instead. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t affecting me.”

Something clicked in Eivor’s head. “So that’s why you’ve been so busy.”

“Yes. That, and a few other things. But those matters are irrelevant right now. The only important thing I have to say is... thank you. For taking the time to come with me today.”

“Of course, Sigurd. You need only ask.”

The older man beamed warmly. “...You truly are a blessing. You know that, Eivor? I genuinely believe you’re the only person I can fully rely on. You’re a man worthy of trust.” He placed his hands on his hips, returning to his usual temperament. “But I’ve idled for long enough. My father’s probably wondering where I am. Feel free to take all the fish we caught. You deserve it for putting up with me today.”

Eivor took the basket in hand, waving goodbye to Sigurd. “Farewell for now, my friend. Take care of yourself. And remember, I’m here if you need me.”

The prince started heading in the direction of the longhouse, returning the wave with one of his own. 

“The same goes to you. I may be busy, but my door’s always open, Wolf-Kissed. I only pray that our next meeting will be under better circumstances. Until then, stay safe. We all need you.”

[royalcordelia]

If the Sea Should Part (4/5)

Summary: Anne finds herself caught up in whirl of romance and adventure after rescuing Dr. Gilbert Blythe from the sea during a storm. She should let him go, but when she finds out Billy Andrews is plotting to take Gilbert’s life and estate, she realizes there’s nothing that can keep her from protecting him.

AN - I changed the cover image to the beautiful painting that inspired a very beloved scene in this chapter. The painting is called “The Edge of the Woods” by the artist Charles Courtney Curran. Very Anne, isn’t it?

• Rated G • 8k words •  Read on ao3 • Read on ff.net •

It had happened sometime during her stay at the estate that Anne came to love the absence of silence. The heavy soundlessness only descended upon the house in the evening hours after all the servants and schoolboys were asleep. As soon as the sun shone its first hints of light on the east facing harbor, there came to be voices and laughter and singing and gossiping.

How she adored these Sunday afternoons, where she could delve into her favorite novel on the settee beside her window and let the gentle crashing of waves near the house hone her focus. In the foyer beneath her, one of the boys practiced a bumpy rendition of a Mozart work, but the melody drifted up to her like a song on the wind.

Above all the soft noise, Anne was broken out of her reading by a knock at the door.

“Come in, please!” she said, straightening up from her reclined position to one suitable for guests. She hoped it might be Gilbert, but couldn’t be disappointed when Mary poked in her friendly face.

“Hey there, Anne. Got free moment?” she said. Anne crossed the room to her radiant new friend, noticing the letter she was carrying.

“I was just doing a little light reading,” Anne assured. “Besides, I’ve always got time for you. Is something the matter?”  

Mary’s smile faltered then, and Anne could see in her eyes about a thousand things the woman wished to say. Some were good, she supposed, but there was a caution in Mary’s expression, as well. Certainly she wasn’t afraid to speak to Anne. Why, Anne had been under the impression that the two of them were kindred from the first!

“What do you know about the Stuart family?” Mary said carefully. The name wasn’t familiar at all to Anne. There wasn’t anyone in Avonlea with the name, and as far as she knew, none of the boys belong to the Stuarts.

“Nothing, I suppose. Why?” Mary hummed, seemingly displeased with this answer.

“No reason. Just curious,” she lied, but Anne wasn’t brave enough to question further. “This came for you in the mail today.”

Mary thrusted Anne the ivory colored envelope as if the diversion of it would be enough to distract her from the few seconds of conversation. Anne took the letter, nonetheless, noticing how light in her hands it was compared to the other correspondences she’d received before. She flipped it over so that she might see the return address, and gasped.

“M. Cuthbert,” she muttered. “It’s from my mother.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Anne wasn’t quick to respond, but if Mary noticed the change in her tone, she didn’t say it. Running a finger over the smooth parchment, Anne swallowed back a rock forming in her throat.

“I hope so. Thank you, Mary. I think I’ll go out by the trees and read for a while.”

She could feel Mary’s eyes on her as she left, a heavy apprehensive look that mothers give their daughters the first time she walks herself to school. Still, she said nothing as she slipped out of the house, the laughter and noise she’d reveled in just moments ago suddenly an unbearable cacophony.

Gilbert came to her sometime later, after she’d read the letter over and over and over until she had each heartbreaking word memorized and dry fingertips from grasping the paper. When he found her though, she was leaning completely still against the sturdy trunk of a tree, looking out as the late afternoon sun prepared to take its first descending steps. He wasn’t sure if she had heard him approach, and decided to simply settle down beside her to gaze off at the same lovely horizon. Anne didn’t turn to him. Instead, she handed him an open envelope and crossed her arms on her knees.

Gilbert saw the return address, understanding almost immediately the cause of her sudden quiet.

“May I read it?” he asked quietly.  Anne nodded, leaning her chin on her arms. Clearing his throat, he began to read in a low tone.

“Dear Anne, I would like to ask you to restrict your correspondence with Green Gables to matters of urgency or absolute importance. Rachel and I are very busy with the Ladies Aid and with church volunteer work, and thus are short on time to write letters. I know you will understand. Sincerely, Marilla?” Gilbert finished incredulously. “Anne, I...I cannot fathom she was in her right mind when she wrote that.”

“Marilla is always in her right mind, Gil. It was me. I hurt her more than I’ve ever hurt her before and now she certainly despises me.” He turned to face her, expression kind.

“I don’t think she could. You’re her daughter.”

“Only by choice. Certainly now I am merely an obligation because of prior commitment.”

“Anne, that’s not true and you know it.”

She wished she could believe it, but the scarred insecurities that she’d known as a child were beginning to show their nasty heads again and she feared if she opened her mouth, he’d hate what she’d say. Still, if the ease in their friendship had taught her anything in the past weeks, it was that being honest with Gilbert felt easy and beautiful. To feel his presence beside her was like reading a sonnet over and over and over, dwelling in the same warm sensations of the language every time. Maybe that was why she confessed,

“If Matthew were still alive, he would’ve known this was what I had to do. He would’ve seen how important this is to me. How important you are to me.”

Gilbert’s cheeks lifted into a red-hued smile, and he reached out and grabbed her hand.

“I know the feeling,” he replied quietly. “Anne, I’m sorry Marilla’s letter wasn’t what you hoped it would be, but she’ll come around. I know she will.”

Anne ran her hand through the strands of grass at her side, pausing as longer strands got tangled against her fingers.

“You’re right,” she said, looking up at the horizon with its first hints of pink and orange. Far below them, the ocean churned, content to be made beautiful by the dusk and the gentle breeze. “Thank you, Gilbert. For what it’s worth, I don’t regret the decision I made the night I left Green Gables. I’d choose it all over again if I had to.”

Gilbert sucked his lip under his teeth to bite back his grin, but it blossomed in his eyes before he could hide the full extent of its splendor from Anne.

“I have some things I’d like to discuss with you tonight after supper. Suppose you come by my study whenever is convenient for you?” he suggested carefully.

“Wouldn’t you rather discuss them now?” she laughed. It wasn’t often they got a moment like this alone together without any servants listening, schoolboys interrupting, or Bash teasing. In fact, the last time they’d been this close and breathing the same air was that night in Gilbert’s room when they’d bled out their truths together.

The memory of it brought Anne back to the present, but to a different reality than she’d been in moments ago. This was a reality where she ached to lean forward and press herself to him. She’d taste the hardened lines of his jaw, run her fingertips along the firmness of his chest, allow him to kiss all the sensitive parts of her throat.

Unaware of the onslaught of longing that had begun to drive Anne mad with yearning and fear, Gilbert wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her so that she might lean her head upon his shoulder.

“It can wait. I think I am quite content to stay here for a while longer, here with you.”

* # * # *

Anne had never been to Gilbert’s study before. It was a space that was protected by the unspoken rule that no one should bother the doctor when he was in his office, and no one should enter when he wasn’t.

“I keep confidential documents on file in my study,” he had explained to her one day. “In a town this small, disclosed medical records have the power to devastate a person’s reputation or pride.”

But rarely did someone have an invitation from the doctor himself like she did.

“It’s because I trust you, Anne.”

A few servants sent her wary glances as they passed her in the hallway, peering over their shoulders as she shifted from foot to foot before his door. Her palms had developed a thin layer of sweat, and she wiped them across her dress. It was just Gilbert, she told herself. She spoken with him dozens of times before. Why should her heart beat nearly out of her chest at the prospect of seeing him now? Fortifying herself, Anne squared her shoulders and knocked on the door.

“Just a moment,” came Gilbert’s muffled voice from inside the office. Anne folded her hands behind her back and balanced her features. When the door drifted open, she was smiling up at him the same way she always did, but the sight of candlelit contours made her fight the instinct to melt to the floor. He had put back on his brown doctor’s jacket after dinner, but the solitude of his own thoughts had sent him rustling his hand through his hair, tossing his brown curls every which way.

“Hello, Anne,” he greeted warmly. “Come in, won’t you?”

Gilbert’s study look just like every other room in the house, with its walls lined with bookshelves  and ornate, coffered ceiling. He kept his large desk off to the left of the room near the marble fireplace, with a leather padded examination chair near the window looking over the sea. The only shelf in the room that was free of some sort of bound text was one which held several locked boxes and wooden cases which Anne could only assume contained medical utensils. Perhaps the highlight of the room was the view from the window of glistening moon hovering just over the horizon. The light shone onto the calm waves, oscillating with the sea like a heartbeat.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“You told me not many people are permitted in here. I was just looking around to see how accurate the image I conjured up was.”

“Is it everything you imagined?” Gilbert asked, amused.

“No, it seems I am constantly and pleasantly surprised by the splendor of your home.”

“It’s your home too, Anne. You know you’re welcome here as long as you like. Forever if you wish it.”

There was something heavier in the question that Anne couldn’t quite name. Forever was certainly a long time. Would she be overstaying her welcome if she continued to live here after Gilbert found a wife and had children of his own? Unless, of course, by forever he meant…

Anne cleared her throat, stopping her derailing thoughts in their tracks.

“You said there something you wanted to discuss?” she asked politely. Gilbert led her to sit in the chair in front of his desk, pulling the upholstered seat for her before going round the other side of the table and taking his own place.

“It’s more something I wanted to ask your opinion on,” he stated, leaning back in his chair a little. Anne quirked a brow, urging him to continue. “It recently occurred to me that I am the only individual in my...circle that has taken an interest in investing in social matters.”

“The orphan asylum?”

“Yes. I’ve found it incredibly rewarding to watch these boys grow up and know that they’ve been re-enfranchised their right to a quality life and education. But I’m the only one making an effort and I know for certain that the rest of the harbor investors have the funds to make such impacts themselves. And -” He paused. “You don’t look nearly as surprised as I thought you might.”

“Gilbert, I lived in those asylums. I know how I was treated. We were certainly never the object of monetary pity, just unmitigated disgust.”

The doctor looked down at his desk and tightened his jaw.

“I hope you know I’m not helping those boys out of pity,” he swore solemnly.

Anne did know. She’d seen the way he was with the boys, the way he loved them as truly and mentored them as dedicated as he might if all forty-three of them were his own. What she doubted, in the truest depths of her heart, was whether or not Gilbert was helping her out of pity, out of obligation. She would’ve saved his life that day in the storm, whether he was the poorest man in Canada or the richest. But she’d leave right that instant if she was given any evidence that her position was given to her out of pity for her unmarried and unemployed poor situation.

“Anne?” Gilbert asked, a little uneasy. “You know I mean what I say.”

“Yes! Yes, sorry,” Anne sputtered out. “Thinking about such things has always been somewhat unpleasant for me and I get pulled into my own mind. But I think I may have an idea of how you may encourage your peers to find empathy in their hearts without making open judgments on how they spend their money.”

“I’m all ears,” Gilbert replied, leaning forward.

“Host a charity ball. They’re likely antiquated these days, but I’m willing to bet that crowd would do anything to dress to the nines and flaunt their own accomplishments. Request a small donation upon entry and forward the proceeds to the asylum directly.”

Folding his fingers underneath his chin, a mischievous glint flickered in his eye.

“That’s positively genius!” he agreed. “I’ve been to similar events in the past. People boast about their donations to such an extent that others have raised their own out of spite! It’s a dirty tactic, but I think it just might work.”

“It doesn’t have to be all dirty,” Anne supplied. “Gilbert, your appeal as a doctor and a businessman is how personable and genuine you are. If you confide in your wealthier friends about the fulfilling feeling of improving another human’s life, perhaps they will find themselves urged to become more involved themselves. You can appeal to their empathy and sensibility. Use me as an example. I’d gladly talk about my upbringing if it meant I could help the boys at the asylum.”

Gilbert’s eyes became soft as starlight.

“You’d do that?”

“For you, and for them, I would.”

“I’ll discuss the idea with Bash, but if he agrees, I imagine we could host the event before the end of autumn.” The excited sparkle in his eye dimmed as another thought crossed through his mind, his mouth parted as he searched for the right way to begin. “There is something else,” he said, breaking the pause.

Anne worried for a moment that she might have done something to displease him, but a new fear came over her entirely when he said,

“I’ve been in correspondence with William Andrews.”

Anne’s stomach fell the floor and she sucked in a sharp breath to keep from gasping.

“Are you angry?” he asked, fists clenched with his own nervousness.

“No! Gilbert, no, not even a little. I’m…” Her fingers found the folds of her skirts, tugging to release her building dread. At last she settled on, “Frightened. Your tone suggests it hasn’t been going well.”

“He wrote to ask about a potential arrangement to be made in the fulfillment of my father’s will.”

“Certainly your father’s will has already been fulfilled,” Anne replied.

“That was my initial response to him. Aside from the inheritance set aside for my children, or Bash’s children should I not have any myself, all the money has been distributed. I believe Billy meant to renegotiate the terms of the will.”

“You can’t renegotiate a will!” Anne cried, suddenly disgusted at the prospect. Of course Billy didn’t care a single thing about John Blythe or his dying wishes! All he cared about was his own gain.

“Not to mention my father already honored his friendship with Harmon. Billy received some inheritance five years ago, as per the will’s instructions, but Billy believes it wasn’t adequate.”

“That’s ridiculous! Who is he to say that an inheritance isn’t adequate?”

“I refused all of his requests to meet in person. My hands are full enough managing the Harbor with Bash and running out on medical calls to deal with a petulant man’s greedy intentions. Especially with my late father’s money.”

Anne crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair with an impressed chuckle.

“Why, Dr. Blythe, you have some gumption to speak of, after all.”

“You knew it was there,” he retorted, face flushing.

“I knew it was there when you called me a siren,” Anne agreed. “But why are you telling me this now? Did you want me to...talk to Billy?”

“No!” Gilbert rushed. “I want you to stay as far from him as you can. I don’t say that to try and control you, Anne, I’m just convinced now more than ever that Billy has ill intentions with my life in order to get what he wants. I’m telling you because even though I believed you before, I had my doubts, and for that I am sorry. I believe you completely, wholeheartedly now. I want you to know what I intend to do about it - starting with something I believe you may be able to help you with.”

“You want my help?”

“Of course! You know what Billy looks like. I’ve never met the man. I’d like you to describe him as best you can, like one of your book characters if you have to, so that I can inform the staff to be on the look. I fear it’s not just my own safety at stake, but Bash’s, yours, and the boys. I need to keep my family safe.”

So she did. Anne waited for Gilbert to open one of his leather notebooks, then began to describe the yellow undertone of his pale face, the almost triangular roundness of his head, and the straight gold hair he always kept slicked to the right. She told Gilbert things she had never noticed about Billy until she was forced to think about him, but just the image in her mind was enough to set her stomach churning.

“His eyes are slanted down just a little,” she explained. “And he walks with such an entitled air that you’d like to just kick his legs out from underneath him!”

“Is that all?” Gilbert said with a hint of playfulness.

“That’s all I ever cared to notice,” she said stately.

“If that’s all you ever cared to notice about someone you don’t like, I’d love to hear how you describe someone you do like.”

Then, perhaps because she was a bit impulsive and eager as Marilla always said she was, she responded in an even tone, “Then ask me about you sometime.”

Gilbert’s lips lifted in a crooked smile and his eyes lifted from his journal to stare at her straight on.

“I like you too,” he said quietly with that smile that Anne could have lived a happy, torment-free life without seeing. Feeling a swell in her chest that, if bubbled out, would have resulted in her flinging herself across the desk and kissing him square on his soft mouth, Anne stood up. Gilbert jumped at her abruptness, but rose to his feet.

“Yes, well, I’d best be off to prepare for bed. Class meets in the morning and it wouldn’t be fair to the boys if their schoolteacher is dead on her feet! I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure!”

Gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked.

“Anne,” he called out - not desperately, not quickly, but calmly as if he knew what he was doing.

“Yes?” She felt exposed in front of him, like his gaze was seeing through her skin and into most honest corners of herself that she never dared touch.

“Would you like to spend some time with me tomorrow? Just the two of us?”

A thousand questions were reeling in her head all at once, some curious ( Where will you take me?), some wary ( Won’t we be interrupted by your patients? Surely they are more important?), some positively alarmed ( Do you mean on a romantic tryst?) All she needed to do was look up at the hopeful smile and the matching adorative smile to for all her questions to be answered.

Gilbert Blythe cared about her, and it terrified her.

Suddenly, Anne realized that if she had given into the irrational urge to kiss him like she’d longed to only moments ago,  he probably would have let her. Maybe he would have taken her up in his arms and pressed as close as could be allowed with the separation of the desk. She finally get to touch his soft hair the way she yearned to, and be treated with reverence in return.

She cared about him, too, and more than that, she trusted him. She’d never trusted anyone before, not like this.

But she had to give him an answer because she if she waited any longer, he might just turn completely white and take it all back.

“Of course,” she said in a sure tone. “I think I’d like that.”

A grin erupted on Gilbert’s face, the kind Anne knew he wouldn’t be able to bite back with all his strength. He reached out like he might take her hands in his and press each of her smooth fingertips to his lips one by one. Just the thought of it made heat erupt beneath her neck and blaze up to the apples of her cheeks, but he caught himself and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Excellent, I’ll come collect you after your class dismisses tomorrow.”

Anne doubted her feet touched the floor as she walked back to her room, feeling that there were clouds beneath her toes that carried her on the early autumn breeze.

* # * # *

Looking back, Anne wished she could report not falling prey to the temptation of vanity for the sake a man’s presence. To report so would be a lie, one that she didn’t feel too ashamed about. It had been one of the only times that she allowed herself to dedicate a few extra minutes in front of her ornate vanity to style her hair into a pretty style she’d seen Diana wear once. In fact, it had been Diana’s idea in the first place.

“ Oh, I know what Marilla says about vanity, but there’s no harm in wanting to feel pretty in your own skin,” she’d written in one of her letters. “ Darling, it sounds like you really care for this man. I know that probably frightens you, so spend a few extra and dote on yourself like you dote on me! Tuck your hair in that elegant style you admire, whisper some encouraging words to yourself, and show that man the absolute treasure that you are! You’re a rare gift, Anne Shirley, and if Dr. Blythe can’t see it for himself, I will march up to the Glen and tell him myself!”

Now she was alone in the empty classroom, the chattering of the boys echoing in the hallway outside the door. Standing at the window outlooking the estate garden where the boys tended to play amongst the shaped bushes and patches of lilies and daisies, Anne stared at her own reflection. In books, it seemed so easy for the heroine to gain the attention of the her affection’s object. But the heroines in her stories tended to be wealthy, beautiful, and demure. She was none of those things, but wouldn’t Gilbert like a girl who was imaginative and kind better? Brave in her own vulnerable strength? She chanced another glance at her reflection, and when her gaze focused, she thought she looked a tiny bit lovelier than she had a moment ago.

Ever more lovely, she could make out the silhouette of a beloved man leaning against the doorframe, waiting and watching with easy patience. Anne spun around, flush warming her cheeks.

“Just how long have you been standing there, Gil?”

He gave a playful shrug, nodding toward the door.

“Not long. Do you have time for a small rendezvous with adventure?” he asked in a sort of purr-like sound that made Anne bite her lip.

“Whenever I’m with you, it seems like I’m going on some life-altering adventure.” Nevertheless, she took some small steps forward, allowing the friendly doctor to take her hand in his calloused one.

“ That ,” Gilbert emphasized, “hardly sounds like a complaint, Miss Shirley.”

“I suppose that depends on what you have planned today,” she teased back.

“Oh, but what is life without a little bit of surprise?” He sent an impish glance her way, then took down the hallway, running with boyish delight toward the woods. Anne let out a surprised gasp, pausing just long enough to let Gilbert put some distance between them, before picking up her skirts and setting off after him.

“I think I’ve had quite enough surprise in my life! I seem to recall being quite surprised when I found a young sailor bobbing like an apple in a seastorm! And then I was even more surprised to find he was not a sailor at all!” she called after him, gaining on him as his stamina waned. “Gilbert, I don’t think it’s very dignified for a schoolteacher to chase after a doctor in -” she tripped over the last step of the boys’ living building “-in such a chaotic fashion!”

“Who’s going to scold us?” Gilbert laughed, spinning around to meet her eyes. “This is my home!”

Just as Anne’s lungs felt that they might give out, Gilbert himself skidded to a halt and bent over. The afternoon heat from the yellowish sun produced a thick drop of sweat on his brow, which he wiped away unceremoniously and flicked into the grass. Anne’s chest heaved as she watched Gilbert throw his head back and let out a carefree guffaw.

“You’re looking at me as if you’ve seen a ghost, Anne!” he said, laughing so hard his eyes had sprung tears in the corners. She couldn’t help but reciprocate the mirth.

“You try running in a corset, Dr. Blythe. I’m merely - stop laughing at me! - I’m merely wondering what has suddenly possessed you!”

Gilbert released a long Ahhh sound with a happy sigh.

“I think I’ve been spending too much time around those boys! Oh, what I’d give to take back my stolen youth!” he said dramatically. Anne’s smile faltered - stolen youth? -  but Gilbert wasn’t about to let it fall completely off her face. “Come Queen Anne, I think I’m finally ready to show you your surprise.”

He extended a strong hand to her, which she accepted without question. As they moved beyond the border of the tended garden and into the thicket of the forest, Gilbert caressed her knuckles with his thumb.

“If there’s anything that these past weeks has taught me, it’s that you are indeed not a siren,” he murmured. The sunlight peeking through the trees turned the ground into a kaleidoscope of light and shadows.

“Oh, then what am I?” Anne said, half distracted by the first hints of burnt umber leaves trickling down onto the crisp soil and the age-old trees that stretched wise, old limbs up to the midday sky. Her gait had slowed as she took in the sights around her, and Gilbert leaned down beside her ear and whispered,

“A dryad.” Anne had enough bravery to turn part of the way toward Gilbert, finding their faces so close together she could smell the sweet smell of sea salt coming off of him. He chanced a single glance down at her lips, then continued walking, pulling Anne along with him.

“I suppose you’re right. I couldn’t live where there were no trees; something vital in me would starve,” she said leisurely, though her heart hadn’t stopped racing its marathon.

“I’m much the same way,” Gilbert agreed. “My family in Avonlea had this marvelous orchard that seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. Whenever I visited, I could occupy myself hours and hours, filling my lungs with air and my stomach with apples.”

“Oh, I know that orchard,” Anne said with a fond amount of wistfulness. The orchard in question always appeared to Anne like the Garden of Eden, though she was free to pluck as many apples as she was hungry for without fear of sin. She tightened her grip on his hand, feeling that being by his side was right, especially now that she’d known the little spot of paradise had been sacred for him too. But there was something else she wanted to know.

She didn’t have a chance to ask it, for they stumbled onto the first of Gilbert’s surprises.

“Are you taking me for boat ride?” she asked, cheeks lifting into a smile.

“Just down the stream and through the woods. There’s a spot that I’d like to show you. It’s easiest to get to by boat, but the view of the overhead trees on the way isn’t bad, either. Would you like to go?”

Anne’s eyes fell on the dory propped up against the tree, then shifted to the creek. It reminded her of the mythical river Acheron, the river that flowed to the gates of hades, but instead of death, Anne felt this river must flow into a mystical faery kingdom. Low hanging branches grazes their vines upon the surface of the water. The ambling stream flowed crisp and cool into an unknown she longed to see.

“Take me.”

  “How did you find such a place?” Anne asked some minutes later to Gilbert, who rowed in slow, steady strokes. Her eyes hadn’t known which beauty to settle on - that of the magical garden all around them in its balsamy fragrance, or that of the man before her, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Gilbert’s eyes, however, hadn’t moved from the ethereal being before him, drinking in her radiant enjoyment and making it his own.

“When my father was ill, I needed somewhere to get away. Somewhere that didn’t smell like disease and medicine. Really, all I needed was some fresh air. Pretty quickly I found this place.”

“I did the same thing as a child,” Anne said in a light voice, as if the shared experience wasn’t sad, but instead made them even more kindred. “Many of the homes I stayed in weren’t welcoming to a strange girl with an imagination bigger than she was. But the trees!” She sighed and leaned her head back, pretending the ends of her hair were touching the water. “The trees loved me better than anyone ever did, that is, until I Matthew and Marilla took me in.”

“Was it hard to be an orphan?” he asked seriously. The question was one she had received dozens of times in her life, but for once she felt she didn’t need to answer. She peered up at him through golden lashes, grayish blue eyes bright against the green scenery, and said in a kind tone,

“You tell me, Gil.”

He stopped rowing for a moment and let the words sink in. Then, realizing they’d practically come to a halt, he gripped the oars again and carried on.

“You see, Gilbert, I think that no matter how many people you have around you, or how many things you have, loneliness is still loneliness.” She laughed. “But with trees like these ones, it’s a wonder anyone is lonely!”

“They’re lovely, but they’re a poor substitute for company like yours,” Gilbert replied. Anne’s cheeks turned a lovely sunset magenta, and he knew he was doing something right.

Dipping her hand in the water, Anne remembered what she’d wanted to ask him about, but waited until the chill had woven a tingling sensation into her fingertips.

“Your father being ill and you spending a lot of time alone out here...Is that what you meant earlier when you said your childhood had been stolen from you?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t just that. My father didn’t fall seriously  ill until the end of my college years,” Gilbert replied simply, if not a bit melancholy. “He happened upon his wealth the same way I happened upon mine. A generous man honored him in his will for the kindness he’d done, and in many ways, it’s been the biggest blessing my family has ever had. To have every single one of our needs met, to be warm and happy, content that tomorrow there will be food on the table and friends at the door - it’s more than my father had when he was a boy. Not to mention, Bash and Mary have a beautiful home to raise their family in, and I can care for the boys.”

“But…?”

Gilbert sighed and shook his head, a vulnerable smile on his lips.

“But the Harbor was so much responsibility for my father to take on and the stress of it certainly didn’t aid his declining health. Sometimes I wonder if he’d still be alive if we’d just lived with his family in Alberta or my mother’s family in Avonlea. I could’ve met you sooner!”

“Which probably would have been a catastrophe.”

“ Or, it would’ve been a beautiful, fulfilling friendship.”

Anne had waltzed with what-ifs enough to know that if Gilbert continued like this, he’d run around himself in circles until he was too dizzy to be sure what was real and what was make-believe. She placed a comforting hand over his hand and gave it a tender squeeze.

“Isn’t that what we have now?” she said.

“Yes, and I am grateful for it. So, so grateful. But Anne, I won’t ever get back the things I’ve lost. I lost growing up with a mother, living in a humble home where everyone knows each other’s thoughts, and learning in a schoolroom with other children.”

Alongside them, the flowing stream trickled on.

“In a way, it’s another thing you have to mourn, Gil. Will you let yourself? Can you let the past go so that you can enjoy the blessings of the present?”

The doctor continued the steady rhythm of his rowing, turning his cheeks up to the patch of sunlight that had fallen over them. He thought back on the life he lived - the things he would do all over again and the things he’d write in granite to keep them the same. This woman, with her apricot hair and cheeks of constellations, was one thing that he’d write into the story of his life and hold there. Forever, he hoped to tell the story of the siren queen who dove into the tempest to save his life. He’d speak of her strength, her resolution, the compassion in her smile, and the stretch of eternity in her eyes.

“What’s done is done,” quoted Gilbert with a new sense of ease. “You’re here right now, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Anne knew exactly how he felt.

Eventually the dory had journeyed as far as it could in the humble stream, and Gilbert rowed it to the landing laced with grass and wild lilies. They helped each other step out, chuckling at the boats unsteadiness as it swayed them side to side, before their feet touched the mossy ground. Gilbert moved so that Anne could gaze upon the small haven that he had brought them to.

Gaze she did. All the beauties of the Glen she’d seen before did not compare to this hallowed spot, which was so much like Avonlea forests that her heart gave a tender squeeze. The reason the rowboat had stopped where it did was because the stream had opened into a crescent shaped pond with a crown of water lilies and fallen leaves. Gilbert, having known the spot, had left a cream colored basket in the clearing beside the pond, a blanket a cozy resting place amongst the tall grass. Flowers lined the clearing beside the pond,  a wall of fragrant blossoms made of a dozen pinks and light blues.

Gilbert noticed the object of her adoring eyes and plucked a few blossoms, handing them to her without a single word. He moved to the blanket he’d laid out and stretched out it like a cat preparing for an afternoon rest. When he peered up at her, squinting through the sunlight, he saw her standing there - one hand on a paperwhite birch tree, the other holding her bouquet of rose-thrifts at her side. The ease of her grace took the breath from him, but he was content to breathe her in instead.

Anne was looking back at him with just as much barely contained rapture. There he was, her golden-hearted doctor, smiling upon her the way she never thought anyone would be able to.

“Come sit a while, Anne,” he offered, the sun turning his face into gold with its soft skin and thin layer of sweat. “I’ve got something for you.”

The skirts of her summer sky dress moved through the grass as she made her way to him, spreading like spilled ink when she sat beside him. Had she been alone, she’d have kicked off her shoes and spread out her legs to feel the tall grass between her toes.

But she was here with Gilbert. She could no less tear her gaze away from his than increase the short distance between them.

“Gilbert, you didn’t have to bring me anything. This sight is pleasure enough.”

“I believe you’ll like this small offering. You see, I wrote a letter and its recipient had it in her heart to send a response.” He pulled an envelope from his picnic basket, placing it in her outstretched hand as gentle as a feather hitting the ground. Anne bit her lip when she read the return address.

“It’s from Marilla,” she murmured. Closing her eyes, she placed the envelope back in his grasp, covering it with her other hand. “I can’t...I don’t want to ruin this moment with something that breaks my heart so.”

“Look at who it’s addressed to, you goose. I’ve already read it.”

Sure enough, the letter was addressed to a “Dr. Gilbert J. Blythe” and not “Prodigal, Redheaded harem scarem.”

“Oh,” Anne muttered, frightened at something she couldn’t name.

“Read it outloud, Anne, for the trees and the wind,” he said dramatically, laying back on the blanket and closing his eyes.

“Gilbert, are you su-”

“ Anne,” he drawled. “I’ve got the first few lines memorized if you won’t read it yourself. See? ‘Dear Dr. Blythe, I must say I was astonished to find your letter-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll read it, just leave the dramatic readings to me and Paul Irving.” Anne cried out, nudging him with her knee. Gilbert chuckled, sticking his elbow out and propping his head up so that he might watch her. Licking her lips, Anne began to read.

“Dear Dr. Blythe, I must say I was astonished to find your letter waiting for me when I returned home from Charlottetown just this afternoon. I cannot tell you how pleased I was to read your accounts of Anne, her successes as a teacher and how well she is fairing. As for your news on Billy Andrews, I fear I have made a dreadful mistake in not believing Anne when she needed my support most. I only wish that I could have seen that she was doing the right thing all along, even if cost her greatly. If you could, please tell Anne that I don’t intend to make her pay that cost anymore. If she can forgive me, I’d welcome a letter from her. As for your invitation to the charity ball you’re hosting in a fortnight, Rachel and I were humbled, but regret we must remain here to care for the farm. Please do write and tell us about its success. Thank you again. Send Anne our enduring love. Sincerely, Marilla Cuthbert.”

A tear had dropped on the page, and Anne brushed it aside before it run any of the ink. She sat quiet for a moment, rubbing the textured parchment in her fingers, almost as if she could feel the essence of Green Gables.

“You wrote her for me?” she whispered in a raspy voice. Gilbert’s eyes on her were tender, but he stayed where he was, allowing her the space to breathe and process.

“I know how much her last letter hurt you,” he said. “I saw the way you were together. You’re not meant to be apart like that. She’s your mother.”

Anne swallowed, biting back an onslaught of love. For Marilla, the rare mother she never expected but cared for with her whole soul. And for Gilbert, this gentle, compassionate man who seemed to speak the language of her soul.

“You did this for me?” she repeated - slower, quieter. Gilbert’s gaze was reverent and steady as he replied.

“Yes, my love. I did it for you.”

They had both ventured a step into each other’s world’s, vulnerable and bare. There was no going back now, but Anne was ready to leap forward. She placed her hand on his, willing him toward her. Gilbert gave into the gravitation, sighing in blissful surrender as she slid her arms around his waist and pressed her lips to his. His arms were about her, tugging her flush against his chest where their beating hearts were side by side. He kissed the breath from her, admiring how she tasted the way roses smelled and was the softest thing he’d ever held.

Anne all but evaporated into a euphoric autumn breeze, faintly wondering if she had ever felt this safe and loved. There was only the musky scent of this man -  her lover, she realized- and his tender caress. She was ready to be consumed by its delight, and love him even more in return.

He pulled away, only to lean back in for a few more short kisses, but found it difficult to grin with the full extent of his happiness and kiss her at the same time. Anne pressed her forehead to his, running her thumb over his cheek.

“My love,” she tasted on her tongue. Her lips found his cheek, rough with the first hints of a beard. “ Gilbert .”

A joyous laugh left his lips, and he looked into her eyes, dark and glittering as the night. All noise faded away, leaving Gilbert with his heart thumping in his ear, yearning to just stay in his embrace for the rest of his existence.

“I didn’t know! I certainly hoped , but I didn’t know,” he admitted with a choked up, little laugh. She heard the full admission - I didn’t know you cared. I didn’t know you loved me.  

“I’ll tell you all you’d like now,” she replied, an ardent quality taking over her entire being.

“Right now?” he wished. A breeze swept past them, and Anne allowed it to sway it back to his face. She wasn’t afraid or overwhelmed. She was too full of bliss to feel anything but.

“I’m in love with you,” she confessed. “I love you, Gil.”

This time he kissed her, swept her back up into his arms so quickly that a gasp escaped her, and showed her what the words did to him. Somehow she’d wound up partly in his lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and hands anchored in his hair. He only pulled back enough to whisper his own reverent confession to her. The words danced across her mouth, sweet and soft.

“I love you too,” he replied. “I’ve loved you since you pulled me out of that ocean, and I’ve loved you every second since. Maddeningly, Anne, you drive me crazy.”

Anne pulled herself to him that she might hide her face-splitting smile in the crook of his neck. Is this ecstasy what it it was like to be Gilbert Blythe’s, for him to be hers?

“Well, doctor, have you any remedy for that sort of madness?”

“Oh certainly,” he breathed huskily. “More kisses.”

The rest of their rendezvous had a light, relieved air to it - secrets lifted from both of their shoulders, their pasts confronted and conquered. They ate without rush, content to sit side by side facing each other. How wonderful it was, they delighted together, that they could kiss and speak the way lovers do instead of simply daydreaming about it.

When the day had stretched to its limits, Gilbert offered Anne a hand back into the rowboat and brought them back to their palace of a home. He followed each of his father’s rules of courting - walk the girl to her door, offer a compliment so she remembers you, kiss her, and say goodnight. Mostly, he thought he did his father proud, even if he did press his sunset haired Persephone to her door to kiss her enough that she was liquid gold from head to toe.

In a carefree world, he’d have gone to his bedroom, sat near the bay window, and thought about the magic of the day until dawnbreak, but instead, he went to Bash’s office.

His brother knew something had happened the second he’d walked in the door.

“Oh, I’d know the expression of a lovesick moke anyday,”  Bash teased, glancing up from his paperwork to the blushing man grinning in the doorway. “Did Anne smile at you pretty?”

“She did more than that,” Gilbert murmured, coming to sit on the arm of one of the office couches. “She kissed me and told me she loves me.”

He spoke almost soundlessly, but Bash had heard everything he needed to. The older man’s smile was tortured, realistic.

“You’ve been crazy about her since you met her, so I’m thrilled for you brother, I am.”

Gilbert fell back onto the couch in a dramatic heap, covering his face and sighing.

“You should’ve seen her, Bash, standing in the trees like she was mother nature herself. I thought I was going to perish. And the way she speaks! Have you ever heard anyone speak pure gold?”

“Blythe-”

“And you’ve seen her with the boys. They adore her! Crave her approval like they’ll starve without it.” Gilbert’s arms fell down beside him in surrender. “She’s it, Bash. You were right, I’m crazy about her. I’m sorry I ever said you were wrong.”

“Gilbert,” Bash said seriously. “Tell me you haven’t forgotten-”

“I haven’t!” Gilbert shot up on the couch, not wanting to hear the end of the sentence. “That’s what I came to talk to you about tonight. There’s got to be something you can do. You’ve always found a loophole before. What’s one more for your lovesick brother?”

Bash was a long time in answering.

“I can try, but your engagement to Christine was one of your father’s dying wishes. She’s wearing your ring. Mary told me Anne knows nothing about the Stuarts.”

“If Dad met Anne, he’d know why I can’t marry Christine. He made me promise to go through with the arranged engagement for business reasons, not because he wanted me to fall in love with her. And I won’t, I know I won’t.”

“The terms of your engagement are clear. If you break off with your engagement to Christine, the harbor will take a hit you know it won’t sustain.”

“That’s why I came to you,” Gilbert pleaded, coming up to the desk, pulling his chair up as far as it would go. “I’m asking you, as your brother and best friend, for your legal expertise to marry the woman I love, not the woman my father thought I should spend my life with. If anyone can help me, it’s you.”

What else could Bash say to the boy who befriended him, took him in, shared half his estate with, and loved him as if he were flesh and blood?

“I’ll do my best, but I’m telling you, Gil, you need to tell her.”

“I will, I will!” Gilbert swore. “Now, don’t you want to hear about it?”

Bash took off his readers, folded them onto the desk, and smiled wickedly.

“Tell me everything.”

[lilacmoon83]

Mysterious Fathoms Below

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 3: Believer

Snow gazed out at the water wistfully. Their farm wasn't far from it and though she absolutely adored their life now with their daughter, there were times she missed the carefree days in the ocean, exploring the realms and making love on beaches. She had thought her absence would finally help Regina find a way to move on. But if she knew that she was happy with Charming, even being mer-people, she supposed that it had probably only made her angrier. Snow had escaped, while Regina was still trapped in a web of her own hate and evil. She just had no idea how she had made it here to this world and from Owen was saying, she had brought everyone else with her. It didn't make sense and Emma whimpered, sensing her mother's distress.

"Oh, I'm sorry baby…" she soothed, as she kissed her tiny head. She sighed and leaned back against the sudden strong, warm embrace behind her and relished his kiss, as he pressed on to her head and then Emma's.

"We'll figure this out, my darling," he promised with a whisper in her ear.

"I know...I guess I should have known we couldn't really escape her," she lamented.

"I'm going to drive Owen there and have him show me where he thinks this town is," David said.

"But if she has magic protecting it now...then you won't be able to see it," she reminded. He realized she was right and became thoughtful at that.

"There might another way…" she said, as she looked into her eyes.

"No…" he refuted.

"David…" she started to say.

"Not by yourself," he protested.

"Someone has to stay with the kids," she reminded. He sighed. In their mer-person form, they could pass through any barrier around the town by water. If Owen was able to give them a general location, they could probably pinpoint where the Harbor might be. That's when he got an idea.

"Or once we think we know where it is...we get a boat and one of us can tow it there with the kids," he said.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" she asked.

"Not really, but I think separating is worse. I...I can't lose you," he replied. She smiled and gently kissed him.

"I can't lose you either. I guess we'll do this together," she said. He smiled and kissed her again.

"Come on...let's take that drive as a family. Owen can show us the last place he saw Regina," he said. She nodded and they walked back toward the house.

~*~

Mayor Regina Mills walked along the streets of her town that morning. She had just enjoyed a breakfast of apple pancakes at Granny's diner in her favorite seat, while the rest of the patrons coward in her presence.

"Morning Madam Mayor...it's a beautiful day," Archie Hopper greeted with his dog Pongo. She smirked.

"Yes, it is...doctor," she agreed, as she made her way toward the hospital.

She traversed the halls and no one bothered to question or stop her, as she made her way toward a locked door. She punched in a code and there was a beep from the keypad. She opened the door and descended the stairs into the psych ward. Nurse Ratched at the desk gave her a curt nod, as she made her way down the hall of patient cells. She stopped briefly at one cell to peer in at a brunette girl and with a satisfied smirked, she moved on until she found the cell of the reason she was here.

"Good morning Kurt," she said, as she peered in his cell.

"Where is Owen?" he questioned.

"My answer is the same as it was last time. I don't know...he left. He ran away and hasn't come back," she responded coldly.

"So he's out there...all alone? While you're keeping me prisoner," he spat.

"No one can know about this place," Regina responded.

"And I won't tell anyone! I just need to find my son! He's just a boy…" Kurt cried. But Regina was silent and let the flap close.

"You have to let me go! I need to find my son!" Kurt screamed, as she started to walk away. It was unlikely that he would ever get out, but if he did somehow...it could be very bad. Keeping him alive was risky and so she knew what she had to do. She had to eliminate the problem completely.

~*~

David drove them through the rural Maine roads, as Owen took them to the same place where he had tried to lead the Police. He was surprised they even believed him and that made him curious as to why.

"Can I ask a question?" he said suddenly. He was in back of the old station wagon with Emma, who was in her car seat. Mary turned and smiled at him.

"Of course sweetie," she said kindly.

"Do you know this Regina woman?" he asked. She looked at him and saw the pain in his eyes. It made her sad and she knew what he had been through would change him. It could be for good or bad and she had a feeling that without answers, it could be for the bad. Unless they did something or helped him in some way. She only hoped they could and she feared that there was more pain ahead for him.

"I do...she's my step-mother," Snow replied. His face was filled with surprise.

"Did she hurt you too?" he asked. Snow sighed.

"Yes...she did. That's why David and I had to leave our homeland. I thought that would satisfy her, but it seems she has followed us here," she replied.

"How did she bring a whole town?" he asked.

"Magic…" Snow answered.

"Then you believe me...it's all real," he stated. She nodded.

"We believe you and yes, magic is real," she confirmed.

"What's your real name?" he asked. She looked at him a little strangely.

"What makes you think Mary isn't my real name?" she questioned. He shrugged.

"I don't know...I just don't think it is," he replied. She and David shared a smile.

"You're intuitive," David complimented.

"You are and since you believe, I think I feel comfortable telling you. My real name is Snow White," she stated. He blinked, letting that sink in and he believed her. She definitely looked like Snow White might look.

"Is his real name David?" Owen asked. Snow chuckled.

"Yes...but sometimes I call him Charming," she replied. Realization dawned in his eyes.

"Then if Regina is your step-mother, that would make her...the Evil Queen?" he asked in disbelief. Snow nodded sadly.

"She wasn't always evil. There was a time she was good...but then something bad happened to her. She lost someone she loved and it was my fault," Snow said.

"Did you mean to do it?" Owen asked.

"What?" she questioned.

"I mean...did you do whatever you did on purpose?" he asked.

"Um...no, I didn't know that it was going to cause something bad to happen. I thought I was helping...and I made a terrible mistake. I was about your age," Snow confessed.

"But doesn't everyone make mistakes? Why would she want to keep being mad at you if you didn't mean to do it?" he asked.

"I...I don't know sweetheart. But I don't think she wanted to become my step-mother. That did not help things at all," Snow replied.

"What happened to your father?" he asked curiously and she felt her heart sink. She didn't want to tell him that part.

"Oh sweetie...he's gone now," she answered.

"Did she kill him?" he asked. She opened her mouth and gazed into his pleading eyes, which were filled with unshed tears.

"Please…" he begged. Snow nodded.

"Yes...she did," she confirmed. He lowered his head sadly and she reached for his hand.

"Hey...we're going to find your father, I promise," she said, as he looked up and noticed where they were.

"It was here," he announced, as David put the brakes on and parked the car. They got out and Owen looked around.

"This...this is it. I was here and there was a sign that said "Welcome to Storybrooke," he said.

"But...it's gone now," he said sadly. David put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Hey...like Snow said, we're going to find it," he promised.

"But how?" he asked. David exchanged a glance with his wife.

"Because there might be another way we can if we do it by using the ocean," David replied, as Snow nodded to him.

"There's something else we have to tell you, Owen...and it's going to stretch your belief even more. But it might be the only way we'll find him," David said.

"I believe you...I believe you're Snow White and Prince Charming! I believe that there's magic and that the Evil Queen has my dad! Please...tell me…" he pleaded. David smiled and ushered him back into the car.

"Easy...we'll tell you on the way home and what we're going to do next," he promised, as they got back into the station wagon. David turned them around and they headed back to their house.

"So...what's the other secret?" Owen asked. Snow and David exchanged another glance.

"I think that's a secret that's best shown to you rather than told," Snow said. Owen wondered what they could mean, but knew he would soon find out. After weeks of feeling hopeless, he finally had hope again...

[bonnissance]

2 + 63 for hicsqueak?

Royal AU + Everybody Knows

Hecate grows up in a tiny little cottage on the outer side of the Royal Forest.

It’s just her and her Aunt, austere and strict but growing muddled in her old age: the last of the Hardbroom line. Her Aunt spins, while Hecate spouts till she’s taller than the wheel. It’s what keeps them fed and watered, with no one else to rely on, living on the very edge of the Royal City: almost close enough to see on the horizon, too far away to hear the din. That is, of course, until her fingers refuse to function anymore: skin old and wrinkled with knuckles three times the size of Hecate’s youthful hands.

Then, it falls to Hecate to learn.

She takes to the wheel like she was born to it, and some might argue, she was; like her mother, as was her mother, and her mother before her, and all her other daughters: a long line of spinsters, once plentiful and thriving, now dwindling to just Hecate and her Aunt: the last two to hold the name of Hardbroom

Then, one morning, in the middle of winter, a few days shy of the full moon, the line dwindles further: to just the one.

*

Hecate lives in a tiny little cottage on the outer side of the Royal Forest.

It’s just her, with her wool and her wheel. And a cat she found wandering in the woods one evening, barely more than a kitten; she couldn’t bear to leave it there, all alone, just like her. So she took it home, fed and water it as much as she could, kept it warm by the fire: named her Morgana the next morning, when she woke to find her hand still curled around the kitten, the two of them both sharing the warmth of the fire. 

Morgana purred in her sleep, buffeted Hecate’s hand, and continued dreaming. Hecate took that as a good sign, and went about her day.

All her days are much the same, save her monthly trips into town: to the markets, to sell her wears or pass on finished commissions, to take on more projects and refill her larder. It’s the only conversation she ever gets, save for Morgana, and Hecate has to admit, she doesn’t much care for it, nor the noise or the smell or the bustle.

She wasn’t built for company, she just isn’t, and she’s always happy to head home again: her pockets a little fuller, her load a lot lighter, the wool on her loom already planning itself. It’s what she doesn’t pay much attention to the marketplace gossip, when the rustle about the royal family starts.

Their youngest daughter, fair haired and mischievous, is to be married—at last. The palace is slowly filling with suitors, filling the stallholders pockets as the pass: the actual cause for celebration, they all agree. Except Hecate, who just isn’t paying attention.

Not even when the princess herself breezes through, the very next market, on search of a seamstress. Hecate catches a glimpse of golden hair as she passes in her carriage, and nothing more, not that she cares to look. The royal family might be the heart of their kingdom, but that doesn’t mean they matter to Hecate herself.

Or so she thought.

Till she makes her way home, trudging through the first with her hands full of baskets and her skirts held dainty above her boots to keep the hems clean, when she hears a shout echo through the trees.

‘Help! Please, help me!’ comes a voice thick with fear and pleading.

She hears a snarl, not human.

Hecate doesn’t think, just runs: towards the growling and nashing ripping it’s way through the still air of the woods. And though she’ll never know what drove her to sprint towards danger so readily, without thought to plan or consider her own safety, even, she knows it’s what she would always do.

She drops her baskets and hikes her skirts up around her knees, barreling towards the scent of raw fear. She bursts into a clearing and finds a young woman, her own age, if not younger, backing up against a tree.

She pauses, freezing as she watches a hound slowly close in.

Then a twig snaps, under Hecate’s feet. The beast turns a head, snarling.

Hecate crouches, grabs a log in one hand, a rock in the other, and throws both of them: one gets in dead on the nose, the other smacks at a side. The creature whimpers, whines. Another barrage of forrest floor is hurled in his face, and his hind quarters and he runs, out of the clearing and deep into the forest.

The clearing fills with hysterical laughter in his wake.

Hecate looks over to the woman to see her fall to her knees. Or she would have done, if Hecate hadn’t race to catch her, softening her fall to the ground.

‘Thank you,’ she whispers in Hecate ears, lips brushing her cheek as she clings a little. Hecate shivers, pulls away.

She stays close, though, kneeling beside the woman while she looks at Hecate with eyes wide with wonder.

‘You saved my life,’ she says, voice thick with realisation, heavy with gratitude.

Hecate just nods, averts her gaze. She’s not really sure what to say.

Crashes in the nearby underbrush save her blushes.

She turns towards the noise, worried at first, that the beast might be back. Then a chorus of  ‘Princess! Princess are you harmed? Where are you?’ echoes through the forest.

She frowns, turns back to the woman beside her, sitting in the dirt with Hecate’s hands still on her hips.

‘Over here!’ she calls back, struggling to her feet, dislodging Hecate’s grip. Stands up and pulls Hecate standing too, toe to toe, as she adds, ‘We’re fine, over here.’

Hecate panics. Stumbles backwards, wide-eyed and frightened, more now than before, at the thought of being caught by the kings guards in the private company of the princess, the pink silk of her dress torn to shreds in a secluded nook of the woods.

It doesn’t matter that a soft hand is still on her elbow, trying to pull her back, begging her to stay.

She runs.

Runs and runs, never looking back, and doesn’t stop till she reaches the safety of her house: empty handed and already hungry, head too full of thoughts to think clearly.

*

The wedding is off. Cancelled, no more, maybe even never at all, are the whispers she hears when she’s next in town, barely two weeks later.

She should have come earlier, to replace the lost baskets at the very least, but she hadn’t; hid away in her cottage in the corner of the forest, instead. To be wary of passing the same clearing is just common sense, she told herself. Nothing irrational about locking oneself away from the world out of fear of retribution, nothing at all.

And so she waited, as long as she could, with her cat for company and her garden growth to sustain her, till it was absolutely necessary to venture out again.

Only to hear that the princess is looking for her.

Not her, per say: the woman in the woods, with raven wide hair and more bravery than sense. The castle gathered up her baskets, the princess wishes to give them back, to give her a proper thanks.

Hecate need only come to court and give her name.

But names have power, so her Aunt always said, and she’s not sure she wants to give this woman more power over her. She is royal, of course, her family holds the most power in the lands. But this woman, more specifically, dark eyes and smiling bright, relieved in the wake of terror, holds enough power over Hecate already.

She hasn’t gone a single night without dreaming of her since she ran.

It’s the dreams that force Hecate to reveal herself, in the end, after weeks of trying to quash them. They just won’t stop.

They really ought to be nightmares, she supposes. Thinks she ought to wake in cold sweats after vivid and terrifying images of a huge hairy beast barreling down upon them. But they aren’t, they’re nothing like that, and all the more terrifying for it.

Because she dreams of soft hands and sweet lips and a voice heavy with praise, gratitude, need. Dreams of a pretty pink princess waiting to be whisked away into the safety of the wood. Dreams of a woman begging her to stay, as if Hecate means something, as if she has meaning to someone else in the world.

It’s been years since she felt anything like that; it’s a heady thing, to be wanted.

And she can’t get it out of her head.

So she does what she needs to, to get past this foolish, pathetic fantasy. Puts on her best gown, bids Morgana watch the house in her absence, and sets off to the castle—sure, so very sure, that is she sees the princess again, she won’t even matter.

But, as they say, the third time is the charm.

And on this third time, seeing the youngest of the royal family, Hecate knows she hoped in vain. That she still wishes her dreams could come true. That she still wants this woman to want her.

Because she beams bright and ebbs warmth in the middle of a stone castle that would chill Hecate to the bone otherwise. Because the moment Hecate walks into the chambers, announced—with scepticism—as the woman from the wood, the princess’s eyes go wide.

She claps with surprise and joy. Jumps to her feet and races forward. Takes Hecate’s hands in her own, pulls her into a hug.

(The court falls into a hush, then a rush of whispers, as they stare and try not to point at the woman the princess has spent every waking moment gushing about since her impromptu trip to the forest. Her father had joked about love at first sight, till he realised it wasn’t a joke.) 

‘I’m so glad you found me,’ Pippa whispers in Hecate’s ears, lips brushing her cheek as she clings. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never come.’

Hecate shivers, pulls the princess closer. ‘How could I stay away?’ she wonders, to herself and out loud, and can’t fathom what made her run in the first place.

[ashlynncoy-blog]

Misfire: Recovering Part VI

I have to go out of town for work. Have some angst for the drive:

Han dropped Leia off at the embassy’s main door with a promise to meet her at her apartment when her work day was over.

Leia spent nearly the whole day distracted by the plans she was making for them. Although they’d both slept well (a feat in itself for two people so prone to poor sleep and bad dreams), their first night back together as a couple—the first night of their engagement—had, thanks to Han’s headache, been less than altogether satisfying.

Leia meant to see to it this night would be far less restful.

Han said he’d be over at 16:30, so Leia made a point to be home well in advance. Their conversation from two days prior was still fresh in her mind—she wanted to be sure Han knew how important their time together was to her. Canceling last night’s dinner with Threkin Horm had been a good start, she was sure, but tonight would be a much bigger step.

Tonight she had plans.

She sent the staff home—all of them—early, keeping only the sentry droid at the door, the two overnight droids in the kitchen, and the always-on-call Two-Onebee in the medical suite active for the night. She had a plate of candies brought up, including a pile of Han’s favorite (those little fruit-filled truffles she absolutely despised) along with a bottle of his favorite sparkling black wine. She ran a warm bubble bath and at precisely 16:30 she turned her commlink and holocom to DO NOT DISTURB and slipped into the divine-smelling water.

Fifteen minutes later, when Han had failed to show, she was beginning to get annoyed.

Thirty minutes after that, annoyance had gone right past anger and she was someplace between infuriated and terrified.

She got more and more terrified with each minute after that.

Leaving a half-finished glass of sparkling wine on the side of the tub, Leia threw on a loose-fitting pant suit, tied her hair up quickly, and headed toward the Millennium Falcon’s hangar bay.

She tried not to let her fears get the best of her as she drove the half hour toward where Han’s ship was berthed. What if his head was worse? What if he’d had a seizure or one of those equipment failures he said her mother was having? What if he’d lost control of his speeder on his way to her apartment and wound up back in a hospital somewhere—he wasn’t really supposed to be driving yet.

No matter how hard she tried to convince herself that there was a perfectly reasonable and not-at-all catastrophic reason for Han’s absence, Leia had worked herself in to a near-tearful frenzy by the time she parked her speeder and headed across the tarmac to the Millennium Falcon.

The boarding ramp was down, and it was all she could do to keep her composure as she bounded up it and into the cabin of the ship.

“Han!” she called as she rounded the corner of the ring corridor into the crew lounge.

She saw him before he had the chance to answer. He’d pulled up a deck plate and was down in the pit beneath, with an assortment of tools spread out in front of him, and a grim scowl on his face. Leia couldn’t imagine what could have gone wrong with the ship that required his immediate attention—just yesterday it had been in the best working order she’d ever seen. But Han was Han, and sometimes he just needed to tinker.

Not that that accounted for his failure to show up tonight.

He looked at her for the blink of an eye before turning back to his task.

Leia felt a pit form in her stomach. There was a terrible sense of deja-vu about this moment. The last time she’d come aboard his ship to find him in this place and in this mood had been the day Isolder had come into their lives. It had been one of the last times they’d spoken before everything had fallen apart for them.

Something about this moment felt very much like that moment. She didn’t know if it was The Force or just her nerves, but her lower lip was trembling as she took a seat on the deck.

“When you didn’t show up tonight,” she said, wringing her hands in her lap and hoping he might stop what he was doing and look at her, “I got worried. I was afraid something might have happened to you.”

“Yeah?” he asked incredulously. “Well, that’s funny. Somethin’ happened, all right. Cause, you see, I did show up.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I did,” he spat back, finally turning his head to look at her. “I was right on time, too. But I ain’t got credentials to the secure garage anymore, apparently.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” he replied, “seems they got revoked right around the time you and me split up.”

“I never…” Leia said, but her voice trailed off. It would never have occurred to her to cancel Han’s entry codes for the secure garage. They’d come in through that garage when he’d brought her home after she’d hurt herself aboard the Falcon; she only realized now that it had been the embassy-issue speeder, and not Han’s personal codes, that had let him into the building.

“So I try to brush it off,” he continued. “I think maybe—it’s been a year—maybe those things expire if they’re not used or something. So I head on over to the main entrance. No problem—until that droid you’ve got manning the entry told me I couldn’t come in.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said back. “Said I wasn’t welcome on the premises. Said he had strict instructions from Prince Isolder himself to keep me out of there. And then he said, if I didn’t go quietly, he was gonna call the authorities.”

“Oh, Han,” Leia began, but she couldn’t even fathom what to say next. She just shook her head and looked horrified as he continued.

“So I figured it had to be a mix-up,” he said. “You wouldn’t have invited me over just to kick me out. So I tried to call, only you didn’t answer.”

“I had my commlink off,” she said softly. “I didn’t want anyone to bother us.”

“So finally, the droid at the door came out to the speeder and informed me that sitting parked out front was still considered to be on the premises and I had better get out of there before he called the cops. I asked him to try to call you and he said his orders from Isolder were to do away with me without your ever knowing I was there. So since I couldn’t call ya, and he wouldn’t call ya, and there was no other way into the building, I left.”

Leia couldn’t decide to be more angry or sad. On the one hand she was furious with Isolder for having made such a directive—and a little bit peeved with her staff for going along with it without checking with her first. But mostly she was aching at the sight of the pain on Han’s face as he turned back to the work he’d been doing when she came in.

“I didn’t tell him to do that,” she said. “I didn’t know that he’d done that. I never would have allowed an order like that to go through. Han,” she implored, “please believe me.”

Leia was terrified. She was trembling. There were tears in her eyes. Things had taken such a sudden and wonderful turn that it had been easy to forget it was only two days ago they were barely speaking to each other.

Han stood up straight and turned around.

“I do believe you,” he told her after a moment, “cause of the way you’re lookin’ at me. You never could lie to my face, Leia.”

“I know that,” she said, not bothering to try and stop the tear that fell onto her cheek.

“I ain’t mad,” he said. Then he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “No,” he amended, “that’s not right. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad as hell at the situation and at that sentry droid, and it’s a damned good thing your prince boy toy ain’t here right now, ‘cause I’d probably lay into him with all I got and beat him ‘til one of us was dead.”

“Han,” she said, “I don’t…”

“Leia, please—” he interrupted. “I get it. It wasn’t you. You didn’t even know. Now I gotta work through all this stuff I’m feelin’ ok? I’ve just gotta blow it all out of my system. Do me a favor and get it cleared up on your end so I can come and see you when I do.”

Leia nodded her head and scrambled to her feet.

“I will,” she said. “I promise.” Leia squeezed her eyes shut before turning to go.

“Hey Leia,” Han called after her. She turned around just in time to see him climbing out of the maintenance pit. It only took him three steps to be standing right in front of her. “I mean it,” he said, reaching out to rest his hands on her shoulders. “I ain’t making the same mistake again. I’m not about to push you away when what I wanna do is hold on tighter. Just give me a minute. It’ll be all right.”

“Take all the time you need,” she said back. “I’ll be waiting.”

[peterkayscarshare]

Life in the Slow Lane Chapter 2 by OvetheRainbow2

Life In The Slow Lane Part 2: Changing Lanes 

 She’d bought a killer pair of gold heels. Ridiculously expensive but seriously ferocious. It’d been love at first sight. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d walk any significant distance in them, let alone pay for them but as was so often the case with Kayleigh, heart had overruled every objection that head could possibly muster. Needless to say, for every pair of shoes, there must be a bag and a matching clutch was added to her purchases. By the time she’d decided to take a load off and grab a brew and a muffin, diet be damned, she’d added a blouse, a cute little sweater and a new pair of trousers to her haul. She’d lingered over some sexy lingerie but even she wasn’t that much of an optimist. As she sat in the cafe alone, her bags arranged in the seats opposite, like silent companions, she watched as all around her, parents pacified grouchy toddlers, friends chatted animatedly, while others checked their phones or, like her, indulged in a spot of silent “people watching”. She’d gotten used to this over the years, sitting back, watching other people’s lives. Whether it was her parents, or Kieran’s revolving door of girlfriends, or Mandy and Steve, or her mates, she always seemed to live vicariously through them. Listening to their various triumphs and frequent tales of woe. Giving advice. Sometimes solicited and other times not. Watching as they coupled, uncoupled and even re-coupled. She’d had her own occasional dramas over the years but most were fleeting. Kayleigh had become accustomed to being in the passenger seat. She savoured the irony. Not much had changed, she thought. Only she could find herself in a relationship that she didn’t fully understand and couldn’t quite define. In love with a man who can’t even say the word “love” without coming out in a rash and whom she often felt was somewhere, just beyond her reach, even when he was right there, by her side.

 A young couple in the corner were engrossed with each other. They couldn’t be much more than sixteen. Holding hands across the table and leaning over for frequent kisses. She couldn’t help but long for those days. When anything and everything felt possible and love was now, real and intense. When you’d yet to be damaged, or humiliated. When you didn’t know how much it could hurt. When you weren’t afraid. The days before “it’s complicated” was an optional status. It all felt so much easier back then. Suddenly a chiming sound emanated from her handbag. Reaching across to the seat beside her, she took out her Blackberry. The message read, “Hi. What you up to? I’m at Big Bob’s with Jim. He’s not as much fun to share me rind with. I miss you. John xxxxx”. Kayleigh smiled and sighed. She missed him too but couldn’t help wondering whether they were actually missing the same things. For her, it was the presence of the man who made her laugh like no one else ever had. Who was kind and thoughtful and made her feel safe and whole. She missed his smile and his laugh and those blue eyes that sparkled with mischief but which she sensed also held an inner sadness she could never quite fathom. She missed that feeling she got every time she saw him. Those teenage butterflies in her stomach. That sense of excitement. That absolute conviction that this was the man she loved. Was it the same for him? Two months down the line, she still wasn’t sure. She felt awkward about being so frank and having raised the whole “sex thing” with Mandy. It was private after all but she just felt so confused. Maybe she was being daft and it was actually a good thing that he wanted to take it slow. He was showing her some respect. God knows, that made a refreshing change but that was just it. It was always about her figuring out what he intended, what he wanted, what he thought was for the best. What about what she wanted? Where did that fit in? When was that considered? It felt as though she was always trying to work out a way to deal with his choices, to accept them. Trying to make his decisions about them and not only about him. To pretend that she’d somehow played a part in it all, when she’d just had to like it or lump it. Her uncertainty caused her to reflect that perhaps the absence of sex, was less about desire, or a lack of it and more about trying to avoid intimacy of any meaningful kind. To retain just enough room, to allow him to run for the exit when it all got too much. Whatever the case, John continued to dictate the pace. To keep them firmly in the slow lane and she remained so desperate to cling to the hope of something more, eventually, when he was ready, that she just went along for the ride. The thought of that exquisite pain of heartbreak, preventing her from making any real effort to articulate her own wishes, or her increasing fears. Now it felt like they weren’t so much “taking it slow” anymore, as stalled and instead of being confident about their eventual destination, she just felt lost. Mandy would say she was over-thinking it all and no good ever came of that. She was probably right but she was also right that they really needed to talk and as much as she feared it, Kayleigh could feel that conversation getting ever closer.

 It was only when she heard another chime from her Blackberry that she realised she hadn’t responded to his initial message. He’d sent another, “Kayleigh, is everything OK? Where are you? John xxxxx”. Shaking herself from her thoughts and seeing his obvious concern, she immediately replied, “Sorry. I’m at The Rock. Just picking up a few things. I’ll call you later. K xx” John’s reply was swift, “Is Mandy with you?” “No. Just me”. “Oh. OK. I was worried when you didn’t reply.” “Yeah, sorry. I’ve only just sat down” “Buy anything nice?” “Just some bits and bobs”. “Feel like modelling any of those bits and bobs for me?” Kayleigh stared at the message, stunned. This was definitely a new development. He’d never been this bold before. She began to second guess herself. Maybe she was reading too much into it. She decided to play it off, “Unless You’ve got a shoe fetish you haven’t told me about, I think you’d be a bit bored.” She added a winking emoji. He replied within seconds, “Depends what you’re wearing with the shoes....or not wearing”, he saw her winking emoji and raised her one with heart shaped eyes. Kayleigh was getting suspicious that all was not as it seemed, “Jim if this is you and you’ve grabbed John’s phone, just know he’ll kick your arse!” Within seconds her phone rang. “Hey. Is that you John?” “Yeah it’s me. You thought it was Jim!?” “I thought it might be yes. It didn’t sound like you. What’s that noise in the background? You outside.” “Yeah, I stepped out of Big Bob’s to call you. Didn’t want to have a private conversation in front of Jim. I mean he’s me bessie mate ‘an all but he’s mouth almighty.“ What’s going on John?“ “I didn’t know anything was. Frankly, I could ask the same of you! Have I done something to piss you off?” “Why do ya say that!?” “I don’t know. Just a vibe I’ve been getting”. “A vibe?” “Yeah, you know, a feelin’. You just seemed a bit stand-offish in your texts today. A bit distant.” “Didn’t come running like usual eh?” It was out of her mouth before she’d thought of the consequences. She was upping the ante. Like a massive cliff edge looming in the distance, they could both see danger on the horizon but it seemed both were powerless to avoid the impending doom. “What the Hell are you talking about Kayleigh?” Well if I’ve been distant, you’ve been bloody weird!” John began to raise his voice above the sound of the passing traffic, “What do you mean “weird”?” “I mean, since when do you want me to “model” for ya!?” “I’m a bloke! I have a drop dead gorgeous woman in my life. Am I not allowed to flirt with ya all of a sudden”!?

 Of course, more meaningless, idle “flirting”. What else could it be? More switching on the ignition, with no intention of going anywhere. Christ, she’d had enough of this pathetic crap. “You know what? I don’t get you John! One minute you’re sending me home like were a couple of teenagers and I’ve got a bloody curfew and the next minute you want me to model me bits and bobs for ya! How the Hell am I supposed to read this!? I just don’t know what’s going on with ya.” “I was just tryin’ to have some fun with me girlfriend! I just wanted to tease ya a bit”. “Isn’t that what you have been doing since we got together? Teasing me.” “What do ya mean?” “I mean I’m confused John. We’re two months in to this “thing” and I have no clue what we’re doing or where we’re going. One minute you’re calling me your girlfriend and snogging me face off on your sofa and the next you act like I’m some sort of guilty secret. “Give over, we’re at work. Give over, someone might see us. Give over, I haven’t told Rose about us yet. Give over, not in front of Jim. I’m not thirteen anymore John. I’m not looking for a “little handy-holdy” boyfriend. You’re clearly not thirteen anymore either.” John immediately got the implication and it stung. “I love you John. I really do. Incidentally that’s a word you still can’t bring yourself to use.” At this point her voice was beginning to crack with emotion. “Maybe you were right John. Maybe I don’t know you after all. I can’t see that changing any time soon because you won’t let me. You won’t let me get close enough to you, emotionally or physically. I told you that I won’t wait forever.” John suddenly said, “Don’t do this Kayleigh, please”. “Do what John? Tell you how I feel? I need to think about all this and so do you. This should feel natural John. It should be growing and developing. Let’s face it. It isn’t. We should be comfortable together. I always thought we were, up to now. I don’t know. Maybe we were only ever meant to be “Car Share Buddies”. Maybe we’ve taken this as far as it can go.” John felt a sharp pain in his chest every bit as acute, if not more so than the one he’d felt in that traffic jam a mere two months before, “Please don’t walk away again Kayleigh. I just need some time. I told you that.” “I don’t think this is about “time” John. I could give you all the time in the world. I think what you want is a “get out clause”. Anyway, I don’t want to have this conversation on a mobile in Costa. I’m gonna go now”. “You’re just gonna say all that, kick me in the balls yet again and not give me a chance to give my side!? Why do you keep running away from me!?” “I just need space to think”. John’s reply was blunt and to the point, “Bollocks to that! We need to talk. I’m not giving up on you, on us.” “Just like the song says eh John?” “I thought you loved that song”. “I do John but I’m beginning to realise that sometimes love...isn’t enough. I’ll see ya.” With that, she hung up, wiped her eyes hoping no other patrons had spotted her tears, she then grabbed her shopping bags and headed for the car park.

 John walked back into Big Bob’s like a man who’d just had the weight of the world dropped on his shoulders from a very great height. It was becoming an all too familiar feeling. Jim was exchanging a well worn punchline with Janet as he paid for the Fat Boys, “So I said “King Prawn Balls” not “King Kong’s Balls!” Janet laughed awkwardly. Jim turned with a broad smile, proudly brandishing his new “I Love Fat Boys” baseball cap. “Look at this! Janet punched me card! I got the cap. I’m stylin’ it out, don’t ya think?” Jim twirled and modelled like a pro, even throwing in a few shoulder jerks. Suddenly he began to realise that he had a less than appreciative audience, as a sullen John approached him, “Christ! What the Hells happened now? You look like you’ve just lost a tenner and found 10p.” “I think I’ve just lost much more than that. Listen Jim I need a massive favour”. “If I can I will, you know that”. “I need you to take me to Bury.” “What? Now!?” “Yeah now. Mate, do this for me and I’ll owe you for the rest of my life.” It took less than a second for Jim to note his friends obvious and very real distress. He immediately replied as he moved to the door, “Come on. Get in the car. Bury here we come.”

[angstymarshmallow]

“The Knight” (Part 3 of Fantasy AU, a TRR Fanfic)

[A little note: Well here it is! I really, really enjoy how this is going - like I want to finish it every time i work on it.]

[Summary: In the aftermath of the attack, the Kingdom of Cordonia plans its next move. And Sir Drake finds himself pivotal to it all while struggling with his sense of identity. Who is he if not everything they made him to be?]

[Word Count: 3199]

Part 1: “The Beginning” Part 2: “The Adventurer”

Tagging: @lovemesomesnark 

In the aftermath of the chaos left behind from the mages, the Kingdom of Cordonia was in a state of panic and distress. Drake and the other few surviving knights left alive since the wake of the attack, ushered the remaining survivors into the left wing of the palace. Gathering as many people as they could, the soldiers deposited them in the ward where several practitioners had gasped in alarm the moment they entered.

It took several seconds for them to snap back at attention; barking orders to each other as they came rushing their aid. They took the patients as swiftly as possible, spending a moment or two to understand the current status of the kingdom before getting to work.

The King had been among the injured.

His well-embellished robes had been torn into pieces, tatters of golden design that made a mockery of its royal embroidery. The left half of his face had been severely burned. His exposed shoulder suffered a similar fate as several ugly gashes ran along the length of them and caused his gooseflesh skin to rise. He had other marks that disfigured him, but these stuck out the most and Drake knew although he was in a terrible condition – it could have been far worse had they not found him in time.

Although, as Drake’s eyes shifted over the King’s unconscious form while they tended to his wounds, he felt a deep sense of guilt for being incapable of doing more.

Despite trying to shove the guilt aside, it still lingered in his brain. Even as a small voice implored there was nothing more he could have done, he still felt the guilty clawing at him, trying to reach him.

There was nothing I could do to stop them.

And yet, it was easier for him to repeat the words to himself than it was to believe them. Life had taught him the burden of disappointments and fate had taught him the world could be cruel. But this, this was almost too much. And the rest of him believed differently, he hadn’t been fast enough to stop them.

And although convincing himself it wasn’t his fault was impossible, at least he knew it could have been worse.

He could be dead.

They could all be dead.

But what did this all mean for the future?

His stomach begun filling with dread as he thought of the summit – what would happen to the Accords once they heard word of this?

He shouldn’t entertain the idea. The thought alone was frightening enough for Drake to curse and place a trembling hand near the wall.

He had barely been a knight – hadn’t been much of a soldier after the ending of the last war.

He braced his hand against the hilt of his sword, as his mind immediately flitted to the prince. The one person he had always sworn to protect – no matter the cost. The emptiness inside his chest at the thought of his absence, made him want to throw something. Instead, he gripped his sword tighter and hoped whatever cruel fate had planned, wouldn’t take him from the kingdom. From him.

He buried his face inside his hands, barely stifling a groan as his own feelings pressed towards the surface.

The knight knew his loyalty and duties would always keep him tied to the throne; keeping himself to Liam’s side. And it was a bittersweet notion now – without the Prince, and the King giving him direction – could he be a knight worthy of Cordonia?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t fathom what this had meant for his own future.

A small sob escaped his throat, and suddenly Drake wanted to be anywhere but here. He was supposed to be strong, he couldn’t fall apart – not here – not with so many watching. He was supposed to be strong; to lend his strength to the crown whenever they needed it.

And today they would definitely need it after today.

As the rest of the practitioners were debriefed, Drake followed the other knights out; closing the large wooden door with enough force to make it tremble on its hinges behind him.

The last remaining knights were nearly as much as of a loss as Drake was.

He could feel how desolate they were even from here; the way their shoulders sagged and the eerie silence that lapsed between them as they all waited on how to proceed. He didn’t have to glance at anyone to know they were feeling the exact same thing as he was. Pain. Fear. Guilt.

What were they supposed to do while their kingdom was left in shambles? Without a prince and king in care, they had no leadership to look to.

“Sir Drake,” The voice that called to him was strangely familiar. It was a formal greeting, but one Drake recognized just before his eyes flitted to find the source of the voice.

Drake stood a little straighter, his free hand slapping his breastplate promptly as the man approached them.

The other guards did the same, until Bastien chuckled lightly and waved with a dismissive flicker of his slim wrist for them to be at ease. “No need for formalities, men.” He smiled at them warmly, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “I’m here for Drake.”

The other soldiers hesitated for a split second before nodding, hastily excusing themselves to wait inside another hall before Bastien drifted his gaze back to the only knight left behind.

Bastien was Cordonia’s most renowned spies; often leaving for months at a time to gather information and strike fear through subterfuge in the hearts of their enemies.

Drake had barely seen the older gentlemen lately.

During the war, Bastien’s role was mostly for manipulative purposes; like moving pieces of a chessboard beneath their enemies’ radar. It was imperative for the kingdom’s safety for him to gather crucial information to allies as well as enemies, not to mention reporting on enemy movement. He ensured their resources and influence extended far outside the reach of the Cordonian Empire.

However, despite their distance the last few years, they had somehow managed to remain close and Drake often thought of the man as a second father – although he would never admit that out loud.

Bastien’s eyes seemed to flicker with concern as they searched his face, meeting Drake’s cautious stare. “Are you alright?” He asked softly.

Trying to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat, Drake forced himself to nod. Then as though thinking better of it, he shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. He knew better than to lie to him. “No.” He admitted tiredly, “I am barely keeping it together as it is.”

“As expected.” Bastien nodded.

His own reaction was so aloof that Drake squinted at him.  “I mean – how can anyone be okay after that? We survived, and I keep hoping if I ignore it – maybe I can pretend it never happened.” His lips tightened into a frown, “but pretending it didn’t happen would be dishonouring the memory of the fallen.” He didn’t have a deep sense of care for most people – but the men he fought with, they were more than worthy of remembering.

Bastien’s usual masked slipped as he placed a hand comfortingly on the knight’s shoulder. “I know, and I am sorry I wasn’t here.”

“I don’t need protection.” Drake snorted, shrugging his touch; brushing away his concern.

“I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t protect yourself,” He dropped his arm loosely by his side. “I mean to say I can only imagine how horrifying it must have been.”

Drake pressed his eyes closed, trying to shove aside the abrupt memories that surged his words before they assailed him. “You have no idea,” his voice was tight as he spoke. “I’m going to kill everyone of those mages.” His free hand clenched inside its glove.

“Not so loud,” Bastien warned, motioning him further down the hall. His eyes skimmed around them earnestly, before dropping in quiet step beside him. “There could be eyes watching.”

“There could be?” Drake echoed, surprised. “Do you mean to say –”

“I am not the only spy here tonight yes,” Bastien drew a deep breath as though preparing himself for the knight’s reaction. “My intel has reasons to suggest there had to have at least been one or two spies while I was away.”

“At The Accords?” Drake’s eyes widened at the declaration. “Are you certain?”

At Bastien’s grim nod, Drake felt devastated.

Such a thing would set unwanted precedents – especially about the future of the alliance. “You don’t think –” Drake lowered his tone and trailed off. He couldn’t dare speak what Bastien was implying out loud.

“Yes.” Bastien stated a-matter-of-factly. “Either an enemy of the alliance had managed to get inside our walls,” his eyes met his – shining with silent fury, “or someone had given those radical mages intel to be here.”

-

Drake did not know a great many things about Queen Regina.

He had never cared to learn about why her smiles were always flat, and her demeanor icey. He knew she tolerated him as the prince’s best friend, however beyond that there was little he knew about her as Queen of Cordonia.

Her past was murky compared to his own, and as the third wife of the King – he knew they wedded for political reasons, rather than for love. As such, the Queen wasn’t easy to understand. She kept her private life private – only smiled as a lovely hostess when needed, but beyond that – she was an enigma.

The only thing Drake knew for certain was the woman had never ruled complacently alongside the King; and rather tried her best to be apart of her husband and son’s state affairs throughout the years.

Except today.

Queen Regina hadn’t partaken in the meeting due to her husband’s insistence, and when Drake told her the news, he had expected her to break down right in front of him. He thought it was the human thing to do and had anticipated the woman that had always been resonated strength to crumble, clutching him for a shoulder to cry on – and who would blame her? Given the circumstances they were in now, he would have preferred it.

However, when the Queen received the news, her eyes did not waver from his. Neither did they flinch from the sincerity and regret in his words as both himself and Bastien explained the state of emergency their kingdom was now in.

Her eyes did not shed one single tear.

Instead, her spine straightened and she took a moment to breathe, before commencing suggestions on how to proceed going forward for the safety of the kingdom.

“Bastien is correct,” she nodded to him, her hands tapping the table insistently as they stood in front of her.

“This could very well be a political move to deter my son’s push for mage rights.” She rested her fingers atop her chin, still tapping restlessly. She shifted momentarily to stare out of the study’s window, after they had made their presence known to her several minutes ago. “Liam unfortunately made a lot of enemies in his effort for change.” She murmured.

“What do we do, your majesty?” Bastien asked, as Drake struggled to recover from her seemingly frigid reaction to their current predicament. “How do we recover from this?” Even his voice had lost its mask; and the sound of it cracking slightly increased Drake’s worries.

“First and foremost, we must find the Prince. When we do, that is more than enough to show the people all is not lost.” Queen Regina reassured him, rubbing her temples. “Finding him and rescuing him takes the outmost priority.”

“But what about our enemies?” Drake spoke up, “shouldn’t we figure out who they are? We can’t protect Cordonia if we have no idea who’s coming for us.”

“Chances are the two are related,” Bastien interjected, shaking his head at Drake. “If my sources are correct - and usually they are, it could mean that some of the delegates here were – ” he lowered his voice, “were sent here to die.”

“But that’s….that’s…” Drake sputtered. To say he was dumbstruck by the news would be the least of his concern – as accepting this reality meant there were traitors among The Accords.

“Exactly. That’s the kind of danger we’re facing right now.” Bastien leaned against the window, back turned away from them. He seemed lost in though for a moment while the other two waited expectantly for him to continue. “It would mean the Prince’s life is at the mercy of those who want something from us.” He said finally.

“Which means they won’t kill him,” Queen Regina nodded.

“But wouldn’t it make more sense to take the King?” Drake’s brows furrowed, “why the Prince?”

“Because the Prince is the future of Cordonia.” She responded as though it was obvious. “And it is his revolutionary ideas that they consider a threat.” She sighed heavily, “I honestly couldn’t blame them – after the price we paid in the last war. After how many lives have been lost recently to magic.” She paused and for a moment Drake thought he saw a chink in her armor as she uncharacteristically slumped inside a wooden chair.

“What would you have us do, my queen?” Bastien asked tentatively and Drake watched her transform into resolute steel.

Her jaw set, and her eyes cutting with determination she beckoned them closer. “For now, we need to keep this between us. The common people can never know of this.” She whispered softly, “I will think of something to tell them. There is no telling the number of spies that could now be inside our palace walls. I imagine someone here had to have given these people an in – to know exactly where and when to strike.”

“It would have had to deliberate.” Bastien agreed.

“Exactly.” She gestured to Bastien first, flickering her wrist. “I know you have only just returned, but I need you to embark again and find out everything you can. I’m sure your networks must have picked up something by now.” She took a parchment of paper from the table and began dribbling a feather by the desk in black ink.

“Of course, your majesty.” He bowed his head dutifully.

She waved a hand dismissively. “That will be all.”

Bastien gave Drake a parting smile of encouragement and clapped his back before disappearing through the study’s entrance.

“Sir Drake.”

He gulped. “Yes, my queen?”

She didn’t respond at first. Her brows creases in concentration as she continued to write and Drake shifted uncomfortably on his heels, while he waited.

She broke the silence between them first. “I know we have never really seen eye to eye before, even though I have allowed your continued existence inside my home.”

You have tolerated my presence yes. Drake thought to himself but waited for her to continue.

“But despite everything…. I have never questioned your loyalty to this kingdom.”

He was surprised. He hadn’t expected such an admission from a woman that spent a long time scowling him; ignoring him. He was uncertain if he should respond but felt a strike of pride filling his chest.

Still, he kept his eyes rooted to the floor while she spoke; knowing it was not his place to interrupt her.

“And who would think a mangey street urchin would become a knight before his twenty-fourth summer?”

He flinched at her words. Although they were said in awe rather than as an insult, it still hurt to think she thought of him that way. He disliked how much he cared that it hurt.

The Queen shook her head, as though baffled by her own words as well. “Certainly not me. But I realize now that it is apart of what made you who you are – and I cannot doubt your affections for Cordonia, and my son. You’re the most important person to him and I know you would not dream of betraying him,” she glanced up at him then, eyes boring intently into him.

They were glossy with unshed tears.

For a moment, Drake could only blink. The masks were down, and her lips were suddenly quivering. “Queen Regina –” are you alright?

She held up a hand. Shaking her head slightly, she leaned back inside her seat and covered her face. “Truthfully, I’m barely holding it together.” She answered his unspoken question. “But a Queen cannot put her feelings first. I must not be ruled by emotions and allow myself to fall apart.” She instructed more to herself than to him, “I must not factor feelings into making decisions when a whole kingdom is now looking to me for guidance, and right now my feelings simply do not matter.”

She looked at him then, dropping her hands into her lap. “Only finding Prince Liam matters, and if we have any hope of securing Cordonia with a future – you must find him.”

Throat suddenly dry, all Drake could manage was a firm nod before he wetted his lips and tried again. “You have my word.” No matter where, or when – he would always be there for Liam.

“Good.” She released a sigh, relaxing slightly before dabbing the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief. For a moment, she seemed tired and brittle as though she was ready to break right in front of him as he watched her anxiously.

“Good.” She repeated.

Then her demeanour changed.

She pulled her hair into a tighter bun, straightened her spine and had the look of a queen that meant to destroy anyone who came in her path. Her steely eyes settled on him for a moment, then glanced down at the parchment in front of her.

She gave a satisfied, if not brief nod before rolling and tying it with a yellow ribbon – emulating its level of importance. After stamping it with the Cordonia’s royal seal, she handed it to him. “I need you to deliver this to House Beaumont quickly and quietly and as soon as possible. They are the only family I trust right now in our stead. With the rest the noble families here, try not to draw attention to yourself as you leave. Maxwell and Bertand should be able to provide some assistance.”

Drake took the document and tucked it inside a crease of his breastplate.

He knew it wasn’t his place to questions her orders or to peek at what was inside the document as he turned to leave. However, the piece of paper had piqued his interest, tingled his hands until they burned with curiosity – eventually it had gotten the best of him.

Whirling around on instinct, Drake frowned slightly at her. “I’m sorry, but how exactly are they going to provide any assistance?” What he remembered about House Beaumont did not spell trustworthy at the fall of their own house in recent years.

The Queen levelled him with a stare so fierce that Drake wanted to take back his words immediately. “They’re going to help you find and rescue the Prince of course – or die trying.”

-

[knockoutwritings]

T.O.P. | SIGNS | ♤ |

                 ♫Two Ravens in the old oak tree                     One for you & one for me                    And bluebells in the late December            I see signs now all the time

The moon hung brightly in the late September sky. Various stars glittered across the heavens, though their shining beauty seemed to be hidden by the reflection in the city’s lights. It was cold now that the sun was tucked away bringing darkness in its absence. There was a small comfort in knowing he wasn’t cold just because of the ache that currently resided deep within his belly.

Seunghyun sighed out, whether it was in exhaustion or contemplation, these days it seemed to blend in until he felt as his surroundings were blurred images as they passed by.

He took a deep swig of his whiskey, the warm taste recalling a time when he acquired the craving for something other than his usual choices. These days vintage wine didn’t seem to do the trick, and really, he didn’t drink for the taste it anymore.

Having had enough of the frigid air he returned to the confines of his room. The pattering of his bare feet could be heard through the darkness of his private place. The moon was still visible where he now stood and it reminded him of something his blurred thoughts couldn’t formulate properly. It must have meant the alcohol was taking its desired effect.

The rustling of sheets filled his ears and without much care to change into something more suited for sleep, he plopped down on the bed—on your side, because he swore when he was drunk your scent came out more in the pillows. He buried his head in the soft material, losing himself to the memories that scent brought forth.

“I think throw pillow are silly,” you confessed, frowning openly at the obscene amount that took up space in the bed. He only looked at you with mirth in his dark eyes as he took hold of one of the smaller ones, his fingers digging into the firm material as though he were testing it out for something.

“It’s supposed to add aesthetic to the room,” he offered, knowing in the back of his mind that you were right, but choosing not to admit it out loud. You’d told him he would regret them before buying the set yet he hadn’t listened to you because they were replicas of Mondrian’s Composition and loathe to admit it he was obsessed.

It was too much though, even for him. And as he took them by twos, dumping them on the floor, he watched in fascination as you settled onto your side of the bed. You were far more pleasing to see on the mattress than any Mondrian replica he could acquire. Before he knew it, he’d reached over to pull you into him as he laid on the bed, and he relished in the feel of you burrowing into his warmth.

Seunghyun turned over onto his back, rubbing his face with a hand as another sigh passed through his lips. It shouldn’t have been this hard to think of you. Your image in his mind’s eye should have been something uplifting, but all it seemed to do was remind him that you wouldn’t be walking through the threshold. This notion only filled him with a sorrow that made it intensely hard for him to breathe.

And as he fell asleep, he did so with tears pouring down the corners of his eyes.

A bright laugh rang through the air as you ran through the halls with Seunghyun in tow. His eyes shimmered with mischief as he closed the distance. His fingers gripped the back of your sweater, pulling you into him. He knew you’d get annoyed if he ended up stretching the material. Uncaring, his need to kiss you outweighed the aggravation he'd be subjected to. But he must have pulled to hard because just as you abruptly stopped, your legs gave out, and he grew wide-eyed as his fell with you.

He took the opportunity to pull you over him as he laid on his back. Seunghyun scrunched up his nose at the feel of your hair tickling his nostrils. Your warm breath came out in huffs as you placed your hands on his chest, grinning down at him. It left him breathless.

“You’re such a brute sometimes.”

Choosing to ignore you, he pulled you down for a kiss and once your lips touched he ached for more. As his hands traced all the curves of your body, he whispered out how much he loved you, and showed you soon after.

With the new morning now filling the room with light, Seunghyun sat on the side of the unkept bed. He held his head as the hangover drilled against his skull. Deep down, he knew you wouldn’t want him to act this way, but he blamed you for it. You’d gotten him so used to your presence that now it was difficult to fathom he could have in an empty bed where you wouldn’t complain of the abundance of throw pillows, or wake him up with butterfly kisses on mornings you wanted to be in his arms and be dead to the world.

Fresh tears emerged in his dark, tired eyes and he took the blooming ache in his chest as a sign that he needed to ingest more alcohol—anything to numb this reality, one he wanted no part of.

He’d often heard that the brightest people were usually the saddest—they had more reasons to hide behind the façade of a happy face. But Seunghyun didn’t agree. He knew you, and every fiber in his body told them that it was your selflessness that chose to keep him out, not the want of seeming happy. He knew without a doubt that he did make you happy.

It wasn’t enough, he thought.

Grief stabbed him with angry stokes like that of an artist marking a white canvas. Only when these strokes would end, they wouldn’t leave a masterpiece in their wake. Seunghyun would instead be left with gaping wounds no one could see but himself.

He stood in the kitchen now, for a moment not recalling he’d been moving. All he could see was you plopped on the counter with him standing between your legs as he kissed you fervently, deciding that the taste of your lips was far more nutritious than the meal burning on the stove.

If he closed his eyes he could feel you—feel your fingers running through tousled locks of hair as he pressed his hands against the small of your back to feel more of you. He could still hear the whimpers he pulled from your lips when he’d bite down softly on the flesh, smell the perfume that drove him crazy with desire when you’d worn it.

“Fuck,” he moaned out through tears as he gingerly gripped the counter. His throat felt as though it were on fire from the grief he tried to swallow down. Instead it formed a lump and caused the ache to intensify in his chest.

He was much calmer now that he’d showered until the water had grown cold. He’d taken to drinking tea instead of alcohol and that seemed to ease a bit of the nausea he’d had. Granted he wouldn’t have done any of that had Daesung not come in practically bolting down the door upon his arrival. He’d found Seunghyun on the kitchen floor in a pool of whiskey, angry tears blotching up his skin.

The older of the two was far too lost inside himself to really care having witness to such a breakdown, and he knew that Daesung meant well. He didn’t protest when he watched the other man throw all the bottles away. He didn’t grow angry despite wanting to when Daesung forced him to shower because it’s what she would have wanted, he gently reasoned. And Seunghyun listened, because he always listened to you, no matter how angry or annoyed he may have been with you, he always listened. How could he not? He loved you so much, and you’d never given him a reason to doubt you.

As the day progressed, they sat in silence. Daesung offered to play a bit of music but Seunghyun chose not to, fearing your favorite song coming on would be his undoing again.

“She didn’t tell me because she didn’t want me to worry,” he’d finally confessed. And this only caused him to smile tiredly. He could feel his eyes grow heavy with tears again as he took a deep, shaky breath.

“She was always so caring about not worrying me,” he managed between shallow breaths. “It’s almost unfair though, because she was so busy not wanting me to be anything but happy, I couldn’t do the same for her.”

Daesung had sat the remainder of his visit beside Seunghyun in silence, an arm around him as the felt his older friend shake with sobs that raked his body.

The next morning was easier to breathe. Seunghyun looked out into the dusk as the Sun began to peek through the clouds. There was a soft calm that had taken a hold of him then. Though he wanted to cry he managed not to. Instead he found himself smiling as his eyes fluttered shut.

During the restless night, he’d managed to dream about you, about your fingers tracing patterns on his skin after making love. He dreamt of you whispering terrible jokes and giggling under the scrutiny of his mocking glare. And despite feeling silly, it felt as though you were still there with him. It was the first morning since the funeral that he could understand what his mother had said when she promised you’d leave signs behind.

Only you could make the morning break through so vividly as it was this morning. And as all the hues of orange, purple and blue began to fill the sky, he knew you’d done it for him. There were signs all around him, and he would take anything if it meant you were still with him.

[spicyxllama]

KamiMiyo; Occupation: Love [3/5]

Series: Joker Game

Pairing: Kaminaga/Miyoshi

Rating: T

Word Count: 7038

Summary: For perfection was beautiful and yet, redundant when not improved upon.

Read here on AO3 ( ˃̣̣̥ω˂̣̣̥ ) | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Four | Chapter Five |

ahhhhh I feel horrible that it’s late when I hate parting from schedules but among other things, this did give me difficulty on writing ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д`ﾟ)ﾟ｡ I hope Kamimiyo’s intentions are clear! Especially Miyo’s www and omg I hope it’s coherent enough! gah it was 5am when I finished and maybe I;m too sleepy to tell the difference hahhaha ꒰๑•̥﹏•̥๑꒱ Anyways, do tell me your thoughts if you’d like!

Most importantly, thanks @dollofdeath for letting me abuse your lovely hc from “Just One Bite”, even though mine is a little different but totally stolen nonetheless!! You’re always so good to me (˃̩̩̥ɷ˂̩̩̥)

Chapter Three: Love me Too, Love Me Three

It was almost as though, a mocking jest, in which the rain that would momentarily begin to pitter patter, had given way to a most discerning bustling and soon disappear altogether. At times, it could feel relentless and disobedient to the inhabitants of such muses, and yet, it was akin to the ticking of the grandfather clock that was locked away in storage. The woes and delights of customers had easily allowed its presence to plummet into silence and it was oddly riveting, for time itself had always waited for no one. Though, society had not followed through to such an ordeal as people were constantly waiting; constantly in expectance for the inevitable. Of course, it would only be most painful if not for such impudence; it was something that was better known as the bitter aftertaste of a restless impatience.

Miyoshi was in fact, no different, in spite of his hair that seeped of a majestic and quintessential elegance. His very aura even, forced one to feel of a lesser grace and yet, ironically charmed by his rather sardonic grin all the same. He too was also in waiting for such boresome tasks to diminish, for his manager to leave (and to never return), and for evening to strike so he could see Kaminaga once again. It was just as the rain that would fall without reason and the ticking of father time that would be constant in its trudging forward.

It was the inevitable that Miyoshi would be with Kaminaga again.

However, the masses of chocolates and abundance of gifts had just scarcely found refuge in his far too lonesome apartment, and innately crossed paths with but the faintest aroma of assorted mochi sitting daintily upon his kitchen table. Even the fragrance of roses that Kaminaga had presented to him just hours ago couldn’t dare rival the handmade desserts and adoringly so, Miyoshi too hadn’t the gall to deny the telling glint that unraveled upon his face any longer. It was so like Kaminaga to boastfully rearrange the flowers into the very vase he’d bought Miyoshi when he first moved into this apartment, and in spite of those sometimes daunting wiles, Miyoshi wouldn’t have it any other way.

As tempting as it was to indulge in the freshly made mochi that were still in need of unwrapping, it was also most discerning that though Kaminaga left no trails of his craftsmanship behind, Miyoshi’s bed was naturally already littered with the petals of fresh roses. The unlit candles surrounding his room entailed of the faintest whiff of cinnamon oil and in spite of its very premeditated presence, the absence of a certain bouquet that Miyoshi had gifted not too long before was slightly concerning.

It was odd enough to even consider that Kaminaga had daresay unwinded his efforts for a decorative means when such a gift caused him to bashfully fumble about. Miyoshi only cursed himself for even suggesting so; not to mention that Kaminaga had never done anything but adore him after all, and such a demeaning motion was far too unlike him. Just as Miyoshi’s lack of sleep too was rather unlike him and all the more telling at the worst of situations.

Kaminaga was always one to ‘go the distance’, so perhaps he went the distance of taking the bouquet home in his boredom. Despite the irony of it all when said boyfriend rarely ever went the distance to stay the night, and that staying naturally negated all distances. If distance supposedly made the heart grow fonder, Kaminaga would’ve reached divinity by now, but not Miyoshi’s apartment. How annoying.

Miyoshi could care less of Kaminaga’s supposed volunteer work when he had far too much on his plate already—and no, he wasn’t just pertaining to Kaminaga’s unnatural habit of stealing food off his plate when they were eating the exact same dish. Of course, Miyoshi could at the very least agree that everything was all the more alluring if it was his after all, and those rabid fangirls of Kaminaga seemed to have proved that. Though, that wasn’t the point exactly. It was also the constant mention and dismays of being extra attentive to Kaminaga’s ‘fragile’ parents when his parents were far too lively for Miyoshi’s taste, and most definitely healthy. Such excuses could no longer be excused.

Taking a gander at his watch, it’d only be wasteful to contemplate the impossible when the only notion that was a necessity as of now would be explaining himself to Kaminaga—and of course, savouring the mochi that was made for him alone. Excessive ribbons and cellophane were only the icing of Kaminaga’s rather lavish tastes in wrapping, and yet they complemented the sweetened mochi well. The petite tag that was adorned through string and embellished with the pet name that Kaminaga seemed to adore concerning himself with was just ...fine, he’d supposed. In spite of the fact that he’d probably bat both eyes when being called ‘Miyochi’ at any given time. In spite of this, Kaminaga was surprisingly quite adept at making (and being) his most guilty pleasure.

Surely, it wasn’t possible to gain weight from mere mochi after all. ...Science would prove that. Especially when it wasn’t just matcha or the variants of cheesecake mochi, but strawberry daifuku dipped in chocolate. Speaking of which, it was only now that Miyoshi could even fathom that being spoiled too much was never a bad thing—albeit, suspicious, but not at all a bad thing.

It was simply akin to the cream sweater that Kaminaga had left behind during the winter season and most definitely had forgotten to reclaim, despite the countless occasions he’d ask of its whereabouts. Naturally, Miyoshi had not only checked once but thrice and alas to this day, it still lay daintily behind his closet doors and even retained a familiar musk to it. If he wanted it back, he’d have to pay the fine and stay the night to even consider attaining such a reward. Until then, Miyoshi knew not of such a silly garment; no matter how adoringly it suited Kaminaga’s physique.  

This was but a petty revenge scheme and yet, Miyoshi couldn’t bypass the notion that these soft and nearly exquisite mochi were of the same caliber. Even if Kaminaga was daresay plotting on Valentine’s day of all days, just this once Miyoshi would allow himself to fall just a little bit harder in hopes of outdoing him. Though even if he couldn’t, if it was Kaminaga, there was no foul—only love.

Despite that Kaminaga was only mere stops away, the trains had innately begun to scuttle with the ever growing amount of commuters and the air had nearly become thick. Not that Miyoshi hadn’t easily anticipated as much, for it was still the night of Valentine’s Day and at just slightly past nine, one would say that the night had just begun and was thickened through a distinct taste of amour. He was grateful, however, as the hushed sounds of laughter and overly congested train allowed him to discreetly fall unnoticed and immersed into his own train of thought.

As he was glimpsing back at his reflection from his phone screen and adjusting the strands that were in no need of such adjustments, he paused and the relentless thoughts that only continued to circulate too had now paused. It was but a misunderstanding and a subtle change in demeanour that had brought about this irony it seemed. For he was only doing the necessary to keep Kaminaga near and yet, he grew even more distant at the turnabout. In spite of its unkind appearance, it was solely an act of love that he wouldn’t have been able to convey if not for a most daunting sense of fear. Even if Miyoshi had trouble admitting such a strange concept to his mind that was fumbling about and as he gently preened himself once again, he at last had come to a full stop.

The crown of his head was as elegant as it’d always been and every strand was naturally, without flaw. Miyoshi knew this; he was in no need for futile reminders to fix what could never be broken. The reflection had repeated that very notion and he remained well aware of this even as he was stepping off the train, and even more so as he had finally arrived at his destination. For as he laid eyes on Kaminaga through the glass door that was nearly foggy from what appeared to be utter enamourment, Miyoshi was most certain...most certain as he’d ever been—he was always perfect for Kaminaga.

As delightful as Kaminaga was with that far too lavish grin, and his poised physique as he was merely pouring steamed milk into a latte foam, there was but a looming reminder on the very same door that once assisted in Miyoshi’s dazzlement...and now caused him to grimace.

Though he knew better, he frivolously checked the date on his phone and glimpsed back upon the store hours in utter denial. Had it been any other day...it’d be the same after all. For how he could he have forgotten that this specific Starbucks had the daunting business hours of opening at the break of dawn and closing at the ungodly four in the morning. Perhaps he could use his charms to have Kaminaga relocated to a more sane location as it was naturally bustling for its view of the Shibuya crosswalk. Knowing Kaminaga, that bastard most definitely enjoyed the challenge and that was unfortunately one of the reasons why Miyoshi couldn’t stray from him. Miyoshi was the same way, after all.  

Of course, this was also why Kaminaga had never worked the closing shift unless to be petty (which was right now)—and no, that one time where he covered for his co-worker far too late to be polite didn’t count. Even if Miyoshi did enjoy the vacant building as Kaminaga closed up and was soon on top of him in nothing but a Starbucks apron, licking off the signature whipped cream as he ventured lower. Such arousing recollections from the measly building would be better saved for other occasions, whether or not it was the night that most couples would book a love hotel for and how he was supposed to be having dinner with a certain barista as of now.

Stepping inside, Miyoshi took notice that it was oddly livable with most of the seating arrangements vacant and low conversations amidst. Even the routinely sought for window seats with the view of the crosswalk were easily attainable, and he soon found himself musing if he was in the right Starbucks. Though, Kaminaga was here and that was the only proof he needed to reassure himself.

Kaminaga was behind the counter and gently smiling as he offered a latte to a young girl and her mother, subtly turning away shortly after to adjust his apron. Miyoshi shouldn’t have been surprised or amused in any way as he approached him. He most definitely wasn’t amused per se, that Kaminaga had drawn a cat on the latte and appeared rather pleased with himself. Even if Miyoshi nearly allowed a discreet chuckle to escape him. He was supposed to be disappointed that Kaminaga would even consider that he would choose anyone over him, not gushing over how stupidly ador—yes, actually, that door was stupid; just like Kaminaga.  

As a familiar hum soon began to emit and fingers were hastily tightening the band of his apron, Miyoshi fell upon the notion that he was nearly hesitating when Kaminaga had at last stood before him and swallowed the nonexistent lump in his throat. He’d only rehearsed this very scenario a benevolent hundred times through thoughts alone, and now that Kaminaga was finally within grasp, this very setting felt as though it were testing him. For his co-workers were pleasingly elsewhere and the radio appeared to be playing a part in this nearly wistful ambiance; a sense of pleasantries and allure growing about.

It was just as Miyoshi had parted his lips to murmur even a semblance of acknowledgment that Kaminaga had abruptly met his own startled gander, and Kaminaga too had unraveled in a most withdrawn gaze. However, the older man then released a dismayed huff and darted a telling smirk all the same.      

“...My, my… Look who decided to show up.” Kaminaga greeted in somewhat of a tauntful drawl.

He was nearly flirtatious, but his voice also seeped of a certain disinterest that was as riveting as it was concerning. In spite of the tasteless endeavour, there was a small grin threatening to unveil itself and Kaminaga promptly bit his lip at such an outcome. The floundering notion eased Miyoshi’s woes in nothing but an impetuous motion, and yet, he felt his guard drop and voice fall silent. The words he desperately sought for his boyfriend to discern were shriveling up it seemed, and he unnaturally found refuge in diverting his focus aside.   

“So? Have you come to beg for my forgiveness? Why don’t we start with you on your knees?” Kaminaga continued haughtily at the unnerving quiet and maintained his mocking stare in spiteful jest.

Even if he did well to conceal himself through a blatant derision, Miyoshi was only most certain that Kaminaga held the very same apprehension that he had and observed wordlessly as it was seeping out relentlessly.

“...I’m leaving.” Miyoshi spoke at last in utter offense, turning on his heel hastily in an effort to provoke him.

“No, Miyo…Wait!” Kaminaga asserted through an unrivaled desperation; his voice that immediately crumbled from the once contemptuous facade, and succumbed altogether through a benevolent hitch in his breath.  

With his back opposing Kaminaga and the precipitated rustling of said boyfriend panicking into disarray, Miyoshi felt his own lips curve into a foolish and discreet smile that nearly shamed himself. Of course, in spite of the rather demoralizing scenario that they swept themselves under come Valentine’s day, it was only the inevitable that there was always too strong of a pull between them to ever let something so silly apprehend them. Even so, Miyoshi couldn’t help but feel himself begin to tense and his fingers were unnaturally quivering at the mere mention.

Casting his pride aside, he allowed the unsteady huff escape him and just scarcely found the momentum to face the cautious Kaminaga before him.

“...Sorry…” Miyoshi murmured with a much too perceiving and staggering lilt in his voice, straying his gander aside within mere moments as the noticeable pink dusted upon his face only made it more baffling.

Even how Miyoshi’s hand was resting upon the surface of the counter and toying at it wearily was rather concerning, and Kaminaga hadn’t dared to leave an odd motion unnoticed. Such a dubious fixation was all too unlike him.

“S-Sorry for what? Showing up and leaving unexpectedly, or maybe…” Kaminaga narrowly managed, stumbling all the more as what unraveled to be an apology was quite the bemusing feat.

For Miyoshi was always one with such a firm grip on his pride that a blatant attempt at apology was strictly out of the question. Not that Kaminaga had minded in the least for Miyoshi had shown what appeared to be remorse in a variety of redeeming methods when guilt-driven. Nevertheless, staring wide eyed like a fool was probably not the right direction to go about this. Admirers were acknowledged but unnecessary to Miyoshi. Kaminaga was only certain that such a notion had remained constant and yet, Miyoshi abruptly chasing tail was nearly daunting all on its own.

Not to mention that it was only most evident that Miyoshi hadn’t just appeared to leave him within moments alone. The leather bag at his side was proof enough and no matter how his heart pounded at seeing him, he’d much prefer Miyoshi to be catching up on sleep instead of bringing his assignments to his work. Except that Miyoshi most definitely wouldn’t be able to sleep in his fumbling state as of now and Kaminaga desperately sought to remedy it, in spite of his all too telling bemusement.    

“You know why.” Miyoshi began doubtfully, and allowed a timid breath to surface from the lips that could only fret. His eyes wavered and it was as he felt the reassuring fingertips that grasped upon his palm and grazed circles at their steady pace, that he at last found sanctuary in meeting Kaminaga’s eyes once again. “No one can appreciate me more than you do and that’s all the ego boost I’ll ever need.”

The crimson that drew upon his cheek proved more prominent than ever before and bashfully, Miyoshi no longer had reason to suppress the child-like grin that curved upon his lips.

“You said as much yourself. You’re the only one worth impressing, are you not?”

As enticing as the glint from Miyoshi’s gander that was both intriguing and all too mischievous, Kaminaga had only fallen into the far more dubious airs of what Miyoshi wasn’t willing to admit. The distraught of disappointment had already passed him by after much thought as he was attending to the café and the abundance of guests. Naturally, he was surely pondering the skeptics of the very unlikely scenario and had entertained the strange notion repeatedly so. Perhaps he faltered and hadn’t taken into consideration of Miyoshi’s distraught from being fed excuses to be away from him and yet, it still lacked a semblance of reason. If he had his way, Kaminaga wouldn’t be able to part from this boastful boyfriend who scowled when proven that he wasn’t always difficult to please.

However, maybe he’d have to swallow his own selfish dismays of being distracted by Miyoshi’s very presence. It was the entire rationale of Kaminaga supposedly escaping as once Miyoshi was in his arms, he never wanted him to leave and didn’t know how to. It would be troublesome to skip out on work and all of his classes if he could be with Miyoshi and Kaminaga was well aware that he wouldn’t mind in the least. Waking up beside this alluring muse would do such a thing, and yet, he knew that simply couldn’t be why Miyoshi’s demeanour had suddenly altered at once.

Even if he appeared to be deterred by Miyoshi’s admirers, that wasn’t the entirety of it. Kaminaga had already settled that Miyoshi was unrivaled to a mere casanova and was unlike one in every way. Symptoms of a seeming jealousy could entertain him not when it was irrefutable that there was even something that could frighten Miyoshi, and so, Kaminaga allowed the relentless beat to pass.   

“Miyo...I’ll always be impressed by you too...but—” Kaminaga paused again and in a subdued movement, his fingers began to caress and remedy the anxious shudder in the younger man’s palm that immediately followed. “That’s not it, is it? ...What aren’t you telling me?”

At the darting stare, Miyoshi fumbled and cautiously tightened his hold. Kaminaga hadn’t wavered in spite of the hastened movement and Miyoshi was nearly certain that he’d already been defeated by the fervent glimpse that did well to unravel him. Though Miyoshi couldn’t help but entertain that perhaps this line of thought was nothing but a desperate notion that stemmed from his relentless narcissism. Or maybe, it was what seeped from his fright and began to surface altogether from a measly apprehension.

For Miyoshi was always vain; lacking not and evidently superior through innate wiles alone. He knew this; he most definitely ingrained this demeanour from the start and yet, Kaminaga was the only one who he felt the unnatural need to enthrall in nothing less of a precarious and enticed manner. It had to be done—and that was what inherently frightened him.

Miyoshi was unsurpassed, as was Kaminaga. It was in light of these very quintessential flaws that they longed to impress the other through games of competition. For perfection was beautiful and yet, redundant when not improved upon. As was a loss that was constant—a conclusive apathy that was presented not to the worthy. That was after all, the results of their annual competition, and Miyoshi hadn’t the gall to dismiss such an undermining endeavour.

“You dislike the mundane, Kaminaga. Would that also include what’s repetitive?” Miyoshi inquired softly, faltering when their eyes locked and took note of Kaminaga’s peer that soon grew disoriented.

Stumbling wasn’t a feasibility he needed part in and as he acknowledged Kaminaga who was beginning to piece the unspoken truth through this notion alone, Miyoshi had at last asserted that he himself was daresay...unworthy.    

“Kaminaga, what do you think of our annual competition?” Miyoshi cautiously mustered, ceasing any semblance of prior response and stood his ground.

Pausing slightly, Kaminaga had the gall to chortle all the same and answer fluidly as though he’d been waiting in mere anticipation.

“Your efforts are all the more attractive to me.” Kaminaga mused and even if Miyoshi begged to differ, that alluring grin was always just enough for him.

Naturally so, Miyoshi wouldn’t be able to live it down if he had to do something as unnerving as pleading in Kaminaga’s presence, and even more so, if the pleading was for Kaminaga. That just wouldn’t do. Tonight, however, he’d begged to differ just once more. Just this once, he’d plead—desperately and uncharacteristically so—that Kaminaga, as teasing and enticing in all of his infallible charms, would most definitely prove him wrong for all that he was. It was his own selfish demand that he wouldn’t dare take no as an answer for.

“And the outcome?” Miyoshi uttered softly, allowing the words to venture at their own gradual pace and innately mirrored his ever emanating dread.

“Expected of a crowned victor~” Kaminaga remarked with a boastful air, winking flirtatiously all the same.

“And...me?” Miyoshi unconsciously murmured and scarcely staggered as his voice grew frightened at such a feat. “Kaminaga...will you also grow tired of—”

“I love you.”  

It was in the apprehension that cruelly continued to bustle about and the emitting doubts within the air, that everything had abruptly pummeled to the ground and Miyoshi was at last at point blank. For that mischievous grin was burning like wildfire into his very being, and Miyoshi had nearly gasped aloud at the mere whisper of his amour.      

“...D-Don’t interrupt.” The younger man reprimanded quietly and timidly diverted his gander, concealing himself for the faintest second. “Of course you do. You always have.”

“Then how do you suppose I grow tired of you when your best efforts at our little game is the result of your fear of losing me, rather than the competition? It’s tiring alone to even fathom that it would even be possible to grow tired of you.” Kaminaga asserted with the teasing glint reflected in his eyes, and gently smiled in pleasantries when Miyoshi grew bashful.

Faintly emitting a timid hum in acknowledgment and eyeing him subtly, Miyoshi pursed his lips cautiously and parted from Kaminaga’s hold. Despite the bemused expression that faced him from the curious gesture, Miyoshi’s line of sight soon fell upon Kaminaga’s in utter delight and the younger man smirked all the same. Fortunately, Kaminaga knew better than to allow Miyoshi to bestow words of contempt to save face and found himself far too amused by the boyfriend who more than likely figured out his scheme that was yet in play. Nevertheless, Kaminaga would play his hand anyway.   

“Miyoshi~ are you playing coy with me? You should know best when these games aren’t nearly as exciting if I can’t play them with you.” Kaminaga continued cunningly and squeezed Miyoshi’s nose with a light chuckle. Despite that his palm was immediately slapped away, he grinned and savoured the silly scowl he received.

Teasing, of course, was most definitely the suggested course of action when that adoring frown was growing all the more skeptical. For it was irrefutably impossible to even consider boredom when Miyoshi was with him and naturally, Kaminaga absolutely needed to reward the overly sweet notion of Miyoshi working hard to make certain of that. Triumphs in silly competitions between the two were mere foreplay after all. Even if it meant losing as well was just as alluring, and that he’d remind Miyoshi as many times as necessary.

“Isn’t it strange that you manage to keep me on my toes, as if I’m afraid that you’ll actually grow an extra five centimetres after all? Except that,” Kaminaga proclaimed lovingly, before snorting at the vexed expression who inherently knew where this ‘romantic’ assertion was headed. Not that Kaminaga was even capable of stopping that lovely tongue of his. “you definitely won’t!”  

“...Shut up.” Miyoshi responded in agitations, biting back the smallest of laughter that was threatening to unveil itself and lightly thrust a finger against Kaminaga’s chest.  

Though it was only far too evident that the gentle push wasn’t nearly as perilous as it should’ve been, and Miyoshi’s focus had then found sanctuary elsewhere; utterly unconvinced from the words exchanged just moments before. There was soon a discerning glance that treaded just past the barista and at an unbeknownst realm. The stare that momentarily met Kaminaga’s was restrained and searching for what wasn’t before him, as if he were caught in a daze. Crinkling his brow at such an implication, Kaminaga paused for an impetuous second before glimpsing back at Miyoshi again.

The younger man was now finding interest in only the oddest of entities, and it was all too strange to fall unnoticed whatsoever. Miyoshi must’ve known for as Kaminaga teasingly blew hot air against his boyfriend’s visage, his lips immediately frowned at the gesture and their eyes locked at once. Miyoshi was seeping of skepticism and guilt, and it was proven dearly as his finger shuddered subtly when he reached out for Kaminaga in retributive jest. Judging by its position, Kaminaga could only grimace at the thought of a forehead flick that would be far too pitiful for a man of Miyoshi’s caliber. It was as he abruptly stopped the cold hand in its tracks and planted a kiss upon Miyoshi’s knuckle that Kaminaga at last, was all the more certain.

Alas, there was another ungenuine and hurtful smile from Miyoshi.            

Heaving a breath, Kaminaga scarcely eyed the empty doorway as he let go of his boyfriend’s hand in regret and noted the semblance of distress hiding before him. As he ventured from behind the counter and to Miyoshi’s side, he grasped that same hand at once and gently led him to the vacant back corner. Naturally, he’d made extra precautions in knowing that they wouldn’t be observed and carefully placed Miyoshi’s bag upon the table for he needed not of anything getting his way of holding him near. Miyoshi, however, darted a bemused glimmer in his expression and Kaminaga merely wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist in complete ignorance of the now contemptuous glare.

“Hey...being able to keep up and even best me isn’t the only reason why I’m so in love with you, and only you, silly Miyo.” Kaminaga steadily persisted through a softened murmur, a single hand carefully parting from behind. As he lifted Miyoshi’s chin upwards, the bashful orbs then greeted his own. “I’m already the best, even more than you sometimes...but that’s exactly why I enjoy playing our little games so much.”

Pink was dusted upon Miyoshi’s cheek in a reluctant blush and he bit his lip timidly, succumbing to the forceful words that made him falter. He’d nearly forgotten to scold Kaminaga for having the gall to even utter that he was daresay second, but as his hand was pressed against Kaminaga’s chest in adoration, he hadn’t the reason to punish that all too sweetened gaze. Surely he’d known for years and years that it was rather foolish to even doubt the extent of Kaminaga’s affections, and even his own weakness in turn. The only one who could unravel every whim when Miyoshi hadn’t said a word and merely suggested as so, was holding him safely in his arms and emitting that unrivaled radiance in his smile—for the perfect competitor was an even more consummate lover.

“Why should I settle for the best when you make me wanna be even better, and impress you each and every day?” Kaminaga mused lovingly and grinned at the boyfriend who hadn’t a single mutter in response, his hand that softly began to caress Miyoshi’s cheek in a discerning enamourment. “It might be rare for us to think the same, but I also know that you alone are the only one worth impressing.”

What was more gratifying than escalating the quintessential for pride alone, was enchanting the only one who could exceed all expectations and be delighted all the same by those very notions in turn. There was no meaning if it wasn’t Kaminaga.

His face was obstinate in radiating of that decisive and regal crimson hue. Miyoshi, however, was also quite decisive in acknowledging that such a vision was faultless and in fact, premeditated. For Red was a color fit for an emperor and he only looked most beautiful in the colour that Kaminaga painted upon him.         

“Were my efforts wasteful then?” Miyoshi faintly pondered in place of his once dubious concerns; the very ones that were as baseless as the amount of chocolate that Kaminaga had been gifted from grade school until now.

In spite of the aftermath, Miyoshi had still tossed aside his pride in a desperate endeavour to hold him near—the him that knew not of parting whatsoever. Though the older man merely feigned a gasp at Miyoshi’s staggering regret and was now reassuring him yet again with that whimsical chortle.   

“Never. It’s quite the opposite~!” Kaminaga insisted and teasingly pressed a peck at the corner of his mouth in taunts.

As he reached for the palm that remained on his cheek and plummeted his own upon that same hand, Miyoshi was well aware that the rather intimate proximity and irrefutable glint reflecting in Kaminaga’s eyes were forcing him to relent into disarray. Even the hot breath that trickled upon his lips from the suffering gesture just moments before and how Kaminaga’s all too alluring airs had never ceased to make him falter into a dizzy incantation. That subtle but flirtatious smirk most certainly knew of its effect, and Kaminaga was daring him with every ephemeral second that passed them by. Not that Miyoshi would ever allow him to triumph so easily, even in spite of the crimson painted upon his visage and had at last pushed his mischievous enchanter away.

“Well...if you’re so sure of yourself, then I have nothing to concern myself with.” Miyoshi responded with a rather familiar and inciting guile. “If you defeat me, that is. It doesn’t really matter when game play aside, you’ll always give in to me.”

The deriding and unrivaled pleasantries of his gentle smile had returned and Kaminaga willingly swallowed the bait. Those sweetened and tauntful words that rolled off his lover’s tongue were everything after all. Nevertheless, the captivating spell had abruptly turned disdainful at the sight of Miyoshi’s inconspicuous glance and now crossed arms. Kaminaga grimaced at once; he was about to get scolded.  

“And what’s even more impressive, is that you have to gall to be so demanding and not apologize yourself.” Miyoshi reprimanded, frowning inconspicuously in spite of his evidently entitled and pompous airs. “If you weren’t being so petty, maybe we’d be having dinner right now.”

Not that Miyoshi wasn’t equally at fault and that neither were truly at fault when it had all been a silly misunderstanding taking form in discouraged contempt. Even if the mere notion of Miyoshi admitting defeat to him and ‘being the only one worth impressing’ was all the more enticing.

Kaminaga should’ve known better, of course. Miyoshi wouldn’t dare dismiss the spitefully ‘loving’ greetings he’d been offered at their abrupt meeting, and truthfully however, they really should’ve been having dinner instead spiting each other from misinformed dismays. His intentions naturally didn’t entail of harsh gestures and yet, Kaminaga panicked at seeing the one whose demeanour had altered in the strangest of notions and sufficed with a faltering front. For what he once dismissed as Miyoshi feeding his ego on Valentine’s day, was in actuality, Miyoshi’s unbeknownst fright. It was the innate, however, that Miyoshi had easily unraveled him and drew upon his core.     

“Do I really have to apologize when Mr. Son-of-the-Dean keeps stealing my boyfriend? How about we do something about him instead, hmm?” Kaminaga grumbled through a most subtle and bashful air, steadily entwining their fingers when the blush growing across his cheek was more blatant than discrete. “I can’t help but be...mildly...jealous...”

“Naturally, though, aren’t you sorry that you don’t get to spend more time with me?” Miyoshi prompted softly with the words nearly stumbling in a graceless mumble, emitting from his lips in a hidden apprehension. Perhaps frivolous and hasty all the same, he thought better to close their distance through a needy embrace. “You know those girls don’t matter as much to me. Only you matter.”

For if he didn’t, Kaminaga most definitely would’ve uncovered and teased the floundering expression painted upon his visage. Kaminaga was simply unfair to even mention his unrivaled and jealous impulses that Miyoshi knew only to surrender to.   

“I am…” The older man boastfully noted and urged himself against lowering his guard, in spite of Miyoshi’s all too evident and irrefutable weakness.

It was unlike Miyoshi to perform acts of public affection or...affection at all really. Surely this was no different, and it wouldn’t be devious in the least to test the waters in measly skepticism that the narcissistic Miyoshi was in fact hiding himself. For as Kaminaga was growing all the more amused, he purposely repressed himself from returning the adoring gesture in a seeming bewilderment. With a hot breath draped upon his ear and a teasing kiss that too had followed suit on his cheek, Kaminaga knew better than to fall victim to the deceitful ploys that he absolutely loved to hate.

Gently pushing Miyoshi away, he made certain to steal a glimpse at the timid and diverted expression that fell into the open at last. With a haughty snicker emitting from his lips, Kaminaga roughly drew Miyoshi back in with a single arm snaked behind his waist. He dared not to suppress the grin that seeped of tauntful air when Miyoshi darted back a most baffled smirk. Whether he was bashful in denial or pompous and willing, mattered not—not when Kaminaga was the only one capable of calling Miyoshi, his.  

“I’m also sorry that you have to work so hard in attending to those cute girls, when I’m the crowned victor of our little Valentine’s chocolate competition every year. I guess I can’t really blame you when I’m just as guilty.” Kaminaga goaded playfully and cruelly all the same, naturally exposing his gall to provoke his boyfriend earnestly so, even in the public eye.  

“The guilty surely have faults as well, don’t they? Admit to your crimes then.” Miyoshi demanded with that unbearable conceit oozing from his teasing gaze, fingers gently toying at the older man’s chest as though to rouse him. “...Even if your smallest of jealousy is the slightest bit...arousing.”

“So you like it then?” Kaminaga taunted cheekily at the subdued hint of crimson dusting across Miyoshi’s alluring visage, and eagerly motioned his intents with a thigh pressed between the younger’s man legs knowingly. The delightful gasp escaping Miyoshi was but another jewel he’d worship to the ends of the earth. “You’re just as arousing when you’re frustrated so, I guess I am sorry.”

“Bastard. You should know better.” Miyoshi readily scolded with a softened smile reserved for Kaminaga alone. 

Regretfully pushing Kaminaga’s advances aside and gently so, he then wrapped his arms around his lover’s neck and indulged in the scenic pleasantry that was his sole possession. 

“I suppose I should.” Kaminaga mused in agreement and faltered to the sweetened and affectionate touch, adorning that sly grin that suited him well and closed the minimal gap. “Now kiss me and teach me to know better.”

Lightly humming in response as Kaminaga’s demand was all the more provoking with the enticing bedroom eyes and a luscious breath drawing near, Miyoshi supposed he could allow him the pleasure when he too was in longing for more than a mere sample. Even if Kaminaga was childishly closing his eyes and now puckering his lips like a fool. As Miyoshi’s line of sight momentarily wandered elsewhere in precautions of disturbing the public, he then acknowledged an inconspicuous gander from Kaminaga’s superior and backed away in hesitations.

Even if said employer had now diverted his attention and would more than likely make an exception for the remains of Valentine’s day, it wouldn’t do well to cause problems for Kaminaga at the job he couldn’t afford to lose. He was constantly insisting on footing the bill and contributing when it wasn’t necessary after all.   

“...Your manager’s looking.” Miyoshi whispered upon eyeing Kaminaga’s now dejected pout.

In spite of the warning, there was a semblance of a whine escaping Kaminaga and then a devious chuckle at Miyoshi’s very shy remark. As the older man thought better to spitefully steal a glance at his manager, Miyoshi immediately cupped his face between his palms and wordlessly forbid him.  

“Because we’re so cute~!” Kaminaga nonchalantly boasted in glee, earnestly attempting to reassure Miyoshi of his blatant worries.

It was odd really that his narcissistic boyfriend would adoringly grow bashful under the watch of others, and yet, it was delightful all the same.

Nevertheless, Kaminaga was still in need to taste a certain someone’s teasing lips and as he cautiously strived to do exactly that, Miyoshi torturously smirked and had an even more forceful hold on his face. The overly familiar cruelty was but another notion that Kaminaga entertained in wonder if he was actually a masochist for Miyoshi. Naturally, he knew the answer in spite of his rampant denial.  

Heaving a dismayed huff and pouting all the more, Kaminaga sufficed with at least planting a kiss against Miyoshi’s nose when he regretfully relented. Though said boyfriend had parted from him far too quickly for his liking and seemed to have blatant intentions of otherwise—like always.

“And because,” Miyoshi promptly reminded, steadily venturing behind Kaminaga with a reclaimed bag at his side and pushed him back towards the empty counter. “you’re not doing your job.”

Merely humming in response as he not so secretly grew amused from the gesture alone, Kaminaga abruptly paused in his tracks to torture Miyoshi just a moment longer and snorted at the immediate slap he received. Love was pain after all, and his boyfriend never went easy on the supposed and adoringly ‘playful punches’.

“You’re right. I should be doing you right now.” Kaminaga flirtatiously mused when he’d been forcefully returned to the workstation, his drawl that was low and husky and ever so daring with the mischievous wink. “Why don’t I prove to you how sorry I am?”

Naturally, Miyoshi wasn’t so easy to sway and hadn’t even batted a eye from the teasing. Or so he thought for Miyoshi was gently chuckling to his utter disbelief, and as his eyelashes fluttered in a captivating motion upon meeting eyes, he was all the more certain that Miyoshi was undoubtedly unfair.

“Make me a drink first. How about…” Miyoshi haughtily demanded as his voice soon trailed off, skeptically eyeing and toying at the frappucino advertisements before him.

“No, you wouldn’t like that one. Not this one either...” Kaminaga murmured as he observed Miyoshi’s fluctuating apprehension, deftly acknowledging the exact words he’d yet to say without so much as the motion of his finger. Miyoshi was only contemplating what he’d sampled once before and Kaminaga couldn’t help but snicker discreetly at such a feat.

Starbucks never was of Miyoshi’s caliber after all, and even so, Kaminaga had caught him attempting it on various occasions nonetheless and in blatant denial when questioned upon. Of course, he needed to know not of such overt reasonings and only adored him more; uncertain if such a possibility had even been in existence until now. For that notion alone, Miyoshi would most definitely be gratified with a drink that was worthy and to his appeal. It was the least he could do when Miyoshi had even swallowed his pride to woo his admirers in a discerning fear of losing grasp of his boyfriend.

“Just go sit and I’ll bring it to you. I’ll make it really special, okay?” Kaminaga added on, taking note of Miyoshi’s bemused expression when the debit card offered from his wallet was deftly ignored and Kaminaga sighed. “Miyo, put your card away. Actually...”

There wasn’t so much as a beat before Kaminaga had abruptly taken hold of both the card and wallet from Miyoshi’s grasp, and the younger man could only blink back in dismay. This wasn’t the first time that Kaminaga had confiscated his wallet and as he was immediately led to a seat, their fingers were evidently entwined and Miyoshi was unwilling to part with him.  

In spite of his rather vain demeanour, it was the utmost of pleasantries that Miyoshi was nearly too sweet for Kaminaga’s taste and yet became his guilty pleasure all the same. Though perhaps that was because Kaminaga was the guilty one—guilty of keeping Miyoshi to himself and guilty for leaving him alone more often than not. Miyoshi in turn had attested to such an inclination for he’d readily pulled Kaminaga back when he separated from him.     

“...You’ll never change, will you?” Miyoshi spoke gently with a faint smile unveiled upon his lips and urged Kaminaga down to his level with a needy drag of his hand, gazing upwards as he did so.

He’d only expected Miyoshi to scold him and yet, smiling softly and uttering the sweetened incantation was the cruelest of counter measures he could’ve chosen. Surely Miyoshi was well aware of such torturous means, for as their lips were now in proximity to dazzle the other, Miyoshi had firmly pressed his palm against Kaminaga’s chest and had but a single demand.

“Fine. Don’t leave me waiting.”