#this chapter was a true blessing. Now to wait for 2 weeks for more.

[peanutseagle]

I just had to redraw that scene okay.

[moonshine-nightlight]

NWWD: Divergent Revelations 2

Side story for NWWD, AU starting mid Chapter 23. Fanfic of my own story that asks: what if an honest conversation was had earlier? (spoiler: slow burn is much less slow)

During the fight with assassins, you and Dale are forced to confront the truth of what you each know about Dale's nature. How does the fight change to have this come about? How will the conversation about these revelations go when there's still more than a week before the wedding?

Main Story 'Nothing's Wrong with Dale': [Part One]

Status: Complete

AO3: NWWD: Divergent Revelations

[Part One] Part Two

You murmur as polite a ‘good night’ as you can to your maid before your door finally shuts, blocking out the rest of the Governor’s house, with all its people who can’t stop asking you question after question, hovering over you. Blessed silence fills your bed chamber. You lean back against that now shut door and try to breathe. Grandmother’s going to be alright, you remind yourself, no one seems to suspect Dale. He simply…hasn’t returned yet.

You tried to apologize to Grandfather for not anticipating that Dale would go after Two, but he’d waved off your ‘sorry’s with a worn, but sincere smile. His absolution was appreciated as was the way he seemed to have left all suspicion behind. Still you knew you’d not feel better until you saw Dale once again.

That’s holding true now. The waiting and hours you passed have been valiantly fought through with your highest caffeinated tea, but you were shuffled away to your private chambers after the last strike of the clock, though you can’t remember how many it was.

Nervous energy still buzzes through your veins, a heady mix of worry and adrenaline that makes you want to pace or hide or do something, anything useful. Instead, you walk over to your vanity where an array of candles is, their light reflected back and throughout the room. Aided by the full moon, your room is lit as well as it ever could be so deep into the night. 

Halfheartedly, you pick at the bowl of nuts and dried fruit your maid had persuaded you to take with you. You itch to have those books of Dale’s Bilmont had snuck to you, but they’re all back in Northridge. Neither of you had wanted to alert Dale to your perusal nor risk being found with them by keeping them for days or traveling with them, but if you did have the books then maybe you could prepare to do something in case Dale was hurt in a manner that could not be treated by a doctor.

He’d come to you, right? If he needed help? It’s all out in the open now. What you both already knew but still had pretended not to. Although, as long as he could control himself, he should go to the trained physician. But what if someone else found him? What if this had all been a trick by Two to get Dale to go somewhere else where a trap lay in wait? What if Dale had won, but was injured and vulnerable out in the night somewhere? What if Two manages to possess Dale? What if—

You sit down heavily on your vanity chair, shaking your head to try to dissipate such dire thoughts. Dale had been winning the fight, had managed to drive Two off, and had seemed to have no true injuries when he went after them. Morning would come. Dale will have returned while you slept and he will be fine. He has to be.

You look into the mirror, past and behind yourself to the bed. Speaking of sleep, you’ve no idea how you’ll manage it tonight. You suppose you could brew some sleepy tea, but would that truly work when you still feel your anxiety and nerves as significantly as you do? With the effects of your caffeinated tea still going? Do you even want to sleep? 

You know you should. It’s what you had told the others you would do. It's what you would have told yourself to do, if you were another person. It's the best course of action so you are well rested and ready to face tomorrow. Nothing good will come of worrying away the hours deeper into the night.

Yet you know yourself. You’ll not be able to manage it. Taking the tea would only leave you in a half-asleep state, constantly drifting off and waking from nightmares you’d not be able to tell from reality. 

Not wanting to bother moving the candles from in front of the large mirror at your vanity, you instead go to your desk and bring over your journal with the magnifier. Setting them up, you turn to a fresh page. The most useful thing you can think to do is to write down everything you can remember the assassins said so as to better find who hired them. Given the layers of who can know what, you decide to write down the truth in your personal shorthand, knowing between your handwriting and the few changes you made, it’ll be nigh indecipherable to anyone but you. It should be the best way to keep the actual facts straight for yourself so you can discuss with Dale, or obfuscate with Grandfather and Grandmother. Most of what Two said will only make sense if you know what Dale is and you’ll not be the one to ruin the facade.

You concentrate on getting everything down while managing your flickering light. The sound of your door closing takes a second to register. The next second has you on your feet, your hand dropping your pen in favor of your busk knife. You whirl towards the door, heart hammering in your chest.

A dark figure, more outline than person given how far they are from the miniscule light, is all you can make out. For a split second, you’re convinced Two has come back for you, until another step closer finally allows you to distinguish, “Dale!” 

You drop your hand to the table, body sagging in relief, both at the lack of threat and the confirmation he’s alive. “You frightened me half-to-death!”

“My apologies,” Dale replies, voice low and wary, but unmistakably his own.

You beckon him closer, needing a better look even if many of your fears are assuaged with his presence. “Are you alright? What happened?”

He comes more fully into your circle of light and you can see he has no obvious wounds, only a small bandage on his jaw. “I already spoke to Grandfather and the doctor.” You step closer as he speaks, hand drifting up to the bandage. “I’ve no serious injuries, only some bruisings and cuts. I caught up to Two and ensured they’ll do us no more harm.”

“Are you certain?” Your eyes search his form, noting his damaged jacket is nowhere to be seen. No blood stains or broken bones are obvious. Still, there could be damage under the surface, your eyes on his torso and then up to that single bandage. “The stonework was strong and Two was very adept at—”

“Yes, I am sure.” Dale catches your hand before you can touch him. 

Heat rises to your cheeks at the reminder of your impropriety, which only mounts as you fully realize that Dale is alone with you, in your bedchambers, at night. No one to see him here. Complete privacy. You in your nightclothes and robe, he in only a shirt and trousers. “Good,” you manage before you attempt to clear your throat. What do demons care of human impropriety? Dale’s played along well enough, but he’s not beholden to such petty sensibilities. “I’m relieved.”

“Yes,” Dale murmurs, continuing to stare at you as if you might be the one who needs a physical. “You do truly appear to be.”

“What…?” You blink up at him confused. Some of your concern fades to frustration. You give him an incredulous look. “Of course, I am. It was a foolish thing to chase after Two into the night. Who knows what they might have done to you.” Did he think himself infallible? Or you too oblivious to notice the toll the fight took on him? “I’ve been worried.”

“Curious,” Dale says, tilting his head to the side. His eyes begin to glow. A third one pops open on his forehead. The shadows cast by your candles gutter. “I’ve never had a human express such concern over me. Not when they knew what I was.” He blinks and all his eyes focus on you. “Yet, you appear sincere.”

“Oh,” your voice is small, but you’ve no notion of how to respond, how to actually have this conversation.

“I was not sure what I would be returning to,” Dale confesses, his voice lower and quieter. Instinctively, you lean closer to hear him better. You hold your breath to see what else he might say, now that it appears you are finally addressing the elephant in the room. “Would you have told Grandfather and the Captain? Would they greet me only to catch me in a binding circle?”

“What?” Your stomach drops at the mere thought. “No, of course not.” Alarm rises with your nerves, that Dale might still worry of this outcome. As if he still thought it a possibility for you to have done so. Does he think so little of your regard for him? Has he not understood where you stand despite your attempts to make that clear? You turn your wrist in his grasp and he lets you, but seems surprised when you clasp it more securely in your own. “Dale, I’d never—I don’t plan on revealing you. I thought that’d be obvious.”

Dale looks down at your hand on his and just as you start to worry it had been the wrong move, he turns his own in your grasp to hold your hand in return. “I suppose that appears to be the case.” His gaze moves from your fingers to tentatively meet your gaze. “It does not illuminate why you would do such a thing.”

“I…” you struggle for how to articulate your thoughts. Somehow all your imagined conversations with Dale had been focused on him and his secrets, motivations, thoughts—not your own. “I am aware that perhaps my actions appear…unusual.” You do your best to rally your thoughts and Dale lets you, no haste or frustration in his stance or expression. That patience helps you say, “However, you’ve never acted in a manner that made me worry for my safety or the safety of others. You have not tried to do harm to those around us, physically or with the power you could wield as heir to Northridge.” 

You stare down at your hand and his, unable to keep track of your thoughts when your eyes are locked on his. The flickering candlelight reflects strangely in his blue eyes that he looks more demonic than usual, but also more striking. You want him to think well of you, but you don’t want him to doubt your sincerity. “I’d not known the first Dale for very long. I think I’ve known you longer now. I confess, I had concerns about that Dale, prior to your arrival.” 

You chance a glance up at him and see some surprise in his expression. You’re rather pleased to have been able to surprise him since he’s managed to do the same to you at so many turns. Hopefully, like you, he doesn’t find the surprise bad. “Human concerns, but significant ones. The worries I have for you are different, but less.”

“Truly?” Dale’s voice contains even more of the surprise you’d seen in his face earlier, but no doubt or disbelief. “How could a human, who has always been who he is, worry you more than a stranger in his body?”

“Lord Dale was…arrogant, entitled, and selfish,” you admit, remembering back to your first talk with him. You remember your first meeting with Grandfather and with the other prospects that came up. “And he was the best marriage offer I received.” You frown, trying to articulate why you’d taken a chance with that Dale, aware now that you’re relieved more than anything that he’d been replaced in the end. “I believed he would consider me to be… an extension of himself in a manner that would shield me from some of his faults, so long as I did not interfere with his goals. However, that is certainly not a stable place to begin a marriage, although I had considered it worth the risk at the time.”

“And myself?” Dale asks softly.

You smile to yourself because how often had you asked yourself the same thing: about him and about why he might tolerate you. “You were an unknown,” you say slowly, “in so many ways—I admit you still are. However, you’ve not shown that callous self-interest. You appear… interested in m—the thoughts of others, dutiful to Northridge in a manner I recognize in myself.” You’d been preparing to take up the mantle of Northridge’s care yourself. You’d liked the idea of such a challenge, to an extent. You were eager to prove yourself. To be the one in control of your life. But it would have been lonely and you would have had to juggle Dale’s own plans for the fief. You hadn’t thought there was a better option other than hoping perhaps the original Dale might come around. That isn’t your worry with this Dale.

You take a deep breath and look back up at him. “You did not have to stay and playact the role Dale handed you with his identity. You could have left with his body to strike out on your own.” You hate how much the thought fills you with true fear, not just trepidation or frustration as might have before you got to know this Dale. If he has been genuine with you, you would fear for him out in the world on his own. “I don’t know if you still might do so, but that is my worry, not that you’ll mismanage what you have. I simply feel there is more common ground between us than between myself and the original Dale.” You swallow, suddenly all too aware you’ve been speaking for what feels like ages on end without Dale saying a word. You reach with your free hand to brush some of your hair behind your ear. “That could all be wishful thinking on my side. We’ve not had many chances for honest conversation, excepting now, I suppose.”

Dale finally blinks and stares down at you in a sort of confusion that you hope is fond and not frustrated. “I did not know what to expect when I arrived on the surface,” he confesses slowly, “though I was relieved not to have to contest for autonomy. My recovery from the ordeal was when I knew I would be most vulnerable and thought I might be discovered, necessitating my departure.” His fingers tighten briefly around your own before a small smile spreads across his face. “Thank you again, for your aid.

“I was relieved to be able to stay. I’ve no plans to leave unless forced.” Dale looks past you briefly, to the candles and the mirror behind you. “I have spent my life searching for a stable territory—a home.” His eyes fix on yours once more. “I’ve not had much in the way of surviving family and so find myself inclined to appreciate Grandmother and Grandfather, particularly with Dale’s memories.” His eyes unfocus as if viewing those memories now.

You allow him some time and shortly Dale pulls himself out of those thoughts with a rueful shake of his head. “The memories are both outside of myself and of myself in a rather confusing manner. I’ve not the language or nuance to explain well, truth be told. All of Northridge feels as if it was waiting for me and I’d be a fool not to seize the opportunity. Even you,” he strokes his thumb across the back of your hand, sending a thrill through you, “a lovely mate, was here, like a delightful dream. I’ve not earned any of this,” Dale continues, looking a bit sheepish, a bit chagrined, and a bit like he’s expecting your judgment. “And yet, I’ve had enough ill fortune in my life not let a stroke of good pass me by.”

Your relief at hearing him say he plans to stay is only matched by your understanding. “Even with his flaws, Dale had appeared to be good luck to me at the time. Now, you seem to suit me far better as a partner. Strange as it is to say, I was sometimes more convinced there must be a trick about when I felt we understood each other. It seemed too fortunate.” You take another deep breath as you try to think of what words might solidify Dale’s decision to stay with you, to be with you. The memory of the way he’d said your name only hours ago, the layers of meaning he’d somehow communicated, gives you the strength to say, “For what it's worth, if you’ve been sincere and wish to stay, to be Dale of Northridge, then I’m happy you are here above any other.”

“I have,” Dale is quick to say, catching your other hand in his. He brings your hands in his together and up, dusting your knuckles with a kiss, “and I do. I feel the same.” Your breath catches in your throat. Your heart hammers in your chest due to the warmth and release of tension you feel because you believe him. That Dale might want this too, with you, is hardly more than you can conceive. You haven’t even had to convince and persuade and demonstrate the value of such an arrangement over months as you’d begun to plan for first Dale. Weeks of uncertainty melt away in the face of his straightforward words. You must be smiling like a fool, but you don’t care.

Dale tilts his head to the side, bemused. “Is that common, among human pairs, to understand each other so quickly? Is that why these strange methods are employed? I admit many aspects of human society elude me, including mating rituals.”

“Not all do, but that is the hope of most,” you reply, before leaning forward, unable to help your curiosity. “Wh—” You wince when the movement jars your back and Dale frowns. You absentmindedly pull your clothes away from your bruised back. “Apologies, I am still somewhat sore after this evening's events.”

Dale glances around before leading you over to your bed. “Let us sit.”

“You were the one who fought,” you protest weakly, but the image of Dale on your bed is very enticing. Since you still have your curtains open by the bed, the moonlight has the opportunity to lend strength to the blue-ness of his eyes. You still feel some of the echo of adrenaline brimming in your veins, but it has nowhere to go with the night so late and Dale finally within reach. 

“And I am tired as well,” he agrees, giving a little tug to your hand before sitting down himself as if to be a good example. 

You’re certain that’s true and you’ve no real objection. If anything the mild impropriety makes your stomach flutter excitedly. You carefully sit down beside him, arranging your robe as you do so with only one hand, not wanting to let go of Dale quite yet. He’s only just come back to you.

He turns, bringing his knee up onto the bed in order to face you better as you tuck yourself against the footboard for stability. Dale looks boyish in such a pose. With some of the excitement and fear out of the way, your conversation begins to remind you more of sneaking between dormitory rooms at school. 

You try to bring your mind back to the conversation you were having instead of childish conversations and not so childish games. “How does courting work for your… society?”

Dale smiles, a little crooked, like he too finds your description of anything demonic as a ‘society’ amusing. “Truthfully, there are many varieties in how different demons approach such matters. Perhaps the original strange thing to me was how many humans approach it the same.”

“There is variety,” you consider, actually giving it some thought. So much of your life had built to where you were now, you’d not contemplated the process itself since you were a child. Primarily, fears about your ability to participate at all were what had dominated your thoughts then. “That variety tends to be geographic, however a culture evolved. This continent was once under the rule of a single large empire, before it fractured and so shares certain traits across country borders. The continent to the direct south is similar within itself. To the east across the Narrow Sea, there is still one empire. Only the more distant continents were never united—to my knowledge—and so I believe have a greater variety to their customs.”

“I see,” Dale nods. “The Depths is a very…scattered and varied place, physically and among demons themselves. No one group of any kind has ever controlled a large portion, not in the history I’m aware of. Still, there are trends among similar demons or those who live close to one another, customs that bleed into one another. The demons I am most familiar with either live in tight-knit clans and generally don’t mate outside of it or are solitary. Both consider time to become familiar with each other a critical component.”

You nod. “Many people who end up marrying have known each other all their lives, due to circumstances, or because they were neighbors, or because their parents decided years ago to link their families and lands.” Pivoting since you’re not sure demons have nobility, you continue, “According to those I know who aren’t nobility, that’s also far more common among the common people. Nobility enjoys overthinking, or at least that’s what my father says. A lot of marriage decision making is based on utility, alliances, and finances—not to mention tradition and honor. Tolerance of one's spouse is the expectation with companionship over time. Partnership or true affection as an ideal to hope for. Although, it is custom to play at appearing happily situated, regardless of one's internal feelings on the matter.”

“Surely you had more options than Dale,” the demon with his name protests, as if he’d been meaning to make the argument since you first mentioned such a thing and could no longer contain himself. “Sometimes his thoughts or memories—impressions of people or situations—occur to me. I admit I dislike many of them. I disagree with many of them.”

You’d known this was part of how demonic possession worked but it was still strange to hear of. “I’m certain his of me were not flattering nor were there many of them—one of the few commonalities we had was likely our rather poor opinion of each other,” you confess. “I doubt he suspected my true feelings. He agreed to marry me because he needed to in order to inherit, because I seemed amenable to his influence. Not to mention because I came with a larger than is typical dowry for a fifth child. I’m sure he thought me generally acceptable, if a bit disappointing—he told me as much. However, that was his fault for letting rumors reach the ears of potential spouses or at least their parents.”

The way Dale tightens his lips, but doesn’t disagree confirms your suspicions. He gives a small huff before saying, “Yes, I can recall. He was quite frustrated with the reputation he’d found when he made his way back home. At the very least he wished he’d been able to marry before they spread. I think he’d underestimated how many would not want to be associated with demonic research. Not to mention the more dramatic tales of carousing he and his compatriots got up to on their tour.” He rolls his eyes as he continues to list reasons why Dale’s marriage prospects had diminished. “How many of them would pair off with each other as they did, and so on. He believed he could have turned his reputation around in order to have a spouse he saw as more…” Dale winces, clearly trying to find the least offensive word, before giving up, “worthy, but was aware such an endeavor would take time he did not want to spend.”

“Yes,” you acknowledge because isn’t that what you suspected all along? In some ways it's hard to care much about what the original Dale thought, not when he was dead, but you find you hate the idea of echoes of those thoughts sounding through this Dale’s head. You care about his opinion. You want him to think well of you. You push those fears aside to focus on the conversation you are having. “In that way, we were compatible. We did confirm what we expected from this marriage along with what was required for our engagement to be initiated. It's simply that those items of import were easily discovered on paper and with minimal interaction in person.”

“You were engaged before you met,” Dale says, shaking his head in either disbelief or disapproval. “Truly mystifying.”

“What sort of traits are valued in your courtships?” you ask, wanting to meet him where you could. Everything so far has been how humans do such things. You want him to feel comfortable with you and your relationship. You want a chance to show him Dale’s lingering thoughts shouldn’t matter to him. You can’t find more time to spend together with the wedding so close. You can’t change how you only met shortly ago, but hopefully there are other elements you could honor. “I would be happy to participate in any rituals I could, as we have fulfilled the majority of the human ones already.”

Dale blinks at you with such surprise you worry for a second that you might have just made a foolish offer. Since you were in fact referring to demonic rituals that was likely a given. No, you remind yourself, you trust Dale. Dale closes his mouth within a second or two, and admits, almost ruefully, “In truth, many such questions and information have already been answered. What would take demons time and trust to reveal, humanity seems more free with, particularly over these last few weeks of intensity and socializing. My parents courted for years but saw each other far less than we have over the course of that time.”

“What sorts of things?” you can’t help but press, eager for anything to work with.

“General compatibility,” Dale begins to list with a shrug, “socialization, familial connections, and expectations. The majority of courtship negotiations for my parents was spent on territory and fitness to defend said territory, with the others learned as that progressed.”

“If the ability to defend territory is a sought after quality,” you say, wanting to fidget out of self-consciousness and holding still out of sheer self-determination, “I must be sorely lacking as a candidate.”

Dale immediately shakes his head. “No, it is a balance. I trained to fight and defend. It is a skill I can bring, not one that I expected any partner to possess. I would not have refused such a mate, but I hadn’t been seeking one out either. The terms of survival are different on the Surface.”

He leans back, bracing himself on one hand as he frowns in concentration. You resist the urge to lean after him, to maintain any closeness you’ve gained. He looks so distant in the moonlight, foreign with his demonic eyes on full display—there are two more than before—and with shadows moving as if in a gentle breeze around him. “My parent had staked out a large territory in alliance with another demon, who died soon before they met my mother. They were initially very hostile to the others settling nearby, including her. She managed to negotiate with them for her smaller spot and slowly they came to see they would enjoy being together. Since my parent had a lot of territory, my mother had to prove her worth as a defender. Even my parent had to prove their territory borders were sustainable with all the new interlopers.”

You try to even picture such an existence. It seems so solitary. You had often felt lonely as a child, and even after, but there were always people around, you simply didn’t have any connections with them. You weren’t actually alone. Perhaps you are missing something. “And it was just them?”

“Yes,” Dale replies, eyes softening as if he could hear your true question. “Shades are generally solitary and while my mother came from a clan, she preferred solitude as well. That was one reason for her departure.”

“And you’re a shade?” He certainly seems to be one, given his facility with shadows. Had he spent so much of his life in similar solitude? “The past few weeks of gatherings must have been overwhelming for you.” He’d not seemed to be. However, perhaps he was a better actor than you’ve given him credit for. He was coming from such a different place of experience.

Dale shook his head. “I’m only part-shade and even so, I’ve always enjoyed being around others. I’ve been to the Surface before and know how close you all tend to live.” It was so odd to hear him acknowledge all this out loud, to hear him say “you all” and know he meant “humans”. That he wasn’t included with them. “Even in the Depths I traveled, as many young demons do before they settle on their own territory. I have worked with others and even temporarily joined a handful of clans. Nothing ever fit or stuck. My first time on the Surface, as chaotic and overwhelming and confusing as it was, felt right. After one final attempt in the Depths to find a place to suit me failed, I knew what I wanted was up here.”

You want to ask for every detail, for every nuance and failed alliance he alludes to. At the same time, you don’t want to scare him off, by asking for more than he feels comfortable revealing. If you’ve already rushed the timing, you don’t want to push even more, not at the risk of driving him away. You want to hold this new honesty with both hands and protect it. You want to never let it go. In the end, you settle on a sincere, but generic, “I confess, the tales of the Depths make it sound fearsome,” in the hopes that he’ll tell more if he wished, but would not feel pressured if he did not.

“It is.” Dale has closed all of his eyes, clearly remembering. “It is lonely and dangerous.” He blinks open his eyes and they’re glowing once more, enhanced by the strong moonlight that falls on his face. “There are dangers here too, but so many more opportunities and ways of living. Not merely survival.”

You shake your head. “I’ve no notion of such a life. I’m pleased you are here and that we can offer you that.” Today has more than proven that Dale can defend himself and that you are certainly winning no accolades in such an arena, and yet you feel protective of him. You want to shield him from the harsh life he clearly led before this, fighting for so much of his life. You want to make a home where he can rest and enjoy life.

“Thank you,” Dale smiles, as if your simple words mean something to him. “I admit I’d been prejudiced against informing you of my true nature due to past experience.” 

He said he had been on the Surface before. You recall his trepidation, his fear as you now recognize it, both in the aftermath of the destroyed study and even when he first was in your rooms. What experience might that have been to caution him so? 

“It is freeing to be able to speak of this with you,” Dale continues with a smile you reflexively return. “To feel there is no curtain of confusion between us. My own hope had been for such a mate, a confidant.” You squeeze the hand still clasped with his because that is all you wanted as well. He squeezes back. “I’m not sure how we got here while taking such a stilted and quite frankly, human route. It is so far from what I would have expected and gone by so quickly.”

“The time has flown,” you agree, “and yet it also seems a lifetime ago I stood in your rooms after the incident and tried to meet you anew.”

Dale looks startled. “Did you know even then?” He runs his free hand through his hair, baffled. “But we’d no chance to truly even meet, for me to demonstrate any sort of trustworthiness. You knew then?”

“I suspected then,” you correct. “You were strange, but kind. It seemed very unlike the Dale I had only just started to get to know. He’d been acting oddly the night he must have summoned you. He did set the summoning in motion himself, yes?” Dale nods, still wide-eyed with interest and surprise. The effect is compounded by the five eyes he has with which to look back at you. “I knew of his studies with the demonic, I knew of his anticipation for the night, and then the sudden illness.” You shrug. “Well, I went to see him—you—on purpose. But all I could truly discern is that something demonic had happened. I didn’t know if he was still part of you and I’d frightfully little knowledge of demonology to leverage. It wasn’t until a few days later that my understanding solidified.”

Dale just shakes his head. “You knew all this time…”

“Were you not aware?” you can’t help but ask, nearly as surprised by the notion as Dale seems to be that you did know.

“I…No,” he frowns. “At times I thought you might. Later that first evening, I worried my reaction to the willowbark had been too vehement or that I’d said something strange while my memories and Dale’s were sorting themselves out. During the tournament, when you sought me out regarding Eastmount—that was when I came closest to thinking you knew what I was.”

“But you changed your mind,” you continue for him. You can see it in his face. “Why?”

“You assisted me,” he says plainly, lifting his eyebrows as if it were obvious. “You didn’t confront me or accuse me or try to leverage any sort of secret knowledge of what I was for your own gain. You didn’t turn me in or ask for my aid to advantage you or threaten me.”

“You thought so ill of me?” You can’t help the hurt that blossoms in your voice. “That I might do such a thing?” Hadn’t he known enough of you by then? You thought he’d understood, that he had seen who you were quicker than anyone else you’d known. Your hand starts to pull out of his without you meaning to. Unable to resist drawing back from him.

“That is what humans do with demons,” he says, almost pleading, pressing your hand to the bed to halt your movement, but not pulling it back towards himself. “Even if you were not one who sought selfish gain, then as a righteous human, you should have raised the alarm, formed a trap, done something to expunge the demon from your midst.” His vehemence is surprising, you feel caught out because he wasn’t wrong. Those are the two expected reactions. “I had thought I’d misjudged you since you had seemed to know, but not do any of those things. I was waiting for the demand of what you wished for in exchange for your silence. It never came.” Dale shakes his head again. “I concluded you didn’t know. It was the only explanation that fit. That, at most, you suspected Dale had enhanced himself with demonics and were willing to aid him in his one-upmanship with Eastmount.”

“I see.” On one hand you do truly understand his caution. He is a feared stranger in a foreign land, which goes doubly for Northridge given Grandmother’s attitude. You know plenty who would have done as he suggested, but… You also know some who would not have. Surely he must have Dale’s own memories of humans mixed up in demonology that wouldn’t have reacted so poorly. It's such a specific fear. “Has…has that happened before? When someone found out you were possessing a different human in the past?”

“I…” He freezes, all of his extra eyes closing up, although the two that remain are still glowing, black all but gone from them. “Yes. It has.”

A bolt of anger on Dale’s behalf straightens your spine, even though you know how humans react to demons. It's not even unwarranted most of the time. But this is Dale, your fiancé—your Dale. Did they simply not know him? From all the stories you’ve heard, most demons make their true intent, if it is destruction, known quite quickly. It’s why you’ve become more comfortable with Dale as time has passed. “I don’t know what circumstances there were, but you’ve not behaved in a way that would cause me to betr—to react in such a manner. 

“I would not have blamed you. Demons can be quick to turn on each other as well.” His voice was strangely soft and earnest as he spoke, as he tried to absolve you of these potential feelings and actions against him. “It’s not humans alone who have decided that it would be better to no longer act in concert with me before.”

It breaks your heart, to hear him say it so plainly, so gently. You can see now you are working against a lifetime of betrayal, or so it seems to you. You search for something, anything, to communicate your sincerity. A reason to push any lingering fear of such possibility in the future as far from his mind as you can. 

“You saved my life tonight, Grandmother’s life.” It’s the most tangible, most straightforward reason you could see that he might believe for your trust in him. You wait, but he doesn’t disagree. You have his rapt attention. “We are working towards the same goal, are we not? You’ve more than proven your dedication to Northridge tonight, to my satisfaction.” You don’t see it so plainly, so unemotionally, but you want to impress upon him that you are aligned together. You wait for his slow nod of acknowledgment. 

“Nothing you have done has persuaded me otherwise,” you work hard to make your voice as steady and sure as you can. “It never crossed my mind to try to entrap or exorcize you tonight.” You hope by focusing on now, he won’t try to argue this specific point. You don’t have such concrete reasons for your feelings before and so you’re not sure he’d believe you’d never really had the inclination once you actually met him. Otherwise, he’s right: some things need that time to grow and solidify. You want to make damn sure you’re starting on the right foot. You will gain the rest of his trust going forward.

Dale leans closer, an eye opening up. He tightens his grip on your hand as he does so. You wait on pins on needles for his response. “I believe you. Thank you.”

You want to shift the topic back to lighter matters, but you’re unsure of how to do so. “Demons truly have turned on you as humans have?” is what comes out instead. You wince.

Dale doesn’t seem to take offense. “Yes, as I was not born into a group that survived, I sought to join others.” You want to ask so much more about that, but you can tell by the way Dale is moving past this part of his past, that he doesn’t want to share that now. It’s late. It's been an incredibly long day, you understand. You’ll be able to ask him for details on all of this because you’re getting married. You’ll have your whole lives to learn everything about him. He’s staying, you reiterate to yourself. You can no longer picture your future without him.

“The majority of demonic clans are very insular and do not take kindly to outsiders,” he says with a frown. “They see nothing wrong with treating said outsiders with little…regard or integrity. This is why the courting ritual I described is spread out. To allow time to pass without betrayal or shifts in alliances to occur. To demonstrate the connection can weather time and outside forces.”

“And to feel confident in telling anything more personal to their prospective spouse,” you add, nodding. Sure there is gossip and alliances and even violence within the nobility on the Surface—tonight’s more than proved that—but not on the scale Dale’s describing. You’re abruptly very grateful for the world you live in. You’d likely not survived his.

“Precisely,” Dale confirms. “Information that might have been construed as weaknesses to be exploited, but not can be trusted to not be taken advantage of.”

This does fit with the rumors and heresy you’ve heard about demonic ways of life. It’s a wonder any of them manage to mate at all. Still, you’d hoped for something else, something you could do besides ‘not betray him’. For Dale. To show that you accept him. To demonstrate your sincerity to the marriage. To signify your clarity who he is. You know that marriage is with a demon and you want him, not anyoneelse. You want him to know that before the night’s through. “So there aren’t any other differences in courting that you are surprised about? Or that we have not participated in?”

Dale frowns as he thinks. You try to determine if it's the moonlight and wind painting strange shadows on his form or just him without pretense. He’s mesmerizing either way. “Couple’s often take a journey together or begin to merge their territories prior to being bound as formal mates. You’ve already come to live in our territory and we’ll be taking our tour after the wedding. I don’t believe much can be done to accelerate that at this point.”

“No,” you have to agree, although you understand now why Dale had been so eager for the tour and are doubly glad to be doing it. “Not in our circumstance.”

“We already discussed and covered so many compatibility topics that there is not much left that I’d have wished to know about a potential mate. Well, I suppose it is unusual to have done little beyond dance,” Dale admitted, all but two of his eyes looking sidelong out the window now. “Physical compatibility in such matters is also considered relatively strongly. I suppose that has more weight for demons given our variety.” He sounds on the fence about how true he feels that statement is. As if he is giving you an excuse to brush past this topic and move on.

“Oh?” You hope that sounded calm. You hope your expression isn’t giving you away if your voice did not. “I, I do not mind, if you wanted, or rather,” you can’t get the words out in a coherent manner, too intrigued despite yourself, and your inability to talk sensibly is only making you more flustered. Memories of your fumble at a festival as well as memories dancing with Dale distract you. “If there was something else you wished to discover regarding our compatibility, I would not be opposed.”

Dale blinks at you in surprise, but without judgment. That lack of judgment is always one of the primary differences between who is Dale is now and who Dale was. It is the quality you appreciate the most. “Oh, you would not?” He sounds mildly intrigued and unflustered as he runs a few fingers through his hair. It’s unkempt and dark enough to melt into the shadows around you both, but you think it looks longer than it did even a few minutes ago. As if the strands spent more time tangled around his fingers this time around. “I constantly find myself torn between what Dale has experienced informally, what I know human society seems to expect, and what I would consider a reasonable level of intimacy for those who plan to join together permanently in merely a week.”

“Of course.” You can hardly keep the typical social rules straight, let alone your own memories and another persons and another society’s set of expectations. It’d drive you a little mad, you think. “I imagine such conflicting knowledge must be confusing.”

“It is,” Dales says emphatically, looking relieved to finally be able to speak openly. Then he sighs, looking mildly embarrassed for possibly the first time you’ve seen. “And I know I do not always play my part correctly.”

You feel a little bad for having had the same thought because, well, he isn’t wrong, is he? Nothing much you can say to that. Still, you want to reassure him. “When we are in private, you don’t need to worry about playacting correctly. You’ll wear yourself to the bone if you tried to keep up a facade constantly.”

“I appreciate your saying so,” he says with a tentative smile you’ve not seen before. It’s sweet. It would have looked out of place on the original Dale’s face and yet it suits this one so well. “It can be tiring. Not always and there are times when even in public, with you, I still feel as I do now.”

You smile, pleased with yourself at having made him feel even somewhat comfortable in a land so alien to him. “It’s not as if I’ve not felt out of place before, although not to the same extent, but I want us to help each other. That’s why I wish for you to feel comfortable here and now, with me and our courtship. We are to be married and I want that to mean a partnership, mates, a true couple. No matter our differences and the strange circumstances we’ve found ourselves in.”

“As do I,” Dale murmurs, leaning closer. At first you think he’s simply relaxing his posture, until his hand reaches out to put a finger under your chin. His eyes are dark as they stare at your lips and you recall what turn the conversation had started to take before being sidelined. “So, you would not mind if I…?” 

Evidently Dale wishes to push the conversation back on track. His intent is obvious and he gives you plenty of time to pull away, but you still reply, only a little breathily, “I would not” before his lips cover your own. It’s a far more tentative and gentle kiss than the one human Dale had taken from you. Less awkward than your first kiss had been. You melt into his hold as he cups your cheek more firmly, angling the kiss just so. His lips are cool, but soft.

Dale parts from you only to press another kiss to your lips the next second. Kiss after kiss, the rest of the world melts away until there is only the two of you in the faint light, safe in this room. Your hands end up grasping the front of his shirt to keep him close, not that he seems intent on going anywhere. His hand tangles itself in your hair, cupping the base of your head while his other splays along your side to better pull you closer. 

He deepens the next kiss and you can taste him on your tongue, like coffee and cinnamon. You relax into his hold even as he seems to get hungrier, as he steals the breath from your lungs and every stray thought from your mind. Dale pulls an appreciative noise from the back of your throat. Your hands, still fisted in his shirt, slowly release their grip to press against his chest. He’s wonderfully solid beneath them, safe and whole and home. 

Dale belongs with you and you won’t let anything keep him from you.

You bury a hand in his hair, the cool, silky strands almost wrap around your fingers in return. Eventually, you have to use your hold to pull him back enough to breathe, but you don’t give him more than the space to allow you to do so. Dale pants against your lips. “Breathing is so…” Dale starts to mutter, almost absentmindedly, before he leans back in to dot kisses along your jaw.

You hum in agreement, pleased with his attention. Desire zips through your veins. Shadows move like flames in the moonlight, shifting across Dale’s body and around him. You swear you can almost feel them, like velvet against your skin. This night feels like a wonderful dream.

Dale’s large hands land on your hips, strong and sure. He makes his way back to your mouth, determined that neither of you can truly catch your breath, and starts pushing you further onto the bed, away from the end. Your feet leave the ground while he moves after you. Your own hands are occupied, holding his strong jaw, buried in his luscious, dark hair. At some point, while stealing your thoughts with his nimble tongue, he lifts you entirely from the sheets to maneuver you fully into the middle of bed. Even when he sets you back down, you're only kept even remotely upright by your hold on him.

“Sana…” Dale pants against your lips when he pulls back just enough for your lungs to remember their job. His voice is raspy and deep as he speaks through his own breaths. You meet as many of his eyes as you can, half-lidded but rapt with attention. “I have been wanting, no,” Dale corrects himself, “needing to familiarize myself with your scent.” He runs his nose down the column of your throat before burying his face in the crook of your neck. You feel his words against your skin nearly as much as you hear them. “As your touch, your appearance, your voice are already solidified in my mind. All brief glimpses of scent I managed to steal pitiable and meager until now.”

Your mind struggles to think of a coherent response. Is this part of demon courting? Having Dale wrapped around you, against you so intimately? The desire to know you by every sense. “Oh?” If so, you want more. Even if it’s merely something Dale wants, he’s welcome to it, to you.

“Your taste…” he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. “Half-remembered, filtered through that imbecile’s mind.” His derision for Dale’s opinion helps chase away your insecurities that he might be swayed by them. He scrapes his teeth against your skin and your mind fogs over. “I knew it to be a poor imitation of reality, but if I had known how poor, I’m not sure I would have been able to resist for so long. Want. More,” he says around licks and kisses to your sternum where he’s pushing against the barrier of your chemise.

“You, if you,” you stutter around the words, trying to string your thoughts together. You’d had daydreams about a fiancé you trusted enough and who felt passionately enough that you’d preempt your wedding night, like in so many hushed romantic stories. “Yes, you can, if you wa-ant.” When Dale merely continues to nose at your hem, you finally manage to say as plainly as you can, “Simply remove it.”

“Gladly,” Dale replies, eager hands already set on the task of riding you of your remaining clothing. It’s so freeing to be able to say exactly what you mean, what you want, and have Dale hear you. To have him immediately act on what you say. Your robe had fallen off at some point after his first kiss so there is only your chemise. He manages to divest you of it in record time, making sure the fabric doesn’t catch on your bandages. 

He stills to take in the sight of you, but only for a few seconds. As soon as the slightest inclination towards embarrassed self-consciousness starts to make themselves heard, Dale says, “Thank you,” so emphatically, you feel heat rise to your face and gather between your legs. 

“I—” Whatever you were going to say is lost as Dale immediately starts trailing kisses down from your neck to your chest. His other hand lands on your upper thigh and starts to massage and stroke at the skin there. You moan, eyelids slamming closed to better enjoy the sensations he’s provoking throughout your body. It's so much after so long of only dances and holding hands, but you feel as greedy as Dale is acting. With the taunt of courtship over, you want to be as close to him as you possibly can. 

He envelops a nipple in his mouth and lightning races down your spine to strike your core. You can feel yourself getting wetter as he continues. You ache for some friction between your legs but you don’t want to risk Dale stopping. As he switches sides, his hand coming up to tweak and rub your damp skin, you moan shamelessly. You want to drown in the sensation of Dale moving so eagerly against you. He’s ravenous.

Dale’s attentions push you back and you place a hand on the bed to try to steady yourself. It's not quite enough, not given your injured arm. You do your best to control your descent down on your side. Dale gropes at your hip as if to try to help keep you up before he realizes what you're doing and helps guide you down instead. 

His shirt disappears as you reposition yourselves. You move quickly to explore the skin now bared to you, feeling strange stripes of velvet mixed with soft human skin. The difference in textures reminds you of who you are with even though you can’t see his inhuman nature with your eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to weather the heat he’s stoking within your body.

Dale pushes you further back and you go with the motion until you feel the sheets against your bruised back. Flinching, your hands scramble against Dale’s skin as you arch away from the bed. “S-Sorry,” you pant, “Bruised. My back.” 

Dale’s already tipped you back onto your side and you see a tail with two eyes arc over your shoulder. He growls at whatever he can see in the dark. Shadow tendrils brace you between your shoulder blades and on your lower back so that you can relieve some pressure from your side and relax more in this position. His teeth seem sharper as he says, “I should have torn them to pieces for touching you. For hurting you.”

“You did,” you reply, not wanting to derail the mood even if the reminder of Dale’s defense of you certainly isn’t drawing you out of it. You don’t want Dale consumed by anger. You selfishly want his focus to be on you. “It’s treated as best it can be.” When that doesn’t seem to be enough, you cup his cheek, “Make me forget about it.”

Dale’s eyes ignite at the challenge and you feel a corresponding pulse between your legs. “Yesss, sana,” he hisses in agreement, pressing a kiss to that hand. He resumes his mission to memorize you with all his senses with renewed zeal. It’s easy to let him do so. With him pressed to your front and his shadow tails wrapped around to brace your back, you feel wonderfully enveloped by him. Safe from the world. Safe with him. 

“You seem like something I shouldn’t be allowed to have,” Dale murmurs, voice strange, distant and echoing. He presses more kisses further down your body. Even with nearly all his focus on the physical, he can’t help but think aloud with whatever part of him isn’t consumed with you. “Shouldn’t be allowed to keep.” 

The shadow tails supporting your back spread and his hands fasten securely to your hips. “Smoke in the wind,” a kiss to your stomach, “water in the hand,” a kiss above the thatch of hair you have, “a dream before waking.” He looks up the length of you, his eyes blue and dark and as hypnotizing as ever. “Fighting for this—you and Northridge—for this life tonight has made it feel so much more a reality rather than a far-off wish.” He presses another absentminded kiss to you. His thumbs stroke your skin and your hips roll in his hold involuntarily. “Something I would never truly be able to grasp.”

“You can,” you tell him, feeling nearly as desperate as he’s been acting, voice breaking on the words. Desire clogging up your throat. “If you d-desire… Dale,” you wail his name when he finally puts his mouth on you.

You lace the fingers of one hand into his hair, not able to judge what was too tight while your hips jitter in his hold. Overwhelmed by the sensation of that long adroit tongue dipping in for a better taste. Your head tips back as you try to push into him. He groans encouragingly as his hands move to your thighs and pry them apart to give him more space to work. The improved angle gives him more access, more contact, more ways to make you mewl with pleasure.

True to his words when he first began, Dale is ravenous for your taste, licking and sucking with an intensity that makes you little able to do more than take it. Unleashed, he must have truly been holding himself back before. The fight, that kiss, has broken some self-restraint he’d clearly been tightly holding onto. 

Dale devours you. He devours you until you’re a sweating, moaning, mess held firmly in his grasp. Until a final wave of pleasure pulls you under. 

You come back to yourself slowly to find Dale still between your thighs, carefully licking up every last drop of desire he’s managed to wring from you. You hope he’s satisfied with you. You hope he’s never satisfied. You hope he’s willing to make a meal of you again and again. “Dale,” you breathe out. Glittering, bright eyes look up at you, half-lidded and gratified, but still hungry.

Heat begins to rekindle in your veins as he lowers his gaze back down. As he begins to plant kisses and leave little sucking marks on your skin. As he works his way back up your body. You stroke through his hair encouragingly, languid and content to let him do as he pleases. He’s certainly proved himself worthy of the leeway. He pulls you upright as he goes and your free hand lands on his strong shoulder.

You don’t hesitate to pull him into a kiss once you're close enough. His mouth is wet with you still and you find yourself delighted with the evidence of his indulgence, his base appetite. When he pulls you into his lap, you take advantage of the additional height to lead the kiss. Dale gives way under you easily, letting you press your advantage and finally do some taking yourself.

You don’t break the kiss until Dale situates you perfectly in his lap to let his cock rock against your cunt. Your moan and instant attempt at grinding down against him leave you gasping. His large hands, spanning your hips and with fingers that dig into your ass, encourage your movements as he groans.

“You…” you try to give voice to the thought that’s been building in your mind without you realizing it, “the way you said my name…” You can still hear it echoing in your memory, but you need to hear it aloud. It’s what had helped stabilize your trust in him and you ache to hear it now. “After the fight…”

Dale shudders, something rolling through him, before he opens his mouth to breathe your name in that same resounding tone, the one that seemed to carry with it so much more than a single word ever could. Your eyelids flutter, as you feel that same comfort as before, but it has evolved. Now cinnamon spice and crimson tart berry streaked through that yellow warm honey. You feel it along your nerves, buzzing through your veins like warm, mulled wine. “Dale,” you gasp back, hoping you can convey something similar in return. 

Air flows from him like a breeze and his shadows gutter around him while he closes his eyes to the sensation. When he presses you back down against him there's a rumble you first mistake for a growl only to realize it’s a purr. “May I…?” His cock ruts against your entrance as if there was any doubt as to what he was asking for.

You're lost in this moment, in this feeling, and yet in that second, he takes to ask the real world breaks through. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, craving his own scent nearly as much as his craving for your own had sparked this fire into motion. “Yes, please, Dale—I need you.”

“Yes, sana, I do as well. I need you so very much,” Dale pants as he guides the head of his cock to where it needs to be and begins to push inside. 

Gods, he feels big. You remind yourself to relax, let yourself be pliable, and allow him in. One of his hands leaves your hip to stroke soothingly through your hair while he thoughtlessly babbles, “Yeeesss, so hot, so tight. Lights above, you feel better than… So good. Thank you, pretty, pretty mate for…for this, for this allowance, for this gift, f-fuck.” His words make you shudder and you must be dripping from them given how much more easily he makes his way inside.

Once he’s finally hilted in you, you both need the extra few seconds to take a breath. Him overwhelmed by you surrounding him judging by his scattered words and you for the stretch. The ache of being first too empty and then nearly too full. Soon you deliberately clench around him and he groans. You press a kiss to his neck to let him know he’s alright to move and then set to making it a mark on his skin.

Dale murmurs your name again, a faint echo of how he’d said it earlier. Shuddering, your teeth graze the mark you’re worrying on his skin. Instinctively, he thrusts in even though he’s only pulled halfway out which pulls a groan from deep in your throat.

The sound seems to set Dale off because soon he’s thrusting at a rhythmic pace, half with his own hips, half lifting you up in counterpoint to his movements. Your heat throbs at the demonstration of his strength. You pull your head back to take him in in the moonlight. Your demonic fiancé, demonic mate.

As you can feel another peak building, the pulsing between your legs getting stronger, Dale’s thrusts become more erratic. As soon as you notice, his thumb lands on your clit, obviously determined to push you over the edge with him. 

Dale buries his face in the crook of your neck. His voice resonates against you as he says, “I… I could…I should…” He starts to lift you off of him. “We’re not—”

His words are cut off with a loud moan when you push back against him, hands on his shoulders, muscles throbbing around him. To keep him inside you where he belongs. 

“No, no,” you say, mind overwhelmed with pleasure, but also coherent to understand he’s trying to cater to you even if it's not what you want, what you crave with a strength that would surprise you if you gave it a moment’s consideration. “Please. I trust you.” You know Dale wouldn’t leave you now. As far as you're concerned, you’re already married. He’ll never leave you again. “Please, stay inside.”

He growls your name in response and pulls you back fully onto his cock without needing further encouragement. His hands stroke up and down your sides, shadow tendrils controlling the pace of his thrusts. The additional sensation of his hands on your skin, on your chest, your nipples, combined with the kisses and marks he’s attempting to suck on your skin drive you to the final heights you need to climax, convulsing around his cock. Dale falls over the edge with you.

Bliss spreads through your body as Dale collapses backward, you sprawled on his chest. You’re sweaty and overcome and the most satisfied, most content you’ve been in… You let the thought fizzle out and merely sigh happily instead. What more could you ever need than Dale with you in your bed?

Languid sleep laps at your mind, but when Dale prompts you, you go through the motions of nighttime ritual. He murmurs an apology when you shudder from the feel of tepid water and sigh from any movement at all that’s not horizontal. Soon enough you’re clad in a fresh shift, Dale in only his own shirt, standing by the bed. He looks, with hesitation at the door.

“Do not leave, not until you must,” you say as you lean against him, hand over his heart. Not an ask, but not a demand.

“I won’t,” Dale replies, the solemnity of an oath, the fervor of a declaration of love—more powerful in the dark of your bedroom. He shuffles you over to the bed until you’re lying down against his chest once more. “There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.”

That warmth of belonging wraps around you at his words and you gently kiss his neck in answer, before mustering the sleep-weary words to say, “There’s no one else I’d want.” It’s so easy to admit now, so freeing to say aloud. 

Dale presses a kiss to your head. He echoes, “Only you.”

[outpost51]

The 51 Post

so. bad week, if the prolonged absence wasn’t enough of a clue. but! i did write a... moderate amount. listen, i've been coping with sims.

Contents:

Things You Might Have Missed

This Week's Jams

WIP Breakdowns

From the Skwad

Around the 'Blr

Things You Might Have Missed

get on my taglists for WIP updates, 51 post, tag games, and ask events!

BRHP: Chapter 17 posted; K A DM O S.

Unlikely Adventures, Ch 2 posted; it’s literally in the blurb but it hurt me to write too

BRHP: Chapter 16 posted; baby's first fight pit, and a family secret is revealed.

Murky Water: the 7th entry into the Lighthouse in the Fog shorts; our new Keeper finds her answers.

This Week's Jams

aliens (porcelain remix) || xylø, porcelain [spotify/youtube]

avoidant attachment || libby larkin [spotify/youtube]

fire fire || flyleaf [spotify/youtube]

no care || daughter [spotify/youtube]

let the flames begin || paramore [spotify/youtube]

devil’s teeth || muddy magnolias [spotify/youtube]

WIP Breakdowns

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

hngggg i am. behind. it’s all outlined but my god i was too tired to write much

Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself

[affectionately strangles zadimus]

Blinding Neon, Shades of Grey

[vibrates] hhhhhh i love the orville scene, i forgot how much i love the orville scene, yes i will post the orville scene this week if yall bully me (pls)

Stellar Parallax

elmorise.gif

Lighthouse in the Fog

8th short will be coming out some time tonight or tomorrow, it’s been an uphill battle to write today, anyway things have Developed in a Direction i was not Expecting

In the Works

i have noodled some of those random shuffle prompts. some of you are getting whacked with the emotions stick

From the Skwad

SSSC 006 wrapped up! see the entries here.

@thetrashbagswasteland posted a little too good to be true, a follow up to a little too much like me as their submission for MEBB 2023 and it is rife with snark

speaking of MEBB, @sparatus also published his triumphant return to His Original Bullshit: serpents in the garden and i am living. he also wrote skewed results for FFF208 bc we all need more teia

@uraniumwriting also wrote a submission for FFF208 in which caspian is forced to be a reporter for a day

we have FIVE updates from @teamdilf this week: a sweet piece in which adrien is offered some kittens, ch 20 of in-laws and the grandparents, this drabble that actually ripped my soul out through my eyes, ch 16 of man of many talents, and the first chapter of father, daughter, rocket launchers, and a side of wrex

@bambino1294 dropped the second chapter of upright tower and it was well worth the wait

@equusgirl has given us two more treats for sapphic summer: heaven or hell and if the bird likes it's cage so very much, why is the cage so tightly shut

@commander-krios wrote this squee-worthy despina/theron piece and also this stolen moment between jeff and john

@writernopal wrote a character study with mariel and sartor that i’m still thinking about actually, it’s wild to see how much the characters have developed between the first and third books

@asher-orion-writes posted another installment of fairweather YAY hhhhhh i fucked up and peeked at the last few lines before i read it and now i’m trying to wrap up so i can go eat it

Around the ‘Blr

@tabswrites blessed us with both the second chapter of ascension and chapter 4 of silver sentinels!!!

@vacantgodling’s art comms are open which i will be taking a look at given it does not fall through the holes in my swiss cheese brain, he dropped toph art that i’m OBSESSED with AND a lukewarm rejection sneep bc toph’s bday was the 7th. tell him happy birthday 4 me

bit over a week but i missed it last week — @autumnalwalker announced that the archivist’s journal is COMPLETE, so if you were ever looking for a reason to binge it, now’s the time (the anniversary is july 16th!). find it here @thearchivistsjournal

@captain-kraken dropped a sonhara lore masterpost oh my GOD

screaming crying frothing at the mouth over @liv-is’s fae headshots WOW

@void-botanist gave us the LORE on the revalo tailory & hotel and i will chew off my arm if tumblr doesn’t start giving me gd notifs about this

@artdecosupernova-writing dropped SO MANY shorts this week, so here’s the tag, go nuts; also a post on the planet holeph that i am eating with a spoon

we now have such amazing faces to put with the cast of @elshells’s agent ace (courtesy of @illjustpretend)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Outpost Updates Taglist: @tabswrites @writernopal @freedominique @asher-orion-writes @liv-is @starknstarwars @captain-kraken

Ask to +/- in the tags, replies, DMs, or HERE!

[slytherheign]

WORTH THE WAIT | tasm!peter parker

PART 3/5 OF WORTH: THE SERIES.

PAIRING: tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.3k

SUMMARY: it was time for you to start life anew in another country. back in new york, spider-man and his most trusted friends investigate the meaning behind the two letters carved on his back.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, depression, grieving, and cursing. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: 17+]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: the lists of people’s names and places i put in this chapter are entirely made up by me. if there are real people or places with those names, please know that it is purely coincidental.

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO TO SERIES MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.

"I'm gonna accept it," you stated.

Peter smiled even though you couldn't see it underneath his mask. It was bittersweet—how the moment he finally had a second chance at love, he had to let it go yet again.

It was for the best. He kept on repeating it to himself, ignoring how a part of himself believed that it wasn't. If being Spider-Man was meant to be a blessing, then why does he feel that it was a curse instead?

If only he could be selfish just this once. He wished to not care about the killer and keep you in bed for days; he wished to take you out on dates without threats waiting around the corner; he wished to be with you without fearing for your life; he wished for a normal life. But he supposed not every wish was given to become true.

So without any more doubt, he asked you, "When are you moving?"

"Mitch said it's urgent, so I guess in 2-3 days," you shrugged.

"Mitch?"

"Oh—my HR manager at work."

He nodded. "You two close?"

"Well, not that much," you admitted. "But he's very friendly, and he's the one who talks to me the most at the company."

"Okay," he replied blandly.

"Okay..." you stated slowly.

"Y-yeah. Cool. Seems like a nice guy," he cursed at himself for being too suspicious. But if he had to admit, though, he would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous.

"What about this apartment?" he asked.

"Well, this apartment would be clear since I'm moving out. I'll pack all my things and move them to my house before I leave. Why did you ask? Planning on moving here?" you teased.

If you only knew.

He chuckled. "Good one. Don't mind me asking, though," he started. "What about his things?"

You immediately understood who he was pertaining to. "His things are moving into my house as well."

"I just can't leave them—" you continued. "I don't want to leave them here."

He could sense that you were getting emotional. "When will you get back?" he averted the topic.

"I'm not actually sure," you confessed.

"Oh."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could give you an answer."

"It's okay—yeah-it's fine," he waved his hand. "All good here," he flicked two of his thumbs up.

“Well, do I get to see your face before I leave?” you joked.

He chuckled as he shook his head. “No, sorry.”

There was no confirmation of your return. He didn't even have the slightest idea if you would. But if you do, then all he had to do was wait.

If it took weeks, months, or even years, he was ready to wait no matter how long it would take to. 

And even if it took forever, then forever it shall be. He was prepared to wait for you.

The last time you saw Spider-Man was when he helped you move your things to your house yesterday. It was now 7 p.m., and you sat quietly on your room’s window sill. Being back at your family’s house was nostalgic in many different ways. The house itself was a souvenir. A reminder of the good times and the bad ones as every corner of every room brought you back to the moments you spent there growing up. Moments where your parents were still alive.

You took a tour around the place, deciding it would be a good idea before you leave this country. It was nice to be back here and relive some memories. You relished the feeling of being in every room—except one. No, not that one. You couldn’t bring yourself to go inside that room. The room with the large window that overlooked the most painful view. The room with the king-sized bed with yellow sheets.

You slightly opened the room’s door, not enough to go in or see what was inside but enough to trail your hands on the doorknob on the other side to click it. You shut the door, knowing that it was locked now, and slowly stepped away.

Your flight was scheduled for 9 a.m. tomorrow. You had no idea as to what kind of life you would face once you moved to Japan. Mitch has told you that he has ensured you would have a place to stay and that all you had to do was to get to the country and meet someone there to point you to your apartment. He also informed you that he was able to convince the company to let your stay be only for a month to test the waters. It was so you could have a choice whether you’d like to stay permanently in Japan or move back again to New York since he knew that a change this major would make a significant impact on your life.

You trusted Mitch. He was always kind to you.

You realized you should probably start packing for your trip. There was a whole new life waiting for you tomorrow.

Peter wasn’t able to visit you on your last day in New York. Don’t get him wrong, he very much wanted to, but the minute he woke up this morning, he was already busy figuring out the meaning behind the two letters carved on his back.

To not be too suspicious, Peter decided to evade wearing his spider suit until their investigation was over. With Carlos and Charlene’s help, they were able to get the names of places with the acronym of MG within New York.

They had a list.

And they planned to check all of them.

Metro Gate

“This is a subdivision, Peter,” Charlene stated the obvious. “How do we do this? We can’t check inside a house without a warrant.”

“At least the street cameras?” he inquired.

“We’ll find a way,” she replied.

Mrs. Gardens

“Negative, Peter,” Carlos looked at the different variations of plants around the place. “This is a plant shop owned by a grandma. Surely, a grandma like her isn’t physically able to attack people?”

“Hey, look—”

“What?” Both Peter and Charlene turned to face him.

“I think we need this for our apartment,” he pointed at a bonsai tree.

“Seriously?” Peter sighed.

“What? It’s pretty…”

“It is pretty,” Charlene agreed, defending her partner from the tensed-up hero.

Peter sighed once again, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Middle Grove

“This is the same as the Metro Gate one,” Charlene informed.

“Hmm,” Peter agreed with a nod.

“So, street cameras then?” she implied.

He nodded.

Mega Grand

“Now, this is something,” Carlos reacted. They looked at a great sign that lit up above the vast casino.

Peter didn’t even notice that the sun had set until he looked at how the light emitted by the sign lit up brightly against the night sky. This finding-out-who-scorpion-is thing was becoming tiring, and the fact that today was your last day in the city and he couldn’t spend it with you was crushing him.

Charlene broke his thoughts with a question, “Alright, so where do we start?”

“Hold on—“ Carlos interrupted. “I believe we’re underdressed for this place. There’s no way we’re going to get in wearing these,” he motioned at the casual clothes they were wearing.

“What do people here even wear?” Charlene asked, but her question was immediately answered when they saw a couple wearing a suit and a cocktail dress get in. “Nevermind.”

“Should we just go back tomorrow?” Carlos suggested.

“No,” Peter replied almost instantly. “We can’t afford to waste too much time. How about we go to your apartment and change for a bit and then come back here?”

“Yes,” replied Charlene. “That could work.”

You heard your phone ring while you were in the middle of packing your things. Sighing, you picked it up to set it between your ear and shoulder. You didn’t bother to see who it was and just continued to pack the rest of your things.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hey, Y/N,” you heard Mitch on the other line.

“Oh hey, Mitch! Why’d you call?”

“Hey, c’mon man! Make that call later!” you heard someone shout in the background. Mitch only chuckled and continued, “Just wanna ask how you’re doing?”

“Well—” you tried to answer, but the loud screeching of a chair and the slight sound of coins hitting metal made you take your phone away from your ears. “I’m currently packing for the trip.”

“Good—that’s good. You feeling excited?”

“Nervous, more like,” you chuckled. “But yeah, I guess excited too.”

“Hey, don’t worry. That’s normal,” you hear the slot machines spinning on the other line. “Alright, nice talking to you. Good luck tomorrow.”

You were about to reply, but he had already ended the call.

Clad in their dress and suits, the trio was back at the Mega Grand’s entrance, ready to explore the place.

“Peter?” Carlos called him, asking for his plan.

“Get inside. Observe the surroundings. Familiarize the faces,” he ordered. “And if it’s possible, get the names of the usual gamblers.”

They entered the place smoothly. Not even the biggest one of the guards took a second glance at him or the two officers. Only people with memberships could get into this place, but they were able to keep an act that Charlene was a celebrity and he and Carlos were her bodyguards.

Peter spoke up the moment they were able to get inside. “Let’s meet back here after an hour,” he said, getting a headstart towards the tables.

“On it,” the two officers acknowledged.

Peter strode the place with a cool act. Every gambling table seemed to have a crowd of people around it watching. He was able to join one of them with no effort.

So far, the people around the table had nothing suspicious. But he continued to observe just in case. That was until he heard someone shout loudly from another table.

“Hey, c’mon man! Make that call later!”

He decided to leave his position and walk towards where he heard the shout. Just as he was finding a good spot to observe the table from, the man who shouted left with a loud screech of a chair, announcing that he was going to the bathroom.

Minutes passed by, and the man returned. There was nothing suspicious or interesting happening at that table as well, except maybe that a guy went to the bathroom and another one—that he didn’t see the face of, thanks to the unbelievably big crowd that was covering the view—was on his phone wishing someone on the other line good luck for tomorrow.

He figured he would explore the place more before meeting back with his two friends.

It wasn’t long until they met up with each other. Considering that it was pretty late and they had had an exhausting day, they decided to share each other’s findings in the morning.

You boarded the plane with a bittersweet feeling. You can’t believe you were about to leave the city for forever—or a month at the least.

Opening your phone as you sat waiting for the plane to leave, you decided to send a text to Peter. You knew he wouldn’t be able to read it, of course, but it would make you feel better to somehow let him know you were about to leave New York.

Hey, Pete.

God, I haven’t texted you for so long.

You couldn’t hold back the tears that started to form as you typed the words.

I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving the city.

But don’t worry, I’m still going to visit you and the house. Oh and speaking of the house, your things are there too. I figured you wouldn’t want them to stay at the old apartment (they might throw it away haha).

You chuckled bitterly, sighing as you fought with yourself whether to text what you were thinking of sending or not. He’s dead. Why were you even still struggling to say it? Shaking your head, you sent the words.

I’m sorry, Peter.

For leaving.

You quietly gasped for air as you struggled to control your tears. Fortunately, the seat next to yours was still unoccupied and the people around you paid no attention or didn’t notice you. You wiped the tears that escaped with the sleeves of your grey jacket as you continued.

I miss you so much, Pete.

I love you.

You closed your phone and turned it into airplane mode. Minutes later, the seat next to yours was taken and the plane left the city.

You spent most of the flight asleep. But when you woke up, you couldn’t avoid the nagging feeling of wanting to get back.

You remembered Spider-Man. He was a great friend. In some ways, he reminded you of Peter. Their mannerisms were the same—the constant movements of their hands when they talked and their rambling about random things. Even their voices were so similar. But he’s not Peter, of course. No one comes close to Peter.

You felt sad that you had to leave the hero behind. You wondered if he had other friends—shit, you hoped he had other friends because it would suck knowing you just left someone entirely alone. Or maybe it was because of that reason you really decided to go—to leave him alone.

You made it seem to Spider-Man that the reason you decided to go was because he pushed you to. That was why you asked for his opinion, right? And while it was true because admittedly you were skeptical about going, you purposely missed out the part that whether or not he pushed you to go, you already made up your mind on going; the hero wanting you to accept the offer was just your go signal.

You were aware that it was cruel to play with his mind and potentially his heart as well. But you convinced yourself that it was for the best—not only for you but also for him. 

Somehow, you managed to lose everyone you have ever loved. If it wasn’t your family or Peter dying, it was your friends leaving. Regardless if it was your fault or not, you felt as though a curse had been set upon you that set it in stone that whoever got close to you would leave in an incredibly painful manner.

The real reason why you left was because of that.

The truth was, you cherished every moment you spent with the hero. You had gotten close to him, and he had gotten close to you in return.

What was worse was that you saw yourself loving him—Spider-Man.

You couldn’t let that happen.

So you left in order to prevent any future loss and heartbreak.

Peter groggily woke up from the couch, deciding to start his day immediately. There was no time for extra minutes of sleep when a killer was on the loose. After showering and dressing himself, he made breakfast for the three of them to share.

Moments later, they finished up their meal and settled to work right away. They made up a plan to ensure the day would be productive.

Peter was to go to Metro Gate and check the street cameras. Considering that it was a private subdivision, he would need to go to its guardhouse to access the footage.

Carlos was to go to Middle Grove and do the same.

Charlene was to go to the station and check the city cameras.

They would meet back at their apartment in the afternoon.

“Carlos, you start,” Peter instructed when they returned.

“Okay,” Carlos nodded in response. “I checked the street footage from the last two weeks to yesterday. No suspicious movements. Middle Grove is safe and clear.”

Peter nodded. “I did the same with Metro Gate, checked the footage from the last month to yesterday just to be sure, also clear.”

Two things off the list—so far, this was going good. 

“Charlene?”

“I only double-checked yesterday’s footage since we already double-checked the ones before that, and we already have someone there to check the cameras every second constantly. Also clear. Scorpion is suspiciously quiet,” she reported.

“Also, I have managed to get the names of Mega Grand’s usual gamblers.”

You landed at the airport and were now waiting for your baggage. People around the place were already so lovely, and you sent everyone who welcomed you a smile. 

Remembering what Mitch had told you, you expected that someone was to be waiting for you at the arrival section already, so you made your way immediately to not keep them waiting for too long.

What you were not expecting was that someone was to be Mitch himself. 

“Y/N!” he greeted you.

“Mitch!” you accepted the hug he was offering. “Oh my God! Why are you here?”

“Surprise! I requested to be relocated as well. I figured you don’t want to be alone.”

“Wait, really? How long have you been here?”

“Yup! Been here for only like 2 hours ago and thought I’d just wait for you to arrive. Now c’mon, let’s go to the apartment,” he said as he helped you with your bags.

You both arrived at the apartment after a few hours of traveling. Mitch toured you around to get you started. “Where will you stay?” you asked him.

“Here.”

You were not expecting that.

“But there’s only one room?”

“Then I guess we just have to share,” he winked.

“Oh-okay,” you smiled awkwardly. “Well, thank you for the tour. I’m going to the bedroom to arrange my things.”

At least the room had two separate beds.

“Have you seen my phone?” Peter asked.

“No,” the two responded in unison. 

Peter shrugged. “I’ll just use the computer then. You say the names, and then I’ll search them on the internet.”

“Nice, I’ll do the same with my phone. That way, we can go through the list quickly,” Carlos insisted.

“Okay, let’s do this. Who’s on the list?” Peter asked. 

Charlene read the names aloud.

“Nick Grand”

“Emma Grand”

“Nick is the owner of the Mega Grand. Also a businessman,” Peter reported.

“Yup, and Emma is his wife,” Carlos informed.

“Jacob Truss”

“Allison Greta”

“Jacob is a fellow businessman and a good friend of Nick,” Peter answered.

“Allison is a college student from a very rich family. Her parents own a marketing firm,” Carlos responded.

“Madison Realle”

“Emman Gates”

“Madison is a classmate of Allison. And guessing from the really plenty of pictures of them partying together, they’re best friends,” Peter started.

“Emman is dating Madison and a cousin of Jacob,” Carlos added.

“Jade Winters”

“Amy Lee”

“It says here that Jade came from a rich family as well. Both parents are Grand’s business partners.”

“And Amy Lee is one of Grand’s business partners too.”

They crossed off 13 more in that list. “This is nuts,” Charlene sighed. “They’re all just rich people that are weirdly connected to each other.”

They were onto the last two.

“Mary Grand”

“Mary is the daughter of the Grand’s,” Carlos reported.

“Mac Gargan”

Peter tensed at the mention of the name.

“It says here that he’s a private investigator—” Carlos started to read, but Peter interrupted him.

“I know him.”

Both Carlos and Charlene turned to look at him.

“John Jonah Jameson hired him to investigate me before,” he admitted.

“J. Jonah Jameson? The news guy?” Carlos asked to make sure.

He nodded. “I used to work at the Daily Bugle as a photographer, and they were suspicious about why I had so many clear pictures of Spider-Man. They failed to know why. I left and had no idea what happened to Jonah or him after that.”

“Holy shit, Peter. His name,” Charlene swallowed, staring at the name repeatedly.

“Mac Gargan”

Carlos’ eyes widened as he realized.

“MG.”

“Fuck,” Peter murmured. “What else do we know about him?”

Carlos typed away instantly.

“It says here he has a twin,” he announced.

“Name?” Charlene asked. She was visibly tensed as well.

“Mitchell Gargan. He works at Greta Marketing Co.”

Peter had never stood from a sitting position so fast. As soon as he heard that name and that company, he knew. 

He had to find his phone and call you.

[cellophaine]

Lingered Affection (Chapter XIII)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Word Count: 4306

Series Summary: You thought breaking up with Matt was the right thing to do. For his sake and yours. Life went on as you navigated through it with the lingered love and affection you still had for each other, neither of you could let go.

Chapter Warnings: Shitty parents, angst?

Author's Note: Here we are again. I'm late even with my promise to update from probably 2 weeks ago. I'm rusty as hell, and I've taken all this time for a measly 4k chapter. I'm very sorry about that 🥲

I'd love to hear your thoughts, so don't hesitate to reach out! Any likes, comments, reblogs, feedback and ask submissions are greatly appreciated!

P/S: Matt doesn't actually look like this in this chapter. He's just wearing a cap! GIF by @maggiemurdockremade

"They never did, and never will."

The warm breaths in his lungs turned to smoke in the bleak air of late winter. The sharp cuts of wind whisked by, dulled by the coat he adorned. Matt had forgone his armour tonight for a specific reason, and that reason had yet made a move. Hidden in the shadow of the alley, he patiently waited. The blood in his veins still simmered angrily, which was the only thing that kept him warm right now. The deep breaths he took did little to dampen the scorching fire that took hold, spreading red, molten marks across his mind.

Matt could still feel the trembling of your lips on his neck when he coddled you with his arms around you. You nestled in his embrace, your face, dampened with tears, buried in the crook of his neck. He held you close with one hand on your back, the other on the side of your head, woven into your hair, soothing you so you could fall asleep. The ghosts of your sorrow still lingered on his arms, where your fingers had been. You held onto him so tight that it felt like you were afraid he would disappear, as if he was the only person who existed in that moment. The heartbreaking sounds of your gutted sobs and rugged breaths seared his soul, leaving a wound that still ached now when he was out, looking for his target. It tore him from the inside out to leave after seeing you so anguished. You were more than someone he couldn't get over. And perhaps you were right. He loved you too much, so much that his existence was woven tightly around you. A life without you would be a life of pure torment and cruelty. And Matt intended to never let you slip from his grasp ever again. 

So here he was, protecting his future with you by any means necessary. Still, your mother's voice lingered around like an ugly bloodstain that somehow further wrecked something that was already so terribly wrong. 

They were led to the quieter part of the heated patio, away from other patrons. He could hear the intimate exchanges, the off-key notes in the birthday song from a short distance away, and the annoyed huffs of air with a demand for a dry martini from your mother. He listened as the server hurried away, leaving him and your mother in each other's company.

Matt didn't intend to start a conversation with your mother. He had heard enough. The lack of compassion, empathy and love for her own blood spoke for herself. Matt had witnessed many unspeakable things that one person might do to others. Still, to feel it happen to you was a different kind of torture. At that moment, being in the same room as your mother, the silence was a blessing. But curiosity won.

"What is your true purpose here? I think you've made it clear that you're not here to make peace with her."

Clarice huffed; an irritated click of her tongue resounded in Matt's ears.

"She thought she could deny her root, deny her own parents. We're here to remind her that she can't." 

Her dress scruffled lightly on her skin as she made herself comfortable in one of the chairs nearby. Matt didn't bother sitting down, and Clarice, who didn't bother with the fake pleasantries, let him be and rubbed more salt into the wound.

"I didn't raise her to be such a disappointment to me. Turning her back against her own blood. She owes everything she has to me, to her father."

His fist clenched hard on the cane, the rubber pushed against the calloused of his palm.

"You don't own her. She's not an object to possess."

Clarice slammed a fist onto the table, rattling the burning candle and the settings. 

"I gave her this life. So don't tell me that bullshit."

She leaned back, running her hands through her hair in an attempt to calm herself before continuing.

"It's not like she ever listen to senses anyway. She only ever does what she wants. Wasting her time on meaningless, impractical shit she calls art ..."

Her exasperation trailed off as a low and hasty pattern of block heels clicked rapidly on the floor, approaching the two of them. New scents entered the scene, something of a decent aftershave, a strong cut of mixed alcohol and a touch of citrus. That was how Matt felt at this moment. He was on the stage, reliving the tragedy that was your past with all the horror. Yet, the pain was so clearly present that he felt as if it had never left. 

Matt sighed, trying to drive the point home with his hidden gaze directed towards where Clarice was lounging, sipping on her dry martini. It was another normal day to her, as if she didn't see her runaway daughter just minutes ago.

"I can't see her works for myself, but I appreciate her passion and love for what she does. She's actually doing great, making a name for herself. Shouldn't you be proud?"

Matt remembered the way your voice changed when you talked about new discoveries, the way your body seemed to vibrate with excitement when you got to try new paints, the intense focus when you worked, and the joy radiated from you when you finished a piece. The gentle swirls, the light taps, and the soft stipple of your brushes on the canvas with precision meshed together, creating your own rhythm that stuck in his head. A song that was always changing, and so unmistakably yours. 

Your mother scoffed, dismissal weighted heavily in her words.

"Proud? What is there to be proud of? It clearly showed that she's not that much well-off now than when she left home. So please, tell me: how can she pay us back when we want it?"

Something clicked in place for Matt. For a moment, he saw you through your mother's lenses. You were nothing but a mere investment, something to be controlled with force and bruises. At the realization, he was revolted, his jaw clenched, his body ran warm with utter disbelief and anger.

Matt was proud of the person you had become despite what your parents put you through. You came to New York with little to no money. He remembered your cheap plastic palette caked with old paint; the texture was rough with chips of pigment that lingered on his fingers when he touched it. You helped him wash them away with gentle hands and told him how you didn't have the heart to throw the palette out because it had stuck with you for so long. It reminded you of when money was tight, when you couldn't afford basic necessities, much less a better piece of art supply.

Despite your struggles, you never asked of him anything. You even scolded him when he tried to help you with basic stuff. Your independence was admirable, and he loved you all the more for it.

Clarice took Matt's silence as a sign to carry on with her rant. 

"We fed her, clothed her, we gave her a roof over her head. Many, many people don't have that. She owes everything to us, and what did she do? She smeared shit all over this family's name."

His fist clenched tighter onto the cane as if he could crack the handle from the sheer force. Matt cleared his throat but did not succeed in keeping the touch of indignation from spreading in his voice.

"You fulfilled her basic needs. That doesn't exempt you from the abuse you put her through."

Your mother chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. The delicate clinks of her expensive earrings contrasted the unpleasant crackle in her forced laugh.

"Is that what she told you? That we "abused" her? She's always been this dramatic, exaggerating what simply was discipline."

She took a deep breath to compose herself.

"You don't know what real discipline is. I wouldn't expect you to understand, Matthew. From what I know, your father wasn't a very good example. He didn't stay around long enough to at least try to be a good one anyway."

He was taken aback by the malicious intent in her words. His brows furrowed, his lips parted as the unexpected blow descended on him.

"How did you know?"

The calmness in his tone was deadly. But Clarice didn't notice, as she took a sip of her drink before calmly carrying on.

"After we found her through our private eye, we had them looking into her life here. We needed to know what kind of people my daughter associates with. Admittedly, there wasn't much to read about, except for you. And I must say, I'm immensely disappointed."

His patience has reached its limit. And if he didn't get out of there soon enough, he believed the fragrant smell of your mother's perfume would suffocate him to death. Your mother watched Matt through the rim of the glass as he sighed sharply, shaking his head. 

"You know what? I'm glad that you're here."

"Of course you are. Somebody has to knock some senses into her–"

Matt held out the hand that wasn't crushing the cane, effectively cutting her off.

"If it wasn't for you, she'd never leave that hell hole that you called her home. I'd never gotten to meet her, to get to know her. Despite your horrible parenting and abuse, she still turned out to be a good person. A better person than the both of you combined."

Clarice scoffed incredulously, clearly offended by the remark. She didn't bother to keep it civil anymore, letting the bitterness sink its teeth into her voice.

"And on what ground you're judging us on? You see us as greedy, materialistic devils with horns sticking out of our heads, don't you?"

He merely shrugged. Clarice stood up from her spot, stepping closer to Matt. He could smell the redolent note of rose in her perfume more clearly now, even with the scent of vermouth and gin triumphed over it.

"I doubt that the fund your dead father left you or whatever it is that you're living on won't last for much longer if you keep living the way you do now. You're a lawyer who does only pro bono work in a broke independent firm that doesn't earn jack shit. If my daughter had known better, she wouldn't be with the type like you."

Matt's nose wrinkled slightly at the proximity, but he entertained her by not backing away. His voice came out certain and unwavering.

"She loves me for who I am, not for my money or what I can offer her."

Clarice sneered; her pointed finger stabbed his chest, the sharp nail dug into the soft material of his shirt.

"And who are you without it? Money equals privileges, and even God can't help you when you're down on your knees, begging for scraps. I've been there before, and trust me, you don't want that to happen to you."

Matt's hand came up to meet Clarice's, removing her finger from the lapel of his suit with the lack of kindness he often extended to others. Your mother spoke lowly in warning, unfaltering from Matt's crude action.

"If you know what's best for you, you'll stay out of our family business."

Matt huffed, his lips lifted at a corner in a mocking, almost challenging, manner.

"No, I'm fine where I am. Which is next to her and away from you two."

He stormed out of the patio, searching for the door with the help of a waiter nearby. Coming back to the cozy atmosphere inside, Matt heaved hard; his chest felt constricted with every breath he took. But, at the very least, he was out of your mother's suffocating company. His pace quickened, maneuvering between tables towards the scent of you, towards the pattern of your heartbeat. From this distance, he could pick up the trail of your conversation, which wasn't going well considering your father's last words.

"... still very naive. Let this be a reminder that I'm your father. I know you best."

That only fueled his anger, stoking the flame in his chest. He wanted to get you far from there, protecting you from the reaching claws that once sunk into your flesh and mind, feasting on your spirit until you were nothing but an image. A ghost in your own mortal body. It took all of his self-control not to rough your father up right then and there. He understood the risks and how it would only hurt you had he acted on his violent urges. So, he settled for a warning with an idea that quickly took shape in his mind.

The familiar scent of gunpowder, metal, and paper returned, pulling him out of the mist he was in. Matt listened as the footsteps receded, moving towards the main street. He tugged the cap on his head to cover most of his face before moving silently, following the trail your father left behind.

It took him a while to find Arthur. He started with the faint trace of expensive cologne and champagne from the restaurant. It was no easy feat, but eventually, he tracked it down to a fancy brownstone in Chelsea. Your parents' voice echoed between the walls, and Matt caught onto the vague exchange about your father's whereabouts for the next few hours. Arthur going out at this odd hour in the night was not the only thing that alarmed Matt. It was also the men that came to pick him up. They were armed with guns and what could be short blades for closed-up combat, all hidden within the layers of their clothes. Everything about this felt wrong. 

Matt flagged down a cab and asked the driver to follow your father's vehicle. The car they were in was soundproof, making it harder for him to decipher the muddled sound. The route was meticulously planned, weaving between the quiet neighbourhoods and empty streets, staying away from the prying eyes of unwanted audiences. After what felt like a far enough distance from the starting point for the air to change, the car stopped. Your father and his men stepped out before continuing on foot. Matt waited a moment before leaving the cab and following their tracks while taking in his surroundings. The area was a quieter part of the city. Judging by the salt air, piscine smell and musky atmosphere, he suspected he was in Lower East Side, not too far from East River.

Matt kept his head down and the collar of his coat close to his face. Trailing behind them with an unsuspecting distance, he went into an empty alley when the group entered a building. The door opened briefly for Matt to catch onto the gentle vibrations of some machines and water sloshing. He focused on their heartbeats when they gradually faded, and to his confusion, disappeared completely. His wariness grew as he refocused and tried to find your father again, only to fail.

He crept up to it to scout for more details. From this vantage point, he could smell the strong floral scent of fabric softener, detergent and bleach. The sound of fabric rubbing against each other in the machine told Matt what he needed to know: this was a laundromat. He listened more and couldn't hear the heartbeats he had lost track of for an unknown reason. But it also gave him an opening. 

Matt inched closer to the building until he stood before its door. Taking a deep breath, he went in. A person on his left sat on the table with their feet dangling to the beat in their headphones. The volume was so loud it made him concerned for them. Matt faked being drunk, keeping his posture low and unbalanced, and lucky for him, the only person in the laundromat didn't pay him any mind. He searched around with his sense to find an empty room adjacent to this one. He went for it, making his way to the back of the room where the entrance was. His hands searched along the wall for the door, which opened after a great effort to wrench the rusty latch off. 

Immediately, Matt was hit with a potent smell of bleach and disinfectant. It was so overwhelming that he had to stop to regulate his breathing for a few seconds. After his senses adjusted to the odour, Matt desperately tried to root out the distinctive scent of Arthur, the tang of gunpowder, anything that could give away where they had gone. Yet, he came up empty. It was almost as if they had disappeared into thin air before him, much to his bewilderment. All he could hear was a loud cough in the laundry room and the gentle lulls of the washing machine. Nothing was out of sort. It was a regular night, just like any other. 

In the days after that night with your parents, you fell hard into a cycle of reliving the old memories and pain that came alive. You let them go haywire and dealt with them piece by piece until your head couldn't take it anymore. The little progress you made was towards the reluctant and yet, clear acceptance that your parents didn't love you. The part in you that was still in denial of the fact resisted, deflecting and blaming that you didn't deserve love at all. You simply were not worth it in their eyes. And it crushed you. Even though it was only a result of your mind's manifestation, it still hurt. It was like a stray thread that you kept pulling. Pulling and pulling until there was nothing left but those bitter thoughts of how you could change and be better to fit into your parents' ideal. If you had cut your dreams short instead of nurturing them. If you had accepted everything they gave you instead of running away. After all, you weren't the only one with parent issues.

You were torn between what you knew was right and what you thought you deserved. The notions fought in your head, and they never quieted down. You couldn't shut them out. You drew into yourself, feeling vulnerable with your thoughts exposed and bare for your own judgement. 

Always ungrateful. 

They didn't have the right to do that to you. 

Always inadequate. 

Sleep didn't come easy. Your eyes couldn't stay shut through the night. As soon as Matt was gone on his duty, you found yourself wide awake. The morning came, and you stayed up with the sun, forcing yourself to be useful by working from home. Matt's presence always lingered at your side, sometimes from a distance away. He watched over you in his own way, taking care of you the way he knew how. He ensured you ate enough, much to your resistance and even lack thereof. And he was there to chase away your thoughts when they became too much. Matt did it wordlessly, for he knew almost nothing could coax you out once you were in deep. He did it with kisses on your forehead and temples. More tender pecks fell on your shoulders when he held you close; soft rocks back and forth and smoothing hands on your back brought you to sleep easier. He doted on you, knowing how much you needed it. 

Still, you couldn't help but feel a nagging sense of being a burden again, just like those weeks that led up to your breakup. It was only a few months prior, yet, so much had changed. 

One thing stayed the same: you closed yourself up and spared Matt no detail of that night. You shut him out of your overbearing thoughts. Your self-pity felt so insignificant that you hoped it would go away on its own. Guilt overflowed, for you knew he waited for you to be ready to talk. And Matt, being the ever-so-patient man he was, let you be. He didn't push for what was said, silently and earnestly providing you comfort and relief.

Your grief for something you never had gradually turned into anger. You slowly came to terms with reality and picked yourself up with a renewed sense of purpose. You were driven by resentment and the disgust you had for your parents. For once, you wanted the upper hand. You thought about the project he told you, the very reason that brought him to New York, and decided two could play this game. 

You got out of Matt's apartment after days of making a dent in his home. You went out more often and seemed more energized when you returned late at night. Matt took that as a positive sign, and you knew he wouldn't approve if he knew it was for all the wrong reasons. But fuck that. You wanted to pursue this new purpose rather than wait for your father's move. And when that purpose was given the green light in the notification of a coming text, it was just in time for the fundraiser. 

Your reflection in the mirror looked much better than how you felt. With the well-fitted knee-length gown and some colour to your cheeks, you cleaned up nicely even with the absence of decent nights of sleep. Still, you could see the bags under your eyes, the lack of energy, a hollowed-out shell of a person that was only half there. The suppressed wrath danced in your blood, along with the anxiety of what might unfold tonight. You needed everything to go smoothly. As smoothly as you could manage without Matt knowing.

Speaking of the devil, Matt called for your attention through the device on top of your dresser. You let it ring once, twice, before answering. Your nickname in his voice on the other end poured into your ears, soothing with a touch of uncertainty.

"I thought I would see you at my place by now. Where are you? Is work holding you up again–?"

"– no, it's not work. I'm… I'm at my place. I'm just not … feeling well right now."

You inwardly chastised yourself. Lying to him, again. But it was only this time, right? It was only a harmless little white lie with no repercussion. You had to ensure that he couldn't find out. A brief silence passed, and when you thought he had caught your lie, his tone came through with a finality.

"I'm coming over."

"No!"

Realizing the harshness in your verbal reflex, you eased back.

"I mean– it's okay. I'm okay. It's nothing. You don't have to come over."

The words rushed out of you. It was almost as if returning to the warmth of Matt's arms had chipped away your ability to lie to him. There was a pause on his side as if Matt tried to see you through. 

"Sweetheart, is everything alright?"

His gentle and urging tone made you mentally kick yourself. He was probably worried about you, and here you were, shielding yourself from him again.

"Yes, everything is fine. I'm fine."

Another moment of hesitation, and you felt like your heart couldn't beat any louder.

"Are you sure? You seem–"

"I said I'm fine."

You cut him off sharply, your tone cold and distant. You hated how you put yourself into this position. Lies, lies and more lies. 

"No, you're not. Don't lie to me."

Matt was right, but his gentle demand triggered your defence mechanism.

"Why do you think I'm lying to you?"

"The way you're acting right now makes me think like that."

You couldn't help the way your pride rose to meet with the accusing tone on the other end. Your voice quivered slightly at the edge, but it came out steady, offended with sarcasm dripped off the words.

"Oh? The way I act? And what is that?"

"All defensive and secretive, like you're hiding something."

Fuck. Matt being right only pushed at your stubbornness in the worst way. A taunting satisfaction dangled before you, and in the heat of the moment, you gladly took the bait.

"Maybe I have nothing to hide. Maybe, I just want some space away from you."

As soon as the words left your mouth, regret washed over your tongue with a bitter taste of punishment. Matt didn't deserve this. You bit your lips hard, unable to bring yourself to say anything else. Silence spurred on. All you could hear was your spiralling heartbeat. 

You sighed, softening your voice.

"Look, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Nothing came from his end. Moments passed, and you didn't have the heart to bear it anymore. You hung up, exhaling loudly as if a hefty weight was lifted off your shoulders. You took another look at yourself in the mirror. Still tired and hollow, but now, a touch of guilt reached your eyes, seemingly dragging your posture down. You physically shrugged it off, standing up straight. For what you were about to do tonight, you couldn't let your nerves go astray. There wasn't time for this. The amends would have to wait until you got back.

You walked down the stairs, stepping into the busy pavement full of pedestrians going about their nights. You didn't have to wait for long until a black car with its windows tinted pulled up. You watched with careful eyes as the driver got out of the vehicle, nodding in acknowledgment. He pulled the door open, stepping aside for you to get in. An uneasiness rose in your stomach, but you tamped it down and settled into the leather cushion. The car pulled away towards your destination, with you unaware of the shadow that was only steps behind. 

Join my taglist: @juniebugg @lov3vivian @chocokaylarobin @allthecurls-misc @lover4jane @pantaeudaimonia @mysticaltwoface @stanfordscrush @cc13723things @dailybuglearchives @lover1307 @thestarsanctuary @thetiny-hufflepuff @leotatombs @chelseaxteens @underoos-shield @phantomkindalikejaiden @seaveysinn @justlenastuff @triumph-of-form-over-content @sailormajinmoon @lucyysthings @daredalek @uncle-eggy @hunnybunimdun @its--fandom--darling @bhayatsara @freeshavocadoooo @bibliophilesblog @federleichtefreiheit @zoekrs @moogiethecow @taylordidsomthingbad @lorosette @sunfairyy @dmltnlvr @minxsblog @dropsofprecipitation @bubblebuttwade @americancowgirl19 @barewithme02 @multibishh @mariaenchanted @ohwauwdoritos @lazyxsquirrel @stevenknightmarc @thelaststraw3 @0shippingtrashaway0

(Please let me know if I missed anyone! If you're not on the list, that means I can't tag you!)

[clairecrive]

Hello beautiful person! Do you take requests which ask you to write a second chapter for your writings? If you do, may I ask a second chapter for "Rare"? And if you don't could you please let me know so I can be careful for another time when I ask a request?

I hope this is not something that disturbes or irritates you. I love your writing, it is beautiful and sometimes I read your pieces over and over again. 😁

Thanks for blessing us with your writing. Have a nice day.💕

A/n: First of all anon, thank you so very much for your sweet words! They mean the world to me <3 Also, your request could never irritate me! I love them and I love the fact that you consider me half a decent writer enough to send me your thoughts <3 I'm sorry it took me so long to get around this but I hope you like this and are still around to read it x

I've decided to pair it with a request for juicy time with Eddie. there's no actual smut but it's suggestive let's say.

Warnings: bit of angst, fluff,

Word count: 2.4K

Tags: @mollybegger-blog, @evelynshelby, @br0ck-eddie, @fandom--0verdose, @shadow-of-wonder, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @sopxhiea, @fuseburner, @for-bebbanburg, @crazyclownchick ( fill in this form to be added to my taglist)

Part 1

TOM HARDY MASTERLIST

You weren't exactly new to heartbreak. You had been a teenager after all but your experience with adult relationships had not been that good either.

You knew that you'd be over Eddie even if it may take you some time. It's true that you had only been dating for a few months but you had really grown attached to him. It was one of the things you hated about yourself: the way you got attached way too soon, way too much.

Especially, in this case, seeing as Eddie hadn't been 100% in it in the beginning you had hoped that the more time you'd spend together, he'd see that you weren't so bad and that he'd grow to care for you. At least a little bit.

Turns out you were wrong.

As much as you hated being wrong, the thing that hurt you the most was that despite your best efforts, Eddie still didn't think you were enough for him. And how could you be when the benchmark was perfect Anne?

You stood no chance. You had been a fool for even trying. And now you were experiencing the burn for your foolishness.

This had happened often enough that you had developed a routine for dealing with heartbreak:

1) crying your heart out and indulging your sadness with whatever helped (mostly comfort food and Friends)

2) enough with indulging, it was time to pick yourself up. No more overeating although you still allowed yourself to cry if you felt like it

3) "I don't need him anyway" phase where you'd make a mental list of how your life was before and after whoever you had broken up with to remind you that they weren't as important as you made them out to be

4)"put yourself out there again" phase where you started going out again with the intention of meeting new people or simply having a good time.

As of this time, you were in phase 3. You noticed that there were some of Eddie's things littering around your apartment. So, you picked up a box and collected them with the intention of returning them to him, effectively closing this chapter. As you did, you made that aforementioned list. This time, with the added reason for your break up, it was a bit easier to remind you why breaking up had been the right decision.

When your hands closed on your favourite hoodie of his though, you couldn't help the pang in your heart as a flood of memories hit you.

You and Eddie doing a Friends marathon every Friday night.

Eddie giving this hoodie when you were sick because he knew how much you liked it.

Eddie taking the hoodie off for a whole other reason almost ripping it...

No.

Shaking your head, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Enough of that. It was over.

It was only a week later that you finally got the time to come around Eddie's apartment. Sure, you could have called him, he could have come himself to pick them up or you could have dropped them at his job but that would have required you to call him. And recalling how that went last time you tried to reach him you decided you'd spare yourself the humiliation of him not ghosting you again.

Taking a deep breath, you straightened your shoulders and knocked on his door.

"Y/n." You were met with a dishevelled Eddie.

He looked like shit but what's new with him. He also looked very surprised to see you at his door and you also couldn't blame it for that. You would have reacted the same way if the roles were reversed.

"Hi, Eddie," you hated your treacherous voice that wobbled when you spoke. Clearing your voice, you tried again.

"Sorry to come here unannounced. I've found some of your stuff in my apartment and I thought you'd like to have them back." You explained as you handed him the box, his eyes taking it in for the first time.

"Oh," he paused as he considered your words. Was that disappointment in his voice? "Thank you, y/n. You shouldn't have." He smiled weakly as he took the box from you, your fingers touching briefly.

"It's not a problem, Eddie. I was just passing by anyway." You and Eddie actually lived far from each other. The truth is that there was no reason for you to be in this part of town if it wasn't for him. Eddie knew that but he was kind enough not to point that out.

He just nodded, accepting your words as he held the box close to his chest.

You awkwardly stared at each other for a while, you didn't know what to say but neither of you wanted to end this exchange quite yet. When you felt that you had been standing like a fool in front of your ex's door, you went to leave but Eddie beat you to it.

"So how have you been?" Your first reaction was to scoff at this attempt of small talk. Neither of you was very good at it. And truthfully, it was rich coming from someone who had not made any effort to keep in contact with you even before your breakup.

The scroll of your shoulders was the only answer Eddie got. You weren't in the mood to pretend nor did you want him to know how you were still suffering for him.

"I should ask that to you." You reverted the question to him. He really didn't look well.

"yeah, it's been a rough couple of weeks," he confessed scratching the back of his head.

"That, I don't find it hard to believe," you hummed as your eyes took him in, really took him in since you knocked at his door. You could also see behind him that his apartment was a mess.

"Yeah, don't have to worry about me though. I'm fine."

"Of course." You nodded at his dismissal, remembering harshly the situation you were in."Well, I'm going to go now. Take care." Cold but still polite you turn around, ready to put this -Eddie and this exchange- behind you.

"Y/n, wait!" he called when you were about to climb down the staircase. "Do you want to have a drink or something?" Stay for a while? he meant but didn't dare to say.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Eddie." You called over your shoulder, hand still on the railing.

"Please, I owe you an explanation." You didn't know if it was the desperate note in his voice or the fact that he really looked like shit but you turned around almost convinced.

"Don't you think it's too late for that, Eddie?"

"Maybe it won't change anything between us but you deserve to know." You knew Eddie and you knew how much he cared about transparency and honesty. This may not mean that you were going to get back together but he was right, you deserved an explanation.

"Okay," you agreed as you walked back and then into his apartment. Eddie closed the door behind him and set the box he was still holding down behind the coat hanger.

The sneak peek you had before was definitely right: Eddie's apartment was even messier than usual.

"Why does it look like a tornado hit your home?" You couldnìt help but point out. You knew Eddie wasn't that bothered by tidiness but this too much even by his standards.

"That would be my fault," a new voice answered you.

At first, you didn't register the difference in tone or accent even though you should have had because Eddieìs voice wasnìt that low or raspy. But then a black tendril entered your vision field catching your attention making you turning your head to better inspect it.

What.the.fuck??

"Eddie?" You asked perplexed, eyes fixed on this thing? even if you were addressing Eddie.

"Y/n meet Venom, Venom meet y/n." He gestured awkwardly with his hands.

"It's so nice to meet you, Eddie's always thinking about you, you know? It's a bit annoying." this time the voice didn't come from a tendril but a face. A fucking alien face with long sharp teeth and wide white eyes.

His words went straight over your head. How the fuck was this true? What were you even seeing? Did this thing come from Eddie's body??

"Fuck, I know I'm heartbroken but now I'm even seeing things?"

"Y/n," Eddie tried to get your attention. You thought you had only thought that but apparently, you had spoken the words. "You're not seeing things, this is part of the explanation I owe you."

"I think it's better if you sit," he said motioning to his couch when you did nothing but stare at Venom. Prompting by Eddie though, you sat down and listened as he spoke.

He told you everything. About Carton Drake about his project with aliens, about Venom and their rather troubled relationship. He even explained how Anne had got involved and how she and Danny had helped him.

It was definitely a lot to take in. But somehow, the thought that he could be lying to you never crossed your mind. The proof was right in front of you, wasn't it? Venom, as he had introduced himself, stood next to Eddie while he spoke. It had never spoken again and you were inwardly thankful for that. That he was giving you space to digest all of this.

"Why didn't you tell me when you came around that day, Eddie?" You asked once you thought you had wrapped your head around it.

"I didn't want you to drag you into this mess," he said with a shrug, head cast down he didn't meet your eyes.

You didn't know how you felt about all of this yet but you nodded anyway. Well, there was nothing you could do anymore, could you? He had already taken care of everything on his own and it wasn't like you had any right to worry about him anymore.

"Thank you for explaining, Eddie. I appreciate your honesty." Did this change anything for you?

"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren't enough of if Anne meant more to me than you did. That's not true but I didn't know how to tell you that without telling you what was happening." He nervously fiddled with his fingers without meeting your eyes.

You could see his point now that you knew what happened. Still, it hurt you that he decided to just keep you out of it without a word. He could have at least told you that something was going on, that he didn't or couldn't tell you anything - not right now. You would have understood and given him space. Did he really act like this to keep you safe or was it a way to dismiss you?

"I don't know if this changes things, Eddie. You still turned up to her when a major life-threatening event happened. I think this tells me everything that I need to know." You point out after a while, eyes fixed on the end of your shoes.

"She has been involved from the moment we broke up, Y/n. Hell, this was the reason we broke up in the first place." Eddie's head snapped up at your words. He looked surprised at your words like he couldn't believe that you thought Anne's involvement had been something he had actively sought out.

"That may as well be true, Eddie but still, you didn't tell me even after everything settled down. If I hadn't come around to give you your stuff I still would be none the wiser."

"I was afraid, y/n. How could I come back to you after how much I had hurt you? 'Sorry if I went m.i.a. for a while, I was infected with a parasite who knows permanently with me?' Come on, y/n, I wouldn't take me back either." Now upset, Eddie started to gesticulate frantically to prove his point. His eyes flickered between yours, he leaned toward you, his hands a touch away from yours as if he wanted to touch you but was preventing himself from doing so.

"I'm not saying I would have believed you straight away but still- aliens are way better than self-loathing you know?" You scoff at him- why was he so upset? He wasn't the one who had been beating himself up since that fight for being a worthless piece of shit, was he?

"I know I've never done a good job at showing you but I do care about you. Deeply." Almost as if he couldn't bear to not be touching you any longer, Eddie now reached for your hands. His hold on them tightening as he spoke the words.

You looked at him for a moment. Aside from that fight, your relationship with him had been good. The start wasn't promising, seeing as he was still taken by Anne but Eddie had treated you good. He was attentive and caring in his own way. Looking back to it now, you realized that the period where you started feeling him pulling back from you was the time when this whole alien thing had started.

But now you had settled this, right? So, could this mean...

"If I give you one more chance to show you," you spoke tentatively, enthralled by the twinkle in his eyes, "do you promise me to be fully transparent with me this time around?"

"What? Why would you do that?" He looked shocked but his eyes were hopeful.

"Are you trying to talk me out of it, Eddie?" You challenged him, arching an eyebrow.

"Like hell I am." He scoffed, a smile on his lips. "Nono, of course I do. I swear, y/n. You'll never feel like you don't matter to me again."

"Good." You gave him a small smile at the gobsmacked expression on his face. Oh, Eddie...

He does nothing but stares at you for a while. Like he hadn't seen you in a while and now that you were in front of him, he wanted to commit to his memory every little detail of your face.

"So," you said after a while, "do you plan to stare at me or would you like to get a head start on your promise?" you provoke him with a suggestive tone.

Eddie's mouth fell a little at that, Venom said something to him but you didn't understand him. Shaking his head, Eddie smirks at you.

"I would like nothing more." And with that, Eddie's lips are on yours making up for the lost time.

[mercurygray]

2022 Fanfic Year in Review: mercurygray on AO3

Thank you for the tag @tortoisesshells, @shoshiwrites, and @captainkilly (who tagged me in a similar ask)! May I be blessed to be in such august writing company always!

Total Completed Works: 9 complete works + 2 drabble collections

Word Count: 18,413 words for various small things + another…40,000 words for TDS? Say 58,413. Plus a lot on tumblr that I don't have a count on.

Fandoms I’ve Written In: Vikings Valhalla, Dune, Top Gun: Maverick, Becoming Elizabeth, House of the Dragon, Band of Brothers. Wow, I guess I'm doing pretty good on that score.

Looking Back, Did You Write More Fic Than You Thought You Would This Year, Less, Or About What You’d Expected?: I had a goal for myself to post a chapter of TDS every month, which I've more or less accomplished. Everything else after that was just a bonus!

What’s Your Own Favorite Story Of The Year?: To Call Her Name. I really liked Jessica Raine's performance as Catherine Parr in Becoming Elizabeth and I wanted to celebrate that and no one read it but I didn't care.

Do You Have Any Fanfic Goals For The New Year?: FINISH TDS. Or I should say, finish TDS in a way that is sustainable for me, enjoyable for the readers, and remains true to the characters I've spent all this time building up. So no pressure.

Most Popular Story Of The Year?: Waited For and Wanted, which I managed to publish in a timely fashion and caught the HOTD zeitgeist. It has 272 kudos and 66 bookmarks, which might be the most popular one-shot I've ever written.

Story Of Mine Most Under-Appreciated By The Universe, In My Opinion: A Man of Simple Tastes was just as good as Waited for and Wanted but it was finished a few weeks after the show ended and the short event horizon on fandom meant a fraction of people read it. Which was a huge bummer. I have a third idea in this 'series' from Rhaenyra's perspective that I just haven't found the headspace to finish.

Most Fun Story To Write: Four in the Afternoon. I love that AU and that was a new look on it, for me.

Most Unintentionally Telling Story: …Dick and Joan made it all the way to chapter 43 without combusting, I think that says everything it needs to.

Biggest Disappointment: I launched a lot of OCs this year and I'm still angry that Laura Simpson (my Top Gun Maverick OC) landed in an already crowded field and didn't gain too many friends. I thought One Minor Detail was hilarious, but she never seemed to pick up much traction.

Biggest Surprise: I wrote struggle homeward for a prompt on the now defunct Loose Lips HBO War prompt meme, and people kind of liked it! Also how fast Waited For And Wanted racked up those kudos, which was WILD.

Tagging anyone who wants to brag a little bit this year!

[amjustagirl]

CHAPTER 1 - TAKING FLIGHT

Fic Summary:

The sky Oikawa Tooru’s heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in. You are a fool to trust him with your heart anyway.

Where Oikawa Tooru does not make it to Argentina straightaway.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Icarus, Icarus, I must be blind not to see you long to touch the sun.

Updates every Monday

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x you, Oikawa Tooru x fem! reader

Genre / Wordcount : Angst (5.6k words)

Warnings: One non-explicit bedroom scene

Masterlist link here!

Join my tag list here!

“Home sweet home ”, Tooru declares grandly, throwing his hands out with the air of a conqueror bursting with pride at the sight of his domain. 

Never mind the fact that the apartment looks like it’s been hit by a tsunami of cardboard boxes and scattered bits of furniture. Or the fact that you’re covered in sweat and grime from lifting boxes and shifting furniture and you’d very much like to lie down and not get up for the next week or two, but you can’t because of the never ending list of things to be done - unpacking your belongings, filling in your enrolment paperwork, attending medical school orientation to attend. 

But his words wash away the tide of anxiety lapping at the edges of your mind. 

Tooru wept and gnashed his teeth when his parents refused to let him chase his dreams to Argentina, and not a single professional team in Japan even looked his way. Don’t be ridiculous, his parents told him with wagging fingers, especially when Chuo University sent a full scholarship his way. 

“It is the top school for volleyball” you pointed out, as he spent yet another hour lying flat on his back, eyes swollen from spent tears. “You could go there and grab everyone’s attention by being their starting setter for the next four years.”

He does not respond. You wonder if he’s waiting for the paint on the ceiling to crack. 

“Plus” you add slyly. “I’ll be at Chuo with you.” 

This catches his attention. “What d’you mean”, he mumbles, throat still sandy with salt. 

“I got into medical school there”, you tell him  ,  the smile on your face growing when he finally hurls himself bodily at you, both of you toppling off the bed and onto the floor. 

“You’ll be there with me?” he whispers in disbelief. 

You laugh wetly into the crook of his neck. “Every step of the way”, you declare, slipping your hand into his. 

You’ve both transplanted yourselves from your childhood home in Sendai to a tiny apartment in Tokyo, a veritable hole in paper thin walls. Your hearth is a pair of rusty iron hobs, and your bed is a cheap mattress on the floor, but sunshine spills in from the windows like liquid gold and Oikawa Tooru’s hand is warm in yours. 

You wonder what you’ve done in your past life for the gods to smile down on you, to bless you with a boy you love in a place you can both call  home .

You’re not usually this sentimental, but just this once, you tug him down towards you, stealing a kiss from him. “I like the sound of that”, you murmur against his lips. “Our home, Tooru”. 

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you. “Do you love me?” he asks, with a smile that cages your beating heart in his calloused hands. 

You are young. You are eighteen. You know nothing of the world. You know nothing of life. 

So you reply - “More than life itself”. 

He kisses you with languid ease, stealing the very breath from your chest. You tell yourself you have four years to work up the courage to ask if he loves you as much in return. 

“Medical supplies are expensive, so stop coming here to ask for cold presses that you don’t need”, you tell Oikawa Tooru, Captain of the Volleyball Club and currently a veritable pain in your ass for constantly hounding you during your shifts at the school’s sickbay. 

You resist the urge to sigh when he throws himself onto the cot, groaning dramatically - “How mean! You and Iwa-chan are the same - brutes, all of you! What’s a guy gotta do to get some tender love and care, especially when he’s injured?”

You cast a doubtful eye at the bandage over his right knee. “Iwaizumi said you recovered, but I guess if you’re really still injured…”

Oikawa grins, sensing victory in sight. “So you’ll give me a cold press and let me rest here during class?” 

You drop said cold press onto his knee none too gently. “Sure - though..” your voice trails off, you tap your chin thoughtfully. “That would mean you’re not cleared for practice. I’ll send a note to your coach.”

Gotcha. 

It’s your turn to grin when alarm dawns on Oikawa’s face, his eyebrows pinching together as he waves his hands at you, pleading you not to mention a word to his coach - pretty please with a cherry on top, he forgot to do his homework cos he was staying up late to watch volleyball videos last night and needs a place to hide, and you’re the kindest, bestest, person on earth if you let it slide this time, his knee is fine, just fine - 

You glare at him, unimpressed. 

He pouts, with the largest puppy dog eyes he can muster. Even you are not immune to his charms. 

“Fine”, you say flatly. “Just once.” 

He thanks you, promising never to darken the doors of the sickbay again without cause. 

Of course, he breaks his promise the very next day when he sidles in just before practice, dropping a milk carton and a bun on your table.

“An offering to the maiden of this shrine” he answers teasingly in response to the question in your furrowed brow, trying his best to exude arrogance and saunter off, though his efforts are defeated by the pink tint to the apples of his cheek. 

Oikawa Tooru, huh. You wonder. 

You and Tooru are drawn into the ebb and flow of university life. You wake up with him by your side each morning, kiss him on the cheek before you both head your separate ways. In a fit of fancy, you imagine that your front door is the portal to different worlds - a little like the enchanted door in Howl’s Moving Castle, a movie Tooru used to make you watch with him on repeat. When you step through it, you find yourself in the humdrum world of medical school - anatomy classes, stuffy professors, scalpels and knives. Whereas when Tooru steps through it - like the titular wizard, he bursts like a fiery comet into a wholly separate, magical world of whistles and drills and volleyball practices. 

Your worlds never collide in the day, even though from time to time, you sneak into the gym to watch him practice, unbeknownst to him. Typically, you only see him at night. Dinners are prepared together, shoulders jostling over the kitchen counter to cook rice and produce sourced from the supermarket’s discount bin, before you both huddle over homework. More often than not though, Tooru prefers to spend all his time crouched over his laptop, earbuds on, watching endless streams of volleyball matches. 

“Aren’t you ever tired of volleyball?” you ask when you see him analyse yet another video - Argentina versus Japan this time. 

You already know the answer before your question leaves your tongue but you ask it anyway, amused when he squawks in indignation and knocks over your cup of tea in his hurry to exclaim -  Sick of volleyball? Him, Oikawa Tooru? Never! 

Of course, you knew that. Chuo University is the top collegiate team for volleyball, so the coaches demand nothing but the best from their players. You watch by the sidelines as Tooru grinds his body into dust at volleyball practice, coming home every night with sore tendons and aching bones. Balancing a full business course load on top of that would stretch anyone to their breaking point. 

Anyone normal that is, because Tooru revels in his hectic schedule. 

You attend his first match and you’re blown away by how much he’s grown from being transplanted from barren soil into rich earth. The unerring confidence he’s already shown in his high school days blossoms into an elegant ease. His athleticism grows by leaps and bounds, his game sense sharpens, his sets learn true grace.  

He claws his way to a starting position with bloodied fingernails, in blatant disregard of anything that might stand in his way. He builds his own wings, starts to take flight, the light in his eyes shining brighter and brighter the closer he flies towards the sun. 

He is no longer the simple school boy you fell in love with from Sendai. 

“Will you go out with me if I win our next match?” he asks suddenly, lifting his gaze from the video he’s watching from his usual corner in the sickbay. 

“Do I look like a prize for some school boy’s grudge match?” You snipe back, head bent over your homework. 

“It was worth a try”, he hrumphs. 

You hide a smile. 

“I would go out with you even if you lose”, you tell him, though you do not lift your eyes from paper and pen. 

A laugh bubbles from his chest - surprised, delighted, triumphant. 

“I better make sure I win then. So you don’t change your mind.” 

He did not win that game, losing spectacularly in the finals in his second year against his fated rival - Ushijima from Shiratorizawa, a specter that still looms unti over every match he plays in up to today. 

True to your word, you sat on his doorstep, waiting for him to return home red eyed, throat raw. You let him drop his aching head into your lap, and like a maiden comforting a weary warrior, you pressed a kiss to his forehead as a balm to his wounds. Then you dragged him by the hand to your favourite ramen stall, ordering two bowls of tonkatsu ramen, with char siu, bamboo shoots, spring onions and gyoza on the side. An inauspicious first date, but you consider yourself lucky nonetheless for having him beside you. 

Things are different now. You are blind not to see him long to touch the sun. 

No one is surprised when Chuo University wins nationals. The only surprise to the media (but certainly not to you or anyone from Miyagi for that matter), is that Chuo University brings home the trophy with Oikawa Tooru as it’s starting setter. 

The boy king finally reaches the national stage. 

Even then, he is always, always grasping for  more .

“You were amazing!” you gush, as he finally breaks through the triumphant huddle of his teammates to swing you into his arms and greet you with his customary kiss. “I’m so proud of you!” 

His eyes glitter as he laughs, giddy with delight, face flushed with pride. “It’s just college, princess. Wait til I go pro”. 

Like Ushijima, you think, though that name remains unsaid. 

Wax feathers had already started to sprout from the knobs of his spine back in high school, budding beneath your fingertips like a cancerous tumour. Back then it was easy to be wilfully blind to them, but now it's become too obvious to be ignored. Oikawa Tooru’s ambition lies spread eagled, naked beneath the blinding lights of the sports hall. He has only just tasted his first real victory, crossed the first hurdle separating him from his dreams of greatness. 

“I’m waiting for that day then”, you respond teasingly.

You only realise later that you lied. He's left the confines of your arms in his quest for the skies.

You laughed when Tooru first broached the idea of sneaking out at night to gaze at stars in the sky. ‘What nonsense’, you’d said. What are the chances of seeing stars amidst the light pollution from a city, even a relatively minor one like Sendai? 

“You’re being a meanie, just like Iwa-chan”, he pouted. He kept whining until you gave in. 

Tooru picks you up from your home past midnight, chuckling when you label his rusty bicycle ‘a contraption from hell’ and ask him archly whether he truly expects you to entrust your wellbeing to the tiny rack meant to function as the pillion’s seat. 

“Stop being a princess, it isn’t as if I can magick a seatbelt from thin air” he teases. 

“Howl could”, you point out. 

“Well, I could strap you on with my bicycle chain if you prefer”, he answers blithely. “Get on, stop complaining”. 

He pedals all the way uphill to the deserted park near school, whining all the way about the strain the extra weight (you) puts on his knees (lies, all of them). You’re torn between pointing out that he chose to drag you out in the middle of the night and kicking him off the bike and commandeering yourself home instead. You choose instead to slap the back of his head. 

“Ow!” he squeals. “Brute!” 

“Hmph”. You fold your arms in satisfaction. 

When he finally finds a spot perfect enough to commence his stargazing adventure, he stops the back, spreads a picnic mat and hands you a flask of hot tea. 

“I don’t see any stars”, you say, after fifteen minutes of sitting, stiff and cold in the dark. 

“Don’t be impatient! The clouds will clear up soon”, he says, squinting hopefully. 

The sky remains overcast. 

You sigh, the breath expelled from your nose forming your own personal cloud. You are accustomed to Tooru’s quirks, his all consuming passion for volleyball, his love for all things outer space. You decide to indulge him a little, just once. 

“Why don’t you pretend we can see the stars and tell me your favourite thing about each one?” 

He brightens up visibly. 

“You won’t be bored if I did that?”

You prod his nose, but your eyes are fond. “Have you ever bored me?”

His chest swells. “I suppose not”, he crows, and proceeds to trace the constellations with elegant fingers, spinning stories and conjuring random facts about celestial beings you cannot see. You find yourself enthralled, not by his words, but by the lilt in his voice and depth in his eyes. 

“Why d’you love the stars so much?” you ask.

“Did you not just hear anything I’ve just said?” his voice teeters dangerously close to a whine. 

You click your tongue against your teeth. “I mean – trivia and myths aside. Why are you so fascinated by what are essentially flaming balls of gas and light.”

“The shallow answer is cos they’re pretty.” He says, laughing airily, before turning his gaze to you, the stark intensity in his eyes causing goosebumps to prickle the back of your neck. “But if my lady here is searching for a deeper answer, well. Aren’t stars the ultimate embodiment of the dreams of all humankind? Even as we strive and fail towards our petty goals, the stars are always there to remind us to look up and reach for the sky”

You flick his forehead. “Pretty words, for a pretty boy”. 

“Hey!” He scowls indignantly before he perks up. “Wait - did you see that? There’s a star!” 

The sky clears just enough for a pale light to peer through a gauzy cloud. You do see it, and it is indeed beautiful, but your attention has already been captured by the boy beside you. And Tooru being Tooru, naturally notices. 

“Why’re you staring at me instead of the sky?” 

Perhaps you’re drunk on the magic of midnight skies, perhaps you want to uncover the mystery of his smile yourself. Perhaps that explains why your eyes soften and why your words fall short of a whisper. 

“Because you are my sun, my moon and all my stars”, you say. “I like you better than anything in the sky.”

His mouth slackens and for a moment, his eyes are tender before his laugh breaks your flight of whimsy, and you bury your face in your hands, hot with embarrassment. 

“Forget I ever said that”, you plead. 

“Never!” he cries. “I’m going to remind you how cheesy you can be for the rest of your life!”

You end up having to kiss him to shut him up. 

In his second year, Sakusa Kiyoomi joins his team. Tooru finally meets someone who meets his impossibly high standards to fill Iwaizumi’s place as his ace. 

He’s literally bouncing on balls of his feet when he comes home after the first practice. 

“He’s so prickly and unfriendly but his receiving his top notch, and his game sense is fantastic, and best of all the spin he gives to each spike makes me drool - especially when I see the look on the other side’s faces when they try receiving his ball for the first time - ha ha! ”, he talks at you at breakneck speed as you both prepare dinner, side by side at the cramped kitchen counter. 

“Mmhm”, you reply, head thinking of the multiple lectures you attended today, the homework and readings you must do tonight to stay abreast. 

“-it’s his wrists, they’re so flexible it nearly made me puke when I first saw him stretch them”, he continues for the rest of the night, heedless of your wavering attention. 

You meet Sakusa at one of the few team parties you actually attend. You nearly stumble over him when you try to hide in your usual corner with a plate of food in your hand, watching as Tooru flutters around like the social butterfly he is. His nose and mouth are hidden behind a face mask, but even you can tell he’s uncomfortable to be around so many people, so you tug at his jacket sleeve gently to lead him away from the crowd to a seat at the top of the stairs. 

You don’t expect him to speak much to you, if at all, but to your surprise, he initiates the conversation. 

“He doesn’t take good care of himself”, Sakusa mutters. You nearly miss his words over the pulsing beat of the music. 

“Who doesn’t?” you ask - though you already know who he’s referring to. 

“It’s unhealthy, the way you push yourself”, you tell Tooru, hands on hips, standing at the door to Aoba Johsai’s sports hall. You hardly intrude here onto Tooru’s sacred space, choosing instead to stay in the library to study until he’s done with practice and you can both walk home together. But practice has long ended, and your patience has run short - not to mention Iwaizumi popped his head into the library to shoot you a worried expression, dark eyebrows pinched into a pained frown. 

You are aware of Tooru’s predilection for working himself to the bone. Or to the shredded remnants of the tendon of his knee, to be more accurate. So you tap your feet, looking pointedly at said injury. 

“I’m fine”, he tries to dismiss you without even looking your way. 

You refuse to let him. 

“You’re not fine”, you tell him coolly, taking another step towards the inner sanctum, the volleyball courts. White lines, painted into brown wood. A single ball, six per side, each jostling for their pride and god.   

“Tooru -” 

“I need to practice so I can win”, he snarls, handsome face mangled by an angry scowl. “Don’t be like one of those whiny girlfriends, you know I can’t stand that.” 

You are not so easily hurt by the barbs in his words. “You can’t win if you’re injured”, you attempt to appeal to his reason. “You know and I know and your coach knows that that knee of yours is going to cause you problems if you don’t rest it properly. So you better listen to me, because so help me - I can tell you that you’re not going to be able to come for practice if you keep pushing yourself tonight”. 

His anger simmers into a sulk. “You’re not a doctor”, he replies, a petulant whine at the tail end of his words. 

“Not yet”, you respond, and at that, he laughs, surprised that your arrogance matches his own. 

Your attention snaps back to the present when Sakusa calls your name. “Sorry”, you breathe. “Couldn’t quite hear you - who were you referring to again?”  

“Oikawa”, Sakusa says, confirming your suspicions. “Practises even though I know his knee hurts sometimes”. 

You thank him for telling you before carefully diverting the conversation to something a little more innocuous, buying yourself time to turn this new information over in your mind. 

You hear him hiss as you open the front door- “Iwa-chan, don’t be stupid, I can’t tell her yet!” 

It’s not an uncommon sight to come home at night to find Tooru cradling his phone to his ear whilst juggling a book in his other hand. It is the only time slot that he and Iwaizumi have to catch up. 

Still, it is uncommon for him to bolt into the toilet the minute he catches sight of you. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask him over dinner. 

“Peachy”, he replies between spoonfuls of rice. “Never been better”. 

He promptly changes the topic after that. 

“Not staying home for dinner?” you ask, arms wrapped around yourself as he lets the chilly air into your apartment, sitting by the open door lacing his training shoes up. 

“Wanna work in some more practice tonight”, he murmurs, gaze still locked on his shoes. “Serves and all that. Don’t wait for me, yeah?” 

“Right. Just...promise me you’ll take care of yourself, Tooru”, you answer, unable to keep the disappointment from leaking into your voice. 

He stands up, turns to face you with a cheery smile. “Of course I will. Anyway, don’t pout, princess”, he sing songs gaily. “We’ll spend some time together after the season is over, I promise.”

“Alright”, you say, unconvinced, reluctantly tipping your chin up to let him kiss your cheek goodbye. 

“Tooru?” 

You feel the mattress dip. “Go back to sleep, princess”, he whispers, pulling the sheets back up to your chin. 

“Where are you going?” You mumble, squinting your eyes at the clock by the side of the bed. “It’s four in the morning. The earliest you wake up for practice is five.”

“I just wanted to practice my serves a little more.” You hear him rustle in the bathroom. Sakusa’s words echo in your ears, and you sit up, bleary eyed. 

“Tooru?” 

“Mm?”

“Are you taking care of your knee? And getting enough sleep?”

He stiffens. “Of course”, he replies with the tight, plastic smile he only ever gives you when he’s trying to lie. “Why’re you asking me this? Who put ideas in your pretty little head?”

For the first time in your relationship with Tooru, you take care not to accidentally tread on the faultlines of his heart.

“I worry about you”, you say, gripping your sheets as he frowns. “I don’t think you’re sleeping enough - judging from the bags under your eyes, and you shouldn’t be over practising because your knee could very act up - “

“Look - I don’t have time to deal with this” he interjects with a snap. “Just leave me alone and go back to sleep.” 

“I’m only saying this because I love you, Tooru.” You automatically tack on - “More than life itself.” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing out a sigh. “I love you too ok? Stop worrying your pretty head about my health and my knee - we agreed you only get to nag me when you’re a full fledged doctor, remember?”, he adds, with a cheeky smile that does not reach his hooded eyes. 

You let him walk out of the house without another word, cotton sheets crumpling in your clenched fists. 

You don’t get to talk about it that night because he chatters at you about Sakusa’s tantrum during practice because someone hid his towel, and you can barely get a word in before he slips off to shower and sleep. 

He starts to disappear for days at a time, even after the season ends with him not only taking home his second trophy at Nationals, but crowned the best setter in the collegiate volleyball league. 

He tells you that there are overnight practice matches and camps. That he’s staying over at his teammates’ flats. You believe him at first. There is, after all, no reason for him to lie. 

Still, it is a little funny he refuses to allow you to do his laundry from those trips. You brush away your friends’ concerns that he’s cheating on you -  Tooru wouldn’t do that, you assure them with a wide smile that hurts your cheeks. 

Tooru would never lie to you. 

Then you bump into Sakusa Kiyoomi on campus when Tooru is away again. 

It’s night time. Shadows bleed into concrete roads. You’re on your way back home from hiding up in the library all day, reluctant to return to a home without Tooru when you bump into the reticent spiker. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be away at practice camp?” you ask innocently, worried that an injury might keep him from playing, though from a quick scan he seems to be fine. 

“Practice camp?” He echoes blankly, his face an open book of confusion. 

“Tooru mentioned that he’d be away from some practice camp for a few days...” 

Your words trail off. Your heart flutters, refuses to accept the truth staring you in the face. 

Sakusa frowns. His answer is brutal, direct. “There’s no training camp - hasn’t been in a while”. 

“Oh”, you murmur. 

Realization needles its way into the space beside your beating heart, drills its way into the marrows of your bones. 

“Are you ok?” You faintly hear Sakusa say. It’s your turn to lie. 

Tooru comes home the next day, a quarter past two. You’re sitting on the threadbare couch cross legged, a textbook balanced on your lap. 

“Where have you been?” 

“Practice camp. Didn’t I tell you that?” 

You scoff. The page held between your fingers starts to crumple. Your composure frays. 

“Really?” Your voice starts to veer into hysterics, straight across the highway into your emotional stratosphere. “Sakusa Kiyoomi told me that there’s no such practice camp, Oikawa. How about you try again with the truth this time.”

He reels back. You can see him trying to formulate yet another lie. 

“Princess”, he begins pleadingly, but your temper runs hot and you short circuit at the sound of your nickname from his lips.  

You stalk towards him, grabbing the bag in his hand. Like a woman possessed, you wrench the zip open, holding the bag open above your head, emptying its contents out. Dirty clothes, a deflated volleyball, toiletries spill onto the floor. You comb through each and every item in search of a telltale sign - a lipstick mark, a woman’s floral scent, something, anything for you to confirm his infidelity. 

What you find, however, is not what you expect. 

A red jersey, lying limp in your hands. A contrast to the university’s colours of navy and white.  

You flip it around. 

The words EJP Raijin are emblazoned across the jersey in stark white. 

You look up at him. He stares back. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?’ 

He has the decency to look away. 

“Tooru”, you repeat, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” 

“I was afraid of what it meant. For us”, he answers, dropping to his knees in front of you. “You know I’ve always wanted to go pro - and when the Div 1 teams started holding try-outs, I had to go. I tried out for them all except the Adlers, and EJP decided to give me a shot, which was like a dream come true… But I didn’t know if you would be happy if I did take it up.”

“Take what up?” you echo. Your mind is not keeping up with this turn of events. 

“Move to Hiroshima to join the team.” He answers warily, ready to flee at the first sign of danger. “You know I’d have to, right?” 

You look at him with fresh eyes, this boy you profess to love more than life itself. Wings spread from his shoulder blades, moulded by madness and greed from fire and wax. The reflection of the sun gleams in his eyes. He has left you permanently for the skies. 

“What about me?” Your breath stuck in your throat even as you refuse to relinquish the last hold you have on him.  

“If you love me”, he begins, reaching out to cup your cheeks and it’s your turn to reel back because you know he’s about to throw back your own words in your face. 

If you love me more than life itself - won’t you do this for me?  

But you are no longer eighteen. You are twenty one, on the cusp of adulthood. You know a little more about life than you did at eighteen.  

You know that your life is here - in Tokyo, among dusty books and lectures and tutorials on anatomy and diseases and germs, and you cannot upend your life and uproot yourself to Hiroshima just to follow someone else’s dreams. You love Tooru, but you do not share his dreams of glory and gold medals, of fleeting victory, of Olympian greatness. 

“I can’t”, you say, with a firmness that surprises even yourself. 

Again, he does not meet your eyes. 

“Then what shall we do?” He asks, lips pressed into a straight line. 

For a brief and terrible moment, you are tempted to throw your dignity to the wind, to fall on your knees and ask him to stay in Tokyo with you. But you can no longer turn a blind eye to what’s been staring you in the face for the entire length of your relationship, so you bite the insides of your cheek and grit your teeth. 

“We will do what we must”, you tell him, your head held high. 

You do not know what hurts more. The lack of pause in his acceptance to your suggestion that you break up, or the painfully obvious relief in his eyes. 

He goes to sleep in your shared bed, oblivious to your pain. You do not join him, choosing instead to spend hours seeking privacy in your toilet, knees aching from the cold floor. 

You are clinical, even in your anguish.  

Wring the liquid grief from your lungs, lay it on the floor to dry. Filter the water from your windpipe, the salt from your eyes. Your organs are scattered on the floor, battered, broken, torn. Save for your heart - you will need to retrieve it, whatever’s left of it at least. You last recall seeing it beneath Tooru’s feet, dashed to pieces as he spreads his wings and takes flight. 

You will put yourself back together with steady hands tomorrow, fill the cavity in your chest with the remnants of your organs, secure them in place with stitches and staples. Given time, you think your prognosis is good. 

You are young. You will heal. 

But now, you are allowed an hour or two to grieve at the very least. To mourn the loss of a relationship you still hold dear, a relationship that you only realise has an expiry date in the short span of a night. 

You are a fool for not realising it sooner. 

Perhaps he cares for you, but you must now confront the fact that you’ve been wilfully blind to. He could never give you his heart when he’s already given his heart up to someone else - to volleyball, a far more demanding mistress. 

You cannot compete with her. You should not have tried. 

Tooru files the paperwork to drop out of university. You find another flat, this time for one. 

In the weeks before he leaves, you watch him flit about the flat, buzzing with excitement like an overgrown child. His wings nearly suffocate you with its ever increasing breadth and length, but you do not begrudge his happiness. You still love him desperately. You still want what’s best for him.  

You write him meal plans, scribble reminders on the proper care for his knee. You help him label his boxes, arrange for them to be sent to Hiroshima via post. You do not tell him how tempted you are to slip yourself whole into one of them. But you start to build a cage for the remnants of your heart, turning a deaf ear even as it pounds against the bars of your ribs. 

The time finally comes for him to get on a train bound for Hiroshima. The time finally comes for you to leave the flat. 

“Princess”, he says softly, catching your elbow as you stand on the threshold, pulling you flush against his broad chest. You do not trust yourself to speak as he gently tilts your face up to his.

“Thank you”, he breathes against your lips. There is a lingering taste of regret in his kiss.

“For what?” you manage to ask. 

 His eyes pool with affection, swirl with sadness. 

“For everything.” He takes your hands in his, presses a final kiss to your forehead. Your traitorous heart screeches at you to beg him to say. You smother it beneath reinforced walls of steel and bone. 

Icarus, Icarus. This is goodbye. 

You make him leave before you, watching as he turns his back on you. Then you steal a minute to potter through each room in the little flat that was your home. The bedroom, barely large enough for two. The bathroom, with a propensity for leaking, the shower where Tooru insists on serenading the neighbours, much to their discontent. The kitchen, full of memories of shared dinners, and quiet conversations. 

You bid farewell to two full years of happiness, press your forehead against the front door to whisper goodbye to your home. 

The lock clicks. You close the door. 

[shirbertshitposts]

10 Shirbert Moments from Anne of Green Gables series I think about a lot

In honor of Valentines Day I thought I would post a list of some of my favorite Anne and Gilbert moments. It was hard to narrow it to just ten as I have been going through all nine books and trying to queue posts about all their iconic moments through the series; However I decided to pick the ones that I remember even when I haven’t read the books in a while. I didn’t have the heart to rank them properly so they’re just listed in chronological order.

1. His future must be worthy of its goddess

In the twilight Anne sauntered down to the Dryad’s Bubble and saw Gilbert Blythe coming down through the dusky Haunted Wood. She had a sudden realization that Gilbert was a schoolboy no longer. And how manly he looked—the tall, frank-faced fellow, with the clear, straightforward eyes and the broad shoulders. Anne thought Gilbert was a very handsome lad, even though he didn’t look at all like her ideal man. She and Diana had long ago decided what kind of a man they admired and their tastes seemed exactly similar. He must be very tall and distinguished looking, with melancholy, inscrutable eyes, and a melting, sympathetic voice. There was nothing either melancholy or inscrutable in Gilbert’s physiognomy, but of course that didn’t matter in friendship!

Gilbert stretched himself out on the ferns beside the Bubble and looked approvingly at Anne. If Gilbert had been asked to describe his ideal woman the description would have answered point for point to Anne, even to those seven tiny freckles whose obnoxious presence still continued to vex her soul. Gilbert was as yet little more than a boy; but a boy has his dreams as have others, and in Gilbert’s future there was always a girl with big, limpid gray eyes, and a face as fine and delicate as a flower. He had made up his mind, also, that his future must be worthy of its goddess. Even in quiet Avonlea there were temptations to be met and faced. White Sands youth were a rather “fast” set, and Gilbert was popular wherever he went. But he meant to keep himself worthy of Anne’s friendship and perhaps some distant day her love; and he watched over word and thought and deed as jealously as if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it. She held over him the unconscious influence that every girl, whose ideals are high and pure, wields over her friends; an influence which would endure as long as she was faithful to those ideals and which she would as certainly lose if she were ever false to them. In Gilbert’s eyes Anne’s greatest charm was the fact that she never stooped to the petty practices of so many of the Avonlea girls—the small jealousies, the little deceits and rivalries, the palpable bids for favor. Anne held herself apart from all this, not consciously or of design, but simply because anything of the sort was utterly foreign to her transparent, impulsive nature, crystal clear in its motives and aspirations.

-- Chapter XIX, Anne of Avonlea

2. For the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert’s gaze

“What are you thinking of, Anne?” asked Gilbert, coming down the walk. He had left his horse and buggy out at the road.

“Of Miss Lavendar and Mr. Irving,” answered Anne dreamily. “Isn’t it beautiful to think how everything has turned out . . . how they have come together again after all the years of separation and misunderstanding?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne’s uplifted face, “but wouldn’t it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been NO separation or misunderstanding . . . if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?”

For a moment Anne’s heart fluttered queerly and for the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert’s gaze and a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face. It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities. Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.

Then the veil dropped again; but the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily down it the evening before. The page of girlhood had been turned, as by an unseen finger, and the page of womanhood was before her with all its charm and mystery, its pain and gladness.

Gilbert wisely said nothing more; but in his silence he read the history of the next four years in the light of Anne’s remembered blush. Four years of earnest, happy work . . . and then the guerdon of a useful knowledge gained and a sweet heart won.

-- Chapter XXX, Anne of Avonlea

3. I just want YOU

“I have a dream,” he said slowly. “I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends—and YOU!”

Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was breaking over her like a wave. It almost frightened her.

“I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne. If I ask it again today will you give me a different answer?”

Still Anne could not speak. But she lifted her eyes, shining with all the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment. He wanted no other answer.

They lingered in the old garden until twilight, sweet as dusk in Eden must have been, crept over it. There was so much to talk over and recall—things said and done and heard and thought and felt and misunderstood.

“I thought you loved Christine Stuart,” Anne told him, as reproachfully as if she had not given him every reason to suppose that she loved Roy Gardner.

Gilbert laughed boyishly.

“Christine was engaged to somebody in her home town. I knew it and she knew I knew it. When her brother graduated he told me his sister was coming to Kingsport the next winter to take music, and asked me if I would look after her a bit, as she knew no one and would be very lonely. So I did. And then I liked Christine for her own sake. She is one of the nicest girls I’ve ever known. I knew college gossip credited us with being in love with each other. I didn’t care. Nothing mattered much to me for a time there, after you told me you could never love me, Anne. There was nobody else—there never could be anybody else for me but you. I’ve loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head in school.”

“I don’t see how you could keep on loving me when I was such a little fool,” said Anne.

“Well, I tried to stop,” said Gilbert frankly, “not because I thought you what you call yourself, but because I felt sure there was no chance for me after Gardner came on the scene. But I couldn’t—and I can’t tell you, either, what it’s meant to me these two years to believe you were going to marry him, and be told every week by some busybody that your engagement was on the point of being announced. I believed it until one blessed day when I was sitting up after the fever. I got a letter from Phil Gordon—Phil Blake, rather—in which she told me there was really nothing between you and Roy, and advised me to ‘try again.’ Well, the doctor was amazed at my rapid recovery after that.”

Anne laughed—then shivered.

“I can never forget the night I thought you were dying, Gilbert. Oh, I knew—I KNEW then—and I thought it was too late.”

“But it wasn’t, sweetheart. Oh, Anne, this makes up for everything, doesn’t it? Let’s resolve to keep this day sacred to perfect beauty all our lives for the gift it has given us.”

“It’s the birthday of our happiness,” said Anne softly. “I’ve always loved this old garden of Hester Gray’s, and now it will be dearer than ever.”

“But I’ll have to ask you to wait a long time, Anne,” said Gilbert sadly. “It will be three years before I’ll finish my medical course. And even then there will be no diamond sunbursts and marble halls.”

Anne laughed.

“I don’t want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU. You see I’m quite as shameless as Phil about it. Sunbursts and marble halls may be all very well, but there is more ‘scope for imagination’ without them. And as for the waiting, that doesn’t matter. We’ll just be happy, waiting and working for each other—and dreaming. Oh, dreams will be very sweet now.”

Gilbert drew her close to him and kissed her. Then they walked home together in the dusk, crowned king and queen in the bridal realm of love, along winding paths fringed with the sweetest flowers that ever bloomed, and over haunted meadows where winds of hope and memory blew.

-- Chapter XLI, Anne of the Island

4. Gilbert, I'm afraid I'm scandalously in love with you.

"Gilbert darling, don't let's ever be afraid of things. It's such dreadful slavery. Let's be daring and adventurous and expectant. Let's dance to meet life and all it can bring to us, even if it brings scads of trouble and typhoid and twins!"

Today has been a day dropped out of June into April. The snow is all gone and the fawn meadows and golden hills just sing of spring. I know I heard Pan piping in the little green hollow in my maple bush and my Storm King was bannered with the airiest of purple hazes. We've had a great deal of rain lately and I've loved sitting in my tower in the still, wet hours of the spring twilights. But tonight is a gusty, hurrying night . . . even the clouds racing over the sky are in a hurry and the moonlight that gushes out between them is in a hurry to flood the world.

"Suppose, Gilbert, we were walking hand in hand down one of the long roads in Avonlea tonight!"

Gilbert, I'm afraid I'm scandalously in love with you. You don't think it's irreverent, do you? But then, you're not a minister."

-- Chapter 9, Anne of Windy Poplars

5. Suitable Places

"(Are you sure you kiss me in suitable places, Gilbert? I'm afraid Mrs. Gibson would think the nape of the neck, for instance, most unsuitable.)”

-- Chapter 12, Anne of Windy Poplars

6. He narrowly escaped bursting with pride

"Anne, this is Captain Boyd. Captain Boyd, my wife."

It was the first time Gilbert had said "my wife" to anybody but Anne, and he narrowly escaped bursting with the pride of it. The old captain held out a sinewy hand to Anne; they smiled at each other and were friends from that moment. Kindred spirit flashed recognition to kindred spirit.

-- Chapter 6, Anne’s House of Dreams

7. Queen of my heart and life and home

"Gilbert, would you like my hair better if it were like Leslie's?" she asked wistfully.

"I wouldn't have your hair any color but just what it is for the world," said Gilbert, with one or two convincing accompaniments.

You wouldn't be ANNE if you had golden hair—or hair of any color but"—

"Red," said Anne, with gloomy satisfaction.

"Yes, red—to give warmth to that milk-white skin and those shining gray-green eyes of yours. Golden hair wouldn't suit you at all Queen Anne—MY Queen Anne—queen of my heart and life and home."

"Then you may admire Leslie's all you like," said Anne magnanimously.”

-Chapter 12, Anne’s House of Dreams

8.  Annest of Annes

But the best of all was when Gilbert came to her, as she stood at her window, watching a fog creeping in from the sea, over the moonlit dunes and the harbour, right into the long narrow valley upon which Ingleside looked down and in which nestled the village of Glen St. Mary.

"To come back at the end of a hard day and find you! Are you happy, Annest of Annes?"

"Happy!" Anne bent to sniff a vaseful of apple blossoms Jem had set on her dressing-table. She felt surrounded and encompassed by love. "Gilbert dear, it's been lovely to be Anne of Green Gables again for a week, but it's a hundred times lovelier to come back and be Anne of Ingleside."

-- Chapter 3, Anne of Ingleside

9. I couldn’t live without you

Anne felt like a released bird . . . she was flying again. Gilbert's arms were around her . . . his eyes were looking into hers in the moonlight.

"You do love me, Gilbert? I'm not just a habit with you? You haven't said you loved me for so long."

"My dear, dear love! I didn't think you needed words to know that. I couldn't live without you. Always you give me strength. There's a verse somewhere in the Bible that is meant for you . . . 'She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.'"

Life which had seemed so grey and foolish a few moments before was golden and rose and splendidly rainbowed again. The diamond pendant slipped to the floor, unheeded for the moment. It was beautiful . . . but there were so many things lovelier . . . confidence and peace and delightful work . . . laughter and kindness . . . that old safe feeling of a sure love.

"Oh, if we could keep this moment for ever, Gilbert!"

"We're going to have some moments. It's time we had a second honeymoon. Anne, there's going to be a big medical congress in London next February. We're going to it . . . and after it we'll see a bit of the Old World. There's a holiday coming to us. We'll be nothing but lovers again . . . it will be just like being married over again. You haven't been like yourself for a long time. ("So he had noticed.") You're tired and overworked . . . you need a change. ("You too, dearest. I've been so horribly blind.") I'm not going to have it cast up to me that doctors' wives never get a pill. We'll come back rested and fresh, with our sense of humour completely restored. Well, try your pendant on and let's get to bed. I'm half dead for sleep . . . haven't had a decent night's sleep for weeks, what with twins and worry over Mrs. Garrow."

--Chapter 41, Anne of Ingleside

10. Old love light

DR. BLYTHE:- “The old, old love light that was kindled so many years ago in Avonlea ... and burns yet, Anne ... at least for me.” 

ANNE:- “And for me, too. And will burn forever, Gilbert.” 

-- Page 189, The Blythes Are Quoted

Feel free to respond to this post with any of your favorite shirbert moments that I missed!

[yamag00ps]

the in-between

pairing: akaashi x reader x bokuto

genre: friends to lovers, love triangle

contains: angst, fluff

word count: 3.3k

summary: What is the difference between the process of falling in love versus actually being in love?

note: this is longer than the others but it’s definitely my favorite part of all four :’) thank you for your patience! I had a lot of fun writing this and ngl I gave myself some butterflies.. Kjgfhbk ANYWAY! the flashback is a week before kuroo’s birthday party! after the flashback, the story resumes to akaashi and bokuto outside of kuroo’s apartment where the last chapter left off. I highly recommend listening to the songs mentioned while reading because it’ll really help you visualize the tone and mood of the story <3 enjoy!

 part 1, part 2, part 3

songs: can’t help falling in love (cover) - kina grannis crazy for you - madonna

flashback - a week ago

Kina Grannis’s cover of Can’t Help Falling In Love played from Bokuto’s speakers as your eyes were glued to the screen. You’ve watched the wedding scene in the movie Crazy Rich Asians a million times, but it never failed to put stars in your eyes. Nick and Rachel gazed at each other, despite an entire wedding unfolding in front of them as if they were falling in love for the first time all over again. You were in awe of how the film captured the feeling of falling in love so flawlessly, without a single word being spoken.

Your eyes watered as Bokuto silently chuckled to himself. You came over for a movie night, but it seemed that Bokuto was watching you watch the movie instead. Akaashi was out of town to see family for a couple of days, so it was just the two of you for the night.

Bokuto found his own eyes watering as well, but not because of the movie. You looked over at him from the other end of the couch and he quickly turned back to the TV.

“Wait are you also crying?” You sniffled. Bokuto threw a pillow at you and scoffed, “..No.”

“What?! I’m just asking! I’m not judging,” your giggle turned into a sigh. “It’s magical.”

He smiled at the small pout on your face.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Magical.

Eventually, the end credits rolled and you both scrolled on your phones for a bit, your head laying on one arm of the couch and his head on the other.

“Have you ever been in love?” You lay your phone on your chest and stared at the ceiling.

“Hm.. I actually don’t know,” Bokuto scrunched his eyebrows slightly, “I think I’ve been close to it though.” He peeked over his phone at you. The television screen was now black, the moonlight being the only source of light in the room. You seemed to be deep in thought, hair disheveled from laying down for two hours, and lips slightly swollen from crying because of the movie. Beautiful was an understatement. Bokuto put his phone down to fully look at you, pure adoration and a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Do you think there’s a difference between falling in love and being in love?” You asked.

“I guess falling in love is when you believe you could eventually be in love with someone.”

“That’s a pretty way to put it,” you hummed in agreement.

“I wonder how long that ‘in-between’ time is, then,” you added, “like, if you think of it as a spectrum--beginning to fall in love on one side and then actually being in love on the opposite end. There’s that ‘in-between’ kind of grey area.” Bokuto watched in amusement as you talked with your hands.

Little did you know that that was where Bokuto currently was--the in-between of falling in love and being in love. With you. Bokuto smiled sadly upon realizing this. He was struggling not to cross that grey area, knowing it would only hurt him if he did. He couldn’t reach that far end of the spectrum, as it was currently reserved for his best friend.

At this point, Bokuto was well aware of his closest friends’ budding feelings for one another. It was in the way Akaashi looked at you when you weren’t paying attention. It was in your doe eyes every time you used Akaashi’s first name.

Bokuto had refused to confront his best friend for weeks now, convincing himself that if he ignored it long enough, it would go away and his premonitions wouldn’t be true. He also wasn’t ready to let go of his feelings for you, wanting to relish in them, without reserve, just a little longer. He was being selfish, not wanting something that felt so beautiful and pure to end just yet--even if it was unrequited.

However, despite everything, he found comfort in his feelings for you whether you reciprocated them or not. The feelings he had for you were so special, and most importantly, they were his alone. No one could take them away from him--not you, not Akaashi.

Until he met you, he had never known what it was like to feel so strongly for anyone. He had never experienced caring for someone so unconditionally and so purely. It felt like magic.

Magic. That was the only word that did you justice.

Bokuto was never going to forget these feelings and this was both a blessing and a curse.

“Bo?” you pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“I think I’m in that in-between right now.”

You didn’t elaborate, but you didn’t have to. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was it. At the end of this conversation, it was time for him to let you go.

Thank you, he thought. Thank you for the magic.

“I think he might be too.”

end flashback

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

“I know.”

Akasshi opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. How long has Bokuto known? Was it that obvious? Has Bokuto been silently resenting him all this time? If Bokuto knew, did you know too?

The two of them were now sitting on the steps of the building’s stairway with murmurs of the party on the other side of the door filling the silence. Bokuto’s head hung low as he contemplated what to say next.

“I’m sorry. I.. I won’t do anything about it if you don’t want me to,” Akaashi broke the silence.

Bokuto only shook his head at this, not saying a word. For the first time, Akaashi couldn’t read his best friend’s expression. Why did he look so defeated?

“I’d be a pretty shitty friend if I got in your way,” Bokuto finally spoke up.

“What? No, you knew her first. You have every righ--”

“I know I do,” Bokuto slightly smirked and nudged his best friend, “but she doesn’t look at me the way she looks at you.” Bokuto wasn’t angry. He almost seemed relieved, but Akaashi couldn’t pinpoint why.

Akaashi’s lips parted but was rendered speechless again. Was that true? He wanted to hope it was, but the guilt was eating him alive at this point. Truly nothing could have prepared him for this conversation.

“I’m not gonna lie, dude,” Bokuto let out a shaky sigh, “I want to be mad at you.”

Akaashi sighed and apologized again. He didn’t know what else to say.

“But that wouldn’t be fair. You can’t help how you feel and neither can she,” he shrugged.

“But I don’t even know if she likes me.”

Bokuto scoffed at this.

“Akaashi, I know I can be dense and a bit of an airhead sometimes, but even I can see it.” He snorted at his best friend’s obliviousness.

“You know, she asked me if you were single after you first met,” he quietly added with hesitancy in his voice.

“She did?”

“Yeah. At the time.. I convinced myself that I didn’t have to tell you because I assumed you didn’t care, but I was just being selfish,” Bokuto admitted.

“I don’t blame you. That’s fair,” Akaashi shrugged. The air around them seemed to feel less suffocating.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m really sorry. I mean it,” Akaashi added.

“Don’t be. You would have done the same for me,” Bokuto said sincerely. Akaashi didn’t have to say anything more, they both knew this was true.

Both of their phones chimed at once, receiving texts from you.

Y/N: where did you both go? I need a partner for pong :p

Y/N: wait who is even DD tonight

“Speak of the devil,” Bokuto joked. Akaashi stared at the screen a second longer.

“..Are you sure?” Akaashi asked for confirmation once more.

“Yeah man, I’ll get over it,” Bokuto forced a smile, “Now go find her before I change my mind.” He playfully punched his friend’s arm, though there was an edge to his voice.

“My only request is that you don’t do anything in front of me,” Bokuto added, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact.

“Of course not, I’m not a dick,” Akaashi scoffed, a bit offended at the request. Bokuto snorted at this.

“Debatable.”

The rest of the night was enjoyable, though Akaashi ended up not making a move, not wanting to take advantage of you while intoxicated. However, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t secretly enjoy how extra touchy you were, especially when you would discreetly yet casually reach for his hand every ten minutes.

But there was a specific moment of that night the two of you would ingrain into your minds.

A random girl stood at the front of the room, microphone in hand, as the opening lyrics to Madonna’s Crazy For You ran across the screen. This was your favorite karaoke song as a child, Akaashi knew this. He watched you from across the room and chuckled at the way your eyes widened and your tired figure suddenly sat up on the couch as you recognized the song. You caught his stare and rolled your eyes at his teasing, a slight blush on your face forming as you realized he was watching you.

I love this song, you mouthed. He smiled.

I know, he mouthed back. You smiled.

As the 80's hit played, you and a handful of other people sang along. Akaashi watched in amusement as you soulfully sang the lyrics with the girl next to you. Every now and then you would lock eyes with him and playfully point, singing the words as if they were directed at him.

I see you through the smokey air

Can’t you feel the weight of my stare?

You’re so close but still a world away

What I’m dying to say,

Akaashi was thankful for the dim lighting masking the blush growing on his cheeks. He shook his head with a smirk as you pointed at him, ignoring the growing ache in his heart. You have no idea what you do to me, he thought.

Is that I’m crazy for you

Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true

I never wanted anyone like this

It’s all brand new

He watched as you swayed your body to the music, singing with your eyes squeezed shut. At one point you put a hand over your mouth in embarrassment as you jumbled the lyrics. He shook his head again, laughing to himself. You laughed with him as your gaze softened before you sang the next line.

Eye to eye, we need no words at all

Akaashi smiled back at you, wondering how someone who had been drinking all night managed to look so lovely.

Soon we two are standing still in time

If you read my mind, you’ll see

I’m crazy for you

The two of you seemed to be in your own little world, despite being on opposite sides of the room. Your face was starting to hurt from smiling, drunk on both alcohol and emotion. Anyone paying attention would have seen the hearts in both of your eyes.

Everything seemed to fade away from your periphery and all you saw was him. His gaze refused to leave yours as he was convinced that if he looked away for a split second, he would somehow lose you. In a room full of jumbled voices, the silent adoration you shared was deafening.

You felt like you were floating while simultaneously feeling the adrenaline of going downhill on a rollercoaster. Your heart felt like it was going to burst at any given moment, but you have also never felt so at peace. You struggled to comprehend the duality of the serenity and chaos coursing through your veins--and then it hit you.

This was the grey area. This was the in-between.

You were falling in love with Akaashi Keiji.

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

A week had passed since the party and Akaashi still had yet to confess--the adrenaline from that night slowly vanished, replaced with an irrational anxiety of running out of time.

Ever since he got home that night, Akaashi had been wracking his brain trying to figure out how to properly confess. Being the over thinker he is, he went through every scenario possible in his head, rewording his sentences over and over. The longer he waited, the more discouraged he became.

Strangely enough, the one who brought him back down to earth whenever he would get too in his head about his feelings was the source of his restlessness itself--you. Somehow you were both his chaos and his calm.

As the days passed, you noticed that he had become distracted more often than usual.

You two had been studying in the library for hours when you noticed that Akaashi’s mind seemed elsewhere. By now, you had memorized his tells like your favorite book. His knee bobbed up and down under the table, his hair was disheveled from repeatedly running his hands through it, and his eyes glazed over the textbook in front of him, not having turned a single page in the past twenty minutes. You knew he hadn’t gotten anything done since you sat down.

You closed your laptop and waited for him to match your gaze. It wasn’t until you rested your hand on his bobbing knee that he looked up at you and became aware of the amount of tension in his body. You gave him a small but sincere smile, wordlessly asking if he was okay. You rubbed his knee and he immediately relaxed at your touch, relief rushing through him.

Your timing was always perfect--constantly pulling him out of his overwhelming thoughts as if you could read his mind.

“Let’s take a break,” you whispered. He placed his hand on top of yours and gave it a squeeze, nodding.

It was funny--the concept of you distracting him from his thoughts about you.

The two of you ended up at the mall, people watching from a bench. This had become a favorite pastime for the both of you--picking out random passersby and creating extensive backstories about their lives. It was a way to destress and put your own lives on hold for a bit.

You spotted a couple sitting on a bench far enough away for you to talk about them.

“Those two are secretly pining for each other,” you nodded your head in their direction.

“Hm. Are they in love?”

“Oh no, not yet at least,” you speculated.

“And how do you know?” Akaashi mused.

“They’re sitting too far away from each other,” you stated matter-of-factly. Akaashi silently noted the distance between the two of you and compared.

“Huh. Okay,” He scooted closer, not being discreet at all. You held back a smile and refused to meet his gaze.

“How else can you tell?” He watched you intently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“He’s giving her too much eye contact. He’s not nervous enough.” Akaashi scrunched his eyebrows in thought. Noted, he thought. Just as you looked up at him, he swiftly turned his head the opposite way with a small smirk on his face.

Doing your best to ignore him, you asked a question this time.

“Who do you think will make the first move?”

“Oh, definitely the guy,” Akaashi stated confidently.

“Oh?”

“It’s in his body language. His body is fully facing her,” Akaashi mimicked his position, now fully facing you with his right arm resting on the top of the bench behind you. You leaned back with your arms crossed, still facing forward to avoid looking at him. You felt his arm fall from the bench to your shoulders, his hand now tracing circles into your shoulder.  

“And what does that mean?” you rolled your eyes, still refusing to face him. Your heart warmed as he mindlessly took one of your hands and started playing with your fingers.

“It means..” Akaashi took a deep breath as if he had prepared a full-blown explanation. You raised your eyebrows waiting for him to finish, eyes still on the couple. When he took too long to continue, you turned to face him and silently gasped upon realizing how close his face was to yours.

You felt yourself stop breathing as he hesitated before speaking. He kept his voice low as if he was sharing top-secret information.

“He really wants to kiss her.” It wasn’t until now that you realized the proximity of your faces in this position. His eyes bore into yours, flickering to your lips as if to ask for permission.

“Do you think she’d kiss him back?” you held your breath, your gaze also lowering to his lips.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” he whispered, his lips just barely grazing yours.

You closed your eyes as you slightly tilted your head up, your lips lightly pressing against his, lingering a bit before pulling away. It was short and sweet. You looked down shyly, biting back a smile.

Akaashi watched you, his eyes low. He didn’t wait all this time for short and sweet. His left hand lifted your chin up as he attached his lips to yours again, kissing you with more passion this time. You held onto his wrist and kissed him back, matching his fervor.

“Keiji..” you barely managed to let out, as he wouldn’t stop kissing you (not that you were complaining).

If he initially thought your first name in his mouth was sweet.. The taste of his first name coming from your lips while they were melting into his? Jesus. His brain was short-circuiting.

You groaned upon realizing you were in a public space, but you couldn’t find the willpower to pull away either. All of Akaashi’s inhibitions were out the window. The only thing that mattered right now was you, as you wiped away every lingering trace of doubt, fear, and worry from his mind with every kiss.

“Keiji!” You laughed, attempting to pull away only for him to grab your chin and pull you back in.

One more, he thought.

“We’re the,” one more, “stereotypical,” another, “couple,” another one, “making out in the,” another, “middle,” one more, “of a,” last one, “mall,” for now. You giggled in between kisses. Akaashi chuckled and got a hold of himself, finally pulling away and resting his forehead on yours.

“Sorry,” he smiled shyly. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

You closed your eyes and blushed furiously at this. He pulled back further to get a better look at you with an eyebrow cocked.

“Couple, huh?” You already began shaking your head. “Wow at least ask me on a date first, you can’t skip important steps like that, F/N.”

“You kissed me first!” you laughed as you pushed him away.

“Did I, though?”

It took you a second to realize he was right. You were the one to lean into the first kiss. Ugh.

���Oh my god I’m leaving,” you walked off as you fought the smile on your face, not being able to handle his teasing any longer. He threw his head back laughing and quickly caught up to you. He tugged your hand and pulled you into him as his arm hooked around your shoulders again. You peeked up to catch him grinning ear to ear. He looked down at you, and pressed a kiss on your forehead. Not saying another word, you leaned into his hold and sighed.

You thought about all of the wordless moments the two of you shared. Akaashi Keiji wasn’t a very talkative person, but he didn’t have to be. All it took was one look, without a single word spoken, and you knew.

This was what falling in love felt like.

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

a/n: it’s finally done! thank you all for waiting!!! also, your feedback means so much and inspires me to keep writing so thank you all so much <3 (p.s. I love bokuto so so much I felt so bad hurting him but I’ll write something else to make it up to him lmao) also can I just say I love the way the chapter begins with her in awe of the love she saw on tv and then it ends with her finding that exact feeling with akaashi :p full circle hehe

part 1, part 2, part 3

[vanillasakura]

RDRSW21 Day 2- Epilogue

Title: I Learned it All By Heart

Words: 2098

Pairing: Abigail/Sadie

Warnings/Notes: NSFW

(Title from comme tu dis by Pomme)

≿━━━━━━━━━━༺❀━━━━━━━━━━≾

I'll try to believe in myself. Like you say that you believe in me

“He almost loo.. Loo-kehd? No, that’s not a word.”

“You sure you don’t need any help, Ma?” Jack asked, looking at Abigail from across the kitchen table.

“I’ve got this, thanks though. I know this one, I know I do, it just always trips me up.”

“I can just read it to you, if you want. Or if you’d prefer that I wait until Miss Gaskill is able to come over, I don’t mind at all.”

“Jack, I wanna read what you wrote. I know I can’t offer as good advice as Mary-Beth, if I can even offer any at all, I just need to work on my readin’, or I’ll never get it at all.”

“That is true.” Jack clicked his tongue. “Do you want me to give you a hint?”

Abigail sighed. “Sure, that might help.”

“Two os next to each other don’t always make an ooo sound. Sometimes, like in the word ‘good’, they make-”

“Looked! ” Abigail exclaimed triumphantly, grabbing the pencil she kept next to her and writing down the word, its pronunciation, and Jack’s hint in her journal. She knew the alphabet by now (largely thanks to a mix of help from Jack, Charles, John, and, whenever she could make the trip west, Mary-Beth), but still struggled with bigger, more complicated words. Still, Jack told her she was doing great, and she supposed that was true, given that she could read through most of his old penny-novels now.

“Anyways, where was I.. ‘He almost looked like someone you would expect to find in a bib… bib-li-cal story, but this was not the bib … oh, bible, this was real life. This was a real man, and one who had lived... through his fair share of hardships, if the scars and the lines that marred his face were anything to go by.’ Jack,” Abigail put the paper down for a moment, looking her son in the eye, “this is amazing so far. I could never formulate words the way that you do.”

“Thanks Ma, I appreciate it.” Jack smiled, and Abigail did too. She was blessed that, despite all of the hardships he had gone through, Jack was still a happy and polite kid. He still loved reading more than anything (she doubted that would ever change, but why should it, when it provided him a way to pass his time and gave him a way to be happy?) and had been working on writing since he was eight or nine. Ever since John had run into Mary-Beth about six months ago, however, she had been coming out to Beecher’s Hope every few months, not only helping around the farm, but also doing her best to work with Abigail on her reading and giving Jack pointers on his writing. Honestly, as long as Jack was happy, Abigail was content. She wasn’t alone anymore, like she had been for so long, she had a wonderful lover, a husband who cared for her even if the romance had faded away, and said husband’s lover to lighten up her life in ways she had never dreamed possible for someone like her.

“You two been okay while I was gone?” The door swung open, and Abigail turned around to see Sadie walking in, a pleasant smile on her face.

“Sadie!” Abigail cried, getting up from her place at the table and running over to the other woman, practically throwing herself into her arms and kissing her cheek gently. 

Sadie chuckled, smoothing her hands over Abigail’s hair. “Oh come on, Abi, I didn’t leave you alone for that long, only eight hours or so.”

“Still, I missed you.” Abigail insisted, pulling back a bit to give Sadie some space. “D’you need anything? I bet you’re exhausted.”

“I’m alright, just need to rest a bit is all.” Sadie walked over to the table, peaking at the paper in front of Jack. “You still working on your story?”

“Yep. It’s coming along pretty well, too. Miss Gaskill said she should be able to make it over in two weeks or so, so I’m trying to get three more chapters written before then.”

“Ooh, Mary-Beth’s on her way? That’s great news! I hope John and Charles will be back from… wherever the hell they are before then so we can have a real party.”

“I’m hopeful they’ll be back too. It’s always great when everybody’s here.” Jack smiled.

“That it is.” Sadie agreed, moving to sit down in the empty chair to Jack’s left.

“Oh, I figure we should tell you; Ma’s been getting a lot better on her reading!”

“Hm, is that so?” Sadie glanced in Abigail’s direction, a small smile forming on her face as their eyes met.

“I mean, I suppose.” Abigail blushed, embarrassed by the attention. “

“Suppose? Ma, you got through three pages of my work in about fifteen minutes, and that’s including the time you took to write down the hard words and your notes and such. You’re doing amazingly well! Just wait until Mr. Jones and Pa and Miss Gaskill all find out, they’re gonna be blown away!”

“I’m pretty blown away too.” Sadie said, her eyes still locked onto Abigail’s. “You should be proud of yourself. Readin’ ain’t easy.”

Abigail somehow felt herself turning redder, and spun on her heel to go and work on sewing. She heard Sadie laugh behind her, the sound ringing out like brazen bells.

--

Abigail watched as Sadie changed into her nightdress, entranced. She was gorgeous, her sun-kissed figure nearly glowing in the low light. Something about the way that she went about unbuckling and unbuttoning every piece of clothing was enough to put Abigail in a spell. She still didn’t know how she had gotten so lucky so as to be with a woman so wonderful as her.

“I meant it when I said I missed you, y’know.” Abigail said.

Sadie turned around pulling her nightdress over her head. “And I meant it when I said I was proud of you.”

The comment had Abigail blushing again, biting her lip as she tried to avert her gaze from Sadie’s piercing eyes.

“I’m serious, Abi.” She walked over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge next to her. “Let me compliment you, please.”

“It ain’t anythin’ that really warrants a compliment. It’s pretty straightforward, I just need to get around to doin’ it more often.” Abigail laughed. “If I had started a bit earlier, I would probably be literate by now. And if I had more time I could dedicate to it, I’d be a hell of a lot closer.”

“I’d already say you’re pretty damn near literate now.” Sadie pressed a kiss to Abigail’s temple. “You can read Jack’s old books without a problem, and with someone’s help, you can read bigger works, like his work in progress.”

“I appreciate it Sadie, I really do, I just don’t know if it’s somethin’ that really warrants this much.”

“Well I sure as hell do.” Sadie reached her hand out, rubbing it softly in circles on Abigail’s thigh. “If anything, I think this kind of progress deserves a reward, don’t you?”

Abigail made a happy noise, resting her head on Sadie’s shoulder. “Not sure I’d say that much, but I’m the last person to be complaining.”

“Good.” Sadie reached her free hand out, turning so she faced Abigail and letting it rest on her cheek. “Because I’m gonna force you to be proud of yourself.”

Abigail wasn’t sure just who leaned in first, all she knew was that their lips eventually met and they were kissing, slow and warm and relaxing. Sadie slid the hand on Abigail’s cheek back, letting it tangle in her hair as she undid her braid. All the while, the hand on Abigail’s thigh kept stroking.

They broke apart momentarily, Abigail lifting her night dress up and over her head, casting it somewhere off the side of the bed. Sadie’s face lit up, and she eased Abigail down onto the mattress gently, kissing her once more, catching her bottom lip and nibbling gently.

“‘M gonna make you feel so good, Abi.” Sadie drew her hands up and along Abigail’s breasts, smiling at the breath that caught in her throat as she did so. “Just like you deserve.”

“Mm, why don’t you show me then, instead of tellin’ me?” she teased, unable to help herself. “Don’t you think that would be better?”

“Hm, maybe you’re right…” Sadie traced the outline of Abigail’s left nipple, smirking at the shaky gasp she let out. “Need to get you nice and wet for me first, though.”

“Then touch me where I need it.” Abigail sighed again as Sadie kept teasing her nipples, spreading her legs in an attempt to entice her lover. “Sadie…”

“Fine, you do deserve it after working so hard today.” Sadie let one of her hands dip down between Abigail’s legs, finding her clit and massaging in slow, steady circles. “This feel good?”

“Yes.” Abigail breathed out, arching her back into Sadie’s touch. “Don’t stop, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Sadie eased herself down, using her left elbow to support herself as she leaned over Abigail and whispered in her ear. “You’re so smart, d’you know that? You pick up on things so quickly, you always take the time to teach yourself about things, you think things through logically…” Sadie trailed off, scraping her teeth along the side of Abigail’s neck. “It’s attractive. It’s so attractive, Abigail. You’re so attractive.”

“Were you thinkin’ that earlier?” she asked, smiling as pleasure fizzed through her. “You sure were lookin’ at me like somethin’-- fuck, Sadie -- somethin’ was on your mind.”

“I sure was. Damn near wanted to kick Jack outta the house and take you right there on the table. But that’s not all. You wanna know what else I was thinkin’ about?” Sadie’s breath fanned down Abigail’s neck.

“What?”

Sadie pulled back a bit so she could get a better look at Abigail, smiling down at her as though she were the only thing in the world.

“I was thinkin’ about how lovely you are. How cute you are when you blush, how perfect you always are… you’re so attractive, Abi. You always have been.”

Sadie’s words drew a moan out of Abigail, who began to grind against her fingers. “Sadie, my love…”

“Shh, I gotcha. I’ve always gotcha.” Sadie moved her finger down Abigail’s slit, circling her entrance once, twice. “I think you’re wet enough now, my darling.”

Abigail had to bite down on her lip to try and keep herself at least somewhat quiet as Sadie slid into her, stroking at that soft spot. “Sadie, goodness…”

“I know, that feels really good.” Sadie added a second finger, leaning in and capturing Abigail’s lips with her own once more, this kiss more heated than any previous one.

Abigail felt her legs begin to shake as she neared her peak. She pushed Sadie off of her lightly to try and warn her, but Sadie was already a step ahead, moving her mouth down to Abigail’s neck and sucking gently on a spot her collar would cover.

When Sadie’s thumb pressed into her clit, both of her fingers crooking just right, that was all, the coil in Abigail’s stomach coming undone as Sadie covered her mouth with hers, lips and tongues crashing together as Abigail rode out her high. She couldn’t remember the last time she had come this hard for seemingly no reason, but she wasn’t about to complain, not when everything felt this good.

Sadie pulled back as Abigail began to calm down, her breath hot and heavy on Sadie’s forehead as Abigail pulled her flush against her chest.

“That good, Abi?” Sadie asked, kissing the top of a breast lightly.

“Stop sellin’ yourself short.” Abigail panted, running a hand through Sadie’s undone hair. “That was amazin’ and you know it.”

“You really did deserve it, Abi. I’m so proud of you.” Sadie kissed Abigail’s breast again, wrapping an arm around her. Abigail hummed.

“I’ll take your word for it, then. If every time I do well on somethin, this is the reward I’ll get, I’m gonna be readin’ until I pass out from exhaustion.” she laughed.

“Just keep it at, Abi. I know you’ve got this, and you’re only gonna get better. You’ll be literate one day, and that day just keeps on gettin’ closer with every bit of progress you make.”

Abigail sighed happily. “Let’s both look forward to it, then.”

[venusdeus]

Court of Kings - Chapter 2

Summary: Sent to a neighboring kingdom to secure an alliance, forced to give up your dreams and ambitions, disregarded as a means to an end. You however have no desire to fulfil their wishes. And neither does Oikawa.

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x female reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy, angst, royalty au, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers au (more like enemies to allies to friends to lovers), eventual smut maybe?

Word count: 2165

Warnings: All the characters are adults unless specified. This chapter is sfw. Minors do not interact.

Notes: This is part 2. To start from the prologue, you can use this link.

Chapter 1 <...> Chapter 3

You prided yourself in not expressing your thoughts or your emotions on your face and having full control over your body language. In this situation, you thought, it was certainly a blessing. You did not want this man to read your thoughts even though hawk like eyes of his that were focused on you made you think he could.

“A very beautiful garden indeed.” Oikawa remarked for a second time that night, his hand resting behind his back “We do not have this many varieties when it comes to plants up north. It is rather cold there, especially when compared to here.”

The ball was still going on inside the palace walls and the music that was filling the rooms still managed to reach your ears no matter how far in the gardens you went. You two were thrown out together after the first few minutes into the reception, suggested, or more like ordered, by both parties to take a walk in order to get to know one another. Followed by royal guards and an entourage of maids and butlers of course. Thankfully, other nobles that would usually be following you, such as your ladies in waiting, were not present thanks to the ongoing event inside. Never truly alone as it wouldn’t be proper. And you never did something that wasn’t proper. Or at least when someone else could see you.

“As you mentioned previously your Highness.” You replied looking ahead. It was not because you were scared that you did not look at him, or so you tried to lie to yourself, it was because you concluded from his rather rude entrance that afternoon that he disliked you. A man who had disgust and anger written on his face before just as he was supposed meet his future betrothed was not a man worth knowing.

He went as far as not to speak unless spoken to when your family decided to give him and his company a tour of the palace that afternoon, your father being absent of course. And even your normally chatty brother trailed hiding behind you, not daring to talk to him. Oikawa looked too broad, too much like a giant next to his sickly form. His hand never left his sword either. Did he not know what a grave insult he gave you when he behaved as if you were after his head, you wondered. You would not blame him of course, not like you did not know the strained relations between the two countries. But it was rude, nonetheless.

The only interaction you had that day before the ball was limited to greetings and if you counted it, walking next to each other in the halls. In the evening, a dance to open the ball. And that was it until now.

“Princess,” he started as you winced at the name, he did not even bother to use your proper title when addressing you “I heard you also had an exquisite greenhouse. Would you be so kind to show me? I am quite curious.”

You finally decided to look at him, fully expecting to see the previous icy expression on his face but found him to be surprisingly smiling. No, maybe not a smile but a smirk, you thought, the kind that gives you shivers and makes you speechless.

You were certainly not stupid. Nor blind. Since the first time you laid eyes on him that day, you knew that all those rumors about him were true. He had a face that looked like it was painted by the master artists of the past, an angelic feeling to it. He was also tall, towering over you or even the guards. The ladies gushed about how lucky you were and how regal he looked.

If only he did not have that God awful expression on his face when you first saw him, you would have been as starstruck as the Palace staff. It was evident that he made up his mind about you before he even met you. So why should you try to get to know him.

“It would be my pleasure.” you answered turning right towards the greenhouse. You have passed it once or twice every week in your walks but you were never allowed in when the gardeners were present.

He did not speak again until you both stopped at the gates of the glass building. That's when he turned towards the staff and the guards that were following you and addressed them with a voice so sweet that could catch vermin.

“If you could please give her Highness and me a few minutes to tour inside I would really appreciate it.”

It was such an inappropriate suggestion that you could feel your face getting hot with anger. You knew he was rude, but you did not expect him to behave with the manners of a dog. It was no secret that he had done countless things you did not dare voice with other ladies or even commoners in places that seemed innocent enough until he was left alone with them. But to taint the reputation of a royal with such suggestion was another thing.

One of the wives of a southern Duke even recalled one evening, after the announcement of his upcoming visit, that one of the most magical nights she had was at his library at his court, giggling while you sat at the same round table as her, playing cards not even a meter away. It made your stomach turn and not just because of the story, but because of the look she gave you afterwards. It reminded you of the smug look your father’s mistress gave you whenever your paths crossed.

You couldn’t stomach the thought of having a similar faith wherever you went.

One of the butlers, god bless his soul, opened his mouth to object but was quickly shut down by Oikawa’s honey voice.

“The path inside looks very narrow you see. And I am not used to being in such a humid and small space with too many people. I can promise you that we won’t take longer than five minutes.”

In hindsight they should have not let him get away with such proposition. But he was the crown prince of one of the strongest kingdoms in this part of the world and he was also to be your future husband. You were not betrothed yet officially but it was as good as done. If it wasn’t they would not even be invited here.

Or maybe, you should have refused his request or asked only two guards to follow you. But one look at his face and your curiosity was peaked. You wanted to know what he wanted to achieve with such a risqué favor. So, you followed the wolf to its den. If any of the nobles heard of this, or god forbid your family, you would be as good as dead. But you could always order your maids to keep their mouths shut. You could never trust anyone to not talk of course, but a threat could do the work.

“I am bit of a botanist myself.” Oikawa said just before the doors closed behind you.

You couldn’t properly see your surroundings as the only light inside came from the moon shining above the tall glass ceiling, and sadly it was not enough to illuminate your path. Oikawa on the other hand was behaving as if he owned the place itself, walking ahead of you, only turning once to check if you were still following him.

“Though it is mostly a hobby.” He continued, finally stopping in front of a cactus like plant with lovely white flowers and turning to you.

“I am guessing you did not ask to come here alone just to talk about your botanical knowledge. What is it that you want to know?” You asked with a cold tone just as your eyes started to adjust to the dark setting.

The corners of his mouth lifted into what could be called one of the most sinister similes you have seen so far before he chuckled.

“I’ve been told you had a kind and warm disposition but that you are very naïve and certainly not very bright.” He said seizing you up.

You knew of your reputation. What other people did not know, however, was that this reputation of yours was created by non-other than you. Carefully thought of and highly fabricated. The life was easier when people did not expect much from you. It also made it easier to listen in on conversations. Afterall, they did not think you would understand or care. But something about Oikawa aggravated you so much that your delicately built facade crumbled into pieces in seconds.

“And I’ve been told you are a very handsome, intelligent and proper gentleman. What a shame we’ve been both lied to.” You replied before taking a step towards him as if to challenge.

He let out the first genuine laugh since his arrival at your rebuttal, his head tilting back. If it were any other person, they would be insulted at your words, but he seemed to be amused.

“What a shame indeed.” He answered also stepping towards you. “Truly disappointing.”

“Is it what you wanted? A naïve, dull and ignorant wife?”

“Is it important what I want?” he pondered crossing his arms.

“A submissive wife than.” You replied “Let me rephrase that. You needed a submissive and naive wife. For what reason may I ask?”

He acted as if he did not hear your question, opting to not even acknowledge it “If we are to come back to the topic at hand, you are right your highness. I wanted to come here alone to see your true character. I know firsthand how exhausting it is to play pretend with others around.”

“And what did you find?”

“That you are very spirited.” He said moving closer.

“Thank you.”

“That was not a compliment Princess.” He stopped a step away from you.

“Anything you deem disappointing in a woman is a compliment to me.” You replied closing the distance between you two, your bodies only inches apart. He seemed to be taken aback for a second before his eyes narrowed and he turned his head towards the plant you were standing next to.

“Selenicereus grandifloras.” He sighed.

“Huh?” the unladylike sound left your mouth over your confusion before you could stop yourself.

“It is also known as the ‘queen of the night’ for it only blooms once every year at night before its petals wither before the morning. We must be extremely lucky.” He elaborated tilting his head towards the fully blossomed flowers. “Even the most beautiful and spirited of flowers cowers when the light shines. Do tell Princess, where will you be once the morning comes?”

He inched towards you, bending down until his face was directly opposite of yours. It was the most indecent position and against your better judgement you were at a loss of words over it. The humidity inside felt ten times worse than it was as you could feel his hot breath on your face. He was so close that you could smell the soft leather, citrus and cinnamon in which you did not know if it was coming from him or from all the greenery around you. Only thing you could think was one wrong move and your noses would be touching. He seemed to be thinking the same as his gaze fell on your lips before he took a step back.

“Because I do not know where you will be your Highness, but I can tell you where you won’t be.” He scoffed “You won’t ever be standing next to me. You certainly won’t do.”

Turning his back, leaving you stunned and stuck he walked towards the path you took just a few minutes ago.

“I can tell you this with the uttermost confidence. You will never rule beside me. I will never marry you.”

And with that, he was gone.

Finally an interaction? Reblogs are appreciated! And also this was not edited I posted it right after writing it so if you see any mistake let me know.

I would love it if you could give me feedback! Thank you!

Disclaimer: No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without permission. I do not own the character of Oikawa Tooru. This is a work of fiction.

TAG LIST: Let me know if you want me to tag you. If your name is in bold it means I can’t tag you.

@sassyglassesbunny​ @triskoof​ @m-a-r-i-a-s-b-l-o-g

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: v

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2  ||   chapter 3   ||  chapter 4   ||  chapter 6  || 

word count: ~4k

coming to terms now, are we?

warnings: descriptions of medical settings, discussion of surgery and injury but nothing graphic, god fluff, nasty big fluff

——

wow. halfway through y’all. thank you to each and every ONE of you who have given this story a chance. enjoy some fluff and get ready for next week 👀 once again, beta-ed by the wuv @keiqos !!

||||||||||||||||||

Exhaustion had long since clawed a hole in your skull. 

It was one of the many forms of malefactum that came from your fucking quirk, damn it to hell. The days following any sort of intense overstimulation episode of yours were always hellish. Constant fatigue, burning migraines, dry eyes, and confusion always waited for you by the time you rolled out whatever pushed you over the edge.

The villain attack was probably the worst episode you’d had, ever. 

The entire trip to the hospital had been sort of a nightmare. There were so many people that needed treatment after the attack, so many of them worse off than yourself. You were lucky enough to get into a dark hospital room fairly quickly, allowing some of your symptoms to dull. 

You were just coherent and aware enough to deal with everyone you needed to, paperwork and legalities of your visit sorted. You even managed to send a few texts to your parents and work groupchat to confirm that you were safe. 

After a myriad of late-night tests and exams, it was confirmed that the next morning, you’d have a procedure to mend your leg.

...

Fixing the internal damage to your leg caused by the tearing of the glass was a fairly quick affair, according to your kind-smiled surgeon.

“I know it seemed abrupt, to do it so quickly,” The surgeon stuffed her hands in the pocket of her scrubs. “But, we’ve flown in extra medical personnel to help deal with injuries from the attack and well, you’re an easy fix.”

You smiled, the best you could, groggy with the anesthetic, “I’m glad it isn’t too bad.”

“Nope! Not at all,” She laughed, far too pleasant for all the chaos just outside your dimly lit hospital room. “We’ll keep you here tonight, and you should be able to go home tomorrow afternoon. You’ll need to keep weight off of that leg for about three weeks. We’ll have a follow-up appointment then, and make sure you’re healing alright. Sound good?”

You nodded, some tension releasing from your chest.

The procedure left you with a heavy plastic boot, clasped up to your knee. Not to mention your body ached with fatigue. 

Most of the rest of that day was spent spinning in and out of sleep, only waking for basic checks and a delivery of flowers you received from the teashop’s owners complete with a passive-aggressive reminder that ‘this had nothing to do with us, you can’t sue <3.’

 Your constant company was Hawks’s scarlet feather. As you moved through the bends of your quirk and post-surgical recovery, you held onto it like a lifeline. With each stroke of the soft filaments, your heart rate monitor would beep slower and slower towards a relaxed rhythm. 

It made you think of him, and how he felt with your quirk activated. 

Despite how shitty the circumstances were, really feeling Keigo with your quirk was heavenly. Feeling him in general, physically was a fucking blessing. You spent a lot of time that night and first day at the hospital fantasizing about how the beat of his heart felt like amber drops on your tongue and orange-bound warmth in your chest.

You wanted more of it.

 Keigo stayed around to help deal with the mess, for once in his career. It was weird for him to spend the following day after the attack helping out on the scene. It was even weirder for the other Pros around that were aware of his reputation of simply not doing that.

It was out of character for him.

But, then again, Keigo hadn’t ever spent as much time at someplace he enjoyed like the teashop. Hell, the whole street. He’d patrolled plenty of areas for long stretches of time, but he’d never grown attached.

You were, obviously, a big part of that.

Seeing you hurt left him frazzled and fucked, and staying behind to help pick up the mess and provide aid made him feel a hell of a lot better. Sure, it was different, having local Pros look to him for guidance when he had to purely rely on his training from the Commission as opposed to his professional experience. He did well, he knew, especially based on the way the scene calmed even when he simply flew around.

Keigo had the power to bring people ease, even if he struggled with it himself. 

The idea made him think back to you, undoubtedly still in pain, but more than likely entirely fine. He ignored the urge to text you anxiously as he was still parsing over the very sweet interaction the two of you had, even if it was in such a bad circumstance. 

Your sweetness at the end was his constant reminder that you would be okay. 

The implication and Keigo’s knowledge post- ‘the miel incident,’ as he was calling it, was obvious, and god, he wanted to fucking drown in it. The thought of having you so close that he could hear your heartbeat and feel the drum of your voice against your chest made him weak. 

He was so fucking weak for you.

It was distracting, as it always was. It seemed fairly unavoidable especially as anxiety chewed at him. The one thing that lulled him was the far off feeling of the feather he had tucked in your hand. It had to be close to you still, the beat of your heart sending him shudders if he focused on it hard enough.

It became too much, thinking of you.

As his feathers swept piles of rubble, he pulled out his phone, the sun beginning to sink in the evening sky. 

 You had spent most of your recovery time in and out of consciousness, enjoying the time to rest and sleep. 

A short buzz from your phone forced you into a half-wakeful state. You reached to the table next to the hospital bed, grappling for your phone.

 [birdboy]: hey r u alive, 

[birdboy]: how r u feeling

[birdboy]: speak 2 me

 You cracked a sleepy smile. 

 [you]: alive, tired, surgery-ied. 

 You took a quick snap of your booted, propped up foot.

 [you]: getting discharged tomorrow babyyyy

[birdboy]: oh fuck what happened?

[birdboy]: u sure ur good

 The feather against your collarbone twitched, filaments waving. You thought little of it.

 [you]: i tore some shit in my leg

[you]: and yes, just tired as fuck and want to be home

[you]: hospitals SUCK

[birdboy]: true, true

[birdboy]: would u... 

[birdboy]: like a visit perhaps?

[you]: u sure??

[you]: i know ur busy and i dont wanna use up ur freetime

 There was a pause in Keigo’s nearly instant responses.

 [birdboy]: dove.

 Your breath stuttered in your chest. That was newer; you only remembered it vaguely from the . It felt far more intimate than just ‘angel,’ and it made you shiver as you read it.

 [birdboy]: busy schedule??

[birdboy]: i’ll make the time angel

[birdboy]: i’d love to come visit u

 You couldn’t help the smitten expression that burst across your face.

 [you]: and i’d love to see you

 You wished you could’ve continued the conversation, but your night nurse knocked to offer you pain medication and sedatives and you couldn’t say no to more rest. Your mind and body needed it. 

As quickly as it was administered, you were out again. 

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 You were exhausted. Still. 

When you heard voices just outside of your door, you couldn’t help cracking open your dry eyes. It seemed far too early for them to collect your vitals. The room was still dark, large windows only showing a trace of the dawn’s light stretching from the east.

Your sleep-addled mind stretched to listen:

“Thank you so much for the autograph! My son is such a huge fan of yours.”

“Oh, really! Tell him I say hi! I really adore my fans.”

Giggling.

“Is she a fan?”

“Sort of, more of a friend of mine.”

 He... said it again.

 A shaft of light sprayed into the room, your quirk firing at the sudden intrusion. You groan, pawing at your eye with your fist, the feather held between your fingers blocking some of the light.

Even with your diminished vision and tired mind, you still caught it when he laughed at your reaction, stepping into the room.

Honey, softness, cream and heat that made your chest thrum like embers.

“H-Hawks?” Your voice was still itchy with sleep. 

“That’s me.” His laugh rolled over you as your quirk receded, palms thrumming with the silkenness of his voice, “It’s good to see you, dove.”

“S’nice to see you too,” Your chest thrummed with his words and you couldn’t restrain the smile that spread across your face, “‘Ya know, you woke me up, just now.”

Hawks gave you a little chuckle, moseying his way to a chair nearby the bed and window, “Sorry about that. I had to sneak in here before official visiting hours so I didn’t cause a ‘scene’.”

You snorted. 

“You, causing a scene?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him, “Hawks? Never. Not once.”

He stifled a laugh, dragging the thinly-padded chair closer to the bed and leaning back into it, “Glad to see you’re in good spirits, considering you’re still here and all.”

“From what I can tell, it could be a lot worse, especially compared to other people that were there,” The end of your sentence turned sullen, your expression darkening. 

Hawks let out a little sigh, “It wasn’t pretty, that’s for sure. But, you’re safe, and most folks are safe. Bright side.”

“Bright side.” You repeated, softer, looking up from the plain sheets to meet his gaze. 

You took him in, quickly. 

He looked a bit worse for wear, the exhaustion from the days before still visible on his features. The dark circles under his eyes almost looked worse, perhaps uncovered and deeper since the attack. His wings weren’t even visible from your angle, plucked too short and sparse to be of much use. 

But, Hawks was, undoubtedly, still stunning. 

It was almost distracting, how unavoidable mentally eating him up was. You’d felt what he was like during the attack and that had apparently broken some mental dam for you. Holding back just how much you liked him seemed futile, at least mentally. 

You would let yourself be honest, at least with yourself, as a treat. 

What probably also pushed you over the edge was the fact that he wasn’t in his hero uniform, for once. You’d only ever seen him in his tan and black get up before. Seeing him casually dressed was shocking and very hot.

Hawks wore a simple black long sleeve with a long, wool jacket over it, black jeans, nothing seemingly extravagant except for the nicer looking chunky sneakers he wore and the fat gold watch on his wrist. It was all designer, knowing his paycheck. Without all of his normal regalia, you could better see that his pierced ears carried some light yellow stones that played off his eyes.

His feathery golden waves were messy, falling over his forehead and temples. The curves and angles of his jaw looked accented by the rising dawn light that was just beginning to filter into the room. There was the smallest quirk in his plump lips, but it hardly detracted from how stunning he was. 

He was remarkably gorgeous, naturally, and you let yourself think about it freely.

 Keigo felt a bit bad, seeing you in your state. 

He tried to be subtle, looking you up and down, heart-thumping his chest as the feather in your hand-picked up your own pulse. It had sped up when he entered the room, even more so when you started to beam at him despite your state.

You looked like a bit of a mess, and with anyone else, Keigo might’ve indulged himself in being a little bit of sarcastic shit about it, but he didn’t with you. It didn’t seem right. 

Your booted foot was propped up, a hospital gown askew over your collarbones under some thin blankets you were nested underneath. Your dark circles could’ve been worse, but your eyes were shining and alert, all directed on him it made him ache all over in the best way.

 The feather twitched in your hand, your gaze darting to it. Heat spread across your cheeks. 

“Oh, uh, shit,” You stretched your arm to pass the feather back to him. “Here’s this back. Sorry, I’ve kinda been holding on to it... a lot.”

“It’s alright, that’s why I gave it to you,” Hawks assured you, the feather whisking from your hand on its own and back to the downy stubs that Hawks had left. “Just a little reminder that good ol’ Number Two is looking out for you.”

You hardly needed a reminder. Thoughts of Hawks had been filling your head since it had stopped from swirling from your quirk. The thought of him leaving a bit of him with you only warmed your insides. 

“How could I ever forget?” You leaned back into your pillows, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Thank you, Hawks.”

Hawks blinked at you, reaching down to rustle something down by his feet, “For?”

“You know, saving my ass.”

“That’s my job, angel.”

“Still. You thank me every time I make you your drinks, right?” You shrugged at his wide-eyed expression. “Same principle. Except, your life isn’t on the line when I make you lattes.”

“Oh, angel,” Hawks drawled and deflected. “That is a false statement. I rely on those. They’re my lifeblood.”

A little realization dawned on you.

You gave him a sad little smile, rubbing your own knuckles for some semblance of comfort, “It’s gonna be a while until I can provide anything life-giving, then.”

The teashop was destroyed and who knew how long I’d be until they reopened. Not to mention that your leg was post opt and you couldn’t exactly work on it. 

Practicality aside, what saddened you most was that Hawks didn’t have much of a reason to see you without the shop. 

As much as you had feared it at the beginning of your friendship, you had gotten comfortable with Hawks’s presence in the shop and in your life. 

Too comfortable, and now it was biting you in the ass.

Thorns stabbed in your chest.

 Keigo noticed your slow-falling expression and frowned, “What’s on your mind?”

 “It’s nothing, just, uh...” You shook your head, blinking up at him,

Your voice cut off as your gaze refused to settle on him, Keigo clearly seeing your discomfort. 

“Without the teashop, you know...” Then, with that honesty that scared him, you finally met his eyes, gripping the sheets of your hospital bed, “I’m gonna miss seeing you.”

The principle made Keigo’s mind swirl.

You missing him.

His thoughts slipped back to ‘the miel incident’, and your mutual feelings that you very obviously didn’t fucking know about. If you did, he was sure you’d know that he would be missing you a lot without your normal interactions. 

This certainly wasn’t the setting to tell you, you were still stuck with an IV and probably somewhat traumatized by the event, even if you seemed in good spirits.

But, he could help assuage your fears. Subtly. Let himself use his honed arts to comfort rather than connive. 

“Dove, it’s alright,” He gave the softest smile he could, shreds of real vulnerability in it coaxed out by you without you even being aware of it. “Just because the teashop isn’t around right now doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you.”

The stunned expression on your face would’ve been cute if it didn’t make Keigo’s heart stutter painfully in his chest.

 “You... You do?” Your voice was so soft, you surprised yourself.

Hawks was a busy, busy man. Why the fuck would he bother with you? There was no cute coffee shop aesthetic in your foreseeable future. Maybe some decent drinks, but you wouldn’t be very mobile. You had some supplies and gear to make teas and some drinks at your apartment, but nothing as expansive as was destroyed at the shop. If it was flirty banter keeping him near, there were certainly other people he could go to for some natural chemistry, right?

He doesn’t need you.

Why the fuck would he bother with you, outside of what you could offer him?

“Dove,” Hawks’s voice shook you from your thoughts. “I’m here right now, aren’t I?”

“Uh,” You stuttered, mind catching up to the very obvious conclusion that, yes, Hawks does like having you around. “I guess, yeah.”

He frowned, leaning back in his chair as one of his smaller feathers whisked to your forehead, patting it a few times, “(Y/N), I like spending time with you. I care about you.”

Oh.

That was a little more vulnerability and truth than either of you expected.

Your eyes darted up to meet his, seeing a hint of unbearable fear before it was wiped away.

 You didn’t know it, but it was just you that pushed that fear off Keigo’s face.

He forced his shaking hands to be still, mouth drying after saying words that he wasn’t sure he was ready to say yet. God, they were true, but were they okay? For him, or you?

And then you gave him the gooiest, biggest smile you’d ever graced him with, “I care about you too, Hawks. Thank you.”

 It made both of your guts turn to mush.

In a stunned moment of silence, both of your breaths stuck in each of your throats. Neither of you could tear your gazes away from each other.

You both tightened your grip on your respective fabrics, your heart rate monitor beeping faster as you swallowed. 

Hawks opened his mouth, inhaling, but he was quickly interrupted by a knock on the door. A head poked in, the same nurse as before.

“Hey, sweetheart, we need to take your vitals quick,” She came in, waving to Hawks gleefully.

Hawks’s softened eyes were gone, you realized. Torn away from the moment and now speaking comfortably with the nurse as she checked what she needed to.

Your hands shook.

 Keigo noticed it, too, his own trembling as well. 

 The idle chat between Hawks and the nurse fell on your ears, though you didn’t process any of it. You were far too busy mentally coming to terms with the fact that Hawks cared about you. And, based on his tone and that familiar (but usually hidden) adoration in his eyes, it was a bit deeper than you expected and knew how to swallow.

You took a slow breath as the nurse left, Hawks waving with a wide smile plastered on his face.

When the door shut once more, there was a lull of silence that settled over the room. More early morning sunlight was beginning to slant into the room, throwing gold over the otherwise drab and lifeless greys and whites of the room.

The intense mood had been thoroughly interrupted by the nurse, but perhaps it was a hidden blessing. 

Both of you were terrified, but so deeply yearning. You both were a bit too raw. 

Maybe it would be better to let the fear fade, just a bit more. 

 “Oh, shit, I nearly forgot,” Hawks reached down next to him, pulling out a bag you hadn’t realized he had brought him. He set it on the edge of the bed. “I got you something.”

“Hawks.” You groaned, shaking your head and running your hands down your face. “You need to stop being so nice.”

“Can’t do that, (Y/N). I’ll be as nice as I want,” You could see that his grin was shit-eating through the space between your fingers. “Besides, you haven’t even looked at it yet.”

You took the bag into your lap, noticing the ruffles of tissue paper that puffed from the top. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” You told him, albeit still pulling the paper from the top to reveal a small, wrapped, fluffy object.

Hawks hummed, leaning forward to set his elbows on his knees, “You’re right. I didn’t have to. But, I wanted to.”

As carefully as you could, somewhat suspicious, you peeled back to the paper. 

Your eyes widened.

It was a plushie, round and soft with a filling that made it feel like a marshmallow in your arms. The design was familiar, a character from one of your favorite cartoons, but you’d never talked about it with Hawks.

“I figured you could use a little pick me up after all this,” Hawks tilted his head and winked. “Did I get the character right?”

Your mouth fell open, blinking, “How did you... know? That I liked this one?” 

“The little pins on your apron,” Hawks tapped his chest. “I figured you must be pretty fond of this one, since you had a couple of buttons for them, right?”

You wanted to give you a coherent, thankful statement to Hawks. Really, you did. Instead, you stared down at the doughy, round-eyed plushie. Maybe a few overwhelmed tears gathered in your eyes, which you promptly sucked down and shook your head.

“Thank you, really,” You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand. “But, fuck, Hawks—”

 For a moment, Keigo thought you were upset with him. Based on the slight contorting of your face, and the wetness in your eyes, his heart seized up. His fingers twitched from where they cupped his chin, wanting to shoot out and comfort you somehow. 

However, Keigo stayed put as you turned back towards him, plushie carefully gathered in your arms and hugged snugly and perfectly to your chest.

“You gotta stop being so fucking nice,” You sighed, pressing your face into the soft fabric of the gift. Your words were muffled, but Keigo heard each one perfectly. “I’m gonna start getting ideas, you know.”

Sure, Keigo could’ve pushed some of your buttons and fluffed himself up for some fun, flirty banter that would be undoubtedly lovely, but it wasn’t the time. You’d had a very long and tiring few days, and Keigo could see and imagine that you were in all sorts of disrepair.

Keigo stood slowly, moving just next to your bed where you turned your head upwards to look at him. Carefully, he placed a worn hand on your shoulder, feeling the small bit of bare skin exposed by the thin gown.

“Don’t worry about that right now, dove, okay?” Keigo let his voice go soft, quiet, and gentle as he could make it. Without thinking, he squeezed your shoulder, rubbing his thumb just under your collarbone.

It was too much, maybe. But neither of you would complain.

Keigo could see and feel the way you relaxed, eyes going half-lidded and leaning into his touch, even putting the slightest amount of your weight into it. 

It was probably the most precious and sweet gesture he’d ever experienced. 

He made it his goal to make more like it. 

(Anything to see you so instantly mushy.)

 “I saw a coffee machine when I was coming in,” Hawks voice was a hum, hand on your shoulder not moving. You didn’t want it to. The heat pressing against your skin made you melt. “Want me to grab us some? I know I need it.”

You managed to giggle, craning your neck to fully look up at Hawks. You swore you could see the slightest quiver in his bottom lip.

“I’d love some.”

“You sure you can stomach shitty coffee?” The thumb rubbed over your collarbone, Keigo’s pretty eyes searching your face, portraying far more than your words. “That’s my territory, angel.”

“I guess I’ll stoop to your taste,” You gave him a smirk like sweet lightning and tentatively, carefully, reached your hand up to wrap around his own, squeezing. “I take my coffee black.”

 ||||||||||||||||||||||

taglist: @thepandapopo @sinclairsamess

[philliamwrites]

killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.1]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 2k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla," sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia's hands.

____________

Loosely connected chapters about you and Childe finding happiness. Maybe.

Notes: Part 2

Masterlist

***

childe? what a problematic asshole i hate him i- *trips* *thousands of pictures of childe spill from pockets* fuck those aren’t mine i swear i’m just holding them for a friend i- *slips on a pile of pictures* fu ck no they’re not mine i hate him i just- *more pictures fall out as i fall to my knees, desperately trying to pick them up* hang on a sec jUst LISTEN

Chapter 1

     A cold gust of icy wind drives you deeper into the sheets and you swear by the name of Her Majesty Herself once you get up and find Alexei, you’ll smother him with a towel for leaving a window open in the middle of the night.

    Somewhere outside, a rooster crows. Fine, not dead of the night then, but no one cares for technicalities like these when sleep is involved. Especially after a night like this one, when Alexei fucked you into oblivion and back, you need every minute of shuteye you can get before another day of exhausting missions in the Chechnaya Taiga of Snezhnaya claims your last strand of sanity.

    It’s peaceful mornings like these that make it all worthwhile though—the quiet during the early golden hour when people slowly wake up to a brand-new day and get ready to do their chores, their factory work. The sheer number of possibilities stretching out before their hands, and hope rekindled every morning despite the harsh cold waiting at their doorsteps. You love how everything stands still, how even the uncaring universe seems to grant people a sliver of peace, allows them to be soft and vulnerable. To be kind to themselves by indulging in a freshly brewed cup of coffee or tea. Nothing can spoil this for you, nothing and no one—

    An awkward cough sounds from the door. You close your eyes, willing him to disappear by simply ignoring him, but his eyes burn into the back of your head like two smouldering coals and eventually, you turn around to see Alexei standing in the door frame, shifting from left to right. “There’s someone out there who wants to talk to you,” he says.

    Turning around, you try to disappear into your pillow. “Whoever it is, I’m sure they can wait until it isn’t such a damn unholy time.”

    Alexei clears his throat. “It’s uhm … it’s someone from the Fatui.”

    Your eyes snap open. Suddenly the warm, cosy blankets feel like a snake’s tight hold around your body, and you struggle out of its grip, grabbing for the dressing gown you carelessly threw around the back of your chair last night.

    The sun hangs low in the east, painting the city of Kerch that stretches outside of your window a sheen of dusky gold. When the red-brown bricks of the dacha cottages come into view, you think of the gingerbread houses you used to make as a child every year in celebration of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa of the Zapolyarny Palace.

    Cold already seeps into your bones even though the robe is tight around your body. You hiss when your bare feet hit the icy floor but can’t find your slippers. Time to die like a woman.

    You brush past Alexei, who’s scratching his head, still just in his underwear and you think him crazy for walking around half-naked like that even though it’s minus 58F outside and the heating systems inside your barracks only start to work once outside temperatures drop to minus 75F.

    Maybe what they say is true. People from around Noyabrsk in the north of Snezhnaya regularly dip into frosty rivers and you do remember him mentioning ice swimming is his hobby. It was one of the few things you thought attractive about him. Actually, it was the only thing you thought attractive about him.

    Light streams into the floor from the kitchen, flickering once, twice in dangerous foreboding. It’s time to switch the lightbulb. Tomorrow. Tomorrow for sure, because that isn’t important right now. What’s important is Tartaglia sitting at your table, leaning back in a chair, both feet crossed on top of the table, and eating your leftover mayonnaise sandwich you saved up for breakfast.

    His eyes slide lazily toward you, taking in your form—barefoot, shivering even though the fur from your bathrobe is of the finest white wolf fur obtainable on the market.

    Tartaglia finishes your sandwich, smacks his lips and licks mayo off his fingers. He doesn’t even like it, and you know from time to time he can’t handle dairy all that well. He just eats it because he knows how it infuriates you.

    “Alexei, huh,” he says in lieu of hello. “Didn’t know you’re into himbos.”

    Behind you, Alexei makes a sound like a kicked puppy. You glare at him over your shoulder, then jut your chin towards the front door. “Out. Now.”

    He doesn’t wait for you to repeat yourself. Surprisingly fast for a guy this big, he bolts into your room, gets dressed in record speed and leaves your little one-bedroom apartment without so much as a Goodbye or “We’ll hear from each other,” and you prefer it that way. It saves stuff from getting messy.

    Speaking of messy, you really wish Tartaglia would have sent you a note before coming. The smell of icy wind and snowy forests clings to his clothes. He must have come straight from a mission, not unusual in the slightest, yet in most cases he sends a message your way just to make sure he doesn’t run into one of your one-night stands and it doesn’t get ugly.

    Like right now.

    “I thought you had a little more class than that,” he says nonchalantly. His feet keep wobbling from left to right until you make your way over and push them off your table. Not that you actually sit there to take your meals, no. But this is your home, you have to assert dominance.

    “Well, I’m not picky,” you say, taking the empty chair opposite from him. “The nights of Fyrva’snezh are really fucking cold.”

    “I’m sure Fire-Water will do the same trick.” He’s sulking, yet he has no right to it and knowing Tartaglia, that’s why he sulks even more.

    Your relationship can be summarised with one word: complicated. Which is funny, because besides martial arts classes (taught by a teacher that is a real ball of sunshine who could easily snap your spine like a twig) and infiltration tactics courses (led by a grumpy teacher who once woke you all up in the middle of the night to do a spontaneous quiz about infiltration steps and everyone who failed or fell asleep had to run a marathon through the forest in their underwear) you had to take at the Fatui military school of Zapolyarny, they also teach mathematics and molecular physics, and that shit was complicated.

    Growing up in a small seaside village—bless little Morepesok; how much you miss babushka Katya’s refreshing botvinia soup—with only a handful kids your age, gravitating towards Tartaglia was the natural development. He loves ice-fishing, you love eating fish. You gag just smelling solyanka, he wolfs it down like it might be his last meal on earth. Opposites attract each other, as they say, and how true it is for you two—you, the morning person and he, the night owl; his will of iron and your nerves of steel. Your bow, his sword, even though Tartaglia is a masochist who likes to make it hard for himself by trying to switch weapons solely because you’re better at it than him and he is a sore loser.

    His worship of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, your fear of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.

    “I don’t think you came all the way here just to call me a slut,” you say. He is in no position to do so anyway, because Camilla from the ptychy’moloko shop down the road that leads to the Sarov church didn’t shut up about blowing him for weeks until you sent her a liver of a pig and claimed that was the leftovers from the last girl that thought she could put a leash on the Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. Camilla quickly moved on to an inconspicuous merchant who sells matryoshka dolls for a living and all is well that ends well.

    “What do you want?”

    Tartaglia starts tapping a gloved finger against the wooden table, a nervous tick you don’t know he’s aware of.

    “I’m leaving for Liyue first thing tomorrow.” His tone is low when he speaks, his earlier nonchalance replaced by a sense of urgency.

    “Okay.” It isn’t the first time he’s leaving Snezhnaya by order of the Tsaritsa, but every time he does, something inside you leaves with him. “So, you want me to keep an eye out for Teucer and the others?”

    “He’s really unhappy I’m leaving again already.” Tartaglia doesn’t mention the reason he was sent away just a couple of months ago to Inazuma was because he accidentally blew up an artillery factory belonging to a nobleman that secretly shipped orders to Fontain. The fallout from that was easier to handle with him not being anywhere nearby. Tartaglia is like a pair of hot tongues; no one is sure where to put him or how soon he would cool off, but if they just drop him, he might light the world on fire. Kid gloves are put on and a careful perimeter marked out.

    “And what excuse did you make up this time?” You knock your foot into his leg, lingering on his calf just a second too long before withdrawing again. “Another business trip to promote your toys? You can’t hold up this charade forever, you know.”

    “Why, your eyes feast on Snezhnaya’s greatest expatriate toy seller, now extending to the Liyue Branch of our Institute for Toy Research.” Tartaglia’s eyes have taken on a playful glint, and he leans forward as he speaks. “You wouldn’t be so cold to break a little boy’s heart. That’s not you.”

    You want to remind him that you have no problem to put an arrow between a man’s eyes, or rip out his fingernails, one by one, to get the information that you want.

    “You owe me, toy man.”

    “Put it on my tab.”

    Tartaglia looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but as always, he decides to swallow those words even though they must hurt like swallowing needles. You know that feeling, and so you help him sort out his tightly entangled yarn of emotions by figuratively pushing him off the cliff.

    “Don’t forget to bring condoms. I hear the women of Liyue are beautiful.”

    Tartaglia goes a sickly grey colour, like the ashes of a dead fire, but he’s been the leading role of this play too long to fall out of character now. He gets up and stretches like a cat getting comfortable in a spot of sunlight. His jacket rides up, showing a stripe of skin, and you quickly turn your head away before giving into leaning over the table and mark him with your teeth.

    Patting his left pants’ pocket, Tartaglia says, “I’m always prepared.” He carries a grin that is dry, humourless, and for a brief moment, you two lock eyes, trading a look that feels like a dare. You allow yourselves to imagine how he picks you up and carries you to your bed where you two would proceed to fuck without abandon through the whole day and the following night, leaving the bed only to get food until Tartaglia leaves for Liyue and you’d send each other love letters until his return. What an idea. What an utterly stupid, naive, wonderful idea.

    “Well, lucky ladies,” you say, not bothering to hide the jealousy in your voice because jealousy is easier to handle than regret.

    “Lucky indeed,” he agrees and dons his easy-going smile, one that he’s perfected after hours upon hours in front of the mirror until it accomplished what he wanted: to mock people, infuriate them.

    On his way out, he stops to ruffle your hair in an affectionate way, one typical for childhood friends, but the distance between you is like the ocean separating Snezhnaya from Liyue.

    It was on the very first day of your conscription into the military organisation, Number Six of the Ten Laws that the Fatui abide by: Any physical or romantic relationship between Fatui agents is prohibited. As thou would not exchange flesh with thy brother or sister, so thou shalt not with your comrade, for he or she is thy brother or sister in arms.

    And everyone knows Her Majesty the Tsaritsa’s word is law, and though the law is hard, it is the law.

__________________________________________________

please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

[nightshade-minho]

-Blue Book- (10)

Act 2

Warnings: angsty shit, future smut.

Wc: 1.8k (sorry for the short ass chapter-)

You blinked sleepily, a finger poking your arm and insistently pulling you out of your slumber.

A whine left your mouth as you opened your eyes slightly, Felix's face hovering over yours.

"Lix-" You groaned, pushing him away and casting a quick glance at the clock on your wall. " It's a Saturday morning, fucking let me sleep." You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow as Felix let out a deep sigh.

"Y/n, this is important. There's something I thought I should let you know-"

"Fuck. Off." You growled, voice muffled by the pillow.

Felix sat there for a moment, contemplating his life choices. Why exactly did he think it would be a good idea to try and wake you up at 8 am on a Saturday?

If he told you the news now, you'd be mad at him for having disturbed your precious sleep. If he tells you when it's too late- god, you'd be pissed beyond doubt.

Either way, he'd have to face your wrath. Deciding he didn't want such a pretty morning to be ruined, he put it off. Was it the right decision? Guess he had to wait and find out.

He cast one last glance at your sleeping face, heart beating. He hoped you’d take it well...he doesn’t want to see you devastated again. 

Mentions of him always managed to do exactly that, though. 

He really wasn’t prepared for another night of crying and excessive wine drinking, patting your back as you asked the same question, again and again.

He wished he could let you know you were more than enough, worthy of the world. And he’d be sure to protect you. 

He wasn’t going to hurt you. Not again.

***

When you finally woke up, courtesy of your alarm, you sat up and slid out of bed. Stumbling out of your room, you headed to the bathroom, which seemed to be locked.

"Lix! Come out, I really need to pee!"

"Just a second!"

You groaned and rested your head against the door, letting your eyes flutter closed again. Felix was definitely a wonderful roommate- you'd gotten lucky in that department- but he always hogged the bathroom, and it infuriated you.

You still remembered the day you met Felix again. You'd moved back to the town after about five years, no longer wanting to live with your mom and her insufferable boyfriend. As soon as you graduated, you took advantage of your newfound independence to go back to where it all began.

Running into Felix had been a pleasant surprise. The two of you had gone to a café to catch up. He mentioned his need for a roommate, and since then you'd been inseparable. He re-introduced you to the boys, including Minho who you’d already been in touch with. They’d all been friends even after high school and throughout college, their old group intact. Well, except for him.

Chan had moved away just a few weeks after you had, according to Felix. It had been quite sudden, and there were barely any goodbyes, just like with you. Half the guys had been relieved, apparently. Especially Minho. 

Everything that had happened back in high school seemed extremely childish, now that you were an adult with a job and bills to pay. However, you still couldn't exactly find it in your heart to forgive Chan. He was your first love, after all...and those tend to turn bittersweet. He'd betrayed your trust and played with your feelings. Yes, you were young and naïve, but you should have seen it coming- you'd always thought he was too perfect for you. Too good to be true...

You almost fell forward when the door suddenly opened, snapping out of your thoughts as Felix caught you, chuckling.

"Take a shower, sleepyhead." He chuckled, ruffling your hair as he let you go and walked over to the kitchen, presumably to make breakfast.

You smiled as he left, sleepily removing your sweatpants and shirt when you heard your phone ring from on top of the sink. Pausing, you inched closer and grabbed it as you shut the door, lifting the phone to your ear after a quick glance at the caller ID.

"Minho! I was just about to take a shower-"

A chuckle from the other end. "Sure, I was just calling to remind you."

"Remind me? Of what?"

"We were planning to go to the mall today!" His indignant voice came shooting into your ears. You winced and giggled, clutching the phone tighter as a loud sigh came through.

"Chill, I didn't forget."

A huff. "Good. I'll pick you up in a bit."

You ended the call, a faint smile lingering on your face. Your unlikely friendship with Minho was one the universe itself probably didn't see coming, in all honesty. 

You still remembered how vile he used to be. Yes, he had a reason, but that didn’t exactly erase all the pain and discomfort he’d put you through. 

He’d shown massive regret, though. Proved that he changed for the better. Besides, you couldn’t exactly push him away after finding out what connected the two of you. So, you’d forgiven him...

You wondered if you would ever find it in yourself to forgive Chan the same way- if you ever see him again, that is. The pain he’d caused was worse. You’d trusted him...loved him, only to find out he’d been using you all along. That he was in love with someone else, even as he hugged you and kissed you. As you brushed your teeth, your mind drifted, memories made with him replaying in your head. The feeling of his soft lips pressed against yours...intertwined fingers, his arms wrapped firmly around you as a storm raged on, a similar one swirling in your heart.

You shook your head, rinsing your mouth as you reminded yourself that it was all in the past. There was no point thinking about Chan anymore. You had Felix and Minho, your best friends and the only people that mattered, currently. It was all you needed.

***

Chan’s grip on the steering wheel was loose, his eyes half-open as he drove. He was way too tired, and it was probably dangerous to drive in his state. He was already close, though.

He briefly averted his eyes from the road to check the directions Felix had texted him. Yes, he’d arrive any minute now.

His heart was pounding. He couldn’t believe he was back here, years later. He’d missed this town, to be honest. And yet, at the time, his parents’ transfer had felt like a blessing. A way to escape from the pain he’d felt at your betrayal, as well as your sudden departure.

Felix had told him. You were his roommate. There was a lump in his throat, nervousness and anxiety at the thought of seeing you again brimming up. He didn’t know if he was ready.

The initial anger he’d felt when he saw you with Minho had faded away. All that was left now was disappointment, a faint sadness lingering in the back of his mind at all times. 

You’d been the one to show him what happiness felt like. He’d felt it when cuddling your small frame- skin pressed against skin, your radiant smile etching itself into his brain. He’d felt it when you took him to that museum, showing him what true beauty was. 

He couldn’t forget what you felt like. He’d tried to, with numerous people. And yet...all he could think about was you. Even now, as an adult. And here he was, mere minutes away from having to see your face again.

Just be quick. In, out. Greet Felix, catch up with him a little and that’s it. Come on, Chan. You can do this...

He parked the car, swallowing as he stepped out. This was it.

***

You pulled up your pants just as you heard the doorbell ring. “Coming!’ You shouted, zipping up as you ran over to the door, opening it and glaring.

"Ah, finally! You're late."

"I had to drop Dea at school." Minho shook his head, entering your apartment and heading straight to the kitchen, the enticing smells luring him in.

"Oh. How is she? It's been a while since I saw her."

"She's good. Misses you a little. She asked me when we're all going to hang out again."

"Soon." You assured, knowing you weren't that busy the following week. Following him into the kitchen, you watched Felix flip the pancakes, looking up as Minho entered.

"Hey, Min. Didn't know you were coming today. Want some?" He tilted his chin towards the pan.

Minho smirked and grabbed one of the strawberries Felix had set aside, popping into his mouth and shaking his head. "No, thanks. We've got a movie to catch, so we have to leave right away." You pouted at that, crossing your arms. "But I don't wanna be hungry! Want pancakes." You mumbled.

The two men looked at you, eyebrows raised at your sudden display. Felix cringed, chuckling as Minho cooed at you.

"You're so cute." He pinched your cheek, looking back at his watch. "Ah fuck, we really have to go now, Y/n."

"But-" You looked over at Felix, who flashed you an apologetic grin as Minho grabbed your hand, practically dragging you over to the door.

"Wait!" Felix suddenly called out, cursing under his breath as he remembered what he was supposed to tell you. Fuck, he’d almost forgot.

"There's no time to waste! We'll be back later, Lix-"

It was too late. Felix was secretly glad Minho was taking you away though. Maybe he could quickly get things done with Chan, and get him to leave before you come back? No...it would be unfair to keep the truth from you. He didn't want you to run into Chan on accident, and quite possibly murder him when you get home.

Calming down a little, he turned back to his pan, just as Minho opened the door.

Wait-

Your eyes widened as your eyes landed on the man standing in front of you.

No. It couldn't be...were you hallucinating? Or was that really Chan, frozen in place with his finger hovering over the doorbell?

Unfortunately, it wasn't a trick your brain was playing on you. Minho was staring at Chan too, shell-shocked as the latter's gaze drifted down to your intertwined hands.

A mass of uncomfortable feelings and emotions you'd repressed for years bubbled up to the surface, almost making you want to throw up. This couldn't be happening.

Chan felt the same way. So you were still with Minho? Fuck, the regret in him was raw, painful as it resurfaced. Suddenly, the anger was back.

The prolonged silence was suspicious to Felix. "Hey, guys...?" He frowned and left the kitchen, stopping in his tracks as he saw Chan and you, icy glares evident as you stared at each other.

"Fuck." He gulped, inching closer to the three. "Um. This was what I m-meant to tell you, Y/n. Surprise! Chan's back!" He giggled nervously, the anger in your eyes scaring him slightly as you turned to look at him.

Chan gritted his teeth, eyes still trained on your hands. “I’m back.” He repeated, glaring at you.

Fuck.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

A Darcy Day Off

As promised, I present ~6,800 words of a sick, miserable Fitz/willi/am Dar/cy. I’ve been working on this on and off for an embarrassingly long time so I’m glad to finally clear it out of my WIP folder to make room for new things. But honestly, it was a pleasure to write, and I hope some of you take pleasure in reading it as well!

Definitely he first chapter, and honestly the first 2 chapters are mostly exposition, so if you want to skip straight to the sickfic goodness and reduce the word count, head to chapter 3. But I had fun writing (and worked hard on) the banter and conversation in the beginning, so I opted to keep it. 

( @chezsnez @empresskaze @groundcontrol21 you all asked so nicely, so I hope this is what you were looking for! )

1.

“Darcy, dear, what’s keeping you? I thought we were to meet in the library for tea,” Elizabeth called. She found him still in his study, hunched over the desk. She danced to his side, planting a kiss atop his head. He leaned against her briefly in greeting.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I had more business to attend to today than I’d realized. Just finishing up now.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly, then his nose, trying to be rid of a tickle that had been infuriating him all day.

“Always at your work. I wonder our estate isn’t the finest run in Britain. And here I used to think people of high class such as yourself worried for nothing but amusing themselves all day.” She gently rubbed his neck where she knew he always got an ache when he wrote. He kissed her hand fondly.

“You are of such a class, too, now, my love. And how do you know it isn’t the finest? I’d be willing to wager a year’s salary this estate could be measured against parliament’s own estates and be proven worthy, if I have anything to say about it.”

“You pour your very soul into all that goes on here, and it’s one of the many things I adore about you. I am proud every day to be the mistress of such an estate. Only I wish you wouldn’t work so hard and take more time to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

“Are you accusing me of ignoring you, dearest? Only say the word and I would throw all my responsibilities to the winds and devote myself fully to your entertainment.” 

He kept his tone light and playful, teasing her, but looked at her closely even as he did. Had he been neglecting her too much of late? He had had several pressing business matters on his mind these last weeks, and he knew he had been at his desk more than usual. Lizzie had not complained of course, and had been nothing but supportive and helpful, but the last thing he would ever want to do is make her doubt where his priorities lay, namely that she was foremost in his mind and heart, and in all things.

“Not at all, for you well know I’m quite fond of my own company. However, I can't help but worry about you. You put too much responsibility on yourself; you are positively careworn these days. I only wish your more lighthearted side could see the light of day now and again, and not just when we’re alone.”

“I am my truest self when I’m with you.” He kissed her hand again, then rubbed his nose. “I will always struggle being lighthearted while working. The two have never gone hand in hand in my experience; gravity and soberness were expected whilst doing business in my growing years under my father, and others. All the more reason I have need of your influence.” 

She kissed his head again. “Very well, I accept the mantle of helping you find levity in your working hours. If only so that the strain you put on yourself will not affect your health. You put on a casual, careless demeanor in public, but I know better. You bear the weight of the world on those broad shoulders of yours, and that is a burden no man is meant to carry, even by his own choice. So come now, and join your wife for tea. The letters can wait another hour or so, surely.

“Indeed they can.” He stood and stretched stiffly. The chill winter wind howled outside and the sound made him shiver, glad for the roaring heat from the fire nearby, and in every room in the house as he moved to escort his wife to the library. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The couple spent a pleasant hour or two in their favorite room in the house, chatting warmly at times, and sitting in comfortable silence at others. The relentless wind made Darcy feel sleepy and lazy, and he wanted nothing more than to take his wife’s advice and take the rest of the day to relax. He would have been content to remain here for the rest of the evening with his favorite person and simply read and chat and perhaps nap. But he had two more letters that needed to make the post tomorrow, and if he did not finish them now, he never would. He stood quietly and brushed his lips across his wife’s cheek. She nuzzled back, then watched as he lingered before the library fire longer than necessary, warming his hands and rear.

“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. I’ve developed a slight headache is all, and it makes the task of my remaining letters all the more daunting.”

“I can imagine. I wish you would take a day off sometime soon, so that you may rest for longer than a few hours at a stretch. I believe it would do you wonders. Winter is generally a time for peaceful contemplation, but it’s been a frenzy of activity for you these past months. You are overdue for some leisure, my love.”

“You are right, as usual. Sometime very soon, dearest, I will take a week or two off and we will spend all the leisurely hours together you could wish. Perhaps we’ll even have a romp outside in the snow. Within the next month, once this mess is more or less cleaned up. Would that suit you?”

“It would suit me very fine indeed. While you could never be accused of neglecting me, I have been missing my husband of late, most especially his smile. That has been the most absent part of you.”

“For that I am sorry. I don’t like to bring my business affairs into our life together. My lovely, patient wife. You are too good to me.

“Well and I could say the same of you, so there. Enough of that. Come kiss me again, then go to your work before you fall asleep standing up.”

“As you command.” He was truly in danger of this, as he felt his lids growing heavier all the time, so he forced himself to move away from the pleasant heat, going to her side and kissing her fully this time, savoring her sweet lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Away I go. See you soon, darling.”

 Mr. Darcy could not rid himself of the clinging fatigue for the rest of the evening. His remaining letters took longer than usual, and he knew they were not as well done as they ought to be, but at least they were done. When they were finished, he tossed his pen aside eagerly and stretched his stiff neck. Perhaps he should take those leisure days sooner rather than later. He really hadn’t been feeling his best lately, and the wintery weather that had had them in its grasp for weeks certainly wasn’t helping. Also, he missed his wife, though he had just seen her. He missed spending time with her, and not just in stolen hours here and there. 

Right now all he wanted was to curl up beside her in bed, and talk of sweet nothings, and perhaps make sweet love. Hopefully that would help shake this irritating headache. Yes, they were long overdue for quality time spent together. He would make arrangements for some time away immediately, hopefully as early as a fortnight from now. The thought immediately made him calmer as he finished up a few small things, then hurried to find her and begin the more pleasant part of the evening.

2.

“Heh-KERRR-CHOOOOO! Heh- heh- KITSHHH’CHOOOO”

A bellowing sneeze startled Elizabeth from her book the next morning, and the even louder one that followed caused her to go investigate it’s source. To her surprise, following the sound of the miserable sniffles led to her husband’s study, where she found him ineffectually wiping his dripping nose with an already-damp handkerchief. 

“My dear Mr. Darcy, is that you making all that racket? My heavens, bless you! I don’t know as I’ve ever heard a sneeze so resounding in all my life. Were you holding it in all morning for it to grow to such a volume?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he sniffled sourly. “It was merely a sneeze.”

She quirked an eyebrow, amused. “I would beg to argue. You sneeze particularly violently, my dear. Likely because, as I noted, you hold them in until you can’t anymore.”

“Well, since you are evidently the expert,” he muttered as he pressed on with his work, coughing softly. 

She rarely saw this severe, prickly side of him these days, and this, more than anything else, concerned her and made her know he shouldn’t be teased at present. He really must be feeling poorly. She moved to his side and pressed against him as she had the day before, rubbing his shoulder. He did not respond, physically or otherwise.

“You are unwell, my love. You should go take some rest. You quite look as if you have gotten the wrong end of this cold of a sudden.”

“I am fine. Don’t worry yourself. I am only in need of some tea and I shall be quite well.”

“I’d be happy to fetch you tea, but I’d be happier to fetch it for you in bed, or at least in your chair in the library. I fear these large windows will do you no favors with the draft.”

“I have many things I need to see to today. I cannot take time to rest. And all my files are here in the study. I haven’t been ill since I was a boy. I’m certainly not going to be ill now.”

Lizzie sighed and shook her head at the foolishness of males. “Have it your way, then. I’ll see you get some tea. Was there anything else you’d like?”

“Just a scone or two. Thank you, dearest.” He finally turned his gaze to her, and she saw true gratitude there, despite the reddened, watery eyes and dripping nose. “And forgive my rudeness when you came in. You startled me, but I should not speak to you like that. Please forgive me.”

“Of course you’re forgiven, and I am sorry I startled you. You know I only worry about you because I love you.”

“As I love you, my Lizzie.” He coughed wetly into his handkerchief. “Now please, if you’d leave me. I really do have much to do, and you are ever my truest distraction. I will see you this evening. And please know, I am doing all this so that we can have our time together very soon.”

“Yes, my dear.” She sighed softly and made her way out, stopping one of the servants to request her husband’s tea and scones. She gave explicit instructions for the type of tea and what was to be in it, things to soothe an aching throat and ward off fever. If he wouldn’t have a care for his own body, she would be forced to do it for him. She only hoped he would see reason sooner than later and take himself off to bed before he caught his death in that drafty study.

~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, Darcy was endlessly studious and conscientious, not to mention stubborn, and so he stayed in his study, or was running around with different servants and community members all day. He did his best to conduct his business as excellently as ever, despite how very unwell he was beginning to feel.

When their paths would cross later in the day though, she could see he was flagging. His cough had become quite the nuisance, and his nose and lips were raw and chapped. Dark circles began to show under his eyes, vivid against sickly pallor. Every now and again, she heard a massive, wet sneeze disturb the air from wherever he was. She gave him sympathetic smiles and little encouragements whenever she could, but what she truly wanted was to see him to bed and tend to his every need there. The misery on his face made her ache for him. If only he wasn’t so proud. And yes, stubborn.

She was quite relieved when he joined her at their evening meal, wearily announcing he was done working for the day, and she told him such. He was quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of the evening, aside from his frequent sniffles and coughs, and the occasional explosive sneeze, which never failed to make her jump, even as they became more and more frequent. 

Taking his lead, she also said very little, reading exhaustion in every line of his frame, especially as his sneezes and coughs harshened. If she had been another woman, and he another man (indeed, her parents came to mind), she would have said again that she wished he would take the day off tomorrow. But it was not in her to nag, and if she had he would only have become angry, or withdrawn completely. She had said her part this morning, and she knew he had heard her and remembered. What he did from here was his choice alone. 

She watched him unobtrusively as he dozed by the fire that evening, feeling such love in her breast for her dedicated, hardworking husband, but no small amount of worry either. They had been married nearly three years, and she had never once seen him ill. She hoped it was truly only trifling, as he kept insisting it was whenever anyone asked. 

They went to bed earlier than usual, her feigning equal tiredness for his sake, so he wouldn’t feel he was being a burden. But indeed, all she wanted of the rest of this day was to lie beside him in bed, perhaps rub his back, and just be near him for whatever he needed. To her delight, that is exactly what happened. He said very little, and asked for nothing, stifling sneezes now and again even as his frequent, chesty coughing fits worsened, but merely lay beside her and let her rub away at his aches and chills as he fell asleep.

3.

Darcy and Eliza were both early risers, and both loved to greet the day while it was still fresh and full of promise. Being the man though, Mr. Darcy was always up and about before his wife, for it took him far less time to dress, and there were several things he liked to see to before breakfast, though he never neglected to kiss her goodbye as he left.

Imagine her surprise then, when the next morning found him still soundly asleep beside her when her maids came in to help her dress at their usual time. The sound of their arrival woke her, but her poor husband hardly stirred. She hurried out of bed, calming the poor, startled ladies in hushed tones, assuring them they had done no wrong. They helped her dress and fix her hair simply and comfortably before Elizabeth shooed them out again, saying she wasn’t sure what they should tell the other staff, as she had no idea what mind her husband would be in when he finally woke. 

Lizzie sighed as they left. Now it would be all over the house that he was sick abed, and who knew what other irrepressible rumors. He would hate that. However, at present it was the truth so he would just have to deal with it whenever he woke. In the meantime, she picked up her book and read in the chair by the fire, wanting to be close when he woke.

That turned out to be shortly thereafter. He first began to toss and turn a bit, then he started to cough, then he nearly made her jump out of her chair with one of his tremendous sneezes. 

“Heh -KER- CHUUUUHHF!” The noise was thick and miserable-sounding, more than hinting at painfully clogged sinuses and a raw, scratchy throat. While he was mopping the mess from his face with his handkerchief, his lungs decided to take their turn at clearing themselves as well, and he erupted into a series of wet, strenuous coughs. 

She made her way to his side during this sad display, gently stroking his tousled hair as he quieted. He groaned softly when he was able and pressed into her embrace, still holding the handkerchief to his nose, eliciting a cluck of sympathy from his wife at his sorry state.

“My poor dear,” she murmured. “Your health is much worse this morning.”

“Mby head is like a lead weight od the pillow,” he croaked. “Fatigue weighs dowd mby limbs dreadfully.”

“Then you will not work today?”

“Mby wise wife advised that I look after mby body more, and today mby body tells mbe I must rest, so rest I shall,” he murmured sleepily. “As long as you’ll keeb mbe company?”

“I would love nothing more. This is perhaps not the leisurely day we had hoped for, but I’ll accept it just the same." She tenderly caressed his cheek, frowning as she felt it. "You are terribly feverish, darling." Yet she hardly needed to feel, for just by looking at his flushed, sweaty face and seeing him shake with chills, the fever made its presence known.

"And yet I'mb chilled to the bone. I had forgotten how beastly udpleasant it is to catch cold," he rasped with a thick sniffle.

"Indeed, it makes one feel for your poor sister all the more. It seems she is laid up with a cold every other week. Now, how does tea appeal to you? And perhaps some food? You hardly touched supper last night."

"Tea would be lovely. Mby abbetite still eludes me however. But, if only to please you, I would try sumb toast and an egg."

Lizzie had servants running for his requests in short order while Darcy tended to his nose, blowing it over and over, soaking through more than one handkerchief. His tray was delivered in record time. Seeing it arrive, Darcy slowly levered himself to a sitting position, pressing a hand to his temple.

"Mby head is throbbi'g," he mumbled.

Elizabeth pressed the cup of tea into his hands, looking sympathetic. "Drink some. It may help your head."

He did as he was bid, drawing his knees to his chest like a boy as he drank while she rubbed his back. However, another tremendous sneeze almost made him spill the whole thing. 

“Ah- ah- KITCHSHOOOOO! Ugh…” He sought his handkerchief desperately, and when Elizabeth handed it to him, he pressed it harshly against his streaming nose to stem the flow, groaning as he did. Elizabeth hastily took the teacup from his again, for it seemed in danger of being upended at any moment.

"Bless you! My poor dear, what can I do for you? Besides keeping a stack of handkerchiefs here for your poor nose."

"I would ask you to help mbe dress in a few moments," he said, his voice muffled behind the fabric as he tried to rub away the headache between his eyes. "While I will be as quick as I cad, I must speak to mby steward and give hib sumb idstructions for mby absence."

"Can you not write him instead? I fear for you going out in the cold, lest this settles in your chest."

"Mby head aches too miserably to do a probber job with writing. I fear I would forget somethi'g crucial. Ndo, I'll quickly  go dowd and speak to hib, and thed I'll return. Ndo going outside for mbe today, never fear."

She sighed and nodded, knowing he would not be dissuaded. "At least finish your tea and try some egg before you go so you don't collapse on the stairs."

"I'mb far from collapse mby dear, I assure you." His general appearance said otherwise though, as he had been miserably coughing into his handkerchief throughout the whole conversation, and had yet to stop shivering. However, she held her tongue and served him breakfast instead. 

Lizzie saw he made an effort to eat as much as he could, and though it was only a few bites, she was slightly placated. She knew he would not relax until he had set what affairs he could in order. So, after his tea was gone, when he rose and began to dress, she assisted him, for she realized the sooner he left, the sooner he would return.

"I'd rather not ri'g for mby valet, as I'd be worried I would sdeeze on hib," muttered Darcy, looking embarrassed as she straightened his jacket while he futilely tried to blow his nose, which only served to make him cough yet again.

"It's no trouble at all, dear. Only please hurry back. I truly worry for that cough." 

"I'll be back under your watchful eye as quick as I cad, dearest," he murmured, grazing her ear with his lips as she slipped an extra handkerchief in his pocket. With that, he was gone, his boots thumping down the hall wearily.

~~~~~~~~~~

Time dragged as she waited for him. While she knew he could take care of himself and she didn't need to be here the moment he returned, she also knew he would want her to be. Her husband was a strong man, but at times like these, he depended on her, and she was not about to disappoint him. So, while there were plenty of things she could have seen to around the manor herself, she waited in his sitting room with her needlework, keeping the fire high. 

Finally she heard him in the hall. She rushed to open the door as he shuffled in, looking spent. 

 "Darcy dear! I expected you an hour ago!"  she said, helping him shed his coat. Suddenly she felt his shoulders hitch under her hands as his breath scissored:

"Ktt-tsshhEEW!" The wet spraying sneeze was his response, only partially stifled by the sodden handkerchief he held. She blessed him worriedly as he again mopped his face.

"I'mb sorry, dearest," he finally managed. "I was stobbed many tibes between mby study and here to answer questions. I cabe as quick as I could."

He fell wearily into the chair nearest the fire with a deep groan and a deeper cough. He bent to try and remove his boots, but his efforts were hampered, as his nose streamed dreadfully if he bent over. He had to keep a hand pressed to his face as he tried to undo the fastenings with the other. 

Elizabeth knelt in front of him and gently pushed his hands away, loosening and removing the boots herself as he leaned back in the chair, sniffling wetly. 

"Thagk you, mby love," he croaked. 

"Here, have some more tea, I've just had Mary bring some. There, now what suits you best? Shall we cover you warmly and sit here by the fire, or would you like me to fetch you some soup? I won't ask if you want to call for Dr. Bishop yet since I know what you'll say, though I have half a mind to."

"There's ndo need for the doctor," replied her husband. "Whad I most want right now is to lie dowd and sleeb sumb few hours yed. Mby mind is sluggish. I cad hardly grasp on a thought except how exhausted I amb."

"Then take my arm and let's get you to bed, poor man. I imagine some more sleep will do wonders for you."

"I don't need help walki'g mby dear, I'm not invalid, only full of cold." Even still, he took her proffered arm as he stood and rested a hand on her shoulder warmly as she led him to the bedroom.

"That may be, but I'll see you there myself just the same to make sure there's no distractions along the way." She kissed his hand and caressed it fondly as they made their way to the bed. She helped him remove all the clothes she had helped him don not long before and replace them with his nightshirt. While he clearly needed to sleep, he also seemed loath to let her out of his sight. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment with her pressed against his side. She scratched his back fondly. 

“You should lie down, dear. You’re more asleep than awake.”

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her unexpectedly, burying his face in her abdomen with a weary sigh. Elizabeth was slightly startled, but gladly reciprocated the embrace, burying her face in his hair. Her husband was an affectionate man, but not usually physically so. This gesture from him, while not at all unwelcome, was unexpected. 

“I feel terrible,” he groaned, barely audible, leaning most of his weight against her. “Mby body runs amok with mbe.”

“So it seems. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t wish this cold of yours on anyone.”  

She held him for a few peaceful moments. Just as she was about to again suggest he lie down, for it seemed he was in danger of falling asleep against her, his back twitched violently and he tried to pull away.

“heh-GIHH’CHOOOO! Hehht-kk’CHOOOOOF!” 

Neither had time to react as poor Mr. Darcy sneezed thickly, his face still pressed against his startled wife. She couldn't suppress a little gasp as he pulled away, stammering apologies and wiping his traitorous nose. 

She was silent a moment appraising the state of her dress, then an unladylike snort of laughter escaped her, sending her into a little fit of giggles even as she comforted her overwrought husband, pressing him gently back against the pillows. 

“It’s all right, my love. Such things happen. ‘Tis only a dress, and I have plenty more. It seems neither of us are coming away from this cold of yours unscathed. But there now, you’re completely spent. You can hardly keep your eyes open, red as they are. Take some more rest, my love.”

“You’re too good to mbe,” he croaked, fighting against his heavy eyelids but already nearly asleep, the handkerchief still in his limp hand on the bed.

She reached out, caressing his face and brushing hair from his brow. “No more of that. Close your eyes and sleep, for how else do you expect to get better?” She clucked her tongue softly again. “You really are painfully warm, poor man. It is most worrisome,” she said, more to herself than him.

“I’ll be alright,” he mumbled, the last word turning into a snore as he finally gave in to the needs of his body.

~~~~~~~~~~

4.

That was to be the last interaction Mr. Darcy would remember for quite some time. He fell into a deep sleep then, and everything that happened over the next few days would be blurred flashes in his mind at best, hazed by illness and fever.

Of course, the same could not be said for Elizabeth. After he fell asleep, she left him and tended to some of her duties around the manor (after changing her gown, naturally). She did not want to hover in the sickroom, both for her sake and his, so she forced herself to stay away for several hours, knowing he would ring if he needed something.

Still, in the late afternoon she returned, unable to stay away any longer. He was exactly as she had left him, snoring softly. He didn’t seem to have moved at all in his sleep, which was most unlike him. She again went to feel his forehead, sensing something amiss. He was much warmer than before. A knot of worry pulsing in her heart, she tried to shake him awake. He opened his eyes and seemed to look at her, but she could tell he wasn’t truly awake, and didn’t respond when she spoke to him, only grunted and coughed, trying to roll over and sleep again. 

Without further ado, she sent for Doctor Bishop, pacing the halls outside Darcy’s rooms until he arrived, wringing her hands in worry and opening the door to check on her husband every few minutes, to ensure he got no worse.  

The doctor arrived quickly, heading right into the sickroom. He did a thorough examination, listening to Mr. Darcy’s heart and lungs, checking his pulse and 100 other things. Darcy woke briefly a few times, but only managed answers of a word or less before he dozed off again. His large frame looked somehow both bigger and smaller than it should, curled up limply on the bed, with only his breathing as evidence of life. After he was through, the wise doctor scrutinized his patient, deep in thought. Elizabeth remained silent, waiting with baited breath. Finally the doctor turned to her. 

“You said he’s been overworking himself and run down lately, yes?”

“Yes, doctor. Business has been troubling him of late.”

“Hm. So it seems. Well, overall his vital signs are normal for a man with a cold. I see nothing overly alarming, excepting the high fever. That is a touch worrisome, but can at times be seen in such cases. No, I don’t fear any illness has befallen him except what you’ve said, a bad cold. I think he’s simply exhausted, and this cold has caught up with him and brought everything down at once. I’ll wager the fever will subside in a day or two, and the rest in the days after that as long as he gets the rest he sorely needs. I shan’t prescribe him anything except what he already has here with you, Mrs. Darcy. Let him sleep as much as he wants, keep him hydrated and don’t cover him too warmly, and I think this will run its course soon enough.”

It was as if great weight fell off her shoulders as he spoke. “Oh, thank you doctor! Indeed, I shall do just as you say, and make sure he does as well.”

“Please do. The stubbornness of the Darcys is well known to me, for my father and his father have been treating this family for generations. I’ll come round to see him every day until I’m satisfied he’s on the mend, if that suits you.”

“Oh, yes please, and thank you kindly. You have my deepest gratitude, sir.”

“My pleasure, madame. Until tomorrow.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

With a huge sigh of relief, Elizabeth collapsed on the chair at her husband’s bedside. After a moment, she found his hand under the quilt and held it, needing to feel his touch, even if in unconsciousness. After a moment, he unexpectedly squeezed it. She looked up to see his eyes were fluttering closed, but his face was angled toward her now. She took a moment to appreciate that fine face, though currently his nose, cheeks, and eyes were matching shades of red against the sickly pallor over the rest of him.

She sighed and softly kissed his hand. “Get well soon, my dear.”

He certainly took his time doing so, or so it seemed to Eliza. Either she or Georgiana were at his side at all times. He slept constantly, barely waking even to drink water. He spoke hardly at all and asked for nothing. He would intermittently shake with chills, or else sweat profusely. He sneezed in thick, messy fits, several at a time, but then would go hours between, until the sensation again overpowered and woke him. He coughed more often, since that it seemed he could do even as he slept. 

Yes, he slept, but he was overall restless. Noise in the room roused him. He stirred when he was touched. He stirred when he coughed. He woke when he sneezed. His sleep didn’t seem peaceful, which was perhaps why he never fully woke, because he wasn’t fully resting. 

The first night, Elizabeth slept in her own rarely-used bedroom (she much preferred sharing his), wanting him (and herself) to rest as much as possible. The second night though, she was achingly lonely, missing his touch, his voice, and his smile. So, she crawled into her usual place beside him in his bed, pressing herself against him. She found herself cold, as she had been since he was ill from the worry, so his warmth was more than pleasant. 

She herself relaxed immediately as soon as she was against him, but more surprisingly, so did he. He didn’t wake and hardly stirred when he felt her, but his breathing quickly deepened and he relaxed more fully as they rested against each other. Basking in the sensation of enjoying one another’s touch, they both slept the whole night that way. 

~~~~~~~~~~

More than 48 hours after he first fell asleep, Darcy finally woke up completely. Naturally, it was a sneeze that did it. 

“Heh’gihh’CHUUUHFF! AHHGK-CHOOOF! … ow….”

Something in the tone made Lizzie turn. She had been sitting facing the fire with her needlework, but glancing at the bed, she saw her husband sitting up, one hand to his temple, the other wiping his nose, and looking aware of his surroundings for the first time in 2 days. She dashed to his side, feeling his forehead at once.

“Bless you, dear. My, but it’s good to see you awake! Oh, and your fever is much decreased, how wonderful! How do you feel? Is your head hurting you? Here, drink some water, the doctor said you’re likely dehydrated…”

She wanted to prattle on, but she saw he was a bit overwhelmed, so she forced her tongue to be still. She gently grasped his hands, to calm him as well as herself, and kissed them fondly. She then handed him a glass of water, and he drank gratefully as she looked him over. He seemed a bit better, but he continued to look around in a dazed way.”

“Have I been asleeb long?” he finally rasped, his voice totally gone, and still stuffed tight with congestion.

“I would say so. It’s been two days darling.” She did her best to keep the worry and accusation out of her voice. He couldn’t help that he’d been ill.”

“Two days?! Good heavens.” He fell back against the pillows with a groan and a cough. “Ndo wonder I feel so sluggish.”

“Yes, but it seems you needed it. The doctor has been out every day, and he says you were suffering from exhaustion. Your body was taking the rest it sorely needed.”

“So it seebs.” He rubbed his eyes wearily.

“How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Sumb better, I thingk,” he said with a wet sniffle. “Less fevered. I am still weary, and will sleep another night soundly through, but I hope I’m on the mend now.”

“As do I.” She kissed his hand again, squeezing it tightly.

~~~~~~~~~~

5.

Mr. Darcy was indeed on the mend. He was moving about his rooms freely the next day, and 2 days after that, he was allowed by the doctor (and his wife, grudgingly) to resume his duties, though at a reduced basis, for his cough still lingered, along with some fatigue. Yet he was incredibly cheerful to be leaving his rooms, and everywhere he went, he had a spring in his step.

That same day he was freed found Elizabeth curled on the settee in her rarely-used personal sitting room, wrapped in a coverlet and trying to read. However, her dripping nose and throbbing headache prevented her from making much progress in the story. 

A barking cough burst out of her against her will, making her drop her book. With a feeble groan, she reached down to retrieve it, holding a handkerchief to her streaming nose. She had known she likely wouldn’t escape catching her husband’s cold, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant. However, she was not about to spoil his first day of freedom with her own illness, so she was hiding here to avoid him as long as she could.

Just as she was thinking this, she heard his boots in the hall, and she suppressed another groan. He knocked softly, then peeked in the door, looking happy as well as confused when he saw her.

“Mary said I might find you here, but I thought she must be mistaken. Whatever are you doing? I was hoping to meet you for tea.”

She took a breath to answer, but instead the urge to sneeze snuck up on her. She shoved her elbow against her face, turning away from him to stifle the stubborn urge harshly:

“HXXT’GH! HNNKT! HXXTCH! Guh…” she mumbled at the end, which turned into a painful cough that she hardly had breath for.

Darcy was at her side in a moment, kneeling by her arm and feeling her forehead just as she had his so many times the past few days. Concern and regret crossed his face. “You have a fever, dearest. It seems I’ve shared my cold with you,” he said, stifling a little cough.

“You always were the gentleman, never failing to share with a lady,” she groused weakly.

His low chuckle was warm. “I’m truly sorry. Yet I heard you hardly left the bedchamber while I was ill, so I suppose it was inevitable.”

“Especially since you sneezed on me,” she mumbled, trying not to smile.

“Indeed,” he chuckled again. “I’m sorry for that as well. But now, enough talk. Rest your voice. Come up to bed and I’ll see you get some tea and toast.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to go to bed, did that occur to you? I’ve spent all week in that bedchamber and I’d prefer to not be forced to go back,” she muttered petulantly. 

“I can tell you’re feeling unwell, for you’re never so irritable. That more than anything tells me I must see you to bed immediately.” His tone indicated some teasing, but mostly seriousness. Without further ado, he scooped her up in one motion and stood, carrying her toward their bedchamber, a little smile playing around his lips. 

“Why you--! I’ve never been thus treated in my entire life. Put me down, you terrible man!” Yet she couldn’t keep from laughing, miserable though she was, which of course turned into a cough. She hadn’t felt so ill in a long time. In fact, the overwhelming urge to sneeze was coming over her again. She struggled weakly to free her arms from where he had them pinned, but it was too late: 

“Hhh’rrrrushh’eeeew! Herrr’CHEW! Hihhh’knn’CHOOF!” She sneezed explosively against his chest, covering them both in the spray. His steps paused as he looked down at her, open-mouthed, while she stared back, reddening in embarrassment, but slightly triumphant.

“...bless you, my Lizzie,” Darcy finally said, an odd smile on his face.

“Thank you. I’m terribly sorry!... But what choice did I have, when I can’t move my arms? Now we’re even, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled again as he resumed walking. “And I suppose if you must sneeze on someone, it’s best if it’s me, as I can’t very well catch this cold again. But all the more reason for me to see you to bed. You look a mess. In the loveliest possible way, of course.”

“How charming you are, Mr. Darcy. You have quite a way of flattering a woman.”

He chuckled again, but by this time they had reached his bedchamber. He deposited her on the bed with the utmost gentleness, and proceeded to assist her in changing into more comfortable clothes. She shivered miserably as she changed so that her teeth nearly chattered. Darcy tucked her in warmly and quickly rang for some tea, then began to remove his own boots and coat. She watched him curiously, though with heavy eyes, for she suddenly she found herself exhausted. With pleasure she realized he planned to join her in bed. 

He did just that a few moments later, pulling her close against himself and wrapping her in his big, warm arms. She nuzzled in gratefully with a sniffle and a cough. He buried his face in her hair as they settled, coughing as well. 

“What are you doing, Darcy dear? I thought you had many things to do today,” she mumbled, already nearing sleep. “You’ve had so many days off yourself. You needn’t take another for me, though it seems we’re quite a mess still.”

“This has become the most important thing I must do today,” he yawned. “You were a saint to look after me this whole week, so now I must return the favor. I’m not likely to let an opportunity pass to spend time with you after these past weeks, for I’ve learned my lesson.  And I too am already weary, for this cold hasn’t quite left me. A nap would suit me fine, especially if I can warm you in the process.” 

When a servant arrived with tea, no one greeted him, and when he opened the door with the tray, he found it best to simply leave it nearby and duck out again, for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were fast asleep.