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dreamrecorder · 4 years

Note

Ok so- idk if you’ve seen demon slayer;; but there’s this episode (it was during the spider fambam arc) aNywaYs- so like. Rui yeets ties* (i guess-) Nezuko like. Up in the air. With his weird spider thread jazz— and like. It’s sHarP weird spider thread jazz— so she’s like. Yknow. Being sliced and diced with string— but it kindaaa reminds me of like. Xiao. And his like.... weird... sad.... uh. Karma. Thing. Like y’know where he’s like hanging from his arms- red stuff. Yeah. So like. Now for the actual request

Xiao’s s/o (female if you don’t mind;;) gets kidnapped by like— the fatui or smth. And they tie her up like Nezuko :D to be like “lol haha Xiao be all like-” and she’s just. Like. Dying. Slowly. Dripping b l o o d and yknow. All the tea. And Xiao comes to rescue her— and he’s like 0-0 “wait...” and he realizes that’s like- exactly what happens to him- and so. He beats the fatui’s butts saves his s/o, anddddd she like.

Idk. This is where I need your angst expertise ❤️ like- she could d i e. In his arms. And poor Xiao would be so scarred omg poor thing- BUT THE ANGST- but at the same time;;;; the f l u f f of him being able to save her just in time and she was like fighting for him the whole time or whatever and ended up needing him to save her anyways- and then Xiao feeding her almond tofu until she gets better ❤️❤️❤️

IM SORRY THAT WAS SO LONG- im probably going crazy from lack of sleep from reading fics for too long sndndnsnsj

But if you do this,,, BLESS YOUR SOUL I HOPE TO EITHER BALL MY EYES OUT OR SQUEAL FROM THE WHOLESOMENESS-

Anyways.... thank you! Have a stellar day~ ✨❤️

The heart yearns and the wind heard

lmao this ask is so adorable i hope you’d enjoy this ksks

anyway, full Angst train up ahead but there are moments of Fluff too. There are mentions of blood and violence if those are not your thing- dont worry guys, this goes with a happy ending cos you and Xiao deserve one~ on a final note- non canon compliant and suuuuuuper long- like- legit this is very long

The Yaksha sighs.

He’s here again. His mind and heart has returned his being into this crimson world his demons have created within him.

He feels it. He feels the corruption binding him tighter again for every death he brings by his tainted hands.

He looks at his bindings. And ever so slowly, the red and black coiling around his person will eventually reach his heart.

One day, he thinks, all this crimson and black in this world will swallow him whole and he will see the light no more.

Xiao sighs again.

This is his karmic debt.

The moment you stepped foot within Wangshu Inn, you knew he was in his prison again. After giving a quick greeting to the inn keeper, you hastily went to Xiao’s room. The closer you got, the heavier the atmosphere became.

You reached his door and knocked softly. As expected, no reply as he continues to struggle to take back his control over himself. Without hesitation, you stepped in. To anyone else, they would have instantly met his spear at their throats, but with you, this doesn’t happen. Instead, you see him crouched on the wooden floor with a hand on his chest. His knuckles were white and his breathing was ragged. His amber eyes- lost. Observing his form, yes… his moments of corruption are becoming progressively worse.

With swift steps of familiarity to this routine, you went to him and grasped his shoulders.

“Xiao, it’s me…” You whispered with clarity. And oh- how your voice brought a wave of comfort to his soul.

“N-name…” His voice cracked, but him calling to you is always a good sign.

You gave him a small smile and proceeded to grasp his hands together with yours. After which, you then leaned your forehead to his to chant your prayers. As your prayers progressed, slowly but surely, the corruption begins to fade along with the black mist that covered him. However, you took note how this ritual took longer than the last.

Once everything is done, Xiao just slumped onto your shoulders, still breathing deeply. “How are you feeling?” It was a useless question you asked every time this happens, but you always, always, have to make sure.

Usually, he would mutter a small ‘fine,’ but now- words seemed to have left his mind and all he could muster was an almost-unnoticeable shrug.

Truth be told- his response disheartened you, but you did not show it. Instead, you opted to simply encase him in your arms and caress his hair. After all, these are just one of the few, rare moments Xiao would leave himself into your care. Xiao is aware, himself, that his state has been becoming worse and worse. And you both know, that a day would come when he would just attack anyone- friend or foe- without a trace of hesitation. So, just this time- he speaks his feelings.

“Name?”

You answered immediately with a questioning hum.

“What would you do… when I finally lose control over myself?”

It was very subtle, but he felt how your hand stopped caressing his hair for a second, then proceeded to the previous task at hand again. In all honestly, you can never find yourself having an answer to that question. “And why would I ever let that happen to you?” You questioned back, fully aware that you were dodging his question.

Silence surrounded the two of you, unsure on what to do with the sudden heavier atmosphere.

Not wanting to face the cruelty of the world yet, Xiao simply buried himself on the crook of your neck even more. And despite the ghostly sensation of his lips on your skin, you could feel him mouth the words ‘I love you.’

“As long as I’m here,” you whispered, “nothing can hurt you.” And that was the most beautiful lie that the Yaksha has heard, but he was willing to believe all the same.

When word about Fatui diplomats starting a bank reached you, there was a nagging feeling in your head that trouble would bring itself present anytime soon. It was like an itch that wouldn’t get away. And the only way to have that itch gone is to scratch it.

“You are absolutely a fool.” Xiao stated darkly with crossed arms, for once disagreeing with the plans of his master.

“We can never know what their intentions are unless we let them start their bank, no?” Zhongli said as he gazed at the marsh spread beneath him.

The Yaksha only scoffed but said no more.

Building up your courage, you deemed it was your turn to voice out your thoughts, “Um… Rex Lapis, I see your point, but wouldn’t it be best to resolve the problem before it persists into something larger? We all know- All of Teyvat knows, that the Fatui are not to be trusted.”

Your archon offered you a kind smile, “I understand your worries, Name. However, as of the moment, they have not presented themselves as such. If they truly are our enemies, then it would be beneficial for us to know their intentions.”

You frowned deeply at his statement. Seeing you do so, somehow, your archon immediately identified your main concern.

“Is this about the Tianquan assigning you to be her representative for the Fatui?”

The moment those words left his mouth, a growl tore from Xiao’s throat, but he held his tongue.

“Did Ganyu tell you?”

The Archon nodded and you sighed.

“I volunteered, actually.”

And at that point, Xiao vanished into thin hair, but you could still his sense his presence around.

“May I know why?” Zhongli questioned gently.

For a moment, you struggled for words. You didn’t know how to describe this ‘itch’ to him. “At first, it was supposed to be Ganyu, since in the Tianquan’s eyes- Ganyu is an adeptus and she does not know that I am, too. Perhaps she didn’t want to put me in harm’s way, a ‘visionless human’ at the side of a harbinger. After some convincing to Ningguang for my volunteering, I spoke to Ganyu next.

“The adepti are divine beings that walk here in Liyue. I had this feeling that putting a divine next to a power-hungry harbinger would become an issue. I told Ganyu that, since I looked ‘harmless’ and ‘ordinary,’ the harbinger’s interest about the divine would never surface.”

A stretch of silence wrapped around them as Zhongli pondered over your words. “Perhaps, are you also planning to dig out the truth of their arrival?”

You nodded, “I knew you would allow them to stay, so I just took it upon myself to unfurl their secrets.”

“Hmmm… I grant you permission on doing this. However, should trouble arise, do not hesitate to tell us.”

The glare pointed at you was strong. Even without him saying a single word, you could hear his phantom voice in your head speak with such coldness, What are you thinking?

You simply gave him a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine, Xiao. I may be a human in mortal eyes, but please do remember that I am also an adeptus, no matter how weak I am.”

Xiao releases a huff, but still sits by your side at the floor of the balcony, letting the moon kiss his skin. “You’re not weak.” He mumbled as he snaked his hand to yours.

To him, you will never be weak. In fact, you were the strongest being he has ever laid his eyes on. Not physically, no. It was you mental and emotional fortitude. Back during the Archon War, he always admired how you kept your head held up high no matter the suffering you have experienced. No matter how much death surrounded you, you still fought. And that strength made you a survivor. During the war, you never failed to help the wounded. Even when someone dies under your care, you held strong for the departed and for those who are left behind. You were a pillar of hope.

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses every knuckle “… Just be careful. If ever you are in trouble do not-“

“Hesitate to call your name.” You finished, beaming at his words.

As someone who used to be a healer and a doctor, you were quite familiar with several mild skin diseases that mortals can suffer from.

If there is an itch, you do not scratch it- for you will only aggravate the area even more.

Now that you’re working alongside the Fatui as the Tianquan’s representative, the itch you kept feeling was only irritated more. Especially whenever you spoke with the Harbinger who goes by the name Childe. And since your work requires you to cooperate with him, you also don’t miss the chance to discover what he hides, should the opportunity presents itself.

Childe… his azure eyes certainly have their… charm to those unaware. However, you knew better. You know he’s capable of drowning you just by his eyes. While he may be a cheerful man, his eyes lack the lustre of joy. The eyes are the windows of the soul, yes? If so, all you see is an unending ocean that you do not want to swim in. The surface may be calm, but the deep is relentless. However, duty bound you are- deep within the ocean, you shall find the secrets the Fatui hides.

Again, another scratch to the itch, but it only irritates you more.

The news of Rex Lapis’s death became the catalyst of you confronting the Harbinger. From Yujeng Terrace all the way to Northland Bank, you ran (with Ningguang’s permission of course). Before you can even open the door to his office, something caught your eye.

It’s faint, but you’re an adeptus. You sensed elemental traces, just smack bang at the middle of the door. You carefully scrutinized the tracings, and fortunately you knew Snezhnayan script. And what you read only made your heart sink.

It’s ready.

With the adeptal arts, you managed to uncover the origins of these elemental tracings.

Scratch.

Without hesitation, you followed these tracings until it led you into some ruins.

Scratch.

Following the tracings further, you find yourself in a dimly lit room. Wary, you summoned your weapon imbued with your element.

Scratch.

Searching the room, you came across several antique boxes. You opened them.

Scratch.

What you saw were familiar. Too familiar. Dimming the room more with your element, you find more Sigils of Permission hanging on the walls and on the ceilings. The energy within them were faint, but with enough numbers, it’s enough to kill a-

“Well, well well, I thought you’d be there mourning for your Archon. But here you are, snooping around someone else’s research material.”

The sound of his voice made you sharply turn your head to him, your stance now more offensive. “What are you planning?” You bit coldly.

The Harbinger hummed a small tune, “Nothing much… But! If you’re really curious, I guess I could tell you.” He hummed some more but you knew he’s not finished. Once he finished his tune, he grinned to you menacingly and the depths in his eyes became even deeper and darker, “After all, I won’t let you leave this place with you knowing my secret~”

There was this one time, Xiao struggled against himself so much, he scratched himself red so that he could anchor himself back to the real world. You remembered how much you cried as he slept in your arms. You never wanted to see him do that again. Seeing him hurt himself also hurt you, too. It was like a stab in the heart, then a twist, and twist some more. A slap in the reality that you might lose him one day.

As he slept, you solemnly observed the wounds he sustained himself to. They were angry red, just like blood.

Now, you, yourself scratched that itch in your head too much into a wound for blood to seep through. You scratched too much and now you have to bleed from it.

You were slipping in and out of consciousness. Sleep was tempting you more and more but you know you have to wake up. You were aware that this is going on for days.

Everything hurts. You remembered how his blades, imbued with the Sigils, weakened you thoroughly. Every slash he brought to your body just drained the energy away from you. But still you had to do something.

He wanted an adeptus- he wanted an adeptus in order for the Sigils to grow stronger both in number and in power.

Now here you are, bound by chains and suspended at the middle of this empty room. These chains were adorned by talismans that drained away your energy. You were bleeding from your wounds of your previous battle.

Drip. Drip. Drip goes the blood and pools on the ground underneath you. The ground, you barely noticed, was lined by Liyuean script which enacts the ritual of the Sigils draining your divine power from your blood.

To the eyes of a sadist- you were a picture perfect in a canvas. A dark room lined by the damned Sigils, glowing an eerie gold. Then there's you with your bloodied clothes and chains. The red pool underneath was casting a red glow on your way, giving you a red shade to your pale skin.

Everything hurts-

And everything was driving you mad.

You can also feel the Overlord of the Vortex feed from your energy through the Sigils. You sensed his lust for power and revenge. You felt his anger and the corruption within him. You felt his hatred and his want to bring death. For days that felt like years, you’ve been battling against that very same god in your head. This battle was not something you shall not lose to and failure is not an option. If you fail here, then Liyue will fall.

This god- he was driving you mad slowly.

If ever you are in trouble, do not hesitate to call my-

You shut the thought from your head. You are not going to call him. You will not speak of him. You will not think of him. You will not call him. Not to this place where his corruption will grow. No. You Will Not Call Him.

If it means that me not calling you will keep you safe from the corrupted remnant of a god- so be it.

Please

However, no matter how much you denied yourself to call his name, no matter how much your heart yearns to be with him- the wind does not ignore the pained sob that left your lips.

Ever since the news of Rex Lapis's death and the visit of the Traveler with a Sigil in his hand- the corruption within him just bloomed into something feral.

The Sigil- there was something wrong about it but Xiao doesn't know what is it that is wrong. Then there's you- where are you? Surely with the news of their Archon's death- it would send you to bring forth a meeting for the adepti to talk this over. But now- for days- you remain not by his side.

With you missing- the demons inside him are slowly taking control over him, taking advantage of his vulnerability for you. For each passing day, it was slow torture for him- The worry bubbling in him was consuming him. He glared at the Sigil between his fingers and not failing to notice how his dark aura covers him once more.

“Traveler,” Xiao called sharply, “What is it you intend to do next?”

To any mere mortal, the look his eyes held were enough to strike fear, but the Traveler stealed themselves- meeting the adeptus’s gaze with an equally serious calm. “I have my suspicions on a certain harbinger and I-”

“Where?” The Yaksha growled.

“In the Golden House.”

Without a word nor warning, Xiao placed a hand on the Traveler’s shoulder and teleported them to the place where the Exuvia is hidden.

To the Traveler, everything happened so quickly as one event led to another. One moment, they were standing among unconscious bodies of the Millelith then the next thing they knew a corrupted and demonic gust of wind flew them away to the side. Regaining back their vision, they could see Alatus’s spear now at Tartaglia’s barrier made of Sigils.

Alatus narrowed his eyes at the floating talismans and began to calculate the flow of this incoming battle with precision and accuracy despite his losing control over himself.

It was a tense minute of sizing each other up, but eventually, Tartaglia has broken the silence with his annoying innocent voice.

“Who would have thought that I’d have the honor of fighting another adeptus of Liyue?”

The question immediately fed the corruption within him, the dark aura exploding at it. He knew that he should not believe in the Harbinger’s words so easily, but the glint in the latter’s eyes held truth. You could be out there, hurting, scared, alone. You could be out there, bleeding out. You could be out there dyi-

His aura exploded once more at the thoughts spreading in his being. With a burst of unspeakable power, Alatus lifted his weapon and pierced the barrier once more, this time breaking it without failure. At the threat, Tartaglia backed away as he donned his mask.

In a similar fashion, Alatus, too donned his mask. “I will ask you once,” the Conqueror of Demons spoke with a deathly calm, “Where is she?”

He should have killed him then and there. But the call of the Overlord of the Vortex must not be ignored as it threatens Liyue.

In the small opportunity of escape, Childe took it. But he was weak and injured as Alatus swiftly threw his spear to block his way and teleported right in front of him. In a show of power, the Conqueror of Demons lifted the mortal by the neck.

“I will ask you again, where is she?”

In fear, Childe told him everything and at his every word, Xiao listened carefully- never speaking once. But the anger within his heart, it boils- it rages. His amber eyes bored into Childe’s soul- thinking what he should do to this mortal. Oh how killing him would be so nice. However, when the Yaksha’s gaze landed on the regal form of the Exuvia, he merely threw the mortal in its way.

“Killing you would have been easier. However, the crimes you have presented against Liyue are not mine for me to judge.

I leave the Harbinger to you... Rex Lapis.”

Once out of the Golden House, the Overlord roared once more, shaking the lands of the nation. However, along with it, he heard the faintest of voices. I’m so sorry... I couldn’t hold him back anymore.

Only then did the demons in his heart freely took control of him. Just like the stories of old, where the Yaksha walks, death follows. But they were no stories. In his way towards the ruins where you were held captive, every step he took brought carnage and even more death and blood to taint his hands. No Fatui will leave this place alive. The very being of destruction ended many lives. Each death, the demons were growing stronger.

All he wanted now was to kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill killkillkill killkill kill killkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkill

Then seeing you suspended in the ceiling and bound by chains. Blood was painted on your lifeless skin. Wounds were littered and bruises were blooming on your form. But most of all, your eyes. What were once full of life and hope- now empty and blank. His demons quieted down.

Broken. You were like a broken porcelain doll.

“N-name...” His voice cracked, not believing it all.

With haste, he quickly broke your binds and caught you in his arms. he was fast to check for your pulse and your breathing. And thank the Archons, you were breathing but barely. You were now walking the line between life and death. With all his might yet a gentle caress, he hugged you for dear life. “Name... It’s me...”

But still, your eyes still held no recognition and it shattered his heart to pieces. With further inspection, he sensed the presence within you. A corruption. A certain evil.

“Name, stay with me please,” Xiao begged with desperation as he fought back tears. “It’s me who supposed to be the corrupted one between us, not you... I’m not allowing you to leave me, you hear me-”

With a ritual of the adeptal arts, he started purging and purifying the evil left by the god who fed from you. He is not letting you stay alone in your prison, not for a second longer.

Xiao prays and he never prayed before. Even to his master. But just this once, He prays with desperation. You are the light in his darkness. You are the moon in his night.

The ritual was a delicate process. For every word he spoke, he was rewarded by your screams of pain and the writhing of your fragile body. He wanted to stop, but he can’t. He had to physically restrain you from trying to escape from his embrace and from hurting yourself. And for every cry you released, Xiao merely shuts his eyes clos just for him not to see your pained eyes. Every now and then, Xiao speaks gentle apologies and words of encouragement for you. You were coming back. But still, the evil persists.

You writhed and scratched against him, until you were creating more wounds for blood to seep through. When it came to a point, you began pleading and begging for him to stop, that was when Xiao had shed a tear. So he continues the ritual, his prayers, and his apologies. They were arriving to a point where the ritual is reaching its conclusion but your screams only grew louder.

Please, just a little more...

Please, just stop...

Please...

The corruption disintegrated away from you in a forceful release of dark energy. He was breathing deeply, attempting to calm his loud heart. When he placed his gaze on you, you were breathing rapidly and your eyes were searching blindly and your hands were desperately holding onto him.

“X-Xiao...” You whispered, “Where am I? Where are you?”

With a sigh of relief, the Yaksha hugged you again closer and his forehead to yours, fearing you would go away again. The action made you lift your hands to his face, still searching blindly.

“I’m here, Name... I’m here.” At his voice, the dam in your eyes broke as you cried silently. Xiao was not adept in emotions, but for you, he will face them gladly. He lets you cry as he gives you soft whispers of assurance, safety, love, and promises. However, you were not crying because of what had happened to you. You were crying for him. After experiencing such corruption-

You sobbed some more- you were this close to him losing you and you could not bring yourself to imagine if your roles were reversed.

“P-please,” you said with a broken voice, “please don’t go to the place where I can’t follow...’

The words, at first puzzled him, but after a few moments, he realized and once more it broke his heart. Bringing you closer, Xiao let loose the tears he was holding back. With a gentleness unexpected of the Conqueror, he simply littered your face with kisses. “I promise if only you would do the same.”

With your smile that he loved dearly for so long you too spoke your promise, “I do.” They were simply two words, but the comfort they bring into the Yaksha’s heart was in volumes.

After that, you shared a few tender moments in each other’s arms. Simply relishing the feeling of their familiar warmth. A little later, Xiao spoke, “Would you like to eat some Almond Tofu once we get home?”

The question made you giggle at his innocence, so you agreed. Despite you needing physical medical attention. But Almond Tofu with him? Yes, you two definitely need some emotional healing.

A/N: fINALLY dONE lmao this was supposed to be short but angst really makes me want to write longer everytime haha~ anyway this request really made me ponder bout genshin stuff with all the corruption this and corruption that but then a question popped up like-

how did childe replicate the sigil of permission? since sigils are imbued with divine energy, i just thought how did this guy accumulate so much sigils to the point of freeing Osial- a god!!! soooo i just played with the idea for a bit then figured out maybe these pieces of paper get the divine energy from a divine source right? and the adepti are divine beings of liyue and another thing- you guys might have noticed the change of names in some scenes- i dont know but i think somehow different names represents different side of a person like- we have childe the cheerful harbinger then tartaglia the power hungry harbinger- there’s Alatus who’s calculating and cold, there’s the Conqueror of Demons who’s ruthless and unforgiving, then Xiao who is calm and humane- lastlyyyyy i might post this in ao3 ksks

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #xiao #genshin xiao #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #xiao genshin #xiao x reader #xiao imagines #zhongli #childe #ganyu #ningguang

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t-o-m-hollands · 3 years

Text

Summary: Some months after the breakup you show up at Tom’s doorstep.

Word count: 3k.

Warnings: A very messy relationship. Mentions of alcohol and drugs. Bit angsty but turns out alright. SMUT. Unprotected sex. +18

Inspiration: blink twice – joy oladokun

We’ve been coming undone We broke the last thread Learning to pick my battles Or I’ll be the only one left

I only know you’re home when the door speaks

Blink twice if you still love me

I’ll never know unless you tell me

Did you ever really love me?

“‘ello?”

He doesn’t look at the caller ID as he answers. With his voice hoarse and eyes closed he presses the phone to his ear. Laying back against the soft pillows again he’s already one foot back in a dream where everything turns out alright at the end.

“Tom”

His entire body freezes. Swiftly opening his eyes he’s at once fully aware of his surroundings (the large bed, the gentle but persistent sound of rain against the windows; the complete darkness outside revealing the lateness of the call) and perhaps even more painstakingly aware of his own body (the sudden tightness in his chest, skin unnervingly warm and prickly; heart beating like it’s trying to escape his chest).

“Tommy, are you there?”

Your voice is so soft in his ear, gentle even, albeit slurred at the edges. It is as if you’re somehow unaware of the effect you have on him, the pain you cause.

“What do you want?” He asks, and where your voice is like warm smoke his is hardened ice.

Silence for several heartbeats then,

“Can you open the door, honey".

He wonders if you use the old familiar endearment deliberately to hurt him, or if the old pet name falls off your lips by old habit.

“It’s raining Tommy, I don’t have a coat. Please open up”.

And so,

you’re on the floor in the man you love’s apartment. He hands you a glass of water, even though you asked for vodka, and he instructs you to drink up. He won’t look at you and you swallow down the water but the guilt stays stuck in your throat. You wonder what he feels for you in this precise moment, what it is that makes him turn away from you; as if looking at you hurts. If it is hate or love.

Or maybe just lust.

You’re on the floor in your ex boyfriend’s apartment, and even you know you shouldn’t be here.

He sits down in his armchair, leans back with his legs spread, and avoids your eyes; choosing instead to look at the ground in front of him. You know, because despite all that has happened between you two, you know him. You know that he’s trying to look relaxed, to hide his anxieties with an actor's expertise.

It’s raining, the sound of the raindrops crashing against the window loud like the beating of a drum, yet it’s somehow managing to make the silence between you two feel even more deafening. The only light between you two is a small side lamp by the TV, leaving most of the room in darkness.

“So” you say in the end, and in contrast to him you divert your eyes, but look straight at him instead with uncompromising focus. “How have you been, honey?”

He sighs, and still looking down at the floor he drags a hand over his shaved head. “Fucking fantastic” he mutters.

"Wonderful” you say, and you don’t mean for it to sound sarcastic, honestly you don’t. Don’t want this to turn into another argument. You’re just not as good as feigning nonchalance as he is.

“I was at Park Chinois last week” you begin, looking at him while he’s looking at his clasped hands. “Funny how that place never seems to change, like it’s stuck in time. Remember when we went there for Haz’s 21st? Remember the bathroom?”

His hands twitch, but it’s the only sign he gives that he’s even heard you.

“Remember how I went down on my knees for you? That was fun, wasn’t it? And then later that night when you fucked me into the mattress and you told me that you’d wanted to-”

“Why are you here?” he interrupts you, voice hard as steel. For the first time that night he looks directly at you, his warm brown eyes meets yours in a glare. He looks hurt.

“It’s my birthday”

Silence falls between you. Outside it keeps raining.

“No, it's not,” he says in the end. “Your birthday was two weeks ago”

“How sweet of you to remember” you say with a sweet smile. "But the celebrations were tonight”.

He scoffs “and how did that go?”

“Well, I’m here aren’t I?”

“Yes” he says, sounding aggravated now. “Here you are. And why exactly is that, darling?”

You don’t answer, truth is - you don’t know.

“How come” he continues, contained anger clear in his voice “how come you show up here, at 3 in the morning on the night of your birthday party, Champagne drunk and wearing,” but words seem to fail him here and so he just waves his hand at you, gesturing towards your barely-there sequin dress. “That”. He swallows, before looking away again.

It takes you a while to answer, but in the end you do.

“I feel like I’m drifting” you confess, and you sound small and frail, even to your own ears.Pathetic even. “I feel like everyone else is settling down and getting married or engaged or having babies and I’m just-” you hesitate off for a second. Tom’s looking at you intently now, eyes intense and fixed on your face. “And I’m just drifting, you know? From one thing to another; one place to another, without it adding any value to my life. And all the while my friends are so revoltingly happy with their spouses and their babies and I’m just doing coke in the bathroom at family gatherings and trying to drink until I forget why I’m sad and kissing strangers in nightclubs wishing they were you”

“I thought this was what you wanted” he says in a low voice, eyes not leaving your face now.

You had been the one to end the relationship seven months ago. It had, at the time, seemed like the best way out. The only way out. He’d spent months on end away filming and when you were together all you seemed to do was argue.

And the awful thing was that sometimes you started arguing with him on purpose. That way it hurt less when he left you again for yet another project.

In the end it had felt intolerable, being without him, being with him. All the rumours about him dating co-stars kept swirling in your head each night and you kept doing stupid things like getting high with people you didn’t know in nightclubs – just to get his attention.

You had found yourself in bed with him one morning, the day before he took off for several months of shooting, and you had thought to yourself that no, somethings gotta give. One of you had to be brave enough to break things off. You knew it wouldn’t be him, Tom has too much loyalty and tenderness in him to leave where he knows he was needed. And you, well you have too much pride and strength to stay when you know you are a burden or a duty.

So you had swallowed your pain and you had told him that there wasn’t any need for him to come back to you when filming was done. .

Yet here you are, on his floor, in a ridiculously revealing dress. Yet again trying to catch his attention.

“Maybe I shouldn’t always get what I want” you say in the end, voice hard and sweet like caramelised sugar.

“No, maybe you shouldn’t” and his voice is just as hard, but a lot less sweet. “And I thought you liked drifting? It’s what you do, isn’t? Drift in and out of people’s lives. Leave, and then show up at their doorstep when you feel like it; when you want to feel loved or admired, or wanted or whatever the fuck it is that you want out of this”.

“And what do you want, Tommy?”

He doesn’t answer, but averts his eyes from yours again.

You stand up then, and walk over to him. In the dim light the sequins of your dress throw reflections all over the room. You place yourself in front of his armchair, in between his spread legs. Slowly you begin to remove the thin straps of the dress off your shoulders. Then you drop the flimsy material to the ground, leaving you completely naked - part from a minimal pair of thongs.

A sharp intake of breath.

You move closer still until you straddle him, and then you’re on his lap, and he’s trying to look anywhere but at your nearly naked body. But he doesn’t try to push you off. You lean backward, and as if on instinct his big, warm hands move to your hips to hold you in place. You smile, because you had known that he wouldn’t have been able to help himself.

“Tommy, honey”

He closes his eyes, and you wonder if he’s in pain.

“Honey, look at me”.

A sigh deep from within escapes him and then, reluctantly, he opens his eyes again and he fully takes you in. You can feel the effect it has on him underneath your crotch.

You smile, unkindly. “You never did know how to say no to me, did you?”

His fingers tighten around your hips, digging into your flesh and you move against his growing bulge. You move your face closer to his, lips mere centimetres apart.

“Are you hurting, honey?” you say in a quiet, sweet voice. Outside there’s lightning, and then thunder roars.

He’s full on moving you backwards and forwards over his crotch now, making you dry hump him. Your flimsy thong creates hardly any barrier at all, and so his thin, dark sweats seem to be the only thing really separating you.

“You are, aren’t you? You’re hurting. I hurt you”

You don’t know why you’re trying to edge him on, trying to rile him up. Except that this controlled version of him that barely even looks at you feel so out of reach from you, so far removed, and you just want him – closer, The only way you know how to achieve that is by pushing all of his buttons.

“Yeah” he admits, eventually, “yeah, you really fucking hurt me”.

You kiss his jaw, and you sense how hard his muscles are underneath you, how tense his jaw is - how tightly he’s holding himself together. In a low voice you ask, “want me to kiss it better?”

“Stop playing games with me” he says in a low voice, but he keeps grinding you over his erection

You circle your hips slightly and a low hiss escapes him. “I’m not” you say, lips just brushing against his. “I just offered to kiss it better”.

“Maybe you should kiss one of those strangers instead”.

“What’s the point? I always want them to be you. Besides” and you move against him harder, wondering if he can tell how wet you are. “You must have had your fair share of kisses as well since I-”.

But you don’t get to finish. One of his hands moves up to your face and cupping it he strokes your lips with his thumb as if to silence you in the gentlest way he knows.

“No” he says, and his voice is gentler now too. “There’s been no one else”.

You’re struck silent for a moment, freezing in your movements over his hips. It strikes you then, how you’ve been trying to push his buttons, but he’s the one that’s crept under your skin.

His face is so close to your own, but you don’t kiss him.

See, it all comes down to this. The first to kiss the other is the first to give in. And the first to give in is the loser in this game.

“Do you still love me, Tommy” you say in the end; voice low and sickly sweet, your crotch moving against his again, his hand still cupping your face. “Blink twice if you do”.

Seemingly instinctively he does and it throws you both off-guard. Your breath catches in your throat and he stills underneath you. Suddenly you hear the rain crashing against the windows again, feel his heartbeat beating rapidly under your palm, the heat from his hand on your hips, the shape of him underneath you. Then -

“Oh, fuck it”

And you’re mid-air, and he’s carrying you to the bedroom.

Three months ago, when he got back from filming, he’d bought a new bed. The phantom smell of you still lingered in the old one, no matter how many times he washed the sheets with bleach. He could only take it for a week before he dragged Harry along to the store to buy a new one. Harry had convinced him to go for the biggest, most expensive one available. This, it turned out, had been a mistake. The bed was simply too large, too ostentatious, for one person. He’d find himself reaching for you in the middle of the night on more than one occasion, thinking that you’d just drifted away from him in the sea of tangled sheets but alas - he was alone.

Now, as he lays down your beautiful nearly naked body on the white sheets, your hair spreading out around you and eyes dark with lust, he finds himself thinking that if whatever this is between you doesn’t work out, he’s going to have to get another bed again. Hell, he’s going to need a new apartment and a new city to live in to rid himself of reminders of you.

A new goddamn heart.

He removes his sweats and t-shirts and any lingering reminder that this is a terrible idea and leaves it all on the floor before he joins you in bed. Seeing you like this, naked in his bed again, as if all that heartbreak had never happened, fills him with equal parts lust and love. There’s anger in there too.

With a hand on either side of your face he traps you in place and lowers himself until you’re skin against skin, his erection pressing against your lower stomach. His body is warmer than yours.

“Cold?” he asks in a low voice.

You nod, seemingly unable to tear your eyes from his lips. So he kisses you. It is slow but heated; teasing and tender in equal measures. Both your hands are feeling each other up, rediscovering familiar territories with eager touches. And god, your skin feels so soft, he can’t stop touching you. He kisses his way down your jaw, leaves your lips swollen and wet from spit. His hand makes it down toward your core and he slips a finger inside you, hears your soft gasp in his ear. He can feel just how wet you are already. Tearing himself away from you he sits up and helps you remove your underwear. Tossing them aside he bends down, and with a wicked smile on his lips he kisses your clit, sucking on it gently.

“Fucking tease” you moan, and you’d pull his hair if it wasn’t so short at the moment. He smiles up at you before making his way up to meet you, to kiss your lips again. Kisses that leave you both breathless. His hand makes it down your cunt again.

“Fuck you’re wet darling” he says, voice rough, “guess grinding on my dick will do that to a girl”.

You want to tell him to fuck off, but two of his fingers are moving in and out of you now, curling just right, and you don’t want him to stop. He always knew how to touch you just right. Always knew how to handle you.

So, you literally bite your tongue to keep the words back. Instead you kiss him just below his ear, a soft spot that always made him lose focus. True enough he halters and a moan escapes him. “Fucking devious, you are” his says, voice even lower now, his pupils wide blown, his entire body affected by lust.

He removes his fingers from your cunt and kisses your lips when you protest. “Wanna be a good girl and actually listen for once?” he says as he lines himself up to you and then, he pushes himself inside you.

The pleasure of it, of being inside you again, so intense it nearly hurts. You’re so warm and tight and he lets out a guttural and dragged out ‘fuuuck’. You try to buck up against him, but he’s forcing you to keep your hips still by holding them down, making sure you adjust yourself to him before he starts really fucking you. Intent on not hurting you, even if you’re intent on the opposite.

“Easy, easy” he hushes in your ear as you moan in complaint, trying to wiggle up against him, wanting him to just take you already, fuck you as hard as he can against the mattress.

And maybe it’s love, or maybe it’s spite, or perhaps a fair share of both, but he moves your legs until they are wrapped around him, and then he starts moving, as slowly and as gently as he possibly can. Deep and slow. Kissing that soft spot behind your ear that has you bucking up your hips to meet his. He knows you want it rough, so he gives it to you tenderly.

“Know you only say those things to get a reaction out of me” he mumbles against your jaw, kissing you wherever he can. “Know why you do it”

And just as you’re about to answer he bucks his hips forward, hitting that spot deep inside you and even though you meant to answer something clever, quite possibly rude, all that comes out is a strangled moan.

“See,” he continues, and even though his breaths are laboured his words come out even, albeit with a lot of emotion behind them. “It was never enough that I told you I love you. Anyone can say that, doesn’t mean anything, does it? Words come cheap”. Your hands are on his back, nails digging into and down his skin, egging him on to fuck you harder. He takes your hands and presses them down against the mattress instead. Grinding himself against your sweet spot over and over and over again, and you throw your head back, moaning continuously, unashamed.

“But anger” he moans, finding it more difficult to keep his voice even now as you clench around him. “You know anger is a real emotion and you trust it more than love. No one fakes anger. If I’m angry with you or worried about you because you do stupid shit you know you shouldn’t do then that means something. That means I care”

He moves your hands over your head, and uses one of his to hold you down. He takes your legs wrapped around his hips he presses them wider apart, thus giving him access to fuck you even deeper.

“That’s why you always did stupid shit to piss me off, isn’t it?” and he starts fucking you harder now “and fucking worse, worrying me. You wanted to see if I would care”.

“Fuck Tom” you whimper, face pressed against the arm that’s holding onto your hands, back bent into an arch as pleasure shots through your spine.

“Fucking love you, yeah?” he confesses in your ear, speeding up the pace of his hips. “Need you to trust me when I say that, can’t keep fighting with you just to convince you of that”. His words come out strained and hoarse. He knows that if he slows the pace down now, he could drag this out, but the sounds that leave your mouth are somewhere between moans and sobs and he can feel your need to come. Knows that this is almost too intense for you and you need release.

He takes his hand from your hip and takes it to your core. You’re so wet and slippery and he wants nothing more than to taste you but that will have to wait. He just hopes you’ll stay the night. That you won’t just leave once you've gotten what you came for. Finding your clit he rubs it in just the pace he knows will send you over the edge.

“Honey” it’s a half-strangled endearment that falls from your lips just as you’re about to come, you clench around him and fuck if it doesn’t send him over the edge too.

You’re lying beside him in bed, both your chests still heaving. You lean your head against his and the familiar scent of him, the comfort of just being near him. It all feels so achingly intimate.

“Please still be here in the morning” he begs, though his voice is thick with sleep. You turn around so that he can spoon you and he drapes an arm around you, holding you in place. It hits you, as you listened to his slowing breaths, that it has stopped raining outside.

“I will” you tell him, and he sighs contentedly before drifting off to sleep, holding you in a firm grip.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader

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pleasantanathema · 4 years

Text

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter One

Chapter One: Living Ghosts

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of violence, enemies to lovers, angst, and eventual smut (don’t worry, it’ll come sooner than you think).

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Here’s chapter one of my multi-chapter series for Reiner— chapter two is already ready!

A very special thank you to @present-mel , and @whats-her-quirk for encouraging me to take the plunge and create this monster (I’ve got a lot planned for this fic and I’m so excited for it) 💕

Masterlist | Next Chapter

You were having that same dream again, the one where you felt like you were dying. Your shoulder ached with the memory of bursting pain, but there were warm hands there, holding you, pressing down to keep the bleeding at bay. You could never recognize the face, never identify the voice, your ears still ringing from the sound of a piercing gunshot. It was always the same; a delirious memory warped into a nightmare. Sometimes the dream ended in the hospital, other times with you staring at the inside of a coffin, or in a shallow grave.

But this time, you were waking up, eyes flickering open to meet harsh fluorescent lights and clinking, cold handcuffs around your wrists.

A white-hot sense of dread pooled over your body.

You knew where you were. You knew how you got here. And suddenly, you wished you were dreaming again.

You could still see it all, still hear the deafening blades of the helicopter whirring above you. None of your team had expected the Marleyans to be in the warehouse; they hadn’t been on the soil of Paradis in years. They’d caught you off guard and sent your escape plan into action sooner than expected. You’d tried to follow Mikasa and Armin, but Jean was in your way. The lines of your vertical movement gear had tangled with his as you both hurriedly attempted to ascend and meet Levi in the aircraft, sending you spiraling back into the window, back into enemy territory.

Someone kicked you in the skull when you landed, you could still feel your head throbbing with the soreness. That must’ve been what did you in, what made you easy pickings to become a captive to the Marleyan government.

You sat up, taking note of your surroundings: of course, they’d put you in a cell, one void of a bed but thankfully containing a fucking bucket. How considerate. Just outside the iron bars was a table scattered with broken pieces of your gear, undoubtedly torn apart to be studied and to keep you from using it to escape.

Anger brewed inside your chest, a familiar feeling of betrayal returning that you hadn’t felt in years. There were faces here you didn’t want to see, enemies with broken facades that still haunted your thoughts at night. People you’d trusted, people you’d loved.

You knew they would show themselves soon. If you were still alive, it’s because there were questions that Zeke Yeagar wanted answers to, tendrils of doubt and duplicity that he wanted to sink into your mind.

━━━─── • ───━━━

Reiner felt sick. He’d never wanted to see you again, yet he’d been the one to carry your unconscious body through the compound, to cuff you and leave you on the frigid concrete floor. He’d stood over your figure for a while, heart pounding his chest out of fear that you’d wake up and flash that scrutinizing gaze of yours toward him again. But you’d just laid there at his feet, small, vulnerable, like a lost memory washed back upon the shores of his life.

And of course, now that you were awake, you weren’t talking, refusing to take Zeke’s bait.

He watched the older man pace around the room, glasses glinting as he wrung his hands. Truly, Reiner had been surprised that Zeke didn’t kill you on the spot, instead opting to transport you all the way across the border to their headquarters, insistent that you be treated like precious cargo. Though, it had been hard to keep Porco from poking at your body in the floorboards of the armored truck. Reiner had tried to keep his gaze away from you, eyes glued to the dark horizon outside of the rain smeared window. Maybe if he had stopped looking at you, you would have disappeared.

There was something pressing Zeke, something worrying him that he wasn’t sharing with the rest of the warriors. He thought you knew something, or perhaps that you could be valuable in some way.

Reiner knew that if you were to live, you needed to speak, needed to give them a piece of information to work with. He placed his head in his hands at the table, palms rubbing at his eyes. He shouldn’t—he didn’t—care if you took your last breath here. You were the enemy, someone who’d once held a knife to his throat when his true intentions within the ranks of The Scouts were revealed. He almost wished you’d killed him then, that you’d ended all the years of misery and regret that still clung to his mind like a poisonous leech.

“Maybe she’ll give in to someone she knows,” Zeke stopped his pacing, attention turning to Annie Leonhart who sat across from Reiner, “why don’t you give it a go?”

“Absolutely not,” she rejected, long legs crossing at the ankles upon the table.

“Bertholdt tells me that you two were quite the comrades during your reconnaissance mission.”

“I wouldn’t say that. We just found each other tolerable. Bertie was always sweet on her, though.”

Zeke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Bertholdt is kind to everyone, he’s as soft as they come.”

Bertholdt, per usual, stayed quiet in the face of Zeke’s remarks.

Porco Galliard chuckled at that statement, straightening his shoulders before he spoke.

“Which is exactly why you should’ve sent me to Paradis instead, Chief. I could give her a go. You were being too easy on her, anyways. Once you start ripping off fingernails people really start to give in, you know.”

Reiner’s gut twisted at the thought.

“You’re not allowed anywhere near her, Gailliard,” Zeke crossed his arms as a smirk settled into the lines of his beard, “she’s far too pretty, you’d break down and grovel to her before it was all over.”

Galliard huffed, a pink tinge dusting his cheeks as he shrunk down in his seat.

“Reiner—”

He had an inkling that it would come down to this. There would be no point in disputing it, he’d have to come face to face with his past, with sins he thought he left behind four years ago.

He stood before Zeke could complete his thought, heavy knuckles rapping at the wood of the table.

“Well, looks like we finally have a volunteer.”

Every inch of Reiner’s skin bristled as he marched down the corridor to the prison cells. His footsteps were jarring, heavy, like he was determined to leave prints in the floor to mark a final walk of shame. Some part of him hoped you’d be gone when he opened the door, that you would have used your wits and crawled through some air duct and run away from this, from him.

He almost didn’t turn the door handle. He felt invisible, burdensome hands pulling at his shoulders, calling at him to run. He’d always been a coward, especially when it came to you. He hated you, loathed you because he knew you pegged him as fraud from the beginning. You never threw a kind word in his direction, always looked at him like he was below you, like his pride meant nothing to you.

Reiner just wished that you had meant nothing to him. Even when the opportunity had presented itself, he couldn’t even find the strength to kill you like his orders demanded. He wondered if you remembered it at all, if your memories had finally flooded back after all this time. Something inside his heart wouldn’t let him that night, some unknown, egregious feeling that by some means overshadowed his hatred.

That feeling returned when he entered the room and found you sitting with your back to the wall, your tightly bound hands in your lap.

He took in a deep breath as he averted his gaze, teeth gritting at the sight of you awake. Zeke was right, four years had done you justice; time had only made you more beautiful than before, and he worried he might fall to his knees before you.

“Reiner.”

Sometimes, he just really wished people would stop saying his name.

━━━─── • ───━━━

A strange relief settled into your stomach at the sight of him. Reiner was as hulking as ever, broad shoulders stretching the threads of his shirt to their limits. But he was different, older…demure, in some ways. He didn’t hold his head as high anymore, didn’t immediately cross his arms across his barreled chest to appear larger. He took tired, golden eyes less intense than you last remembered. His fingers rubbed at his lips, at the facial hair that adorned more pronounced cheekbones.

You hated to admit that he appeared even more handsome than you remembered.

There was a red armband tied around his bicep, an insignia emblazoned on it that you’d never seen before.

“Do I make you nervous, Braun?”

You caught his attention then, made his eyes look at you as you leaned your head back against the stone wall.

“Tough question from the one behind bars.”

His voice had changed, too. He sounded more stoic, more serious. There used to be a hint of glee under that tongue of his.

“Why am I here?”

“I’m supposed to be the one asking you things.”

You shrugged, biting at your cheek as you wiggled your toes to try to make them feel again. Your limbs were starting to ache, your head too, body feeling like it was starting to cement to the floor. You didn’t want to be Zeke Yeagar’s plaything, but you knew that if you were alive, there was something they wanted. There was some leverage you held, but you weren’t sure what it was just yet. You had hoped they would send Bertholdt in to talk to you, you always could get under his skin.

Reiner was a more difficult case for you. He always coated himself in arrogance, made it harder for you to chip away at his armor. He never let anyone in, just always grinned, acted like he had everything under control. But before you was a man with cracks, a man that time and guilt had eroded. You almost felt sorry for him, almost. A man like him deserved to bear the weight of his burdens.

“Listen, if you don’t start talking—”

“You’ll what? Kill me?”

“We’ll torture you.”

He said the words with a weight that knocked you back a bit, stole the last breath of gusto you were holding onto. You expected as much, but hearing it said aloud made fear crawl up your spine, made the cuffs around your wrist feel even more strained against your skin.

“What do you want to know? I could tell Yeagar was prodding for something tangible to use against Paradis.”

“I just want to know what you know about us, if you know anything about what Marley has been doing in the last few years.”

“You’ve been fighting a war, that much I know.”

And he looked like he had been through battle, been through hell in trenches and gunfire. Your intelligence agents had reported that Braun had been promoted to be Vice Commander of the Warrior Unit, and the hardline of his frown told you he’d seen more horrors than you wanted to know about.

“Tell me something you don’t know from news headlines.”

Levi had trained all his scouts for this situation once upon a time ago. You could still hear his voice in your head, commanding you to give up as little as possible, learn what the enemy wanted and then give them something else to cling on to. You had a few things you knew you could feed to them, beneficial tidbits that would satiate their hunger and keep them from feasting upon your teammates. But relaying any kind of information was a death sentence within itself; give the dogs a treat and eventually they’ll want more.

And you knew that Reiner, that Zeke Yeagar, was a very greedy host.

You stood slowly, releasing the aching tension in your lower back. Reiner didn’t flinch away from his place beyond the rusting iron, instead eyeing you like you were some exotic thing in a cage.

There was a nostalgia of being in his presence, even if the atmosphere around him was contrary to what you were used to perceiving. He still made your blood boil, still made your fighting instincts come alive in the back of your mind. You still felt small in his shadow, but there was still a lingering feeling, a fleeting memory, about how being around him once made you feel safe.

Your bare feet moved toward him, toes stinging against the cold of the floor.

One of your hands wrapped around a bar to your prison, the metal of your handcuffs clinking against the barrier.

You could catch his scent from being this close, and at least that much stayed the same—he always smelled like cedarwood, earthy and sweet, like the spice of the forest floor after a fresh rain. It was almost funny how smell created memories more frequently than any other sense.

Suddenly, you felt like you were back home, like nothing had changed, as if his deceit had never been revealed. Your mind’s eye flashed images of your old training camp, of Reiner lifting Connie onto his shoulders after the small boy had successfully managed to triumph over Jean in his marksmanship practice. He’d used one of the tricks that Reiner had taught him. That once sweet memory turned sour as you remembered just why Reiner was always such a good shot.

You tilted your chin up to look at him, to come face-to-face with the imposing penumbra you thought you’d warded off. He was a living ghost brought back to haunt you once again.

“You seem pathetic, Braun, like you’ve lost all that bravado that made you so special.”

He took your words, let them bounce off his chest like you hadn’t even spoken them.

“Why did they send you in here? Did they really expect I’d crack under such pitiful pressure? You’re a deplorable, miserable—”

His fist wrapped around your hand, crushing your fingers between his might and the metal bar you’d secured yourself to.

You hissed at the pain, but…there was something you had missed in that touch of his; he felt warm, worn, like there were secrets being pressed into your skin.

“Be. Quiet.”

You expected his fingers to flex, waited for him to crack your fingers under his pressure. But he kept his strength at bay, electing to keep a steady, continuous tension against your knuckles.

“Talk, or tomorrow will be your last day. You wouldn’t want to die at the hands of a pathetic, wretched man like me, would you? No, you’re too proud for that.”

He took a step back, releasing his bruising grip before turning on his heels to leave.

A string of panic began to uncoil inside you, snapping as his arm extended towards the exit.

“Reiner,” you called, “tell me something. How much do you really know about Zeke Yeagar?”

“I know enough.”

“No, you don’t,” you were starting to sound worried, you could hear it, “there’s something I know that you don’t, and I’d be willing to give you information in return for you answering a question for me.”

You could feel your heart beating in your chest, every pump within your ribs like the ticking of an oppressive clock. He was silent, steady, back still turned away from you. You noticed that his fists were clenched by his side, a vein starting to appear up the exposed length of his forearm.

“I’ll consider it. Depends on what your question is.”

He still didn’t turn to look at you.

“Reiner…tell me what happened to Marco.”

The door was slamming shut before the last syllable of the dead man’s name left your lips.

Next Chapter

#reiner braun x reader #reiner braun #reiner x reader #snk reiner #AoT #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #aot reiner #aot reiner braun #snk x reader #snk reiner braun #reiner #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan x reader

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savagesbonergarage · 4 years

Note

ok, i need SMUTTY thrawn. like anything you wanna write

Don't we all 😏

I’m weirdly a little upset with Thrawn right now for ridiculous headspace reasons, so this is gonna be interesting. I think I have a good idea, though...We’ll see how this turns out lol

Update: Wow this has a lot of feelings??? Apparently I needed to get that out of my system *shrug*

A/N - Tried to write this for a gender-neutral reader so let me know how that works 🤐, longer than I expected but what else is new, yeah feelings like I said, but it turns into you domming Thrawn so I think it’s worth it, face-riding, cumming in pants, role-play? kinda?, the smut’s at the end

Thrawn

“Neglect”

“What is this?” you asked with a knowing curiosity and no small amount of irritation in your voice.

You held the painted helmet in your hands, Thrawn’s gaze never leaving it until he eventually answered you through a defeated sigh. “It belonged to one of the rebel captives I’ve been tracking. The boy Jedi.”

“I see...” you retorted unflinchingly, inspecting the crude loth-cat design on the front of it through hardened, yet undeniably sad eyes. “So this is what you’ve been up to this entire time? Spending your vacation working instead of...”

Instead of being with me, like you’d promised.

The chiss finally rose from his seat, although he still couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. He was fully aware of the situation he’d created, of the promises he’d made and failed to keep, and most importantly the lies he’d told in order to continue tracking this particular band of rebels. “I...I apologize for disappointing you.”

You uttered a scoff, nearly rolling your eyes at his words. After finally catching him in the act when he’d sworn he was too tired to stay up with you and was heading straight to bed all these nights, it was difficult not to take this revelation a little personally. Not to mention his superiors had specifically instructed him to use this shore leave to actually relax and enjoy himself after his continuous dedication to the Empire and his duties without fail or complaint - and when he’d arrived with more luggage than usual, you interpreted that to mean that he was intending to stay the entire length of his trip this time with no intention of returning to work early as he typically did - however, that extra baggage was ultimately filled with rebel artifacts that he was fully preparing to study.

“I’m not disappointed, nor am I surprised,” you admitted through a sigh, moving to stand straight across from him with only the width of the helmet between you as you continued, “I don’t know why I was expecting this time to be different from any of the others. I know you. When you’re dedicated to pursuing something, there’s no stopping you or trying to change your mind.”

His lips parted as though he had something to say, but ultimately decided against it. He must have seen through your facade of trying to keep your expression firm as he gently spoke your name, and you silently cursed yourself for never being able to keep a straight face. You caught his hand when he moved to bring it to your cheek, only holding it firmly in mid air as you kept your head down while you asked him the question that had been plaguing your mind for years.

“Are you still pursuing me?”

You clutched his hand even tighter, your frown already shifting into a grimace as you stared straight down into the visor of the helmet. This talk wasn’t one you’d been particularly looking forward to having, especially since you more or less already had a preconceived notion of what his answer would be. Perhaps your relationship really had changed, and rather than voice it outright, Thrawn expected you to determine the status of it through context to avoid having an uncomfortable conversation. It certainly didn’t feel like the two of you were lovers anymore, and with this revelation that he had the time for intimacy if he desired it and was choosing his usual activities over being in your arms, there was little reason to believe otherwise.

The helmet was abruptly removed from your hands and placed elsewhere, with the hand that was holding yours moving to snake around your waist as you felt him pull you against his broad chest. It was a kind gesture, but what you really wanted was a definitive answer.

“Thrawn-”

“I’ve always been adept at coursing after my targets,” he began with an ounce of regret in his somber tone, “yet I find that the ones affecting my career operations tend to take precedence over the ventures in my personal life.”

You’d already known that much, and yet the sinking fear that came with the prospect of the inevitable “it’s not you, it’s me” parting discussion still began to overtake you. It felt like you were going through all the stages of grief all at once - denial, anger, bargaining, depression...but you weren’t ready to accept this just yet. You weren’t sure you ever would be. Anger was definitely occupying the forefront of your mind; anger at Thrawn, anger at the Empire, anger at yourself...you wouldn’t be enduring all of this if you’d never fallen for him in the first place. You just had to go and fall in love with a man that was emotionally and physically unavailable, didn’t you? You’d known at least some extent of what you’d be getting into when you agreed to be his significant other - that your rendezvous together would be short-lived and few and far between, with his work always taking priority over you, but this...knowing that given the choice, given the mandate, he was still choosing the rebels over you...

It hurt.

You were tensing up in his arms, doing all that you could to keep the tears from forming. If only to encourage the transparency you wanted to see from him, you began solemnly pouring your thoughts out against his chest, the release of the words you'd been keeping to yourself for so long aiding in your preemptive recovery somewhat.

"I've often thought about joining the rebellion just to reclaim some of your attention," you admitted, the statement sounding more pathetic to your ears than you'd anticipated, "I've never been an artist, but I like to imagine what it would be like if I made rebel propaganda for you to find. I've wondered if you'd even be able to figure out it was mine, and that with every stroke it was really just me trying to tell you..." ...that I love you.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you felt yourself involuntarily choking on a sob, and before you could hide your face from him his hands were caressing either side of your jaw and pulling you up into a deep, tender kiss.

How long had it been? When was the last time you felt his touch like this, let alone a kiss? It almost didn't feel real, and you instinctively returned his vigor to make sure it wasn't all just a fantasy. Your tears were stinging against both of your faces now, and Thrawn drew back to wipe them away with the pads of his thumbs. His glowing red eyes were so melancholy, his brows threading into a line as you held his indigo hands to your face and leaned into them, as though the warmth of his skin was a rare sensation that you were savoring to remember back on when you'd be without it again.

"My love..." Thrawn began, his voice soothing as he brought his lips to the tender flesh of your ear, "if I've been so neglectful of your needs that you would become my enemy to be closer to me, then I've failed you so much more exponentially than I ever could have surmised. For that, I am so, so very sorry."

Part of you perked up at the implication that perhaps he wasn't intending to cut ties with you just yet, although it was clear he had much more to say. You brought his hands down to your chest and interlocked your fingers with his, holding onto them for dear life as he continued. "I...I have become consumed by my mission. My mind won't allow me any reprieve unless I've made substantial new discoveries and analyses concerning these rebels on a constant basis. I haven't faced any challenging opposition like them in quite some time, and to feel the invigoration of facing a worthy opponent with the potential to outmaneuver me...it's...addicting."

You listened to his confession intently, relieved to have him opening his heart to you once again. You brought his hands up to your mouth and smiled with amusement before you placed a kiss against them and bore into his concerned gaze with a look of alleviation gracing your own features. “I think I’m beginning to understand where your superiors were coming from when they demanded you take this leave.”

Thrawn’s countenance softened as he returned your smile, even managing something of a titter while he brought your own hands to his lips. “Am I that insufferable?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

He flashed his teeth in an impudent grin, moistening your skin with his lips as he resumed speaking against it. “Reassuring, as always.”

“Thrawn...” you spoke gingerly as the seriousness of the conversation recommenced and you withdrew your hands, rubbing the place where his warmth had just been while you gathered up the courage to proceed with your thoughts, “I need to know where we stand. It would have been stupid of me to expect our relationship to be like anyone else’s...I’ve been aware from the beginning that your duties come first, and I’m perfectly content with that. I want to see you succeed, and I love that you’re so persistent and driven. But...”

“I know,” he interjected, his guilty conscience evident simply by the tone of his voice, “my behavior as of late has been inexcusable. You mean so much more to me than I’ve led you to believe. It has been despicable of me to overlook your wishes in favor of my work when it is unnecessary. I...I love you, and...I’d like to make it up to you.”

Your heart breathed a sigh of relief, remedied by the fact that it still belonged to him. Before you knew it, you were back in his arms in an instant and planting another passionate kiss at the corner of his mouth while you grasped at his light civilian clothing. “Do you mean it?” you asked before he could properly perform the action in return.

“Of course. There are few things I wouldn’t do for you.”

For you, that was about as good as anyone else saying that they would do anything. Some things were off the table, such as leaving the Empire or betraying the Chiss or halting his investigation of the mysterious alien race that posed a threat to the entire galaxy - but other than that, he was yours, and that was more than enough.

“I might already have a few ideas...” you admitted pleasantly, capturing his lips in a more heated kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His smile granted you more access to the rest of his mouth and you obliged, nipping at his skin and warring with his tongue as both of your actions became more lascivious. It wasn’t long before you felt his warm, strong hands snaking up your bare abdomen while you fumbled with the clasps of his shirt, though it become more difficult to concentrate once he reached your chest and focused his activity there, drawing a moan from deep within your throat. Taking note of your struggle, he briefly took his hands away from you to discard his top and aid you in removing your own.

“I’m intrigued by these ideas, if you wouldn’t mind enlightening me,” Thrawn said as he reached both arms around you to grasp your behind and knead it through the fabric of your pants while he continued to kiss you along your temples and hairline. Your mouth was too busy peppering his pecs with kisses and love-bites to really say much, but that was alright - you were more of a demonstrator, anyway. You brought his hands to your sides and he helped you slide your bottoms down, giving your ass an excited smack once it was bare for him. He attempted to sneak a hand around the supple flesh of your inner thigh and curl a few digits upwards, but you smacked it away.

“Ah-Ah,” you tsked, guiding his arms away from you entirely. He started working at the sealing strip of his own waistband, but again, you stopped him. “No.”

“No?” he asked, a brow raised in amusement but also plenty of genuine confusion.

“No,” you reaffirmed as you stepped completely out of your pant legs and planted your palms onto his chest, pushing against him with enough force to influence him to step backward. The pressure was continuous, so he didn’t stop until his back hit the cool metal of the durasteel wall behind him. “You’ve kept me waiting for a long time, Admiral.”

“I...yes,” he uttered, slightly taken aback by the firmness and determination in your voice, and especially the mocking tone you used with his moniker, although he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

In an impressive display of flexibility, you raised your leg up until your heel rested in the curve of Thrawn’s neck and over his shoulder, holding him in place as you stared him down with an air of dominion. “I’ve lost most of my patience,” you explained as you applied a significant amount of strength down through your foot and into his muscle, indicating once again that he was to move. He did so silently this time, enraptured by your confidence as he slid down until he was sitting on the hard ground. Your foot didn’t let up, adding more pressure as your tone became a little more demanding. “Down. All the way.”

He obliged, shifting downwards so he could lean back onto his forearms and lower himself completely onto the floor. Your foot remained on his shoulder, a smile contorting your face as you could see he was taking in the view and enjoying it, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His eyes eventually met yours, giving you an innocent and questioning look as he spoke.

“Would you like to take this outside of the office? To the bedroom, perhaps?”

“Here’s fine,” you retorted smugly, and for a moment your attention was captured again by the painted rebel helmet that was perched atop the desk beside you. You took it, examining the artwork on the front one more time before you smirked at the curious Chiss beneath you and donned it upon your head. His breath hitched when you suddenly dropped to your knees over his chest and slid your hand around to the apex of his skull, lightly grabbing a fistful of previously perfectly slicked-back hair before gazing straight down into his crimson orbs.

“Are you still curious?” you asked with an inflection of authority.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion before he spoke lowly, just above a whisper. “I believe I understand.”

“Good,” you began, positioning yourself directly over his face as you pulled his head forward so that the tip of his nose was only centimeters away from the source of your pulsing heat, “...you kriffing Imp.”

With that, you saddled his face and sighed when you felt the hot wetness of his mouth envelop you, the room quickly filling with the sounds of the obscene slurps and smacks of his ministrations on your flesh. Your other hand grasped another lock of his hair as you bucked against him, his tongue finding all your most sensitive spots as it darted over them, and all the while you carefully supported his neck while he fucked you religiously with his face. You looked down at the master tactician through half-lidded eyes before throwing your head back in ecstasy, feeling the creep of your climax edging closer and closer. You were having a difficult time catching your breath, and eventually you decided that this sensation ought to be somewhat mutual.

You reached your hand back behind you and starting palming Thrawn’s erection through the fabric of his pants, earning an approving sigh between your legs as you stimulated the head through the still-expanding wet stain of his precum. You jerked him as well as you could in tandem with his movements, struggling to suppress the moans and expletives that erupted from your lips as he went at you even harder. His hands gripped your hips with a cautious desperation as both of your breaths became increasingly ragged, and it wasn’t long before your thighs were quivering against his ears as your orgasm crashed over you in waves of absolute pleasure. Your gasps of euphoria coupled with the intensified friction of your touch had Thrawn stilling and slightly jerking his hips not long after, finally leaning his head back away from your entrance as his face flushed while he came in his pants.

The both of you relaxed as you were overtaken by the surge of your highs, and after a while you managed to shift downward so that you were straddling his waist as you removed the helmet and set it aside. You returned your attention to the handsome, feverish warrior panting beneath you and moved a stray strand of his mussed hair back into place. You leaned forward and kissed him gently on his swollen lips, not minding the taste of yourself as you rested on top of him and listened to the accelerated beating of his heart together with yours.

And when his arms wrapped around you while he planted a loving kiss on your forehead, you looked up at the ceiling and pondered just how much work he’d get done the next time he studied that helmet.

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn x reader #grand admiral thrawn x reader #thrawn smut #lemon #star wars rebels #star wars x reader #star wars smut

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samwisethewitch · 4 years

Text

Curses and Hexes

Cursing is one of the most ancient forms of magic — and one of the most controversial. Whereas most magic is constructive (used to manifest or attract things), cursing is destructive (used to cause misfortune or harm).

Technically speaking, curses and hexes are similar but different types of spells. A curse consists of written or spoken words, sometimes combined with gestures. A hex is a ritual involving material items. However, most modern witches use the terms interchangeably, as I do in this post.

The fastest way to start a debate in any witchy community is to bring up the topic of cursing. It seems like everyone has strong opinions on the subject, either for or against. For your practice, all that matters is what you believe.

So, When Is It Okay to Curse Someone?

This is a tricky question, and the answer depends on the witch.

There are some witches who believe that intentionally causing harm or misfortune to another person is always wrong, and will never cast curses for this reason. This is an entirely valid position! If you fall into this camp, know that you’re in good company.

Other witches believe that cursing is acceptable when it’s truly warranted by the situation, such as when your life or livelihood is in danger. Others believe that cursing is simply a means to an end, and can be done with good intention (cursing your friend’s unfaithful partner to get them to stop cheating, for example).

The one thing that most witches seem to agree on is that curses are serious stuff, and should not be taken lightly. Unlike other types of magic, curses are fueled by negative emotions like hate, anger, and heartbreak. This makes them very powerful, but also very draining for the witch casting them. Cursing someone means reliving any trauma you suffered at their hands in order to use those memories as fuel for the fire. Some people aren’t willing to put themselves through such an ordeal, which again, is entirely fair.

Because curses are fueled by such strong emotions, they’re powerful and volatile. They’re like the nitro fuel of witchcraft — if you don’t know what you’re doing and aren’t careful, someone could get seriously hurt. That someone could be you.

My personal view on cursing is essentially the same as my view on physical violence. It’s not the answer to all, or even most, problems, and it sometimes makes the situation worse instead of better. It should never be your first option, but it might very well be your last resort. If someone is holding you at gunpoint, you’re entitled to use violence to protect yourself. Likewise, if someone is putting you or a loved-one in life-threatening danger, you’re entitled to use whatever magical means necessary for protection.

Before You Curse

If you think there’s someone in your life who deserves to be cursed, go through the following criteria to decide if cursing is really the most appropriate action.

Sleep on it. When we’re in the heat of the moment, we sometimes say or do things we don’t mean. If you think you’re angry enough with someone to curse them, give it a couple of days before you reach for the vinegar and chili peppers. Give yourself time to cool off and clear your head. If, after a week, you still feel like a curse is warranted, move on to the next step.

Think about your own motives. Why do you want to curse this person? What did they do to make you angry enough that you’re willing to use magic to harm them in some way? If it’s a minor annoyance, like cutting you off in traffic, a curse probably isn’t appropriate. Likewise, if your motivations are petty or catty in nature — like cursing someone because they beat you out for a promotion — I highly encourage you to stop and do some self-reflection. For one thing, you may not be able to conjure enough genuine hatred and anger for an effective curse. For another, in these situations you may find it more helpful to do some work on yourself (working on anger issues, learning to gracefully accept failure, etc.) rather than lashing out at someone else.

Ask yourself if this situation matters in the long run. It may feel incredibly important now, but try to take a step back and look at the big picture. Will this person matter in a year? Five years? Ten? Are they important enough to warrant allowing yourself to channel enough negative energy for a curse? (If this person is putting your life, livelihood, or safety at risk, the answer to all of these questions is YES!)

Make sure your anger is directed at the right person. Who is really responsible for the pain you’re feeling? For example, if your significant other cheats on you, your first reaction may be to curse the person who “stole” them from you. But you aren’t really upset with this person — you’re hurt because your partner betrayed your trust. I’m not convinced that a cheating partner is a serious enough reason to cast a curse (again, will it really matter in ten years?) but if you decide to do so, at least make sure it’s directed at the person who is truly responsible for your pain.

Consider doing a banishing instead. In situations where a person is a danger to you or your loved ones, sometimes the best option is to give them a magical push out of your life. A banishing does what the name implies — it banishes a person or thing from your life. Unlike a curse, a banishing does not cause harm or misfortune to the person being targeted. It simply removes them from your life.

You can perform a simple yet effective banishing with a piece of paper, a pen, cayenne pepper, and dried lavender. Write the name of the person or thing you want to banish on the paper. Look down at the name and say, out loud, “[Name], you are no longer welcome in my life.” Sprinkle a bit of cayenne on the paper and instruct it to burn this person out of your life. Sprinkle a bit of lavender on the paper and instruct it to bring you peace and healing. Fold the paper up to create a little packet around the herbs, then take it outside and burn it to ash. (Be careful — cayenne smoke burns!) As the paper burns say, “I banish [name] from my life, never to return.” Scatter the leftover ashes on a busy road.

Consider doing a binding instead. Maybe you don’t necessarily need someone out of your life, but you do need to take away their power to cause harm. In this case, a binding is your best bet. A binding is a spell that “binds up” someone’s power, preventing them from taking certain actions. This can be useful for dealing with people who are toxic or abusive. Like a banishing, binding does not cause harm or misfortune to the target.

You can perform a simple binding charm with a photograph of your target, a pen, and red or black thread. Write your target’s full name (or as much of it as you know) across the bottom of the photo. Look down at the photo. Say, out loud, “[Name], I bind you. I bind up your power, so that you can no longer ______.” Fold the paper up as small as possible. Then, begin to wrap the thread around the folded paper. As you do, say, “[Name], I bind you.” Continue wrapping until the thread completely covers the paper — there should be no paper visible.

For whatever reason, some people seem to have a natural resistance to banishing and binding. You may find that your spell works for a while, but the person you tried to banish/bind eventually returns to their old ways. There’s some debate about why this happens — some say it’s because these people are narcissists or energy vampires, while others think it has something to do with their force of will. Personally, I think it’s because some people are so nasty and hateful that it takes nasty, hateful magic to get rid of them for good. If you find yourself dealing with one of these people, and your banishings and bindings aren’t sticking, you may want to move on to a full-fledged curse.

Creating an Effective Curse

Okay, you’ve done your self-reflection, you’ve considered or attempted a banishing and/or binding, and you still feel like cursing is your best/only option. In that case, here are some general guidelines for making sure that your curse is appropriate, effective, and ethical.

Be VERY specific. Don’t just lob a ball of negative energy at someone and expect it to do what you want. Be very, very clear about your intent for this curse. Use precise and specific language. Make it painfully obvious what you want to happen and how you want it to unfold.

For example, when writing a petition or incantation, don’t just say, “[Name] is cursed.” Instead use something like, “Should [Name] ever contact or harass me again, he/she/they is cursed. Let him/her/them feel what I have felt and suffer as I have suffered.” You could get even more specific and detailed if you wanted to, but the important thing is to establish some basic parameters for the powerful dark energy you’re unleashing.

Make sure the punishment fits the crime. A curse to cause sexual impotence probably isn’t appropriate for an abusive boss… unless that boss is sexually harassing their employees. In that case, sticking a few pins in a rotting cucumber may be just what the situation calls for. (Yes, that’s a real curse. Yes, the cucumber represents what you think it represents.)

Making sure the punishment fits the crime also means being honest about how serious of a curse is deserved. Do you really need to ruin this person’s life to get them out of your hair, or will a mild inconvenience do? As strange as the idea of a curse being fair sounds, avoiding overkill will not only maintain balance but will keep you from expending more energy than you have to.

Make sure your curse is only affecting your target and not anyone around them. When it comes to curses, family, friends, and coworkers can sometimes get caught in the crossfire. To avoid this, make sure your spell is targeted to a specific person by personalizing it as much as possible. Include photos of your target, their full legal name (or as much of their full name as you know), and a taglock if you can get it. You may even want to include a line in your petition or incantation specifying that this curse will only affect the desired target and not their friends and associates.

Set clear conditions/parameters. The most effective curses are situational. Think of it as laying an energetic trap in or around a certain situation — this is more efficient and uses up less of your energy than if you were to just cast a blanket curse that affects every area of the target’s life. Curse parameters take the form of, “If [name] does x, they will be met with y.”

Setting parameters also makes sure your curse is truly deserved. For example, maybe your friend has an abusive ex-spouse, and you want to use a curse to keep your friend safe. If the ex-spouse is already leaving your friend alone, there’s no reason for a curse. But if they aren’t leaving your friend alone, they deserve to be met with vicious, magical resistance. For this situation, you may want to use an incantation like, “Should [ex-spouse] ever approach or contact [your friend], they are cursed with discomfort, unrest, and legal trouble. Let them be hunted and put down like a rabid dog.” This ensures that if, at any point in the future, the ex-spouse starts harassing your friend again, the curse will immediately go into action.

Don’t attach yourself to the curse. Perhaps the most important part of cursing is making sure you keep the energy of the curse separate from your own energy. Revenge is a double-edged sword, so you need to take precautions to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.

Any time you cast a curse, you want to limit its connection to you as much as possible. Don’t include any of your own personal effects in the spell. You may also want to avoid using tools that hold a special place in your practice. For example, you may not want to use your altar as a place to craft curses. You may want to use materials that can be disposed of easily. Make sure to dispose of curse remains somewhere outside your home, such as at a busy road.

After casting a curse, it’s important to set aside some time for self-care. Start with a thorough cleansing. This can be as simple as taking a bath in salt water (or dumping a bucket of salt water over your head in the shower, if you don’t have a tub), but if you would rather do a full-fledged cleansing ritual, even better! It’s important to do something to remove any lingering negativity from your energy field, and to make sure the curse doesn’t attach to you in any way.

Cursing is intense, emotional, draining work. After casting a curse, take at least a few hours to rest and be kind to yourself. Eat your favorite foods. Take a nap. Read a book or watch a movie. Do whatever you need to do to make yourself feel good.

You may want to do some inner work after cursing to help process the intense emotions involved in this kind of magic. This can be journaling, meditation, energy work, or some other healing modality. If you’ve experienced serious trauma, you may want to consider speaking to a therapist or counselor in addition to doing work on your own.

Resources:

Utterly Wicked by Dorothy Morrison

Of Blood and Bones by Kate Freuler

New World Witchery podcast, “Episode 102 — Evil”

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justimajin · 4 years

Text

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.9

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (5.2k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphical descriptions of blood and violence, character death, things get a little steamy 👀

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, February 16

Your body lies on the bed, a blanket resting over you as if you were in the midst of a deep slumber. The normally coral hue to your skin has steadily vanished, lips chapped and dark circles already formed beneath your eyes.

Namjoon paces the room frantically, his arms crossed and gaze never leaving your sleeping form. Seokjin stands in the corner, his eyes sparking in intrigue as Jimin rises from your side with a sigh.

He shakes his head, as if caught up in disbelief himself. Peering up at Namjoon who immediately appears alert, he hesitantly speaks.

“I think….I think Y/N’s been poisoned.”

“What?”

He gestures towards you, “The symptoms are all lining up….and it doesn’t seem like the normal kind.” He explains, “This one’s stronger, but slower. Like trying to kill someone as painfully as possible instead of just trying to get it over with.”

Namjoon’s jaw tightens, brows furiously contorting.

Seokjin shakes his head in dismay, “I guess torturing her wasn’t enough for them....”

At the mention of your previous experience, Namjoon lets out a deep exhale and rubs his temples. He was ecstatic at finally locating, immediately wanting you to recuperate.

But this, this just diminishes all the hopes he had with your recovery, tying his hands together completely.

Seokjin makes brief eye contact with him and gestures him to follow after outside of the room, knowing that simply gazing at your sickly form wouldn’t allow his friend to think logically.

Once the door closes, Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to indulge Namjoon in his thoughts. “We have to go back.”

Before Namjoon can retaliate, he continues, “They’ve used a poison Jimin isn’t usually familiar with ‒ that means we’re dealing with something specific here and the one way to find a cure is to go back where the poison was found.”

“An antidote.” Namjoon annunciates in realization, “It’s worth a try.”

Seokjin hums, “I’ll go ask Jimin how much time we have.”

Namjoon nods, continuing to pace around with knitted brows. Seokjin re-emerges after a moment, but the expression on his features isn’t one Namjoon was hoping for.

“Three hours.”

The alarming news simply aids to add more weight to Namjoon’s shoulders, but he knows that if there’s any chance in saving your life, he would take it within a heartbeat.

Seokjin keenly eyes him, and he knows exactly what he needs to do.

***

Going back is on par with welcoming death and destruction towards his gates ‒ and it’s something that both he and Seokjin have the displeasure of facing.

Seokjin bolts towards a wall, crouching down immediately to avoid the splinter of bullets flying over his head.

“Is it just me or do they seem rather angrier this time around?” He playfully questions, cocking his gun and positioning it to fire back. A small smile curls on Namjoon’s lips at the latter’s sense of humour during such a dire time, yet he can’t help but counter on his own part.

“I would be too if I broke in for a second time and made a mess out of their building.” He aims alongside Seokjin, shooting back with twice the force.

“Well, if they happen to ruin this face of mine, I can’t promise that I won’t do anything.” He hurriedly rushes forward, getting into a more compromising but better position for him to fire back.

Namjoon shakes his head, acknowledging that his partner was simply trying to ease up the tension augmenting in him, but the steadily growing numbers surrounding them counteract all of his intentions. Although he had trusted Jimin to look after you in hopes of a faster recovery, he can’t help but think how much his absence has rendered them in a disarray.

Seokjin carefully heads forward with time, opting out to simply striking down the resistance rather than waste anymore of his precious bullets. Namjoon’s eyes light up in recognition when his actions form a clear pathway, and he doesn’t hesitate to sprint forward.

“It was around here, no?” Seokjin mumbles as his eyes flicker around, exhausted beyond belief but content that the two of them made it through. Namjoon hums, the walls feeling familiar and the passageway striking a recollection from him.

Together, him and Seokjin quickly thread through the hall and target the room where Namjoon had discovered your cell. Seokjin isn’t entirely sure if they can find something there, but he rather not leave any stone unturned in the midst of their presence in the area again.

At the sound of rustling, Seokjin places a hand on his shoulder and steadies him back.

Save for the empty cell in the corner and the bare room, a shadow is cast against the ground, bustling around the area.

The two of them are in hiding, cautiously watching the burly man’s actions from a bird’s eye view. He suddenly pauses in his tracks, head snapping in their direction.

His deep voice breaks the silence, “Who’s there?”

Despite neither of them making a single peep, the man stands his ground, eyeing the corner. Seokjin eventually sighs, raising his gun and slowly coming out of the dark.

Namjoon follows behind him and Seokjin’s stare is intent, prepared to seek out answers, “Y/N L/N. Do you know of her?”

His eyes flicker, a gigantic grin spreading across his features, “One of the spies.” He utters right away, “You must be the Kim’s.”

Seokjin keeps his gaze concentrated as he steps forward in intrigue, interested in their sudden appearance rather than blatantly disgusted.

Once he stands a couple of metres across from them, a question slips from him, “Why are you here?”

At that, Seokjin glances at Namjoon from the corner of his eye, holding back his words with the intent of being vague.

He smirks, before a chuckle escapes him, morphing into a boisterous laugh. It startles the two of them as he lowers his head, the brutish smile not leaving once.

“She’s dying, isn’t she?” He shakes his head in amusement, “I’m not very surprised, she was always the weakest out of us.”

His lingering smile causes Namjoon’s pupils to flare, “You should be happy too, no? You’ve just gotten rid of one of our insects.”

It’s like a sudden flash. One moment Seokjin is aiming his gun at this person with the intent of information in mind, the next Namjoon is pinning him against the wall, voice rough and spiking up.

“My wife is dying, how could you possibly think I would be happy?!”

“Namjoon.”

He huffs, releasing the man immediately and stepping back. Seokjin glances at him in concern, before directing his piercing gaze to the individual that’s fallen onto the ground.

“Where. is. the. antidote?” He grits out, only for him to laugh in retaliation.

“As if I’ll ever tell you anything.”

Seokjin’s eye twitches, “Then I have no use for you.”

He fires without grimacing, scarlet splattering all over the ground. Stepping away, he gestures Namjoon to follow him.

The latter stares at him in confusion when he begins surveying your cell, simply baffled at the way his friend paces around and examines the bars carefully.

After a moment of contemplation, Namjoon speaks up, “What are you doing?”

Seokjin doesn’t retort, choosing to instead crouch down and crawl into the cell himself. Reaching into the pocket of his suit’s jacket, he yanks out a vial and a swab, carefully rolling it over the ground where Namjoon had first discovered you.

A sound of exhilaration leaves him, and Namjoon is still left staring in bewilderment as he rises to his feet and stares at the vile with a spark in his eyes.

“It’s traces of the poison.” He clarifies, “Sure it’s mixed in with some blood, but I figured this would be enough for our chance at reproducing it and creating an antidote instead.”

Namjoon’s mouth falls agape as Seokjin places the vile away safely with a soft smile. He shakes his head, a chuckle escaping through.

“Seokjin, you genius.”

His friend sends him a knowing smile to counteract, and they begin to head out of the room, fully aware that they’ve found a potential source to a solution. However the alarming sound of voices results in them halting their steps, becoming one with the surrounding walls instead.

If the two of them thought it was difficult getting into the building a second time around, there’s a sickening surprise waiting for them.

Three, Seven, Twelve? Namjoon can’t even begin to count the individuals practically pouring into the room, eyes snapping up to meet Seokjin’s which are also twisted up in disbelief. The thought of trying to get past them barely comes across as a suggestion, but when Seokjin’s eyes glimmer for the briefest of seconds, Namjoon knows there’s only one simple way to counteract.

Keeping a firm hold on his gun, he leaps for the opportunity when Seokjin begins to sprint.

Their sudden movement and sound alerts the ears of the dwellers, voices spiking up and heavy footsteps beginning to grow in volume. From the split second that bullets start to fire, the two of them quickly take cover.

Seokjin heaves, “If I end up dying here today, can you promise me that you and Y/N will name your first child after me?”

Namjoon takes out his gun, staring at the former perplexed, “Don’t be in such a hurry to plan your own funeral.” He narrows his eyes, attempting to focus on the mass of individuals heading in their direction.

The question lingers in his mind, making him shake his head. “And what makes you so sure it’ll be a boy?”

Seokjin shrugs, “If it’s a girl you can still name her after me.”

Namjoon continues to stare at him flabbergasted, but once the sound of a gun firing hits his ears, he swivels around.

“Nevermind that, we have company.” Raising his gun, he begins to rapidly fire the weapon as Seokjin does the same, but nonetheless it seems like their efforts are futile from the steadily growing numbers.

“What do you say?” Namjoon asks in amusement, cocking his head in their direction.

Seokjin simply smirks in response, before leaving his cover and grabbing the first person he sees. His knee rams into their head, their form slumping onto the ground as he raises his gun at another, shooting them instantly.

Namjoon soon follows through, aiding him by using as much physical force as possible. However in the midst of the chaos, Seokjin is slammed against a wall, immediately wincing in pain.

He pushes the individual away, but there’s an angry blotch of red beginning to seep from his suit’s jacket, and that’s when he hears the faintest of clinks resonates against the ground.

Seokjin’s eyes threaten to pop out of their sockets, a familiar vile with a broken cap landing onto the ground and rolling about. He attempts to swiftly retrieve it right away, but before he has a chance to do so or to inform Namjoon, the man that threw him against the wall slams his foot down with a huge grin.

“NO!” He curses, resulting in Namjoon whipping his head around in concern, only to see remains of the poison split on the ground. He isn’t even given a chance to think of a way back to possibly retrieve more, two hands grabbing onto his jacket and threatening to rearrange his perfectly sculpted face.

Gritting his teeth as he takes his gun out, he doesn’t even hesitate to fire as Namjoon hurriedly dashes over.

“We have to collect the poison again somehow.” He continues to shoot, mumbling his words as defeat runs through him, “There has to be a way.”

Seokjin doesn’t get a chance to respond, “You’ll be better off in just letting her die.”

Namjoon swivels at the sound of the voice, the man grinning. In fact, the closer he looks, the more he can see the exhilaration surfacing on other faces.

The same man speaks, words becoming more venomous, “We’ll have finally gotten rid of that leech once and for all.”

Namjoon is truly speechless. Here he was, desperate to find an antidote, lingering drops from splotches of the poison, anything possible that would allow you to continue breathing ‒ all in the midst of being surrounded by individuals you would consider to be a part of your family.

There’s not even a single morsel of concern in the people in front of him.

“H-How…” He mumbles, eyes blinking in disbelief, “How can you be so happy to kill a member of your own family?”

“She was compromised.” The man spits out, as if it should be enough of a justification for their horrid actions, “She deserves to have death invited at her doorstep.”

It’s simply unfathomable what overcomes Namjoon in that single second, be it anguish, fury, or even disgust at how deep your vengeance and hatred for each other’s families runs.

He despises how much of a tool you really are, and with how strikingly parallel your routes are, like two sides of the same coin.

Unable to describe what consumes him in that moment, he ultimately decides it would be best for his actions to speak for themself instead. Seokjin blinks at the abrupt surge of strength he suddenly displays, but opts out in aiding his friend instead of questioning it.

Namjoon doesn’t remember how many times he’s grimaced or had a wave of pain jolt through his body, his partner having to forcefully drag him away for an escape instead of continuing to fight back. He chooses to follow, fully aware that any moment longer was a minute away from you surviving through the day.

Although Seokjin races at the prospect of obtaining more of the poison, Namjoon is unsure if it would be enough, if the destroyed remains of the vile he had previously collected was the last of what could have potentially saved you. It sends him into a state of distraught, failure probing into his mind as he slows down.

A feeble arm suddenly shoots out, grasping onto his shoulder and abruptly whisking him into a room. The door is slammed shut and Namjoon blinks, remaining vigilant as tension floods through his form.

The bleak room is completely silent, save for the middle-aged man that quickly turns away from him and begins to rummage through a row of shelves in the corner.

Namjoon’s hand threateningly lingers on his gun, irises locked onto and scrutinizing every action of the man before him. He continues to peer around before Namjoon, searching as if he had lost something.

His frail hands wrap around a small bottle, carefully inspecting it before he turns. There’s a soft smile curved at the corners of his lips, eyes kind and inviting.

Namjoon can only stare in puzzlement as the man reaches out for his hand, gently tightening his own fingers around the bottle. He peers up, smile reaching his crinkling eyes as he lightly pats Namjoon’s hand.

“Take care of her.” He quietly says and that’s when Namjoon’s orbs are darting all over the man’s features. His soft smile, the kind eyes, the way his presence is not hostile nor hateful, simply silent and tender in its presence.

The similarity is striking the more he thinks about it, mind flashing back to the day you became husband and wife. His memory finally allows him to distinctly remember the identity of the man, the very person who had gently brought you down the aisle and the same presence that faithfully watched over you as you agreed to the priest’s vows.

His hand tightens around the bottle and he firmly nods, noticing a sense of deep relief that fills the elder’s eyes.

He jolts as the door strikes open, a fumbling and clearly fatigued Seokjin glancing around. At the sight of the man close to Namjoon, he instantly rushes forward, but is stopped when his friend raises a hand in front of him.

“Let’s go.”

Seokjin stares at him baffled but when Namjoon raises his hand and showcases the bottle he holds, his eyes light up in recognition and he nods.

In the process of escaping, Namjoon turns back for the briefest of movements, a faint glimmer of water appearing in the elder man’s eyes.

Jimin instantly scrambles to his feet.

“What happened?”

Seokjin simply shakes his head, fully aware of his own disarranged appearance that involves his jacket splotched with red and teared into shambles. Namjoon is within a similar state, and although Jimin is previously accustomed to the sight, his eyes can’t help but linger at how utterly exhausted and battered the two individuals before him look.

Namjoon’s orbs hold a glint with them, eyes eagerly darting around to catch a glimpse of the bed you were situated on. A grimace runs through Jimin, and he shifts, revealing the view of your deteriorating state behind him.

Your skin appears as if someone drained all the life out of you. Instead of the parched appearance you had before, this time sweat has collected against your forehead and lashes, the sight of twisted veins beginning to steadily form against your neck and forearms.

Namjoon harshly inhales, pupils frantically darting all over you. Jimin is rendered silent, unsure if there’s anything he can say that would aid the former.

Seokjin beats him to it, showcasing the bottle in hands that has Jimin’s brows perking up. He immediately snatches it, exiting the room within seconds.

Namjoon collapses onto a chair near your beside, shoulders deflating with defeat. Seokjin walks over and stands by him, gaze raking over the way you continue to let out shallow breaths, colour rapidly depleting from your skin.

A moment of silence passes by in wait of Jimin’s return, but every minute feels too drawn out, as if time was growing stall and running out of patience.

You let out a small cough and Namjoon’s head snaps up, rising from the chair.

Seeming harmless at first, it morphs into a wheeze, as if you were struggling to breath. Namjoon is deduced to simply watching as your chest heaves, unable to do anything.

Seokjin disappears from the room in search of Jimin, but as he returns, he’s astounded to see his friend’s eyes glossed over right before he turns away.

The two of them exchange a look before Jimin hastily advances forward, crouching by your bedside and administering whatever he could conjure within the short time person via a syringe. Seokjin aids him by constricting your movements so as to not make the process difficult, but the effects on your body don’t seem to fade even as the antidote makes its way through your system.

Seokjin turns around with a sigh, placing a comforting hand on Namjoon’s downturned posture. His back is still facing you, his forehead scrunched in his hands as his shoulders shake the slightest.

As the three of them helplessly stand and pace around the room, a large inhale suddenly slips from your lips and captures everyone’s attention, the slightest tinge of pink beginning to gradually spread over your skin.

You gaze into the mirror, one hand raising up to gather your dangling locks while the other searches around for a pin. The small token of metal falls within your gasps and you carefully fasten it in, tucking them behind.

It compliments the ruby red gown you're wearing, the material silky to touch and dropping down to cascade into a long train that spreads onto the ground. It’s paired with your hair briefly tossed into a part, a faint glow of purple sitting at the base of your throat.

Your hands come to rest by your side, stare roaming around the image that is reflected back at you until you catch sight of the corner, noticing a pair of eyes with crossed arms and furrowed brows watching your every single gesture.

A small smile cracks on your lips, and you’re already aware of the words he’s aching to spew.

“You should really be resting.”

You resume fiddling around with your dress, ensuring it was secure enough. “You already know my answer to that.”

Namjoon deeply sighs, pushing himself off the wall and striding over to you. You can tell he’s tired of simply observing you, watching for the hints of your skin paling or for a cough to suddenly break out of you in between your reassuring and coaxing words.

Although you can understand his genuine concern, news of coming across the person that wanted Namjoon dead at a mass banquet reigned heavier on you. You hadn’t hesitated to prepare yourself for the occasion, knowing that it would be a difficult task to have something escape by your perceptive eyes.

But Namjoon can’t admit defeat, frantically circling around you near the mirror on the table. You immediately swivel around, eyes coming into contact with his right away.

His hands rest against the edge on either side of you, leaning against your form.

“What if you feel unwell?”

You can’t stop the earnest smile that tugs at the corner of your lips, hand reaching out to softly rest against his cheek.

“We need to figure out what’s going on and I’m not going to let you do that alone.”

Namjoon’s shoulders slump down and even though you understand to a certain degree, just solely based on how you can still feel fatigue beneath your lids and your limbs aching despite being able to walk, the thought of encountering the person that nearly tried to kill your husband alongside you is frightening enough on it’s own.

He shakes his head, an exhale leaving him in defeat. As you laugh at the gesture, his amused eyes snap up to meet yours.

The laughter suddenly diminishes, hand slowly dropping down the longer your eyes stay connected. There’s a weight in his gaze you recall seeing before, the memory of having him close abruptly arising in your mind and spreading a sweltering tinge of heat to your skin.

You can tell that his mind is swimming with the same thought, irises darting down to your lips for the briefest of moments. Your body moves on it’s own, his lips hovering so closely that you can feel his warmth breath against your skin.

Your eyes flutter shut.

“We know who’s running the gathering! I couldn’t believe tha‒”

Jimin’s voice dies out as you and Namjoon break apart in an instant. There’s still a rapid hue of red radiating from your skin and Namjoon sheepishly stares at the ground, seemingly pretending that he's just simply standing next to you prior to the intrusion.

Jimin glances back and forth perplexed between the two of you as Seokjin shows up from behind him.

“Did I interrupt something…?”

“N-No!” You clear your throat immediately, waving your hands, “Y-You were saying…?

He stares back at you almost as if not fully convinced and Seokjin quirks up an amused brow at Namjoon, who has decided that staring at the ground while cursing underneath his breath is the right mode of action.

“Uh, well, as I was saying…” Jimin carefully says, noticing both Namjoon’s and your own attentive eyes shifting back to him, “We managed to figure out the identity of the person leading this gathering, and it’s someone you know very well.”

Namjoon tilts his head to the side and Seokjin slips him a photograph, his eyes widening.

“Hoseok?”

Jimin hums, “Apparently, he’s been keeping a low profile after Taehyung’s demise and associating with lesser known parties from your company, including the man that was after you.”

Seokjin hands him a picture of the man’s corpse, the very person you had shot, being seen conversing with Hoseok prior to the incident.

Namjoon peers around at the information with a scoff, glancing up at Jimin, “So you’re thinking that if we can find him, he’ll be able to provide us some answers.”

“More or less, but perhaps in a nicer way.” Jimin innocently grins, assuming that the shareholder will be kind enough to talk without any added persuasion.

Namjoon nods as Seokjin collects the evidence, carefully storing it away. Taking your hand, the four of you prepare to infiltrate the banquet.

***

It’s surprising grandiose for what was proposed as a quick get together.

A chandelier hangs low from the ceiling, illuminating conversing faces and greeting guests with the faintest of glows. There’s faces among the small groups that you don’t recognize right away, understanding the assumption Jimin gave that many of the individuals present are ones part of the business, but never indulged with outside of the company. It makes all of you on alert, patiently waiting for the man of the hour that has seemed to create an audience without their knowledge.

As your eyes roam around the crowd with intrigue, you’re taken aback for a moment. There is indeed unfamiliarity with the presence of those around you, but somehow the situation reminds you of the time you were first wedded to Namjoon, innocently presented as his wife to gawking eyes despite the fact that your own were scrutinizing their every trait.

Your eyes do continue to wander about in search of a person by your husband’s side, but at the same time, it’s different.

Your eyes glance over at Namjoon, who stands beside you as your hand is looped around his arm, not a single drop of naivety in his expression.

Eyes firmly set in stone, his jaw is tightened as his sharp gaze is on the brink of memorizing every single individual’s face.

A smile unknowingly rises on your lips, and when your hold on him tightens, Namjoon jostles and diverts his attention to you.

In an instant, his features soften, eyes gazing at you curiously. “Is something wrong?”

You hastily shake your head, “I was just remembering the gathering we attended after our marriage.”

A line draws in between his brows until a glimmer of light flickers, a breathtaking smile rising on his lips.

“When I introduced you to members in my company.” You nod as his eyes scan his surroundings, slowly comprehending the connection you’ve made.

He diverts his attention to you again, “Were you...nervous? From meeting all those people?”

“A little.” You admit, “I already knew who they all were and the stories behind their backgrounds.”

Namjoon hums, “I was mainly occupied with digging up information in those moments...”

“Did you feel nervous around me?”

“Um, not quite.” A chuckle leaves your lips and Namjoon’s eyes light up at the sound, curiously gazing at you, “I think to say, I was very taken aback when the heir to the Kim empire had a set of indoor plants he was tending to…”

A flush creeps onto Namjoon and the laughter slips out of you, raising your hand to cover your mouth. He eventually laughs with you, sheepishly shaking his head in embarrassment.

“It seems like I left quite the impression on you.”

He eyes you with a smile and you return it, sight landing back on the crowds of people immersed in conversation. There still isn’t any visibility of the Hoseok and with that, you slump down with a wistful sigh.

“You know,” Namjoon’s deep voice beckons you, “You look very beautiful tonight.”

Your eyes widen and you realize his stare is fixated on the jewel that sits on your neck before his eyes flicker up, meeting yours with a tender smile on his lips.

Despite knowing that Namjoon doesn’t shy away from giving compliments, there’s a heat that spreads over your skin as you abruptly grow bashful. However the moment you connect your gaze with his once again, your breath hitches in your throat.

There’s something brewing beneath his lids, his gaze feeling heavier than before. You can’t seem to look away, left wondering if he can see it reflected in your eyes.

You bite down on your bottom lip, a gesture his eyes are quick to follow with. His breathing becomes laboured and you can’t seem to recall if you were the one that shifted closer, but the moment Namjoon flutters his eyes shut and presses forward, there’s no hesitation on your part.

His lips collide with your own and you have to stifle back the moan that threatens to escape from you. In an instant, his hands are circling around your waist, one of them lifting up to firmly hold the nape of your neck in place. His kisses are a mixture of desperate yet passionate, clouding your mind into a complete daze.

You’re no longer able to contain the carnal urge that bubbles up, a soft sigh managing to leave your lips. Namjoon abruptly breaks apart from you, his chest heaving.

Your hand is suddenly grasped as you’re being roughly tugged away, head still swirling with heat. You’re only given the opportunity to register the sound of a door opening before being promptly slammed shut, your back falling right against the cold wood.

Within seconds, Namjoon’s lips are crashing against yours and this time you have no courtesy holding back the wanton moans that tumble from your mouth. Namjoon hungrily presses against you as your hands loop against his neck, kissing him back with just as much desperation.

His insatiable hands are roaming down your waist, the heat of his palms ghosting over your thighs. A gasp leaves your lips when he suddenly grunts and lifts you up, your fingers attempting to find secure purchase around his neck before you can topple over.

His lips are molding against yours in no time, his tongue slipping in with no reservations. You welcome the muscle into the heat of your caverns, mouths nearly battling against each other as if engaged within a ruthless warfare.

His mouth abruptly breaks apart from you, and before you have the chance to complain from the loss of contact, the scorching heat of his breath is washing over the skin of your neck. Your eyes lull back, your bottom lip becoming battered from your merciless biting. He unexpectedly suckles the juncture behind your ear, drawing out a breathy whine out from you.

A loud blare bursts through the room, and on the third ring, you tumble into Namjoon’s arms as he reluctantly places you down.

Namjoon yanks his phone out, his chest rising and falling as if he has been running through a marathon.

“What?”

The sharpness in his voice has your eyes peering upwards, attempting to catch your breath.

“What?” Namjoon suddenly says again, “He’s here?”

It’s transparent to you ‒ the way Namjoon is failing at steading his breath, eyes having taken upon a carnal appearance, but how he’s trying to think straight, desire-stricken eyes frantically darting around.

For some reason, it stirs up a painful ache in the pit of your stomach.

“Okay.” His voice sounds clearer now, accompanied with a hum, “Keep an eye on him, we’re coming.”

The line is cut off and Namjoon reaches his hand out for you, but it’s hard to ignore the way his eyes can’t seem to leave your form.

“Y/N?” He breathes out and your daze snaps, grasping onto him.

The door widens and you hurriedly rush out together.

135 notes · View notes

crispycrimebrulee · 4 years

Text

🎄25 Days of HXH: Day 11: Hisoka x Festive🎄

You would think, knowing Hisoka all this time, looking through his closet, inspecting his day-to-day outfit, studying his personality and all its nuances, that you would have figured out what types of things he likes to wear. In his closet was nothing but designer heels and crop tops, mixed in with fancy turtlenecks and couture brands and cuts and patterns, equal to that of a VOGUE Model’s closet. Bright colors, expensive fabric, you’d think the answer would jump out at you, but no. Here you were, sitting around, unsure of what to get him. Hisoka always made sure to look the part of the season too, at least once during all the festivities. Although those outfits were rare, he made sure they had their debut, retiring them for a year before pulling them out again. Winter Wonderland by Eurythmics

Taglist: @to-move-on-means-to-grow , @lifescreams27, @twistedsmth, @dukinaxael, @weeb-chick-181920 @errorpeachy @my-child-gaara @absolute-flaming-trash @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes @demon-hugger @whistlingastronaut

Getting up, you walked over to his section in your closet and ran your fingers over his clothes, admiring the expensive fabrics as they passed between your fingertips. You couldn’t get him something overly expensive, seeing as that would make your bank account cry. Besides, picking out an item from a couture brand was never a good idea in terms of Hisoka, his tastes were peculiar but particular, being very picky about the pieces he owns. Moving your hand over to his jester get ups, you could see the small patching and different stitchings in them, suggesting the tears and rips had been sewn up by him or a tailor, but covered up nonetheless. It was almost unnoticeable if you weren’t close enough, but the outfits were somewhat tattered and well worn. Few things he had a love for, but his outfits were clearly one of them. You flipped through them, a sense of confusion slowly crawling into your mind. He had one in black and gold for New Years, one with hearts on it for Valentines Day, and every holiday up until Halloween, but the festive outfits stopped there. He had no Christmas outfit. The gaudiest possible outfit he could probably put together, and he didn’t have one at all. You’d been with him for quite some time, at least two Christmas’ together, but the most he’s ever had in terms of outfit was a Christmas hat, or the star and teardrop he adorned would be red and green.

Pulling one of his outfits from the closet, you set it on the bed before you, taking note of the fraying threads and patterns, thinking of perhaps fixing his outfits for him. Fixing them would be a gesture in itself, but not necessarily a gift. It was more like a thought of courtesy, or a simple act of love you could’ve done any other day of the year. You also knew getting him a gift from his favorite brands would also be a bit of moot point.

On thoughts of earlier, it’s much easier to get a gift shrouded in a show of money, or shrouded in the capability to spend said money than find an appropriate gift that is an act of heart and thoughtfulness, because you realize the person you’re trying to gift has so many qualities and wonders that you’re trying to convey with the gift, that again, buying something generic, or something they asked for, or even a gift card was easier to produce. On another note, it’s quite difficult to impress Hisoka, furthermore difficult still to catch his attention with something. He’d said so himself in terms of your relationship; he was impressed by everything you are, and he’d admitted to you that you had most of his attention, being absolutely captivated by you. What could you give him that would captivate him, have all of his attention yet be a direct gift of heart, a gift full of meaning, conveying all that he meant to you.

Running your fingers over the fabric inattentively as you let the gears turn, trying to figure out what would be suitable, you nearly jumped out of your skin to feel Hisoka’s breath tickle your ear. He always did have a knack for sneaking up on you when he wanted to.

“Somebody's brooding, I’d love to know what about~” Hisoka implored, using a lovely manicured nail to turn your face towards his own, his eyes boring into yours.

You pouted, seeing as you almost hurt yourself from being startled. You huffed in response to him, which earned you a giggle from the jester.

“Seems like I scared sweet y/n, eh?” commenting on your pout as he ran his fingers over your lips, his stare passing between them and your eyes.

Rolling your eyes you pulled away from him and picked up his outfit, making your way to put it back to the closet, but not before he pulled you back gently, quietly clicking his tongue.

“I don’t even get a hello, y/n?,” he began, poking your cheek and then poking your nose, “you clearly missed me, seeing as you’re fiddling with my clothes, dear~”

You scrunch your nose, and swat at his hands.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t” choosing to indulge his ego just a bit with your response.

Clearly it had as he pressed you closer to him, allowing his lips to hover over yours, making your chest tingle with anticipation, unable to deny that his kisses always held some sort of power over you. You grew antsy with him being this close to you, getting quickly fed up with his teasing. He took note of this, chuckling and closing the gap, allowing you to taste strawberry chapstick and bubblegum, soft and sweet, contrary to the actual person in question.

He pulled away, humming at your pleased expression, poking your nose again as he let you go.

“I suppose you’ll tell me what you were brooding about now?” he queried again, cocking his head slightly as he watched you put his outfit away.

“No”, you answered, walking back to him and briefly peeking at banding on the clothing on his waist before passing him, “I won’t. It’s a secret.”

“A secret? Oh dear y/n secrets are hard to keep from me!” gushed Hisoka, clearly excited at the revelation of a secret.

In truth, it was indeed difficult to keep secrets from him, intentional or not. He always had a way of knowing things and finding out secrets. You knew he was going to do everything in his power to figure out what this secret was, and you knew your plan was now that much harder.

“Try not to get your nose too deep in my business, Hisoka” you muttered, moving towards him to check him for injuries, something that’d become customary in the relationship. Stopping at some blood on the back of his shirt you looked at him, ready to start patching him up.

“There’s blood on your shirt…” tugging at his shirt as you spoke, worry filling your voice.

“Not mine, dollface~” beaming at you in response.

Of course it wasn’t.

Later the next day on your way home for work, you stopped at a fabric store and wandered the aisles, looking for the brightest red fabric available. You’d already taken the measurements from Hisoka’s clothes in the morning when you’d left for work, writing them down, careful to keep them hidden just in case he was lurking around. Picking out a red fabric, you moved and picked out a white one, and then white feather strip with bits of sparkly tinsel in them, planning on making a classic outfit. As a last minute decision, you picked up a red and white ribbon, remembering the banding around Hisoka’s waist. You had an only sewing machine at home, and you were prepared to sit down and watch a lot of tutorials so you could make your gift perfect.

Eventually arriving home, you were relieved to find Hisoka out of the house, knowing he wouldn’t be back until late. You got to work, following countless youtube instructions and tutorials, nicking your fingers ever so often with sewing in the minute details of your handiwork. Bits of feathers and tinsel would fall around you, as well as bits of red and white fabric in small strips, leaving the area around you look like an arts and crafts nightmare. You’d spent hours, but you finished, of course with some loose ends to cut and bits of this and that to sew in and overall perfect your work. It was one of Hisoka’s classic outfits but in a much more festive fashion. A red base fabric with white hearts and feather strip hem, tailored pants that tighten at the ankle to match, and a homemade Christmas hat to top it off. For under the shirt, his classic banding was red and white ribbons, adding a gentle sheen to the matte fabrics. Your hands were sore, and your thoughts sluggish. It was well into the night, and you had yet to clean up the mess you’d made.

Although it took some time, you’d made the living room spotless, you showered, tucked Hisoka’s new outfit away in a box and tucked it under the bed and crawled under the covers and dozed off almost immediately, content with the gift you’d created.

Rummaging around with the occasional thud was what woke you slightly, not enough to promptly spring into action, but enough for your drowsiness to be mixed with weariness. Propping up on an elbow, you squinted into the dark only to be met by the telltale silhouette of Hisoka approaching you and you let yourself flop back down on the bed as he crawled in next to you, pressing kisses into your shoulders, quietly talking your ear off, seemingly also drowsy.

Once again awoken by slight morning noises you groaned and rolled over, trying to see just what Hisoka was up to this time. Although your vision was clouded by sleep, your heart sank, rose and began beating out of your chest all at once upon realizing what you were looking at. Hisoka had the box you’d hidden, open on the bed staring in pure shock at the gift you’d prepared, an expression you rarely got to see.

“Hisoka...nooooo….” groaning as you sat up and crawled towards him, reaching for the box.

He moved his hands and the box away from your grasp, causing you to whimper.

“Y/n...do tell me, what’s this?” glancing at you as he whispered, clearly in awe.

“It was supposed...to be a surprise,” you started, your heart sinking again, feeling absolutely defeated, “it wasn’t finished yet…”

Hisoka seemed to connect the dots in that moment, remembering you in his clothes and talking of secrets and he gasped as he pulled it completely out of the box. You curled up as he inspected it, quietly giggling as he held the matching hat, trying it on, finding it to be a snug fit. He was clearly in a state of pure genuine joy, a most precious smile on his face as he played with the ball on the end of the hat and squeezing the fuzzy fabric.

“It wasn’t good yet…” you whimpered, upset that he’d found out early, and he stopped, looking at you as he took note of your voice.

“Oh hush y/n..,” his voice full of veneration, “this is perfect, love..”

You glanced up at him, and you could tell he meant it, that look of astonishment, he was fully impressed, his attention was well caught.

“I still have to fix some of the stitching…”

“When? I’d love to wear this soon!” he exclaimed, turning the shirt this way and that.

“Well-”

“OH y/n you shouldn’t have” Hisoka gasped, picking up the shiny ribbon bandage you pieced together, running it through his fingers, his eyes ablaze as he inspected it.

“Well I could fix it now, I suppose,” you sighed, getting up and getting the sewing kit you put together. Coming back, you sat down and essentially put the final touches on the outfit, cutting the frays and rough bits of extra fabric, and watched him try on the outfit, seeing Hisoka grinning from ear to ear, looking festive as ever. It was gaudy, in a sense, but perfect for him in his own way. You could only sigh happily, seeing him this way.

Hisoka materialized in front of you, catching you off guard and making you yelp as he planted kisses across your face, taking you out of your disgruntled mood, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I’ll have to ask you for clothes more often, y/n,” he said in the middle of pressing kisses into your neck, “this fits wonderfully~”

You nodded as you let Hisoka drown you in early morning affection. In a cheesy sense, you could say Christmas came early for Hisoka, but one should leave cheesy endings for another day.

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silentprincess17 · 3 years

Text

A Proposal Gone Awry

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

Summary: Link has been touring the breadth and width of Hyrule to clear out the remaining monster camps, and soon enough, he reaches Zora’s Domain. Mipha asks him to wait before he heads back to the castle, which he was intending on doing... but some mischievous children may have other plans.

Part 4 (Final)

Mipha floated in the pool, the water cascading in gentle waves over her prone form.

It was the fifth time she had left her own private pools after a prolonged period of recovery. She waded her way through a sea of guilt, shame, mortification, longing, pining and despair. Heartbreak was a painful thing, and it was a shame her Grace couldn’t heal it. Still, her time in almost near seclusion had helped her to come to several key realisations, which she could freely admit after the initial torment and hurricane of emotions drifted into colder water.

Number 1: She realised how much she had fooled herself.

Really, she had never even talked to Link about her feelings, planning to use the armour as her segue on the topic. An armour given at an engagement! What had she been thinking? How had she deluded herself into it?

Number 2: The answer was that she was simply too scared. Too terrified to ever voice her affection for him. And it had all backfired so spectacularly. There were so many signs that she had, simply put, ignored. All the way from Link saving Zelda during their journey, to finding out who they really were: soulmates bound through all of time and fated to be together. Her cheeks coloured, from thinking of all of the ridiculous explanations she had made up in order to continue living in a fantasy she had constructed in her mind.

Number 3: All of this could have been avoided, if she had talked to him properly.

Still, it was too late to regret it now, but with hindsight, she should have done everything differently from the start. She could have saved herself so much pain. The only saving grace she had was that Link thankfully had no idea what was going on. She didn’t even want to consider what would have happened had he realised.

The flow of the water changed, and Mipha instinctively looked up, as Bazz walked in, holding a bloom of Blue Nightshades in his hands. Every day since she had returned from the castle, he came carrying a small bundle of flowers as an apology. He had noticed how reclusive she had become, and the blanket of sadness that covered her like waves covered the ocean. She had reassured him multiple times she wasn’t sad because of his little stunt, and he didn’t need to bring flowers, but the poor boy had taken it to heart.

He had even brought the whole gang over on the first day that she had left her rooms, each of them bearing a gift. Bazz himself had brought her purple hyacinths, which apparently “symbo-bolises forgive-ness”. Gaddison had polished her treasured Lightscale Trident, something which Mipha hadn’t held for over two months. It had felt so good to wield it in her hands again. Rivan had given her a hearty blue snail, whilst Sidon had given her a huge hug, and a pendant that had Vah Ruta engraved into it. She knew her father must have helped him, but she still appreciated the effort he had put in. Once she had hugged him, he had softly whispered in her ear that she was his Hero, and he wanted her to smile again, like this, and he had given her the best gift of all- his trademark smile and pose.

It had made her feel comforted and helped her realise that she had a family here. She had responsibilities. She couldn’t just hide away from the world because she didn’t have the courage to talk to the man she loved, and now he had been taken away.

She was Mipha, Princess of the Zora, a daughter, a sister, a warrior. Yes, Link had played a large part in her motivations. She had always wanted to protect him, ultimately. First by healing his wounds, then by fighting the lynel with him, to finally creating an armour containing a piece of herself. But what she had failed to realise then, and she understood now, was that it wasn’t just all for Link. It was for her Domain, for her people who she would eventually rule over.

After that fourth realisation, it became easier to ease herself out of her rooms. To slowly begin to partake in the council meetings. To swim in her home’s beautiful waterfalls. To allow herself to heal.

She smiled as Bazz shuffled closer, his sword still scrapping the floor with every other step. He held out the peonies he had gathered today, and this time pressed a letter into her hand. She raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything, just shrugged. She flipped it open, and it was about an event at the Flight Range. She read, and reread the short brief,

To all the children in Hyrule,

I, the Great Revali, Champion of the Rito, will be offering free lessons in the all-important field of archery.

Should you want to participate, convince your parents/guardians to bring you this Saturday to the Flight Range.

Teenagers are welcome on the following day and for those who do not possess this basic knowledge, I mean Sunday.

Remember that if you do come, I will expect nothing less of excellence, or at least, the maximal effort to be demonstrated until you achieve said excellence.

Master Revali, Champion of the Rito

Well, she never would have guessed Revali liked children. Or indeed teaching. He… well, she wouldn’t say he was the most patient of the Champions. Still, it was good of him to do… probably. She wasn’t sure he would have many students left after the first session.

But why had Bazz given this to her….? She got her answer when she looked up to Bazz’s huge, silently pleading eyes. She sighed. The children had done a lot for her these past few months. It was the least she could do to supervise them on a short trip. It was highly likely Revali would scare them all away, if she was being honest, which would be the main reason she wouldn’t want to bring them. Still, if they wanted to go, then she would accompany them. It was only right she gave back a little of what they’ve given her.

She smiled as she heard Bazz screaming to the other three and lifted herself out of the pool. She was out of practise with her spear, and she was certain Revali would notice. Not that she cared for his crass comments, especially considering what she had gone through these past two months… but she was still competitive and just in case he asked her to practise like they once used to, she needed to make sure she wouldn’t fail within the first minute.

The children squabbled together on the swim to the Rito Village. They were excited for their first time out exploring Hyrule, and she had to remain vigilant if any one of them decided to pop up for air and sit on the bank to appreciate the views. Whilst she did understand how shockingly green the world must appear to them when compared to the Domain, there were still monsters around, and these children were all her responsibility.

Soon enough they arrived, threaded in amongst the throng of people present in the Flight Range. Revali was at the entrance, by a giant board of names. He held the chalk in his hands as he wrote down the name of each child at a specific time slot, before directing them towards the bonfire that was burning in order to stay warm. From what she could make out, around half of the slots were filled, with lessons starting at 1 pm. As this was the sign up session, no one had been assigned into classes yet. She assumed it would be dependent on the numbers that turned up today…

She made sure the children were organised in file row by age, with the eldest first, (Gaddison, Bazz, Rivan and Sidon) before she approached Revali.

He merely nodded at her, wrote down the four names and directed her in much the same way as everyone else. Well, she wasn’t expecting favouritism, but surely in light of their history he could- wait- actually… What did she want him to do? She had only had a few training sessions with Revali, and aside from the battles they had fought together, she had rarely interacted with him. He didn’t tend to stay for the informal sessions they had as Champions, and, as he rubbed a lot of their group the wrong way, she had never paid much attention as to why that was.

She only smiled, asked if he needed any help, “No thank you, Mipha. Just head to the bonfire.” And Mipha understood his curt dismissal. He looked stressed, and she wouldn’t want to exacerbate that.

After a couple of hours, it was the Zora children’s turn. All of them headed off towards the Flight Range, were given basic instructions in how a bow works by Revali, and a brief guide into using a paraglider as an emergency safety check. The main benefit of practising at the Flight Range was that even if they slipped, or lost control, the wind was so strong it would buffet them in the air until Revali himself would pick them up. Anyway, no one would be flying out unless they fell; the first lessons would take place on the deck whilst aiming at the target just across.

Mipha was not afraid of anything going wrong. She trusted Revali. Despite their differences, Revali would never let any of one of them down.

Gaddison did the best, she adapted well to the new weapon, a swallow bow, managing to hit the inner turquoise ring after five arrow shots, whilst Bazz came in second hitting it after eight. Rivan managed in twelve, and Sidon could only hit the outside ring. He was perhaps too small for this sort of venture. Mipha understood his need to participate though; she knew he really wanted to be accepted into Bazz’s brigade, and she wouldn’t stop him from trying to fit in.

Whilst the children were firing at the target, she came to stand by Revali. He was intently focussed, but she thought she could perhaps try to get him to relax a little.

“This is a really good thing you’re doing Revali… training the next generation of potential archers.”

He fixed his emerald eyes on her, funny, how she had never noticed the startling colour before, “Well thank you, Mipha. Not all of us are handed our legacies. I have to make my own.”

She paused… hesitated a little as she thought over what he meant. It was true: she had never realised but all of the other Champions were in positions of power. She was a Princess, Urbosa was Chief of the Gerudo, Daruk was Chief of the Gorons. Zelda was Princess of Hyrule, and Link was Captain of her Royal Guard team. Except for Revali. His only title was Champion… “Perhaps that is a good thing. Self-made legacies are the ones that people remember the most.” He didn’t reply, so she asked another question. “How did you come up with the idea of making the Flight Range a training centre?”

He wrapped both arms around his chest, which she read as a little defensive, “Teba. His son, Tulin, trains here. Well. I guess I should say, ‘will’ train here.” He shook his head, “Anyway, I also don’t want to be remembered solely by the Rito for having trained Rito warriors. I want this to be an endeavour that spans across Hyrule. Archery is just as, if not more, important than simple swordplay.”

Ah. There it was. She wisely chose not to say anything else on the matter, “It’s an admirable aim, Revali. And from the volume of people here… I’d say you are in a good position.”

He merely shrugged. “It’s only the first session, Mipha. It would be foolish to assume the same pattern for the future.” He hesitated, looked at her ornamental silver again, before his gaze flickered away onto the children. He cleared his throat, risked another glance at her, before speedily asking, “Why did you change your armour?”

She was about to respond to his initial statement actually, to reassure him that it would work, and that he was a Champion which would undoubtedly make people want their children to be taught by him, but he had caught her completely off-guard. “What do you mean?”

He jabbed a feather at her clasp. “That never used to be there.”

Oh Goddesses. How would she explain such a thing? How had he even noticed such a small difference? “Well, one of the scales needed to go. It happens sometimes.” There. That wasn’t a lie. Technically, the scale had to go, and it didn’t happen often obviously, but she wouldn’t have to explain the ins and outs.

He paused, just for a second, before continuing on, “Is it susceptible to attack?”

“Well, yes-”

He jutted in, “Would you like to train then? It’s important to maintain your defence. Especially with such a pronounced wound that anyone could take advantage of.”

She did not mention the wound was, in fact, sealed completely by the clasp. But she appreciated his offer. It had been so long since she had properly trained with a Champion. And… now actually, she could remember him doing the same thing at the ball. Had he spotted it from then? Had he wanted to ask if she was okay from then? Had he wanted to train… to help her better defend herself from then? She wasn’t sure why she found that surprising, but it felt good to know he cared. “Okay.”

“Monday evening… at the Domain, for your convenience?”

She nodded, and with that, it was the end of the children’s turn. She established what time, exactly, on Monday evening, and invited Revali to come over for dinner. He hadn’t had a chance to visit the Domain properly in all the chaos of the Calamity, but there was no such rush now.

Mipha had a giant pile of things to do, and she tried her best to do it all quickly. First, she dropped the children back to their home familial pools, reassuring their parents that everyone had been well behaved. Then she informed her father that she had invited Revali to dinner so preparations could be made in time. Finally, she visited her Divine Beast, Vah Ruta... She paused at the entrance, smoothing her hand across the door. Ruta was pleased to see her Champion back, and Mipha found herself falling back into her routine of caring: she gave Ruta good clean, and even ended up having a late-night bonding training session to attempt to prepare herself for Monday.

In all her haste to do it all, by the time she finally reached her pools, she was so tired she immediately blacked out.

It was only in the morning that she realised, for the first time that night, in the span of two months, she didn’t think of Link. Of her failed proposal. Of her shame and embarrassment at reading the whole situation so wrongly.

And she finally braved the courage to pull out the package that she hadn’t touched since that evening. She decided it was time to post it to Link. She wrote a short note about completing his armour set, and she didn’t mention anything else. By letting go of it, and subsequently of the feelings that were associated with it, Mipha finally felt lighter than she had for a long time.

She grabbed her Lightscale Trident, keen on getting some practise before Revali came. Who knows, maybe he could teach her some archery too. Whatever it was, she was keen to finally put her trident to some good use again. For the first time in two months, she had something to look forward to… a goal she could achieve.

Perhaps her proposal had gone awry… but it had given her a much needed wake up call.

She was more than a girl who loved a boy.

She was Mipha, Princess of the Zora, Champion of the Zora and of Vah Ruta, a warrior and healer that contributed to the destruction of the Calamity. She was Sidon’s hero, and it was time she lived up to it.

Mipha stepped forward, her Grace poised in her movements, bold, determined, and ready.

#a propsal gone awry #zelink #zelink fanfic #mipha #revali #miphvali #silent writes

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Chapter 36

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Fuck the Canon: Happy Endings For Everyone

Jiang YanLi has come to inquire after the Lan Sect Leader.

She has come armed with pear soup that turns the guest chambers fragrant with the scent of ginger, and a lovely smile that turns any objection uncle may have into an unseemly incivility. Uncle is not fond of sweet things, but cold soup with ginger is exactly what the Head Healer had recommended. Not an hour had passed since the last time uncle had brusquely declared that there is nothing the matter with his lungs. Under Jiang YanLi’s watchful eyes however, he is forced to consume two bowls, and thank her for the attention.

XiChen is not surprised by her consideration, but is surprised by her request that he join her for a stroll in the Imperial Gardens. Uncle, no doubt wishing to see the back of her before another bowl is forced down his throat, readily gives his assent. Still, it is difficult to imagine why Lady Jiang would be interested in XiChen’s company. They have hardly spoken a dozen words to each other in the past five days, and despite the fact that Jiang YanLi can hardly move two steps about the Immortal Mountain without an escort of servants and guards, XiChen wonders if their acquaintance will invite scrutiny. After all, Lady Jiang is engaged to be married to the Young Master of the Jin Sect, and it does not take much, to wound the Jin Sect pride.

Regardless of her reasons, he agrees, and makes a valiant attempt to be an acceptable, pleasant companion.

The Imperial Gardens are beautiful, despite the bleakness of the late autumn. On XiChen’s initial tour of the Immortal Mountain City, Jiang WanYin had also taken him through the Imperial Gardens. That particular outing had been a silent one, as Jiang WanYin had distinctly lacked any interest in flowers, trees, or architecture. Jiang YanLi makes for much more pleasant company; she is well-versed in the history of the gardens, and she happily describes the significance of the cypresses and wisteria, narrates the history of the various sculptures, and explains the intent behind the structure and placement of each pavilion.

XiChen is beginning to think that Lady Jiang had simply wanted some amiable company for the morning, and had chosen him on a whim, perhaps for no other reason than the convenience of his location in the Jade Sword Palace. But these thoughts are quickly negated as she pauses on the path to the Pavilion of the Moon and the Wind, turning to him with a rueful smile.

“I hope you will not be cross with me, Young Master. I have brought you here on the request of a friend. Ordinarily, I would not agree to be complicit in such deception, but he is a very dear friend, and I am afraid I owe him a very great debt.”

XiChen feels both trepidation and exasperation. Silver and green robes are now clearly visible at the end of the path, but XiChen does not need to see them, to know which friend Jiang YanLi speaks of so fondly.

Only the day before, he had decided that his continued association with the Nie Sect Leader needed to end. He had been determined to keep his distance from the man until the Lan Sect’s eventual departure for Cloud Recesses. The relationship between them, if one can even call it such, will bring him nothing but heartache and pain.

Nie MingJue had offered to speak of his affection. XiChen had rejected his offer.

Although he does think the man too bold by half, he had never expected such brazenness. To trick him into a meeting, and to do so by using the High Councilor’s own daughter?

Brazen is too kind of a word for this. This is utter shamelessness. XiChen should be resolute in his decision, and unmoved by trickery. He should turn around and leave.

Instead, Jiang YanLi is the one who leaves. XiChen, his feet refusing to listen to his commands, remains helplessly fixed to the stone path, his heart beating wildly, his mind in turmoil.

How can he blame Nie MingJue, when XiChen is his own greatest enemy? It is convenient to think that he had not recognized the man’s treatment for affection before YiLing. To pretend that Nie MingJue’s regard had been utterly invisible until he spoke of it out loud.

But it is not the truth. XiChen had not known, but he had suspected. Worse, he had hoped. He had hoped fiercely for another few moments stolen, another brush of the man’s fingers against his own, another rare smile turned in his direction. XiChen had hoped, and Nie MingJue had obliged.

The silver and green robes are directly in front of him now, and XiChen speaks before his thoughts have fallen into order, his voice clearly agitated, “You have tricked me, Sect Leader. Boldness can often be perceived as a virtue, but deceitfulness is always abhorrent.”

Any other man would recoil from such an attack, but Nie MingJue does not even offer an apology, “Would you have seen me, had I not resorted to these measures?”

“As you clearly know the answer, why ask the question?”

In the short silence that follows, XiChen desperately tries to organize his thoughts. Fighting the urge to meet the man’s gaze is taking up entirely too much of his focus, and the closeness of him is distracting to the extreme.

He should be leaving. He should have left the moment he had recognized the color of the Nie Sect robes.

Why is it that he cannot do such a simple thing?

“You are angry with me,” MingJue says.

He is not wrong. XiChen is angry. But all of his frustration is entirely focused inward, at his own inability to properly deal with the situation that he, himself, has had a hand in creating.

“I apologize for deceiving you,” MingJue says, “It was not my intention to cause you distress or discomfort.”

“What is it that you had hoped to gain from this meeting, Sect Leader?”

“Great many things, I am afraid,” he says easily, as if unaware of the tension, “I had hoped you may allow me to hold your hand again. To hear you speak. Perhaps, if I am very lucky, to see you smile.”

XiChen makes an incredulous sound, a huff of air released without his permission. Nie MingJue is the most ridiculous creature that ever existed, and with each passing moment, XiChen is less and less capable of holding on to his anger.

“To what purpose?” he says, “I had thought we understood each other.”

MingJue’s fingers wrap around his own, lightly, allowing him the option of pulling away. Although he knows that he should not encourage further intimacy, especially not at this moment, when he is making every effort to be firm, XiChen tolerates the contact, simultaneously scolding himself for his weakness.

“XiChen,” MingJue says, “You would not let me speak of my affection. How then, are we to have an understanding?”

XiChen’s words tumble out one after another, heated and unsteady, “You-- why must you be so persistent? Must I clarify my position over and over again? Mutual affection does not alter the reality of our individual circumstances. Nothing can be accomplished by speaking further on this subject.”

Even as he speaks, he realizes that the words may be too harsh. He had been taught, from a young age, not to speak lightly, to consider and evaluate how his words may be perceived. But none of those lessons had ever taken Nie MingJue into consideration, a man who seems to scramble his mind simply by existing.

Yet, when he finally dares meet the man’s gaze, Nie MingJue is smiling.

“You admit, then, that there is mutual affection,” he says.

“Oh--“ XiChen splutters, his face growing hot, “You-- you are impossible.”

Had he really felt that his words were too harsh only a moment ago? Stabbing him with a sword would be too kind.

MingJue’s hand had tightened around his own, and XiChen tries to jerk it away, sure that his face must be flushed to the roots of his hair.

“This conversation is finished,” he snaps, “let me g--oh.”

MingJue’s lips are pressed to his knuckles.

It is a fleeting kiss, a slight pressure, his hot breath washing over XiChen’s hand. The sensation catches on his skin, flames racing to each fingertip, scorching across his arm to stop in his chest. Trapped there, it flutters wildly, a bird beating its wings against a cage.

“Do not be angry with me,” MingJue says, cupping the hand in both of his, enveloping it in warmth.

“I am not angry,” XiChen says, but his hand is trembling now, and his voice wavers with each word.

“Do not imagine me ignorant of your circumstances,” MingJue says gently, “I do not ask that you disregard your responsibility. I would never ask such a thing of you.”

His thumb brushes against XiChen’s wrist, another shivering sensation, impossible to ignore.

“Your situation will not tolerate a compromise,” he goes on, “but mine is not nearly so severe. Allow me a chance to try. I would give up a great deal to share a lifetime with you. Everything, if I must.”

“Nonsense,” XiChen stutters, “Do not say such things.”

“Why? I speak the truth.”

Neither one of them had moved, but MingJue seems closer now, close enough that the green scent of the surrounding bamboo is overwhelmed by the frost-covered pine. He lifts XiChen’s hand, wrapped in both of his, and unfolds it against his chest. Underneath his fingertips, XiChen can feel each delicate thread of the silver embroidery, the silk cloth cool and sleek against his skin. It takes him a moment to recognize the thrum of the heartbeat; it is as quick and forceful as his own, despite MingJue’s outward composure.

“Give me permission,” MingJue says, “and I will move the earth and the sky to be yours. But I must know that you are willing.”

XiChen cannot fully comprehend these words. He does not understand why someone would wish to share a lifetime with him. WangJi is the only person who knows him well, who can read his thoughts, understand his motivations, predict his actions, and still, even WangJi grows frustrated often, as much as he attempts to hide it. Even to his cool and collected brother, XiChen is a frequent source of annoyance and dissatisfaction. How much greater will MingJue’s disappointment be, once he is fully aware of XiChen’s shortcomings?

He swallows heavily, and tries to find his reasonable voice, the voice he had honed over numerous arguments with uncle.

“MingJue,” he says, then stops, the hands gripping his own suddenly tightening to the point of pain.

XiChen nearly groans in frustration. How is it that he takes one step forward, only to take two steps back? It is impossible to take back the familiarity now, and he makes no attempt to do so.

“You speak of a lifetime after a five day acquaintance. I am not what you think me to be. This way lies nothing but disappointment.”

MingJue huffs, as if XiChen is the one speaking nonsense.

“Are you not fiercely loyal to your Sect?” he asks, “do you not place their well-being above your own? Did you not beat me in combat, a feat no other man had accomplished in a decade? Were you not the one who felt pity for the immortal trees? Are you not the same man who spoils his horse? Who play-fights with his brother in ankle-deep mud? Do you truly think that there is a single part of you that I will not admire?”

Stunned, XiChen finds himself at a loss for words.

“No human being is free of faults,” MingJue says forcefully, “and no relationship is free of disappointment. My shortcomings are many, and you may grow to hate each one. I speak of a lifetime, because that is what I offer, but I do not ask for a lifetime in return. All I ask is to not be dismissed out of hand. You are not a Sect Leader yet, and free to go where you please. Come to QingHe. Spend the winter in the Unclean Realm. Allow me to visit Cloud Recesses in the spring. I will make no mention of affection if you do not wish to hear it again, nor will I ask for affection in return. But give me an opportunity to show you, how a lifetime could be spent, between you and I.”

XiChen’s hand involuntarily clenches in the folds of silk, gripping it tight.

How simple it all sounds. He cannot imagine what uncle would say, if he were to spend the winter in QingHe. He does not want to imagine what the Elders would say. MingJue is right, XiChen is free to go where he pleases, but he would never do so of his own volition. He would not have even considered it as an option, if MingJue had not said it out loud.

It is a perfectly reasonable argument, but XiChen cannot pretend that it is harmless. Even if MingJue is capable of going months without speaking of affection, XiChen is not certain that he could spend months with the man without seeking some sign of it, without yearning stupidly each time they are together.

This-- is an enormous risk. To his reputation, his relationship with his uncle, and his relationship to the Sect. But the greatest risk, the one he is most afraid to take, would be to his heart.

“I cannot spend the winter in QingHe,” he says.

MingJue’s hands clench over his own, as if trying to stop more words from coming, or perhaps to trap XiChen’s hand against his chest forever, regardless of his decision.

“Uncle withdraws for a month each winter, to meditate. I must take his place.”

MingJue’s hands are shaking. XiChen’s heart is beating loudly in his ears, and he feels light, as if floating somewhere above the ground, weightless and free.

“But you are welcome to spend the winter at Cloud Recesses. And in the spring, if the offer still stands, I am willing to visit QingHe.”

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #nielan #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #a chapter that seemed short but actually isn't #i should start tagging these with like days?#day 6 #too late for that now tho #anyway #the notifications are shit #my activity page is shit #but i see all the nice comments and tags when i log on to the mobile app #and i love each one #ily chickens #be good

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ladyeliot · 4 years

Photo

Atoms.

Request: Anonymous: Heyy! Can you do a fluffy something like childhood friends>friends to lovers with Tony Stark? Thanks so much! And happy valentine's day!

Pairing: Teen!Tony Stark x Teen!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Tony have been friends for as long as you can remember, but sometimes the line between friendship and love is a fine one.

Warnings: Fluff / Childhood

Word count: 3359

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Valentine’s Day (Prompts)

In all friendships there is a fine line that separates love from simple friendship, in fact, on many occasions we cut that fine line without realising it. We come to think that things just happen, that there is nothing we can do to change the cycle of life, that everything is programmed and that those who are meant to be together, will be together.

It all began on a cloudy Friday, May 29, 1970. In a small town on the east side of Long Island, two new mothers were struggling fiercely to bring a baby into the world. The night had been long, a storm had left the town without electricity, a fact that had not hindered the delivery, but that had increased the nerves of these parents. After hours of suffering, screams and internal curses, at 6:29 pm two babies were able to see the world with their own eyes for the first time. At that very moment an invisible thread connected the two of them, so that it was at that very moment that they were brought together in the maternity ward and never to be separated again.

Childhood is the time when you can create the best memories that will stay with you for the rest of your life. Yours was shared with Tony, so he was present in virtually all of your memories. The fact that your mothers created a true friendship after the birth facilitated the deep connection you found on both sides. From birth you were never separated, you learned to discover the world together, you entered the first day of school together and you graduated together.

It was obvious that you had great things in common, but your characters were completely different, maybe that's what made you two work so well together, what limited one of you, the other one could overcome. When your fear prevented you from daring to do something, Tony was by your side to help you overcome it. In the same way, when Tony felt insecure about himself, you were there to erase all his insecurities from his mind. You both evolved and improved each other.

Your childhood helped you understand the importance of having each other, the value of your friendship, even if there were little bumps in the road. Tony was your first time at all times, he was the one you did your first prank with, the one you took your first swim in the pool with, the one you learned to ride a bike with, the one you shared your Halloween candy with, the one you celebrated your birthdays with, Tony was everything, he was even your first kiss.

It was 1978, innocence was still within you, causing you to see the world with eyes that were still unaware of the vast majority of things that lay before you. Laughter was coming through the wooden windows of your tree house. You were lying on a rug looking at a photo album that your mother had lent you, with some pictures of you and Tony from when you were practically babies.

"Look at you here," you said with a chuckle, looking back at the picture of two-year-old Tony crying next to you. "You're crying in all the pictures."

Tony bumped his shoulder against yours in complaint and turned the page.

"Why is it that in all the pictures of your parents alone they're kissing?" he asked quizzically, not quite understanding the act.

"I guess it's because they love each other," you said without making a big deal out of the gesture, as you were more than used to seeing them kissing in front of you.

"My parents love each other too and they don't kiss," Tony commented turning the page.

You shrugged, turning your attention back to the photo album. But Tony still had the idea in the back of his mind.

"Do your parents kiss every day?" he asked, sitting up.

"Hm..." you looked thoughtful at his question and also sat up. "Yes, whenever mum or dad comes home or leaves, or when we go to sleep..."

"Wow!" exclaimed Tony totally shocked by your words. "And... they like it?"

"I guess..." you shrugged holding up your palm. "Why else would they do it?"

"Makes sense," Tony nodded, processing the information. "Maybe my parents don't like it, that's why they don't."

That was the first time the two of you had broached that topic of conversation, Tony seemed more curious than you, as you had already gone back to further contemplating the photographs.

"Will we like it?" he asked, catching your attention again.

"I don't know," you said with a shrug.

" Should we try it?" asked your best friend cheerfully, expecting an affirmative answer from you.

"You and me?" you asked unreceptive to the idea Tony had just proposed.

"Yeah, why not, we love each other, that's all we need, you said it," he smiled brimming with innocence.

"I don't know..." you frowned thoughtfully, not sure if it was quite right what he was proposing. "What if we don't like it?"

"I guess it's okay," Tony stood up and grabbed your hand to pull you up.

"Wait, how do we do this?" you asked nervously, looking into his eyes.

"You just close your eyes," he informed. "I'll take care of the rest."

"Okay." You couldn't help but let out a small nervous laugh, which prompted another one from Tony.

"Okay, close your eyes," he said again. "When I kiss you, mentally count to five."

You finally agreed to comply with the guidelines offered by your best friend. There you were, standing in the middle of that cabin, wearing a yellow strapless dress with your eyes closed, waiting for your best friend to approach you and give you your first kiss. After closing your eyes, Tony took three seconds to approach you, put his lips against yours and you mentally counted to five. The sensation was strange, very particular, you didn't know enough words at that time to express it and you didn't know much about feelings and love, so you couldn't stand the five seconds he proposed and after the third one you broke away, wiping your lips vigorously with your hand.

"It's awful!" you exclaimed looking at your friend. "I don't understand my parents!"

Tony seemed surprised at your reaction, but quickly joined in your disgust, falsely, as he hadn't found the experience so terrible.

And he was also the second kiss.

It was the summer of 1984, two friends on bicycles riding through the wooded area that separated your houses from the lake, laughing, struggling to find out who would get there first, but a pothole appeared in the road and a badly positioned stone caused your front wheel to lose its balance, overturning your bicycle. Tony behind you, instantly slowed down with a look of concern on his face, contemplating Tony behind you, brakes instantly with a look of concern on his face, staring at your bloodied knee.

"Are you okay?" asks your best friend with a tone of concern in his voice rushing towards you.

Without responding you stand up, trying to recover from your fall and discovering the pain as your leg hits the ground, Tony is already kneeling down, analysing the scrape you've made on your knee.

"Come lean on me," he drapes your right arm across his shoulders. "Come on under that tree, I'll clean your wound."

After positioning yourself comfortably in the shade of the oak tree, Tony runs back to his bike to get the canteen.

"Don't worry," you squeaked from a distance, playing it down. "I'm fine."

"Are you going to stop your stubbornness and let me clean the wound?" Tony arched an eyebrow which elicited a chuckle from you. "Thanks."

As the water poured over your wound you felt a stinging prickle, which was relieved when you wrapped your hand tightly around Tony's arm.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed as he felt your strength in his arm.

"Ouch me!" you groaned at his complaint, generating a chuckle from your friend's mouth.

"Okay, that's it," he said, closing the canteen. "You know you're the poster child for Newton's three laws? The law of inertia, the fundamental law of dynamics and the principle of action and reaction."

"And you are the clearest example of the idiot's law," you said with a laugh, for I had just called you clumsy in a clever way.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around you. "But I'm your idiot."

That was one of those moments when Tony would crush you against him and start giving you quick kisses all over your face just because he knew how much that annoyed you, but it made you laugh at the same time.

"Tony!" you exclaimed with laughter, trying to run away from him.

Coincidences can happen, but you never knew if it was a real coincidence due to the fast movements of both of you or if there was really an intention behind it, but Tony kissed your lips, pausing a little longer than usual. You, thinking it was unintentional, kept pushing him and your eyes widened in laughter.

"Whoa! Sorry," he said quickly. "Law of inertia, not my fault."

You laughed and gave him another shove, leaving what had just happened forgotten in your mind.

And the third.

It happened when you were in eleventh grade, Tony had always been a very joking child and sometimes his innocence did not allow him to realise the level of his jokes or how they were going to affect the people who made them. He had discovered early on that one thing he loved most was making you laugh, so day after day he would try anything to get a laugh out of you. That ranged from pretending to trip, to throwing his spaghetti at the first person he passed in the school cafeteria.

Eventually his personality caught people's attention, let's say the law of attraction was in his persona and that became present by high school, so if you connect his joking side with the attractive side it creates a bomb.

For you that discovery came a little late, too late, at least that's what you thought at that moment when you saw him connecting intimately with a girl in a higher grade than you. You hated yourself for having been so blind for so long, for not having realised it before and also for having that kind of feeling towards your best, because they could destroy everything you had created for so many years, practically since you were born. You told yourself that it was stupid, that it was probably just a passing thought and that you would soon forget about it, that it would be better not to give it any importance. But it wasn't.

You decided that one of the best ways to let off steam would be to write down how you felt, to write down every thought that came into your head and let it go forever. It would have been the best way in the world if you hadn't confused that notebook with your physics notebook, put it in your backpack and forgotten your backpack at Tony's house when you decided to go to the movies instead of studying that afternoon.

It was too late when you discovered the event, you were about to free your mind when you picked up the blue notebook and discovered that it was the physics notebook, therefore the notebook where you were exploring your thoughts would be....

"Tony!" you exclaimed into the earpiece.

"What's up, it's 12 o'clock at night?" his sleepy voice could be heard on the other end of the receiver.

"Do you know... I don't know, did I by any chance leave my backpack with my books in it at your place?" you asked, praying that I hadn't been gossiping in it.

"Your backpack? Let me go," he asked and a small knock was heard from the other side causing a minute's silence. "Yeah, it's in my room."

"Okay..." you said in a whisper. "Uh..."

"Do you need it now?" he asked somewhat strangely. "Don't you have your homework done? If you want I can finish it in a moment."

"No, no, no!" you exclaimed quickly. "It's all good, all done, don't worry, everything's great."

"Okay," he said dismissively. "Then tomorrow when I come to pick you up I'll bring it to you."

"Yeah, great, yeah," your nervousness increased, you wanted to tell him not to look inside, but you knew that by telling him he would probably end up doing it, so you preferred not to say anything else and let whatever happened happen happen.

The next morning Tony turned up as usual, with a smile on his face, chatty, funny and you knew that nothing had happened and nothing had changed, in short, a big weight was lifted off your shoulders.

"Shall we go to physics class? Mr. Gilbert will be looking forward to my dissertation on atoms and the origin of the Big Bang," he said closing his locker. "I think you'll like it too."

"You go ahead," you said, waiting for him to leave to exchange notebooks. "I'll catch up with you."

"Alright."

You waited for him to disappear into the crowd to make the exchange, but first you glanced around checking for any sign that someone had read it, however....

"In the first seconds after the Big Bang, the density and warmth of the universe barely allowed life to generate. As the universe cooled, the matter we are made of began to appear: quarks and electrons, which gave way to protons and neutrons, and then nuclei. As it expanded, things began to happen more slowly, until electrons became trapped in orbits to form the first atoms. Those atoms gave way to stars and galaxies, which uniformly gave way to life, to you and me. So you see, you just have to let the universe do its work, because you and I are those atoms that came together hundreds of millions of years ago and were created to be together."

A structural blockage was happening inside you at that moment, you read that paragraph over and over and over again, until there was hardly anyone left around you. Your heart was pounding fervently, causing sweat to break out all over your body. Your sanity was gone, you didn't know what to do, where to go, or how to act, you just wanted to escape. When your physical block passed, you gathered all your belongings from your locker and headed outside, trying to get some air back into your lungs. The only thing that was going through your mind was that your best friend had read those fifty-seven pages you had written for the moment, where you expressed, without any caution, everything that was going through your mind about him, accentuating your romantic feelings.

You wanted to disappear at that very moment, to go into a burrow or a bunker and stay there until it was all over. Your heart was pounding in your chest, you were walking aimlessly, but as far away from that building as possible. How could you not have noticed anything about Tony to let you know that he had read it? You were so distressed that you barely analysed what he had written to you, where he also expressed his feelings in his own particular way. You finally found an escape at the bus stop, wishing for a bus to go somewhere far away as soon as possible.

Every word that came out of you was a curse, at you of course. Reminding you what an idiot you had been, that you had ruined the best thing you had, that you couldn't have been more stupid, and hundreds of negative things that prevented you from getting out of that black bubble you had created for yourself, but as always he had to appear to make you see reason.

"Y/N!" Tony's voice was heard behind you. "What are you doing?"

Your eyes closed and you prayed it wasn't true what you were hearing, but it was too late, you had to face the truth.

"Hey!" Tony stepped up beside you. "If we were going to make up from physics class you could have at least given me a heads up. I looked like an idiot when I saw you through the window walking out of school." You looked away, didn't say anything. "What's wrong with you?"

It was bad enough what you were going through without having to put up with Tony's attitude, who showed his indifference as if nothing had happened, a fact that pissed you off even more.

"No! What the hell is wrong with you?" you said angrily. "Why did you read my diary? Who the hell gave you permission?"

"Okay, fine. I did," he began, relaxing the tone of his voice and avoiding not smiling, because he knew it might make you even angrier. "But for my defence I promise you it was after I spoke to you on the phone, I saw you so nervous I thought you lied to me when you said you had your homework done, so I checked, and I must say I couldn't stop reading when I started. I know! I should have stopped, it's something very intimate and personal, but... I just couldn't," he paused. "And I don't regret it."

After hearing his last words you opened your eyes in surprise and shook your head indignantly for having heard him say that he did not regret doing it.

"No regrets?" you folded your arms, stopping the tears of anger that had welled up in your eyes from sliding down your cheek.

"No," Tony said firmly. "And I never will."

"This is insane," you shook your head turning away.

"Listen," Tony interjected, grabbing your arm and pulling you back to face him. "Have you stopped to think about what I've written or are you just focused on the fact that I've read your diary?" he asked searching your gaze. "Better yet, is it true? Is everything you've written in there true? Do you feel that way? Are you... in love with me?"

"Oh my god..." shame had taken over your anger and all you wanted to do was run away from there, but Tony's hand around your right arm prevented you from doing so.

"Please, just answer me," he begged.

"I..." you looked around avoiding answering that question, focused on your world and your feelings. "I don't know."

" Well, that's good enough for me."

That "I don't know" was enough for Tony, because he discovered that there was a "yes" hidden in them, therefore he didn't hesitate to approach your face and do what he had been wanting to do for so long, kiss you. His words were true when he said that he didn't regret it and he was never going to do it because probably if it hadn't been for his intention to do your homework, he would never have read that diary and neither of you would probably ever have told the other how you really felt, because you were afraid of breaking what had been created from the moment you were born.

As I said at the beginning, the fine line that separates love from friendship sometimes gets cut without us realising it, and when we do realise it, we think it's too late or that maybe it would be better not to take the risk, because things could turn around and change for the worse, but who says they can't get better? That love can't triumph?

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retrogradedreaming · 3 years

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heyyyyyy if you wanna write more sk8 prompt / headcanon things,,, may i request (imma give you options because i am ✨indecisive✨and don't know what you'd want to write lol)

okay so shadow giving the group friendship bracelets (idk how you feel about writing for shadow hence the other options because i panicked and this was the first thing i thought of lol)

or langa just sitting down and talking to carla because i feel like he would (also kind of a weird one lol)

or uhhh oH you like matchablossom ! joe feeling self-conscious about acne scars (or having acne as a teen ???) and cherry telling him that he's beautiful (in whatever way cherry would iuygfyuhi)

sorry for three options lol this is also partially a way to procrastinate doing my homework ✌🏻so thank you for providing me a means of distraction anYWAYS HAVE A GOOD DAY iuhgcfghuijokijhgv

Sorry this took a while!! I went with the first prompt for a challenge and it ended up WAY longer than I thought. I hope you like it! And thanks for sending these! I love the other ideas, too, so I might come back to them.

---

If there was anything Shadow knew, it was how to curate an image. At work, he created arrangements and bouquets to say exactly what the customer wanted. When he skated, he was the clown punk of the S community. Until recently, he’d never let those identities overlap. Now that they had, it felt almost like forming a third persona—except this wasn’t one he had to work so hard to maintain.

He’d started making the bracelets offhandedly at work on a slow afternoon at the flower shop, braiding and weaving colorful thread from the supply drawer. They normally used it to dress up orders, but there was so much that they wouldn’t miss a few feet. He didn’t realize that he was making them for his new group of friends until he’d finished the second one, and by then it seemed a waste not to finish the job. Now that he had friends who knew and actually liked both sides of him, he felt like they deserved...something. Something to show them what it meant to him, that it mattered.

And yet, once he’d finished them all, the idea of giving them to everyone made his chest tighten as he thought that maybe they’d all judge him after all. As Shadow, it was easier to pretend not to care, but he couldn’t pretend it wouldn’t mean something—something he didn’t want it to mean—if they did.

Still, the next night he showed up at S, five bracelets laden with charms and beads clacking together in his pocket. He swore he could hear them, even with the crowd around him. His palms sweat beneath his gloves, and he was only grateful that no one else could see how nervous he was behind his makeup. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this nervous, even for a beef. This should be easy. His friends wouldn’t just reject him over some bracelets. And if they took them home and threw them away, well...at least he wouldn’t be there to see it, so what did he care?

“Hey, you good, Shadow?”

Shadow jumped, and it was only when he stopped to look for the source of the voice that he noticed that he’d walked right by the same people he’d been looking for. Reki leaned forward, one foot on his board, looking intently at Shadow and obviously expecting an answer.

“Of course I’m good,” Shadow barked, but Reki didn’t seem convinced. He raised a brow and shrugged, shoving one hand in his pocket and absently raising one of his hoodie strings to put it between his teeth.

“If you say so,” Reki said, settling back against Langa’s shoulder. “You seem kinda weird tonight, though.”

“What do you mean weird?” Shadow shouted, voice low and gravelly. “I’m supposed to be weird! It’s not my fault you don’t know what it means to get into character.”

“He’s right, though,” Miya chimed in. “It’s outside your normal weirdness, and it’s kind of creeping me out.”

“I didn’t even do anything!” Shadow exclaimed, and his heart sank. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of, and part of him was already shoving his plan to the back of his mind, ready to leave the bracelets in his pocket and toss them himself once he got home. He could do it, and no one would know but him.

“It’s true,” Cherry mused from where he stood in Joe’s shadow. “You don’t usually look so...bothered when you’re here.”

“Listen—” Shadow began, whipping his hand from his pocket, only to hear a soft clacking as two of the bracelets hit the ground—the one he’d intended for Reki, bright red and decorated with beads of different sizes and a bright orange alstroemeria flower charm, and the other for Langa, soft blue thread woven simply with a white gerbera.

“What’s that?” Miya asked before Shadow could scoop them up and hide them again. He almost did anyway, almost tried to pass them off as some trick meant for a beef he wasn’t even skating tonight. In the end, he resigned himself to risking every single friendship he’d built over the past several months, and sighed as he held out the bracelets to Reki and Langa.

“I made them,” he said, and his voice lost some of the edge he reserved for his S persona. “Sorry I didn’t wrap them or anything. I didn’t wanna do anything too fancy, y’know? Anyway, if you hate it, at least wait until I’m not around to get rid of ‘em.”

Reki took his without hesitation, Langa picking his own up out of Shadow’s palm like he might break it if he weren’t careful. Reki twisted the beads between his fingers, rubbing them over the different sizes like they were a miniature skating course as a grin spread across his face. Langa immediately tried putting his on, fumbling until Reki paused long enough to help him tie it around his wrist.

“It’s soft,” Langa said, running his fingertips over the delicate braiding, and that told Shadow all he needed to know. Langa was particular about textures, and he always stuck with the same clothing brands because he knew how the fabric felt. Shadow knew to take it as a compliment when Langa left the bracelet on.

A weight felt like it had lifted from Shadow’s shoulders, and he let himself relax. He took the last three bracelets from his pocket, offering the next to Miya. The vibrant purple thread stood out next to the others, and it was the only one he’d added an extra charm to—a silver cat paw—along with the freesia he’d chosen for the youngest member of their group.

“I didn’t know a slime could make something so tasteful,” Miya remarked as he let Shadow tie it around his wrist.

“Watch who you’re calling a slime,” Shadow growled, though there was almost no bite behind the words. “I can always take that back.”

“After all that just to take it out of your pocket?” Miya scoffed, flicking the paw with a finger. “You wouldn’t.”

It was true, Shadow thought, as he turned to give the last two to Cherry and Joe. He wouldn’t dare take them back when his friends actually seemed to like them, and even more than that seemed grateful to receive them. It was what he’d hoped for, but he’d also learned by now to hope for the best and expect the worst so he didn’t get too disappointed if things didn’t work out. After all, so few things in his life had happened as he expected, for better or worse, and now, as he handed over a thin pink and brown woven bracelet and another green and woven like thick rope, he wanted to savor this thing that had.

“Hey, it’s not a cherry blossom,” Joe pointed out as he peered sideways at Cherry’s bracelet.

“Yeah, I thought it would be too obvious,” Shadow said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“The zinnia is appropriate,” Cherry said, eyes roving over Shadow’s handiwork as if he were trying to find fault. And yet, when he took his eyes away from it, he gave Shadow a smile that Shadow recognized as the same one he practiced for most others at S—except this one reached his eyes. “A symbol of acclaim and enduring friendship, correct? Certainly more refined than jealousy.”

“What do you mean?” Joe demanded when Cherry gestured to the bracelet in his hands.

“A yellow rose stands for jealousy,” Cherry said matter-of-factly.

“It means friendship, too,” Shadow cut in before their squabbling could turn into a full blown argument. What he didn’t say was that he knew yellow roses also symbolized jealousy. He worked at a flower shop, after all, and had put together enough subtle spite bouquets for people forced into occasions they didn’t want to attend that he of course knew all the various meanings of different flowers. Roses were some of the most versatile, and he’d hoped no one would pick up on the alternate meaning—the one that said he envied Joe’s strength as much as he valued his friendship.

“Put it on for me,” Cherry said, holding the bracelet out to Joe and lifting the hem of his pants to reveal his ankle.

“Sure, princess,” Joe said, taking the bracelet and stooping to the ground.

“Where’s yours?” Langa asked, eyes migrating to Shadow’s wrists, clad only in his spiked gloves. Shadow followed his gaze, turning his hands over absently, as if he didn’t already know he’d never made himself a bracelet.

“I didn’t make myself one,” he said. “It’s kinda weird to make a friendship bracelet for yourself.”

“I don’t think so,” Langa mused. “You’re our friend, so you shouldn’t be the only one without a bracelet.”

“Hey, yeah,” Reki said, grasping Shadow’s hand and inspecting his wrist like if he looked hard enough, a bracelet would materialize.

Shadow pulled his hand away. “It’s not a big deal. I made those for you guys because you’re the only people who know this me and the other me. I just wanted to do something to show that I...well…”

“That you care,” Miya supplied, and Shadow was glad that his mask covered the heat that rose to his face.

“Whatever,” he muttered, only to catch Reki and Joe both grinning out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s still not the same if you don’t have one,” Reki said, tapping at the beads on his own bracelet. He thought for a moment, and just as Shadow opened his mouth to say it was fine, that he’d make himself one eventually if it was that big a deal, Reki’s face lit up. Before Shadow could ask about it, the group was already dissolving to skate, each person wearing their respective bracelets.

The next time they gathered at S, Reki gave Shadow a gift of his own—a bracelet woven in orange thread bearing a yellow chrysanthemum.

#'mini fics' i said #not one of these has been mini #i'm a little nervous it's ooc because i've never written shadow but it was fun to write!#also hope this helps while you suffer through robinson crusoe #sk8 the infinity #sk8 shadow #hiromi higa #sk8 fanfic #fanfic asks #that-was-anticlimactic

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ausp-ice · 3 years

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The second part of the story of Malice and Val's meeting! You can see the art/story for the first part here.

The story is also on Toyhouse.

Hearts of (No) Malice, Chapter 2: Intersection

The last thing Malice expects is for the human to return the next day, with their bag of devices and sustenance. They do the same thing as the day before—greet Malice, sit down, and retrieve what Malice assumes is their drawing device.

The human does not return the following day, but they do return the day after that.

At this point, Malice finds themself… curious. Most humans who face them are fearful and wise enough to heed their warnings, or otherwise Malice can manipulate the malice in their hearts to get them to leave. But this… Valence. They do not understand why the human chooses to stay here for extended periods of time, especially given Malice's presence.

So, of course, they observe. While they can see without the use of their eyes, visual perception of the human while Malice is looking away from them is suboptimal. On a whim, then, they slip into an abstract energy form before shifting back into their more solid form behind the human, looking over his shoulder.

Only to be surprised by the sight of itself—rather, a rendition of itself. "You are drawing me," they note, and the human jumps violently, pressing his tablet to his chest and looking up at Malice with widened eyes.

"I, a-ah, well…" they stammer, eyes flicking off to the side. A faint pink tints his cheeks. "S-sorry. I wasn't going to show anyone. You're just," he gestures vaguely at Malice, "very pretty."

"Pretty," Malice repeats, blinking all their eyes.

Valence nods. "You're just…" They hold out a hand and gesture down its body and then vaguely to its wings. "You know?"

"That is horrendously vague, Valence," they say.

The human hides his face in his hands. "It's, you know, the aesthetic? Black and blue are pretty, you're super tall and elegant but also sharp?"

Hmm. "Thank you, I suppose." Malice slips away, returning to the edge of the cliff in a shift of smoky movement.

"You…" Valence starts, "are you going to stop me?"

Malice hums. "What you do is none of my concern."

"O… kay. Neat. Very neat." Their voice gradually peters to a mumble.

Malice lets the time slip away. Valence remains, drawing and occasionally snacking, until eventually—there. That spark of malice, around the same time every day.

They chase the thread of it, shifting to an energy nearly imperceptible to nonmagical individuals. In mere moments, they are at an apartment.

Malice does not particularly care about the details of the situation they discover, but they do note two individuals, one with long dark hair and a slender form, the other with light short hair and a broader build.

Both of their malevolent feelings have been growing exponentially for the past few days. Towards each other both, but the long-haired one—toward the situation, the world, everything.

It festers and grows, now to the point that it has called Malice itself to the scene.

It plays out just as they expect. A physical altercation, escalating emotionally and physically, until finally—a knife in the long-haired individual's hand, buried in the chest of the other.

The malice fluctuates—suddenly gone, before roaring back. Malice approaches, phasing through the walls of the building as if they were nonexistent. They approach the individual from behind and set their fingers lightly on the individual's shoulders, a ghostly touch, and knowledge about them—no, her—seeps into Malice's awareness. Her name, her reasons, the suffering she accepted until pain turned to malevolence.

But Malice does not care for such details. "Will you allow the malice to consume you?" they ask, and she stiffens, gaze flicking to Malice's claws.

She scoffs. "They always say that welcoming evil will invite demons to your home."

Demons. One of the many sorts of beings humanity created to explain Edeia, though inherently such a label and its associations are often improper reflections of the nature of Edeia. Despite the offer of Edeia knowledge to the world, some still rely on their existing conceptions of supernatural entities.

Malice does not bother explaining this. "I can pull you back," it says, instead. "If you wish to let go. Will you?"

She clenches her fists. "No. He… no one ever helped me, even when I tried reaching out." She lowers her head. "Humans are selfish, even if they seem nice on the surface. When they have to risk their own self… ha. They won't."

"Perhaps so," Malice says.

"I don't care what happens to me. Whatever you want from me. I just want the world to burn and be free of it once I'm done."

"I see." They lean in closer. "Then… I shall give you just the slightest push."

Malice pulls at the thread within her, just slightly. Changing the weave. There would be no change now, but it will grow more and more uncontrollably as she feeds it.

As they pull away, she turns her head slightly to look at them. "What are you?" she murmurs.

"Malice," they answer, and leave.

The next day, Malice returns to the cliff. And of course, Valence is there. The human comes to sit and draw and occasionally talk, and they've become more bold the more Malice answers.

Malice… finds that it does not mind, however. There are not many situations where they would speak to anyone normally, so they indulge the human.

"How long have you been an Edeia?" Val eventually asks.

How long? "I… am not sure." They look to the city. "It was long before humanity reunited with magic."

"So at least a hundred years," Val murmurs.

Malice hums, crossing their hands behind their back. "I would say… twice as long would seem reasonable."

"That's… a really long time." A pause. "Do you… have any other friends?"

Malice scoffs at that. "What use does malice have for friends? I am ill will. Harmful intentions. All that calls to me is the malice festering within the hearts of humanity."

"Just humanity?"

"No. But humanity's malice often burns the fiercest. As Edeia, we are," Malice waves a hand, "embodiments of our Idea. Fewer of us tend to harbor ill will towards others when they cannot threaten us. When such emotions are trivial in the face of being the very concept itself."

Valence hums. Without turning around, Malice sees them frown and put down their tablet. "You mean like… Edeia don't need emotions?"

"Need? No. Those who have fully embraced their identity as a concept are just that—sentient representations of a concept. Consciousness and Concept, for instance."

If Valence is familiar with them. Judging by the way Valence's brow furrows, Malice is not certain.

"But," the human says, "you all do have emotions, right?"

"Most retain their emotions, yes. In one way or another."

"Do you?"

Malice turns their head slightly towards Valence. They consider his question. "They are unnecessary," Malice decides, and turns back.

Valence takes a breath. Lets it out, and sets down their tablet. They stand up and walk closer, closer, until, "Can I hug you?"

Malice blinks. They turn their head, looking over their shoulder at the human, who has his eyes on his fidgeting fingers. "Um… I'm going to hug you. Yell or something if you want me to stop."

Valence then proceeds to lift themself on their toes and wrap their arms around Malice's hips—they are far too tall for him. It is almost amusing. They then rest their head on the small of Malice's back.

It is… soft. The human's clothing is soft, his hair, his embrace. It is not something Malice has experienced since… since…

A long time ago, regardless.

They do not move, but eventually the human lets go. The loss of warmth is stark in the chill of the air.

Malice turns around fully to look at Valence, and the human cranes his neck up to meet their eyes. His hands are now tucked in the sleeves of his white sweatshirt, and his arms are folded.

Malice hums, lifting a claw near his arm. Valence stiffens slightly as his gaze follows it, but Malice does not touch. Instead, they vanish into smoky darkness once more.

#artists on tumblr #spirit #edeia #human #writing #my OCs #malice #val #hugs #art #my art #my writing #queue

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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 4 years

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Allotrope pt. 7 (FINALE)

Genre: Idolverse Pairing: Kim Junmyeon (Suho) x reader Warnings: Smut. Angst, and then more angst. Authors Note: This is it, the final chapter of a story I am so completely humbled to have been able to write. This story means so much to me and has truly helped me grow as a person in so many ways. I hope that by the end of this, it has helped you, too, in some way. Junmyeon deserves the world and I wish I could thank him enough for being my muse. Thank you for reading. prev. Words: 15k.

Panic. Absolute panic is the only way your brain can comprehend the raw energy bouncing around in your gut. Feelings of elation and terror swirling inside the confines of your organs, their chemicals mixing to create something bubbling and new, growing rapidly inside of you so thick and uncomfortable you feel as though you may burst. With your arrival home, you slam the door too harshly, sliding down against the sturdy, cool weight of it and grasp your head in your hands. Head between your knees, your brain gently reminds you, a message in the form of a memory of Junmyeon the last time he said these words to you, present for the last attack. Saying ‘I love you’, no less from him, was the last thing you would expect to trigger one, but that was the irony of having panic attacks; sometimes you never know. You concentrate intently, calming your breath enough to listen for the sound of your watch, reliably ticking away there on your wrist. It is one reason you prefer to wear an analog one, other than your preferences for their history. Tck, tck, tck, tck, rhythmically you listen, breathing deeply over the span of three seconds, releasing carbon dioxide in the following three. Over and over until your heart is beating normally again. Softly, automatic and easily ignored within the safety of your ribs. Then, to clarify and accept, you admit the thought into the quiet space of your apartment. “I love you, Junmyeon.” Reflexively, your fingertips raise to shield your lips, hovering a centimeter away. Your heart beats a little faster with the admission but is easily pacified without much effort. A smile grows on your lips behind them, amusement consuming the panic and coloring your cheeks in a blush for only inanimate objects to see. It feels silly to look around your apartment, knowing there is no one to hear your confession. The following morning you can’t say you feel less terrified of it, your acceptance of the thoughts and ability to keep moving forward derailed somewhere as your mind raced into the future instead of sleeping. Conscious thoughts considered at first all of the possibilities as you had settled for sleep. Good things. Things like a confirmation of his feelings, a mirror of your own, and further ahead such as living together full time and eventually, hopefully a union of your love with matching golden bands on your fourth fingers, or a child you could only hope would have his cheeks and a head full of fluffy black hair. To growing older together and doing whatever pleased you so long as you were together. No doubt your brain decided, all of those beautiful moments were hopes planted without seeds, and you were stuck to watch a barren field grow nothing at all over time. Your fears and anxiety began to take them all away one by one, these hopes for the future you might never have at all, pulled backward through time like you were falling through a nightmare. Forced to see a life of fulfillment and love only to slip back through those times to relive the same life without any of the joy. You awoke this morning, barely able to call it waking at all, full of heartache. Your chest felt so heavy you even skipped your lecture and called out of work. Upon hearing of your absence Soohyun even offered to bring you something to help you feel better, assuming you were sick. No texts that required an answer came from Junmyeon, either. Only one bidding you to sleep well. When you ignored Soohyun’s text and the second day produced the same results from you, his persistence became annoying. You were perfectly malcontent there on your couch in the same pajamas you wore yesterday, and perhaps the day before, too. With hair unwashed, sagging in the bun atop your head and a three-hour old mug of half-drank black coffee in your hands. There on your couch you scrutinized every aspect of your life and felt nothing at all. Soohyun let himself in of course, as he always did when he felt it was necessary. You knew by the sound of the keys outside of the door and the weighty footfalls of his frame it was him. The one person you trusted to see every ugly facet of you because although he was extremely dear to you, he is not the one that makes you feel like his existence is your tether to the world, and therefore, not as scary to face. He says nothing at all. Uncomfortably in the silence, you listen to him close the door, toe off his shoes, and set something in a plastic grocery bag on the counter. He opens your refrigerator and pops the lid on something. You remain silent still, listening to the domesticity of him opening cupboards in your kitchen and the sound of noodles being stirred and plated. The sounds toy with your head, recalling memories of another man doing the same thing, but vivid imagery came with those memories. The sound of the plate gently clacking against the microwave platter and the door closing, buttons beeping and whirring. Stuck in your memory of him, you whip your head around, too enticing to see if it’s really your lover standing in your kitchen and looking back at you with a smile and his arms folded across the thickness of his warm chest. If this is all just a dream. The reality is half the same, the setting, but the way you do not find Junmyeon’s eyes or smile, but Soohyun’s face full of surprise but also worry rip the air from your lungs with a sob. You’re not even sure when you started crying, but the tears continue to blur your vision. “Oh, Y/N.” Soohyun’s cologne fills your senses as he crosses the room to you. He takes the cold coffee cup from your hand, wincing at the stiffness of your fingers as he plucks them gently from the handle, and wraps your wilted frame into his arms. He holds you like this, coaxing out the agony of your bleeding heart. Minutes pass like this, and after your sobbing has quieted to a sniffled dripping of crystal tears from your lashes, Soohyun sets you back onto the couch cushion, “Care to tell me what’s going on?” Your knees automatically rise to your chest and your arms find their way around the top of them. The rational part of you knows talking to Soohyun is what you should do, but it doesn’t make it any easier to persuade the chaotic petulance you feel. Your thoughts internalize, eyes fixated on the basket of blankets in the far corner of the living room, fingers rolling a stray thread from your pajamas around and around. “Y/N, try not to let your head get you all worked up. What’s going on?” your best friend urges, placing the weight of his large palm against your forearm. The action seems to ground you to reality. At least enough to make intentional, purposeful movements. Your eyes find his looking at you as they always do, with so much pure acceptance. “I love him. Really, Soohyun-“ you pause, brows knitting tightly for emphasis, “Like… I’m really in love with him.” The smile that he answers you with irritates you minutely, “Ah, I see. Well,” A pauses lapses between you until he thinks of what to ask, “What is it that’s scaring you about that?” It takes a full ten seconds before you answer, “A lot of things, but mostly because I don’t want to tell him and scare him off. I don’t think I could stomach chancing it just for him to know my feelings, Soo.” Your best friend draws a breath, nodding. Then he stares at you, “Okay. What else?” “Aren’t you going to tell me I’m being ridiculous?” you ask, peeking at him. He laughs a little, “In a minute, but I want to hear it all first. We can work on it all one piece at a time,” he reassures, batting your hand away gently when you take a half-hearted swat at his arm. “I don’t know what to do, Soohyun,” your throat bobs, constricting the words with anxiety as you admit it. More tears well at the edges of your eyes, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself. “I’m afraid, even if I tell him and even if he says he loves me back, I keep thinking for how long?” you voice, croaking the words. Another breath, “How long will I feel so happy and lucky but,” another breath, “how long can I take being suspended on a wire like that waiting to fall? It can’t last forever.” Soohyun coos, even though his expression is sheepish as if he hadn’t meant to slip, “Sorry.” “I just,” you sigh, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand, which Soohyun reaches to replace with tissues, “I feel like it’ll all go away someday. He will get tired of me or there will be some fight or something and I don’t want to hurt him or lose him. I keep having this nightmare that I’ll wake up one day at he won’t be there. That it’ll be like he never existed at all. “But you want to love him,” Soohyun confirms softly beside you, gently tugging until you’re sinking down to lean against his arm, no matter how gross your hair might be. “Yeah.” He hums briefly, considering, “Are you scared of being alone?” Truthfully, “Not really. It’s more like I’m afraid to start a life with him, because it’s so hard to go back to being alone if it doesn’t work out. To feeling that kind of heartbreak.” “What do you mean? Like permanently living together or sharing bank accounts and bills and stuff?” he asks. “Yeah. Like what if we bought a house together and then he decides ten years from now he doesn’t want to be with me anymore and then it’s too expensive for me to own a house alone so I’d have to sell it and find my own place again and it just gets really tangled. I can’t imagine being able to do anything other than just be heartbroken. How does a person move past someone like him?” Soohyun’s silent chuckle is given away by his bouncing chest, “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, but-“ You cut him off, “No, I’m thinking about the future.” He pokes you in the cheek, “Let me finish, please. What I was going to say, is that I think you’re most afraid of the emotional damage that would cause you. I also think you need to look at this from your own perspective.” Raising your head, your confusion is evident after his last statement. “I mean,” he begins, “You’re saying this but what if it isn’t Junmyeon who isn’t happy ten years from now? Have you ever shared a life with someone like that? How do you know if you will be happy or not? And I’m not just talking about a house or bank accounts, Y/N.” Soohyun squeezes your frame as if to emphasize his point, “I’m talking about personally. Are you going to be okay sharing every aspect of yourself with someone else? If you want him to be that future with you, he will be closer to you than anyone has ever been. He will be the one who knows your deepest and darkest moments. Have you two even talked about all of those important things? What plans do you each have for your lives? Marriage, kids, politics, things like that.” Both of you pause and Soohyun sighs, “What if you don’t want to be together anymore at some point. How will you handle that? Do you think you’ll stay and be miserable with him if you wanted out?” “That’s impossible,” you correct. “Anything is possible, Y/N,” he says quietly. Shaking your head, you ignore him and lift your head from him with a face full of resolute determination, “I am telling you, that won’t happen.” Saying the words aloud, they feel right and sure as they form on your tongue. “Okay. Just saying, you never know.” It doesn’t help. He feels you stiffen at the thought, “But I also think he will be the one who has nothing but acceptance and support for anything you may need. He will be the one you lean on and cling to for the rest of your life.” Now that thought is something that blooms warmth in your chest and more tears to your eyes, but in a good way this time. You have already experienced that with him. Every obstacle you thought might scare him away he has done nothing but been patient and supportive of you. However, there’s a slight unease with the phrase ‘for the rest of your life’ that tinges the edge of the sweetness with fear. “Yeah, well,” you comment through the bashfulness, swallowing the anxiety that wants to raise your voice. He laughs, “You can’t argue with me!” The dull thud of your fist lightly thumping him on the chest brings you back to square one, unable to quell your worries for long, “But truly, Soohyun, honestly what if he doesn’t love me the way I love him? What if he doesn’t love me enough? I’m not worried about how much I love him.” you sit up suddenly, eyes wide and hands flurried, “I mean, look at him. He’s a celebrity, and a gentleman and too go-“ Soohyun’s hand clamps over your mouth immediately, “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Stop thinking it in your head, too. Let me tell you something in case you have forgotten,” He stares at you pointedly to be sure you’ll keep quiet as he slowly removes his hand, “He may be a celebrity but do you remember what happened in those first few times you met with him?” “A lot of sex,” you comment dryly, and he smiles. “Well sure, but I remember you telling me so much about not the celebrity but the man with so much love and comfort for others and nothing but bleak loneliness and sadness for himself. About how easily you saw through him and how he told you he struggled with anxiety and his own self-worth. And,” he pauses for emphasis, “How you were there for him every time since you began this relationship. How you have helped him ease his own fears and doubts. Y/N, he needs you, too. More than you think. I think you see through him so easily that you sometimes dismiss his own feelings, even if you don’t mean to.” It helps. A lot more than you’re willing to accept right now while the anxiety still has hooks deep into you, “Thank you.” Soohyun smiles at you, “I think you just need to give it some time. Just because you realize you love him,” he makes explosive gestures with his hands, “Like really love him, doesn’t mean you have to go straight into making plans for rings and a mortgage and babies. Take your time, take it slow.” “Take it slow.” You repeat after him, nodding, lips in a pensive straight line. _____________________________________________ The following morning you wake feeling refreshed physically. Soohyun made sure you showered and that you slurped down a bowl of japchae and a few pieces of kimbap while he started a load of laundry for you. He made you clip your nails while he made you some tea and painted your toenails for you while you binged a new episode of your favorite show. He even made you take a nap, tossing your weighted blanket over your frame and leaving you to a peaceful slumber, locking the door behind him as he left. You’re a bit alarmed that you slept all afternoon, evening, and night. Checking your phone, you realize nearly 15 hours had passed. 05:17a, your phone reads, forcing you to hiss at the harsh light when you turn it over to check the time. You don’t have work until 10, but decide you can’t sleep any longer. Two unread text messages are awaiting you when you open the app. One from Soohyun wishing you a good night and to please call him if you need anything. The second is from Junmyeon, wishing you to sleep well and that he heard from Soohyun not to bother you because you’ve had a rough couple of days. He is worried that you’re so exhausted. Chewing your lip, you send Soohyun a simple thanks, and decide to see if Junmyeon is free to come over and see you later. You don’t want him to worry too much, and if you’re being honest with yourself, even through the anxiety, you still want to hold him and be near him. His response comes while you’re at work, just having woken up you assume. He tells you if he can finish recording before midnight he will come over, but stresses that he doesn’t want to keep you awake. During a quick break, you take a moment to assure him you’ve slept enough and will be wide awake. You don’t forget to add that you would really like to see him. Work goes by in an easy blur. You splurge on a fancy coffee and an extra shot of espresso to keep you awake on your way to the subway station. There is plenty of time to do some cleaning, make a meal and get a long hot shower. You even have time to wrap up an assignment for your worst class, feeling sour but proud that all of the time you spent unable to sleep, you managed to at least get ahead in a class that was otherwise the bane of your existence. When eleven thirty rolls around and you haven’t heard from him, you believe he isn’t coming. A very tiny but loud part of your brain says that’s fine and that you were afraid anyway. The bigger, softer and sensitive part of you misses him to such a degree that you sit on the couch wearing one of his hoodies, leaning on your palm and fighting off sleep with only the light of the table lamp beside you for company. You wake to the sound of the door clicking shut. Blearily, you squeeze your eyes shut at the harsh light from the lamp as you hear someone behind you. With a stiff neck, you turn and crack one eye open to see your favorite person trying his best to stay quiet. He smiles at you when he notices you’re awake, approaching you as he rounds the couch, draping his palm gently over your hair. “Hey,” he coos quietly, voice tinged with affection. Without much thought, you open your arms to reach for him, and he bends down to you. Still sleepy, it takes your mind a moment to realize he has lifted you into his arms as you pass the bathroom door. Your body melts into his familiar body with your arms around his shoulders. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you inhale the faint scent of his cologne, still fragrant enough from this morning. “I missed you,” you mumble against his skin. “I missed you too, sweetheart.” He murmurs into your hair. He feels you take a deep breath against him, chuckling at the sigh of content that follows. Slowly, he deposits you among your unmade bed linens and pecks your forehead with his lips. A sound of protest rumbles in your chest, your lower lip falling outward in a pout. “Let me shower and I’ll come to bed,” he says, stripping himself of his sweater and tossing it into your clothes hamper beside the door. You hum with acquiescence, “What time is it?” Quietly, through your sleep-laden eyes, you watch him with a soft fondness that settles in your chest. Junmyeon sits at the foot of the bed briefly to peel off his socks and slacks, “Three twenty, sorry I’m so late.” Twisting himself just enough to reach, he kisses your lips. “It’s okay. I’m just glad to see you.” He looks at you for a moment with a lopsided grin and thankful eyes. His hand settles over yours in your lap, rubbing his thumb over your skin. Then, his warmth is gone. Your eyes drift shut again while you wait for him. You’re not sure what kind of sleep spell you are under when he finally crawls into your bed with you, but your body automatically seeks his warmth, asleep but with consciousness floating at the edges. Your boyfriend sighs, wrapping you in his arms and placing his lips in your hair. Snuggling closer, you let your arm fall over his ribs, settling your face into his naked chest. You mumble again, tongue loose in your spellbound stupor. When your brain finally makes sense of your words, you freeze, bolting upright as if cold water had been doused down your spine. Junmyeon groans beside you, already half asleep, “What’s wrong?” “I-“ you begin, covering your mouth with both hands and staring at him. Heat floods your cheeks, worry turns your bones to steel, “What did I just say?” He peeks at you with one eye, lips set in a confused line, “What?” He tries to pull you back down to him by the sleeve of the hoodie. You watch him for a moment longer, realizing he didn’t seem to hear you, “You didn’t hear me?” His slight annoyance at your outburst seems appropriate evidence that he did not in fact hear you at all. “Was I supposed to? I didn’t hear you say anything,” he confirms. “No,” you shake your head immediately, running your hand through your hair with a deep breath to calm your beating heart. “Will you lay down then? I just want to hold you and go to sleep, please.” His request is simple enough. You do as he asks, but it doesn’t stop you from lying awake for what seemed like the rest of the night. Finally, you fall into unconsciousness somewhere around the time the sun begins to open its eyes, easing into slumber as shapes outside your window begin to take form. You dream of Junmyeon. You dream of his hands and his voice and the relentless overwhelming feeling of good he gives you. You dream of his lips on your neck and his fingers blazing a fire under your hoodie, crawling up and up and up until his palm gently takes the globe of your breast in his hand and he moans. Dropping your lips open with a sigh, you can feel your pulse in your core. Your hips seem to roll back of their own accord, body singing without conscious effort in your sleep. “Fuck, I want to get woken up like this every day,” Junmyeon groans. Confused, you will your body to pause, and snap your eyes open. Oh. Whatever dreams you were having must have manifested physically, grinding yourself into your boyfriend to satiate the need. You turn your head just slightly, smiling into a kiss your lover steals the moment the opportunity presents itself. His palm has not forgotten where it lays, giving another squeeze and a soft pass of his fingers over your bud. It pulls a moan from your lips, bowing your spine to push your ass harder against his aching erection where it presses between your cheeks. The delicious friction makes you squeeze your thighs together, further surprising you when you realize how slick you are. “Good morning,” he coos with amusement. You have no time for words- you need him badly, and you need him now. It appears he doesn’t know how wet you are yet, so you show him. His brows furrow in concern briefly as you remove his hand from your chest beneath the hoodie. The expression morphs into a grin when he realizes what you’re doing while you drag his hand down into your panties. You watch, open-mouthed in anticipation when his face mirrors surprise at the first easy slide of his fingers through your soaked folds. “Holy shit,” he whispers, biting at his lip when he sinks two into your heat without any warning. He gives you one deep pump and you absolutely keen, feeling like you’ll burst. “Junmyeon, please,” you beg, falling onto your back the moment he hears your plea, sitting up to find a proper position. He shifts onto his knees quickly and removes his hand from your core. When he lifts his fingers and pulls them apart, you both groan at the thread of your arousal that stretches between them in the sunlight. Flexing your hips at the loss of contact, your lover pulls his attention back to you, working quickly to pull your hips up onto his thighs. He pulls your leggings down alone, just so he can marvel at the state of your panties. Embarrassment floods your cheeks and you push the hem of the black hoodie down in an attempt to cover yourself. With what you would call a soft display of possession, Junmyeon makes a sound of warning in his throat, gently pushing your hands away as he confesses, “You have no idea how hot this is.” “It’s embarrassing,” you whimper back to him. Your body feels hot, too hot. You’ve seldom been this turned on in your life, to the point of tear-inducing hysteria if you don’t find release soon. He smiles at you, his eyes tearing away from the sight of your mess to look directly at you. “I promise you this is nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re amazing, look at how wet you are.” Junmyeon can’t help himself while he talks, eyes drifting back to your cunt and two fingers petting down your folds over your underwear. “Don’t need to see it…” you whisper, throwing your arm over your eyes. He hums, “You’re right. I’m sure you can feel how messy you are.” The two fingers he used earlier find their way beneath the material, pushing it aside to fill you again. “How does it feel, sweetheart?” he asks when you cry out. “I feel like I’m going to burst,” you moan, unable to keep your hips still, meeting his fingers for every deep thrust. Your statement peaks some interest in your boyfriend. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and his thrusts become slower, almost exploratory as he pets them against your walls. The palm of his other hand lays just above your pubic bone, resting the weight of his hand there, but you barely notice. Being filled by something has you reeling in bliss. A second later, he must find what he’s looking for. His digits set an unexpected pace, spearing you in a delicious tempo. You feel so good, “So fucking good, oh my god Junmyeon, yes!” He’s hitting some spot inside of you that spins that coil in you tighter and tighter until you’re right at the edge. Then his fingers are gone, but you’re screaming. Your eyes open and Junmyeon groans in awe at the fluid that has suddenly ruptured from you. Just briefly, but even in your pleasure, embarrassment is stronger. You clamp your legs together tightly, whimpering at the electricity that fizzles in every nerve of your body. “I’m sorry, that was-“ you begin, cut short by the feel of Junmyeon’s lips on yours and his tongue begging for entrance immediately. He's leaning over you now, fingers deftly yanking your panties down and off. You moan into his mouth when you feel the burning length of his cock lay against your dripping core. His lips leave yours just enough to speak, “Never be sorry. I’m happy I could make you squirt.” You smack him in the back, “Shut up!” you complain, still embarrassed. “You are incredible,” he reminds you, hands full of his hips while he pulls his own back precisely enough to tip himself at the perfect angle. You’re well practiced now with each other, able to satisfy efficiently with little to no error. You’re comfortable to give and take from each other without need for conversation, like now. Junmyeon doesn’t ask if you need him to fill you- he knows. He doesn’t ask how you want it and you don’t ask him if this is okay for him. It’s written plainly between you in the blood heating your faces, the sounds spilling between your sweating bodies, the eager yet affectionate way you’re holding onto parts of each other. It's clear in the way you let yourself relax back into the mattress with eyes closed and blissed out. In the way he leans protectively over your body with his own, needing to be closer and closer still when he laces his fingers into yours with both hands. In the way your panting moans grow in octave as your orgasm approaches and roars through you as you pull your hands away only to pull him down, flush atop you while you ride it out. It is clear in the way he, too, seems to melt into your frame, even as he tenses and moans salaciously against the column of your throat when his peak follows. Neither of you say anything for a long moment, catching your breaths together in post coital bliss. You break the moment, feeling sticky and needing to get the bedding in the washing machine as soon as possible. Junmyeon whines the entire time, refusing to get off of you until you nearly roll him off of the bed completely. Grumbling cutely, he helps you strip the bed and takes the wad of linens from you with a kiss. He finds you in the bathroom when he’s finished, stripped and waiting for the showerhead’s water to turn warm. You invite him in with you, washing in content. You don’t speak, but your actions are loud. Loving, in these small moments of care for each other. When you’re finished and dressed and the coffee pot is started, Junmyeon collects your favorite mugs from the shelf and opens your medication, delivering one small pill to your palm with a kiss to your forehead. The affection of it squeezes your heart and drifts a smile across your face at the progress of such an event. Months back, him even knowing these pills existed within your life caused you extreme anxiety. You watch, reminiscing with a small smile, as he pours your coffee first, always the gentleman, before his own. He trails you back to the bedroom in silent happiness, where coffee mugs are placed on bedside tables and new bedding is waiting to be put on. Junmyeon helps you remake the bed, pulling you down into the soft thickness of the comforter when you’re finished. He forces you into his arms against your fake, feeble protesting, humming his comfort once you finally give up and settle into his warmth. Movement beyond the sheer curtain covering the windows catches your attention. “I think it’s snowing,” you murmur, lifting your chin to look at Junmyeon. Your boyfriend turns his head, exposing the expanse of his neck to you, calling you to place a gentle token of affection there with the pink of your lips. He smiles when he feels your lips against him, but lets you out of his grip to rise from the bed. He picks up his coffee and goes to the window. You join him, curious if you had been right as he moves the curtain with the back of his free hand. Surely enough, there are soft, chilled tufts of snow drifting by quietly, down to the street below. You watch, smile broadening at the pretty sight. Junmyeon seems to have gone still and quiet, and you turn to look at him with the feeling of his eyes on you. As if broken from a spell, he blinks at you, cheeks flooding with a delicate pink. He busys himself taking a swig of his coffee and leaning over to place his mug on the dresser beside the window. “You okay?” you ask, smiling at him with a gentle laugh. Your hand rises to his arm where it still has the curtain raised, and you hear him audibly sigh. “Y/N,” he whispers, swapping his arms so he can tug you against him. Wrapping your arms around his middle, you accept his needy invitation for cuddling with your face buried in the fabric of the sweatshirt he wears. You’re content, serotonin hydrating your heart with the sound of your name on his lips. Turning your head, you let it rest against his chest, hearing his heart beat and watching the snow drift from the top to the bottom of your window. “I love you,” Junmyeon says quietly. You realize suddenly how fast his heart is beating in his chest, and you’re frozen in a moment of time. When you lift your head, agonizingly slow, he meets your eyes with a mix of emotions. Some apprehension, curiosity, fear, affection and devotion- all flitting across the galaxy of his dark eyes in a myriad of microseconds. You feel lightheaded, remembering to breathe. It takes several seconds to swallow and gather the strength to speak. “No, you don’t.” His brows shove together and the stars in his eyes die a little, confused, “Yes, I do.” Shaking your head, you break away from his grasp, standing back to look at him. You want nothing more than to run back into his arms and let his words be true. You want to let yourself believe it is that easy. But you have to protect yourself, you need to have time, “You don’t mean that,” you say with more conviction, refusing to meet his pleading expression. Then, he steels his spine, feet planted firmly to the floor, and he sighs in frustration, “Y/N. I. Love. You. It doesn’t mean you have to say it back right now, or at all, or that we have to do something about it. It just felt right to let you know.” You lower your head and close your eyes as if that will help to do something, although you don’t know what. To stop the thoughts racing in your head or the pounding ache of your heart or the tears welling in your eyes or the fear turning your gut sour. To block out the truth of his words or to just let go. “I just,“ you try, exhaling deeply, “I think you should leave. I need to think.” Junmyeon frowns. Of course he is sad, but he does what you ask. His feet move quietly toward the door and you hear him don his shoes and shut the door behind him. He does not slam it, and you almost wish he did. It would make your guilt so much easier if he yelled at you or slammed the door. It would make the echo of his words, said with such blinding genuine care, feel a lot less like a wish whispered down a hollow well. Later that evening, you’re drunk. Drunk and sad, stumbling around in the snow in the park outside of your apartment building. You deliberately walk through a stick drawing of a heart and two initials, feeling rotten and lost and impulsive. Your feet carry you to a messier scene. More snow, divided by a plow, sprayed with dirty water from shoes and cars at the edges of the street in ugly clumps that look the way your heart feels. Annoyance settles over your frown. Your hands are toasty inside of your coat pockets but you have to keep removing one or the other to wipe at your chilled nose. You keep walking, and eventually pass a storefront with industrial steel and wood. It’s the sushi restaurant you went to with Junmyeon back in the spring. Looking up from your parade of snow-kicking, you see one of your favorite parks, with tall iron lamps glowing with their halogen bulbs. The light casts shadows across the small snow drifts, as if painted black with patterns of bare tree branches. Walking closer, a serene calm possesses your weary bones, calling you to take a seat on one of the benches- a small smile tugging your lips at the sound of the snow crunching under your weight. For the hell of it, you twist slightly, snuggling back into the lofty chill of it. The flakes fall slowly around you, still watching the shadows dancing across the untouched white. There’s something soothing in the blanket of silence around you- even in the middle of the city. A stolen moment like this at- you check your phone- three forty in the morning. You let your mind wander, until another presence interferes with your thoughts, unwelcome. Steeling yourself to tell someone off, your head turns slightly to the left to see a tall, skinny man standing under the next lamp with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. Then, he stoops down and collects a handful of snow, packs it into a tight ball, and immediately hurls it at you with half-hearted effort. “Ow, what the fuck?” you groan aloud, flinching away to shield yourself as he does it a second time, stepping closer. He sighs, “Don’t even act like that hurt. I could’ve thrown it harder.” You know this voice, watching for confirmation as he shakes the icy snow from his bare hands and pats them on his jeans. The sharp jawline of none other than Oh Sehun cuts through the shadow, and he is wearing a frown when you finally see his face. He simply stares at you for a long moment before he gives up and his frown deepens, “Fuck it.” In jeans probably more expensive than what you make in an average shift, he sits down on the snow covered bench beside you, hissing at the cold and wet feeling that surely seeps into his skin. You say nothing in reply, still enjoying the tingling buzz of alcohol in your veins, and the bite of chill at the tip of your nose. It’s another five or ten minutes before Sehun pipes up, “Care to tell me how you’re feeling right now?” When you face him, he’s watching you with a mix of apprehension and tenderness. “I’m feeling a lot of things,” you say, sniffling. You elaborate with a kick of your feet through the fluff of snow on the ground, “I’m worried, and scared and happy and disbelieving, to name a few.” Sehun hums, narrowing his eyes and squaring his jaw, “Do you feel inferior or unworthy? Do you not see how much he loves you?” Your mouth twists thoughtfully, “I feel like someday I will stop being enough. Someday I will stop being what he needs and loves. It’s happened before, and Sehun I’m-“ you choke, swallowing around the lump, “I’m so irrevocably in love with him that I am terrified of what that moment will feel like.” “What if that moment never comes?” He watches your face without judgement, and you appreciate him all the more for it. Clearing your throat, “How can I know it never will? I just need time to work up the courage.” He nods, “That’s fair, I suppose. As long as you know he is so disgustingly in deep with you.” His mock discomforted teasing pulls a quiet smile from you, and with it, a yawn. “Come on, let’s get you home. He wanted to come find you himself, but I didn’t think you’d want to be overwhelmed right now.” He pushes against your shoulder, urging you up, “I’m freezing my ass off out here.” “Did you track my phone?” you wonder, complying as he takes your shoulders and dusts the snow from your coat with his hands. He nods, “Come on, I brought the car. Should still be pretty warm.” _______________________________________ The following two days go by in a blur, and the uncertainty you feel ebbs away from your bones wearily, too exhausted to hang on. You go about your routine, you have to in order to stay afloat. You wake, go to class, go to work, shower, maybe do some homework, and then fall into a barely stable state of unconsciousness for a few hours before you’re up to do it all over again. In the back of your busy mind, you wonder, almost without feeling, if this is the moment. If now is the time, so soon, that Junmyeon has decided he is bored or you’re not worth this kind of trouble. You chew your lip instead of the end of your pencil, letting it tap against your cheek repeatedly. What if he is heartbroken by your refusal to accept his confession in the moment because fear made you yank up your walls just as he said the words? What if he has decided to pull his own walls up higher than you’re able to reach. What if this is the end? What if this is just the beginning? What if what if what if, the phrase parades around your thoughts like a vicious merry-go-round. You hate it. On the table, facing down to not be a distraction, your phone buzzes gently. Luckily, the sound it creates on the wood surface doesn’t disturb the other library patrons attempting to study. Stretching your back and twisting your tired neck, you pull your coffee closer, taking a sip and reeling at the warmth of it in one hand while you check the notification with the other. It's your security camera app. A clip of video featuring one fluffy-haired Junmyeon entering your apartment with his key and dropping off a manilla envelope. He lingers briefly beside the kitchen counter, fingers playing with the string of the envelope before he lays it down gingerly. Something seems odd, as if he doesn’t want to leave. After a few seconds, he looks up to the camera, possibly as if he knows you’re watching, gives a tight-lipped smile, and leaves. It leaves a strange feeling in your gut, normally he texts you when he is dropping something off to you. Perhaps now, since the camera was his idea, he doesn’t need to. You’ll see it from your phone. You release your lip from your teeth, soothing your tongue over the deep indentations of your teeth. Looking around, the library suddenly feels like an empty cathedral instead of a cozy place of coffee and books. It is the middle of December. Not many students linger this late in the afternoon so close to the holidays. With a sigh, you accept that your spell of focus and studying is over. Dogearing the page, you pack your bag and head out into the wind and setting sun. You don’t have work this evening, but a bath and a glass of wine to yourself sound like the perfect combination to hope for a restful night’s sleep. Entering your apartment, you eye the envelope on the counter, right where your boyfriend left it. Part of you wants to open it immediately and sate your curiosity. Part of you is apprehensive. There is a weighted feeling of importance coming from such a mysterious package. Perhaps after your bath and wine, you’ll have a second glass at the counter while you open it. Perhaps the first glass will calm you and give you enough courage to face whatever is inside. Decidedly, you do just that. Your phone even coos your favorite instrumental playlist from the counter in the bathroom, deliberately out of your reach. The gentle notes of the piano relax you into the warm suds, breathing deeply while you swallow, cheeks full of a simple white zinfandel. The weight of the chilled goblet in your palm feels just as comforting as the cozy swirls of lavender around your nakedness. Wrapped up in your favorite pajamas and wine refilled, you hold your breath when you reach for the package, swiping it from the counter to open from the comfort of the couch. You set the wine glass on the coffee table with extra care, keying up your anticipation. Peering inside the envelope, a handful of smaller envelopes peer up at you from inside. Odd, you muse, curiously letting them slide from the manilla onto the coffee table. There are six pieces, each labeled with a number, otherwise appearing identical. You take the first in your hands, and open it after another sip of wine. Immediately, you’re met with the familiar sight of Junmyeon’s handwriting. Letters, your mind answers for you. These are all letters. Reading the addressee line, more specifically these are letters he has written to you. ‘Ah… where to begin,’ the first sentence reads. ‘Would you know what I mean if I talked about that feeling you have when you are in someone’s presence and it feels right? Except perhaps a little more? Knowing that in time, you will feel complete while with that someone, but it’s not right away? That feeling of looking forward to building a completeness in your life with that person. That feeling. I met someone last night who gave me that feeling. That feeling that I immediately knew I would be whole with her someday. At first, it was scary. Altogether so vexing and complex I couldn’t do anything other than feel totally stunned every time she came close. I felt terrible for my behavior in those first few minutes. The weight of the passage of time pressed against my ribcage the longer we sat at the table, the less of an unknown length to be spent in her presence was so jarring to me it took all of my resolve to pull it together and start a conversation with her. I’m not usually one who believes in the phrase ‘meant to be’, but I absolutely could not shake the feeling of this woman and the few simple words we shared. I liked everything about her. Beyond the physical, too. The expressions that passed over her face. The fire of her personality and the air of dignity and resolute calm that seemed to carve a home in her bones as she worked. Everything I could assess about her as a person from my seat at the table, I couldn’t look away. She seemed to understand there was some sort of cosmic interference between us. All of the moments where I knew for a fact she wasn’t watching me, the depth of her eyes would catch me in the act of watching her work. They would settle on me, and sometimes I would be overcome with the weightlessness of space, or what I imagine it would feel like. Vast and unending, and at peace. We played a sort of game when I realized, with a great complexity of emotion, she knew who I was. It was more than just my name, and that was not something I had anticipated. The way she spoke to me and looked at me, as if by no great feat, I were just myself. Nothing more, nothing less. Not an idol, but a person. I briefly wondered if I knew her from childhood, but could not gather any substantial evidence in my memory. I did something that I’ve never done in my lifetime. Of my own volition, even. The thought of separating from her without knowing if I would ever see her again was something that I couldn’t accept. As if burned or suffocating. The feeling that causes you to move without thinking to escape discomfort. I invited her to the hotel we were staying in while our dorms were being moved. Normally, I might consider that a ridiculous notion, one I didn’t think I would ever hold myself to entertain while in this industry. And yet… regardless of our intentions if the answer were yes, I needed to know if there was a mutual itch to scratch, only sated by one another. Even without the recollection of her presence still so fresh in my mind, my skin, my bones, I think I could remember with perfect clarity how much she was able to move me. To feel as if I could move mountains with my bare hands as long as she kept looking at me. It's terrifying, and elating. She fell asleep easily, tucked adorably against my side. I hardly slept, too wound up with thoughts racing across the sky in my mind, seeking constellations to tell stories foretold about she and I. Hoping for more minutes with her. Hoping that minutes would turn into hours, to days, to years… To a lifetime. I fell asleep, my mind too exhausted to continue coherent thought. When I woke, she was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t be sure why. Whether it be her own schedule or that we hadn’t detailed what exactly our coupling was supposed to be. All I know was what I am feeling. Sadness, disappointment, even slight shame. Not that what we had done was wrong, but that I couldn’t hold on hard enough to keep her here. I have no way of contacting her, and without knowing her thoughts, I refuse to be the kind of man who shows up where she works. Perhaps she doesn’t want to see me again. I will go about my routines, wondering whether or not I’d hurt her, whether or not she felt regret. I will spend however long it takes, wondering if I might ever see her again, and feeling a hollowness in my chest I hadn’t know was there all along before I felt her filling that void so perfectly.’ You don’t realize at first that you’re crying by the end of the letter. Tears quietly slip from your eyes, and your hands tremble just enough to make the paper move noticeably, the bottom of it smattered with a few wet drops. Clutching the page to your chest, you let your head roll back and your lungs inhale a deep breath. Your heart hurts for him, nearly a year ago as these words he has written make themselves known to you. His thoughts and feelings that first night you met last December. You ignore the question of why he wrote these letters but know exactly the reason why he has given them to you. It feels too easy, too surreal that he knew someday you would question, and he kept these as an investment. Proof of his truth. Pain aches bitterly in your chest at how you pushed him out a few days ago. At how deeply and complexly he knew right from the start how much you mean to him. You empty your wine glass in a series of greedy swallows, needing your empty goblet as an excuse to stand up and breathe for a moment. Wiping your eyes, you have an idea and know just where to put these letters. From the top shelf of your closet, you pull down a small box, running your palm over the black leather with a smile as you place it on the coffee table. You move to the kitchen, returning to the couch seconds later with the half-empty wine bottle. You open the box and a small smile touches your features when you see the items inside. Not many, yet, but small tokens of memories and affection shared between you and Junmyeon. The tickets to the museum back in September, four polaroid photos taken on his camera in his room during a visit. The card he wrote you back in October, along with the bloom of a flower from the same day pressed between it. Obscurely and without his knowledge, a balled-up piece of paper with lyrics he wrote for his solo album on. Somehow, he deemed them unworthy, but you love the authenticity of them and his handwriting. You smile, letting your hand stir a few of the pieces before you set the lid back on it, deciding these letters will join the contents of the box when you’re finished. After pouring yourself another glass and carefully folding the first letter back into its packaging, you open the second. ‘Now it’s April, and somehow, on an errant walk with the peace of my own thoughts, I found you again. At first I hadn’t been sure it was you, or that my eyes were not playing tricks on me. After several minutes of short-circuiting, I was sure it was you on that bench. I hate to sound overly poetic, but you were too picturesque, as if the sun and all of the spring had been placed there just for you. As if you commanded the very season to flourish around your perpetuating serenity. Part of me was torn, not wanting to disturb the scene. The greater part was unwavering in my desire to approach you, if not just to have your eyes find mine briefly. I am too selfish to let you go this time, unless you explicitly demand it. Still, I had to steel myself, apprehensive of your intentions that morning. Luckily, your warmth toward me didn’t waver, and while I wanted to ask outright the questions that so often plagued my mind lately, I refrained. I couldn’t let the joy of the moment be ruined by bitterness. Your stomach growled, and I remember the comfort of falling into step beside you naturally as we walked. The colors of the season are more vivid in my head, and the sharp contrast of your red dress to the green everywhere did nothing but serve as an excuse for me to look only at you. While the food was worth the price, my stomach churned uncomfortably with the questions I needed answers to. The same questions I felt coming from you, and the confusion and hurt and desire. When you finally told me it was not a good idea, I felt my heart crack. Looking back, I wasn’t pleased with myself when I hissed out my reply. The pain was too momentous to control. That was the turning point. The conversations that followed as we went out onto the street. It dawned on me then, that with my own anxiety and shortcomings, you had your own self-doubts. You made it clear that you saw me as the stars, and yourself little more than a spectator of them, out of reach. I realized in that moment how similar we are, and an overwhelming need to know more about you passed through me. I am always thankful and comforted when I think back on that conversation. The relief I felt when you told me you didn’t regret it and that you wanted me as badly as I wanted you. Still want you, for the record. You defended me from even myself so vehemently, all while fighting the idea of indulging in the moment. Not just for your own benefit, but mine, too. It was clear how much you worried over thoughts for the future, and the consideration of my feelings and your own thereafter. I’m very thankful, but I’m sure that must be exhausting. I desperately want you in my life, no matter how busy that is, and I am holding my breath in hope that you’ll want me in yours just the same. The sex… by far, has always been indescribably real. Connecting with you in such a fashion, well, I won’t touch on it, because that isn’t what this is about. Even though I can count our meetings on one hand, this one is my favorite, so far. Not just because of the sex, but the conversation, and the connection I felt with you through all of the planes of existence. I won’t lie, it was insurmountably frightening the moment you looked at me in the shower. More than my face, or my eyes. It took you one second to permeate the deepest center of my heart, and I could feel the warmth and safety of your soul holding mine. Oh my god, I am so cheesy. We shared tender thoughts, and with them, pain and suffering. I like to think it was necessary in order to move forward, and I find myself wanting to grow more and more with you. Slowly, if you accept that. I don’t want to rush into things, and I want to understand you better. I want to do this right. Even in the small, intimate moments while we ate dinner and just laid together, were blissful. I found myself unable to conjure any worries about problems I face, and even the physical manifestation of my anxiety… with you I had no sudden urge to run away and hide it. I had no feeling other than pure acceptance knowing that you were seeing a flaw of mine. You rolled with it, completely and utterly acknowledging of my existence as a person and not just an idol. Perhaps that is why I feel so strongly so soon, and why I am so cognizant of it, rather than terrified as I should be. When I woke the next morning with your scent and your warmth still beside me, I was happier than I anticipated I would be? That sounds so peculiar, I know, but I was- even with the chaos that soon unraveled thereafter. Still, wrapped up in new feelings and rushing to meet a schedule, I scolded myself when I left you standing in the elevator lobby without any way to stay in contact. If there are and powers or fates in this life, I am wishing for them to bring us together again. One way or another, I will find you again.’ Immediately, with as much delicacy as you can muster in your need to keep reading, you fold the pages of the second letter back into it’s envelope with a smile on your face. Reading Junmyeon’s thoughts on your meetings was not what you had expected this package to be. It is a wonderful gift, and one you now know he did for you, even all of those months ago. The third letter is on a different kind of paper and the ink is blue instead of black, but the differences only make you smile at the possibility that he was still thinking of writing this for you when he might have been somewhere else in the world. ‘Even at thirty-eight thousand feet, I am still thinking of you.’ Reads the first line, and you smile knowing your intuition was spot on. ‘I’m thinking of the third time I saw you. Standing still on the dance floor, with brows furrowed cutely and looking around for something. Until you quickly looked up at me, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks when you smiled. The way you jumped as if I had shocked you, I felt it too. All night it drove me crazy the way I could feel this tether to you. Even in a space full of others, at the club, in the car, at the karaoke room- there was a strange sense of presence. As if I could see and hear everyone, even participated in conversations, but from underwater? Suddenly I noticed that perhaps that is how my life has been all along, but the moment we would touch would be as if everything around were in such perfect clarity it felt like I was there for the first time. I know that sounds crazy. It drove me crazy, but I gave you whatever emotion space you wanted. I didn’t push what we were, didn’t try to pressure you into acknowledging the tension between us as more than sexual compatibility. Then, in the darkness of that awful karaoke bar, I broke. I knew Jongdae wasn’t a threat- he has a girlfriend. I knew everything was fine but found myself exiting the room to look for you anyway. Then, you provoked me and I can’t help but wonder if you wanted me to be the aggressor all along. If you wanted me to be the one to break first and make a claim. I’m not upset about it, really. It worked out in the end, right? Still, the thought of you being with someone else the way you’ve been with me is very painful. Luckily, I was and still am confident in what we have. That it is profound. The moment you spilled the truth I felt high. Not like a drug high but untouchable nonetheless. Powerfully, cosmically existent in that moment, and all I could do was kiss you. I knew it didn’t mean we had jumped from point A to point Z, but A to B was still progress forward. I can’t help but smile when I remember the cute, embarrassed way you tried to explain that to Jongin later on. Take no mind- I am not looking to rush into a relationship. I am happy with small steps, and to finally have your contact information.’ You’re smiling and laughing by the end of this letter. You feel a little bit better, and a whole lot more in love with the man who wrote these. Part of you in a little sad at how short this third one is, but he has spoiled you, and you consider his schedule and lack of privacy in writing these. Quickly, with the woeful glee of having to put down the best book of all time, you rush to relieve your bladder of the wine you’ve consumed this evening. A very small wedge of your consciousness notes the way your mood has shifted for the better at this simple and thoughtful gift. At the confirmations of his feelings and his thoughts that you’ve spent months trying to guess. You realize that perhaps you were not communicating as openly as you thought you were. A lot of guessing and assuming about one another over the last year makes you feel a little bit silly, but you smile nonetheless at the progress and growth you’ve done. Situated back on the couch comfortably, you fold the third letter back into it’s envelope with a contented hum, replacing it in your hands with the fourth. This one feels heavier and thicker, with more pages. ‘You are my girlfriend now, as I write this letter.’ He starts, and you can clearly conjure the image of a grin that would be warming his cheeks as he wrote that line. ‘Progress, and good progress at that, feels very fulfilling. Although my schedules keep me from seeing you as often as I would like, I feel satisfied with being able to contact you regularly while I go about my business. The weeks we have spent getting to know one another, talking and texting and video chatting have been nothing short of a blessing. It makes me realize how much people, myself included, can take this kind of simple connection for granted. I spent some weeks without a way to contact you, so I do my best to be more thankful for it now. In the last few weeks, it has felt like war with ourselves and what we could be, and I sincerely apologize if I ever seemed frustrated at you- I am not, and never was. You have always been right to be cautious and you are so considerate of my feelings and then your own, even if the consideration isn’t a good one. It doesn’t matter now, and I can’t say I am regretful that we spent time weighing those things out. It may seem silly or superstitious but I feel like our relationship is deeper and we have a better understanding of what we are to one another now that we have been through that together. Had we rushed into it without more concern, I might be wary of how strong we are. I was embarrassed when I called to tell you about the incident with the interviewer in the States. There was a lot happening and I was not sure on what was going to come of us yet. I was very surprised by how strong the repulsion to lie about us felt, and I failed to keep it off of my face and out of my professional life. Looking back, especially after calling you, I am sorry if it caused you any panic. I had a long discussion with the managers and Mr. Lee when I got back, but it was after I had talked to Jongdae on the plane about it, and he gave me a lot of good advice on how to deal with it publicly. Please do not misunderstand or have doubts about what I told you- I was never pressured or given an ultimatum about you. I told them that being with or without you was not negotiable before it even began. Typically, I am not the one to speak up in such a momentous conversation, but I have only ever been so sure about something twice in my life. First, about being a singer, and second, about being with you. In the end, I was told it would only be a problem if the behavior continued. Eventually, we would have to go public, but I am free to keep my private life as such so long as I can maintain my idol publicity separately. Still, I needed some space from the familiarity and constant reminder of stress. I left, without telling anyone where I was going or for how long, to blow off steam. The shock was pleasant when you told me you were accepting of a relationship. I was happy and thought perhaps you had talked about it to Soohyun, the same way I talk to Sehun. Those two are ridiculous. It helped melt the stress I’d been feeling with work. My feet carried me to your apartment anyway, now that I knew how to get there. Even if I wanted to refrain or resist, I knew you, in any form, would be the balm of relief I needed. I was prepared to hold you and talk and just let your presence ease away the anxiety. The last thing I was expecting was the gift of news you wanted more. I had been back and forth with it in my own head, whether or not I should have even told you. Since the beginning of our perpetual theories concerning the start of a relationship, I knew there was something you were not telling me. Don’t take it the wrong way- I don’t hold it against you, and I don’t expect you to tell me everything right away. Earning enough trust and comfort with me to tell me when you’re ready is enough. That is not the reason I didn’t want to say anything at first. More that you seemed… tense or stressed about your own internal deliberating. I’ve seen first-hand, you’re the type to put others before yourself, so I didn’t want to burden you with that. It felt like taking advantage of you to do so. Then, with the simple confession of wanting this, of wanting me, and wanting me with you, it changed. I trusted you enough to let you in. You wanted to help me, and I am incredibly grateful. You’ve always wanted to help me, and I would be a blind fool if I ever considered that were not a priority for you, even from day one. By the end of the conversation, I felt more connected with you than I ever had before. I’m certain, at least in some sense, that was a bonus in the way you helped me relieve that stress. The way you took care of me, so to speak. Even the sex that followed seemed to have more weight or meaning. That it was more than just sex? When we settled into your bed I had a moment of realization that it was the first night I was sleeping in your bed with you, and that we were in a relationship. I was so exhausted, but I tried my best to remember every detail of your space. Although the way I woke up wasn’t that pleasant, I slept the best I had in weeks. I think I owe that to you. What happened thereafter, I know we’ve talked about it at length and that you’re okay, but I feel like part of your love language are words of affirmation. With that in mind, I will say again that you will never have to be sorry for struggling. I understand, at least to some extent, what you’ve been through. It makes my heart ache to know you’ve been through a similar pain to mine and the perpetual, vicious cycle of hate and doubt and fear within your own head. When I think about it, you amaze me. Having been through that, and perhaps to people outside of you and I, you might appear mysterious or standoffish. Sehun’s words, not mine, but only at first I assure you. I realize it is how you greet the unknown parts of the world, to protect yourself. But then to get to know the caring and tender way you hold those close to you. Be it myself, Soohyun or even now Sehun and the rest of my members. The way you talk about memories of your Father. It fills me with such relief and that feels selfish and wrong. To be thankful that even after all you’ve been through, and to understand it so completely, that you still love. I understand it so well how you’ve guarded yourself and it takes work to peel back the walls layer by layer to let someone else care about you the way you care about your people. I will never push you, but please, please know I am working as hard as I can to gently peel back those layers and to earn enough trust to let me love you the way you deserve, even if you might not think you do. I know that there will be days where you look at the world as if everything is hateful and ugly, and I understand that I might not be able to help you. I really do, but I will never judge you for that. I will encourage you to continue with therapy and taking your medication and to love the world and to let it love you back. Hopefully, one by one, those instances of hate are less and less, replaced by better ones. I will protect you with everything I have and I am scared, too. Afraid that one day when the glimmer of idol life dies and I’m not in the spotlight, that everyone who has ever looked at me with adoration will turn away. That the name Junmyeon will never shine the way Suho does. I know I am not perfect. I never have been and I never will be, and that’s okay. It took me a long time to get through that, with therapy and my own medication. There was a lot of unhappiness and innate anxiety in understanding that when I am retired and finished, I will not be alone. That there will be other people, eight specifically, going through the same thing, right there beside me. Hopefully you will be, too. I remember the bliss of the rest of that morning. The pure, natural contempt to be in your apartment with you, such a place that has you so deeply instilled in every piece I never wanted to leave the safety of it.’ You feel a lump, but don’t let the tears fall from this letter. Looking back on Junmyeon’s last words to you, you wonder if somewhere within this letter is the time he first decided he loved you. He didn’t explicitly write it, but the way he wrote it gives you a sense that it was somewhere in these words. The fifth letter begins with the echo of a phrase you remember hearing him say the first time you woke up with him in his bed. ‘I’m happy. More specifically, I am happy with you. As worried as I was about having you over to the dorm for anything at all, I am pleased how much you fit into that space with grace and ease. Looking back, my worries were baseless. Every challenge I think you’re facing with me and my schedules and my members, you accept them and seem to move through them all without issue. It's relieving to be able to let you share even this part of myself. I know it has been something we’ve been back and forth on since we met, but I had been scared of the idea of sharing a part of Suho for once, instead of Junmyeon. Not that I doubted you- simply that I was uncomfortable, and not ready. With a sudden clarity it makes perfect sense why you were not keen on me being in your space, either. I’m happy we’ve moved past those fears. All of my members accept you, if you couldn’t tell. I have to take care of them, too. I couldn’t be selfish in inviting you into a home that is not only mine without considering their opinions. Even the members that weren’t present were on board with my invitation and happy for us to be where we are. Somewhere in this last week, I think I realized I love you. I’m not sure when, but somewhere between finally going to your apartment and today, I know it. I’m making a promise to both you and myself that I will tell you in person for the first time. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us if it is any other way first, and I know you enough now to be sure I’ll probably be the one who says it first. I don’t even know if I’ll ever give you these letters, or when really they became less of a journal and more of a letter of confession. You can probably tell by the well-worn pages that I’ve read these several times by now. You might laugh if I ever tell you how many times I re-wrote them, too. Y/N, my sweetheart, I can’t even begin to describe how fond I am of you. Please tell me if I ever become overbearing or suffocating in my love for you. Were it not for the reprimanding I’d get, or the fact that we would have to go public (something I never want to put you through), I would shout it from the rooftop and scream it during every ending comment I make, on every stage in every part of the world.’ The fifth letter might be short, but it is sweet and you feel a bigger pang of guilt at having pushed him out knowing how much he loves you, now more than ever. You desperately want to call him. To have him back here in your arms and to tell him you’re sorry and confirm exactly how he feels is the same. Instead, you tell yourself to calm down, and read the last letter. It’s getting later, but you know he will still be awake when you’re finished and there is absolutely no way in hell you’ll be able to sleep without him tonight. So you quell your racing heart with a simple text. It doesn’t give anything away, and you hope you won’t have to wait long after you finish reading the last for him to show up at your door. ‘Please come over.’ You can’t hit send fast enough, and settle right in to reading the final letter. ‘This letter is a little different, because I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to write individual ones. I’m doing my best to remember the last few months with you and all of the memories we’ve made. I worry I’ll forget them if I don’t write them down soon enough, and I don’t know when these will ever make their way to you. I’ll give you all of the ones I’ve written so far once I think you’re ready to read them. I have a feeling a day will come when I tell you how I feel, and you’ll hide. I won’t be upset with you or judge you, I know it’s terrifying, and I think having these letters will be helpful. Perhaps once you see how well-worn some are, and how clearly I’m recalling the moments, you’ll know I’ve written them all with you in mind. How I am always thinking of you. How I love you. For weeks it has been hard not to tell you how I feel every time I open my mouth in your presence. Some moments smaller or bigger than others, but none any less meaningful than the one before it. I think my favorite, of all the adventures we’ve had over the summer, is dinner. The way you described summer and the magic of it- I don’t think you realized how much of that magic came from you. As if your smile were the spell that kept the world from falling asunder. Maybe it was because it was so close to the moment I first realized my feelings for you, only a week later, but it doesn’t matter. I enjoyed the museum a lot, too. More than a typical museum, the fun that we shared, even when things went a little sideways was still full of care and laughter. I don’t know if you could feel the culmination of my feelings brimming over in the rain later that day, or in the way I held you as if you were the world. I hope you felt it. Sometimes I was nervous when I would reach home with my bag and realize there was something else I left back at your place. Not that I minded, but I didn’t want you to feel like I did it intentionally or that I was invading your space. In hindsight it seems to have been perfectly natural, and I remember how shy you were to give me a key to your apartment. That surprising gift was unexpected, but one I keep close. I don’t know how many times I’ve thanked you for letting me have one and letting me be there whenever I want to. I hope you don’t mind if I thank you once more, honestly. You may not know this, but more than just for spending time with you- it is a safe place for me. It’s somewhere I can go and don’t have to hide and I can get away from the members and the constant reminder of the never-ending chaos of idolism. I can sleep and it is silent and if I’m lucky, you eventually appear beside me and I sleep better than I ever do at home. I can remember your fear leading up to Halloween about meeting other people at the company and being in the presence of new people as my girlfriend. I can also remember the taste of you right before that party, but I don’t want to have any… issues, while I’m writing this in the dance studio, so I won’t write about it. We’re working on choreography for some of the new tracks and brushing up on old favorites today. It’s never been a question I thought to ask you, but I’m curious what song is your favorite. I have a feeling, knowing the way you react to me as my alter ego, if Obsession is the answer. Things are going well with promotions. Perhaps I’ve complained a little too loudly about not getting to see you as often to our staff, but I was so shocked when you showed up to our stage yesterday! It was very thoughtful of them to invite you, and I was impressed none of the members got wind of it. What happened thereafter backstage… I hope you understand how much you mean to me and that I never wanted to pressure you like that. We were pushing boundaries all over the place, and while I was admittedly nervous at first to engage in sexual play with you while in that role, I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. I did it for you. It was all about you, and I can’t help but feel like I overstepped and perhaps instilled some doubts about us in you. Please know that was never my intention and I just as connected with you as I always do. I was, and still am thrilled to know you only want me. We both know I can be a bit jealous and possessive, so hearing that was delightful. However, I meant what I said- if it is mutual, I’m okay with it. Healthy, even, to have a little bit of adventure. Please don’t feel guilty about it, it kept me excited too. It’s good for us to talk about all kinds of things, even hard to swallow topics. I’m proud to be able to communicate openly with you, and I think it makes us stronger.’ You sigh, sad to see an end to his thoughts on paper, but feeling a sense of relief at his sentiments about your latest shenanigans, just days ago. Checking your phone, it appears that Junmyeon has read your message, but not responded yet, and you worry if he will or if he is upset. No, that can’t be right. Exactly as his letter has said, he knew a time would come that you would need to have some sort of evidence of his love when he finally told you. This is precisely what you needed him to say, and that he could already tell, even those months ago, that you might need this kind of investment to understand the truth is another piece of his love on its own. This collection of his feelings is so warm and whole that it brings more tears to the brim of your eyes, and you’re faced with the absolute truth that there’s no way he is upset with you. He was strategically waiting for you to return his feelings and the idea that you shoved him out makes the tears fall. You’re surprised to hear when the door opens and closes behind you, and when you turn around to face him, knowing it is him, he only gives you a dazzling smile as he slips off his shoes. Your boyfriend. Your Junmyeon, the one who, as crazy as that may seem, loves you as much as you love him. Gingerly, you set the last letter down, noticing it is still clutched in your fingers. “Hi, sweetheart.” He greets you from the entry. Marveling at him, you’re not convinced he is even real and standing here in your home looking like everything you’ve ever wanted and everything you’ll ever need. He grins, with the apples of his cheeks dusted rose from the cold sitting high and warm on his face. His eyes crinkle with mirth and he whispers, “That good, huh? No words?” You want to punch him for it, but perhaps softly, with your mouth. It doesn’t register for several seconds that you’ve been holding your breath, until you let it out and drag in fresh oxygen. It's enough to spur you into action, bounding from the couch and into his arms, uncaring if your tears stain his scarf. He doesn’t seem to mind, either, by the way he adjust so your arms wrap around him from inside of his unzipped coat. “Are you alright now?” he wonders aloud, not exactly looking for an answer but curiously chirping nonetheless because he wants the verbal confirmation that you are in fact, just fine. When you look up at him from the warmth of his sweatshirt and scarf with eyes full of magic, he is lost and in love all over again, until finally you say what he knows. “I love you.” You announce proudly to him, and the immediate gratification you feel melts any tension from your shoulders. His expression morphs into unbridled happiness, curling his lips into his mouth and scrunching his brows together as if the words were the sweetest thing he has ever heard. “Say it again,” he demands, “I’m selfish and I want to hear you say it again.” You smile, “I love you, Junmyeon.” He absolutely giggles. The pure glee that captures him as you step back with barely concealed impatience while shrugs off his coat and scarf is infectious, or maybe it’s the light and joyous sound of his laughter. In seconds he has scooped you into his arms and kisses you. You can feel his heart pounding right out of his chest where you’re pressed against it. When he breaks for air, he asks you, “Did you like them?” Setting you down on the couch, you refuse to part from him when he gets comfortable, crawling back into his lap and holding his face in your hands. Just to look at him and make sure he is actually here, you let the warmth of your hands flood his skin and he smiles up at you as if you the only thing in the universe worth looking at. There’s no rush to make it more than what it is, and you realize you haven’t answered his question. “I am beyond words to explain how much they mean to me.” You look behind you briefly to see them on the coffee table. “And,” you begin, moving some of his hair from his eyes, “I am so sorry.” His brows furrow together immediately, trying to hush your apology, but you press a finger to his lips before he can do more than groan in disapproval. “I mean it, let me apologize,” you coax. Only when he has settled do you remove your finger from his lips, tickled by his constant puckering to hiss it. “It took me reading these letters to finally learn that all this time you’ve done nothing but look out for me. You have always been there for me, taking all of my doubts in stride with a calm confidence I sometimes took as shallow or lukewarm feelings, and for that I am so sorry.” “In these letters you’ve told me about your own anxieties and fears, and I want to assure you the way you’ve always done for me by saying I will never turn away from you.” You hold his face again, gently cupping his cheeks and smiling sadly at the cute way his cheeks squish his face, “Ever.” You kiss his puckered lips and continue, “I am sorry I ever doubted you, even if you tell me I don’t need to be. It doesn’t feel fair that while I had all of these issues, you were there with nothing but faith, proclaiming with a profound clarity that we would both make it out on the other side, even if I couldn’t see it.” “Stop it,” he fusses gently. “No,” you poke the end of his nose and continue, “So I want you to know how sorry I am and that I promise you when I say I am in love with you- I mean it.” He smiles, “Can I talk now?” Grinning in return, you nod. “I didn’t write those letters to make you feel bad about yourself for having doubts or fears. It’s normal, and I didn’t always have just blind faith. I had my own doubts about how much you felt our connection and how deep your feelings for me were.” He rewards your silent attention with a quick, chaste kiss. “The answer is probably not, but do you know how protective your head is of your heart?” His hand rises to prod at your forehead gently. He explains further, “All of the defense it has created to keep you safe so you don’t get hurt again is not a bad thing. I just had to be patient, steady and sure about my feelings towards you. I knew you would figure it out.” “Looking back over the last year at the progress we’ve made, at least to me, has really made us stronger. Look at how far we’ve come, Y/N. Not just as individuals, but together. I don’t know if it looks the same as mine, but I imagine the colors of your world feel a lot richer with me in them, right?” He looks at your eyes for confirmation, and you nod, “It’s the same for me, too. You make me a better person, and I love you. The good and the bad and the sad and that’s okay. Relationships don’t have to be just good stuff all of the time. There is so much more complexity involved, but we’re supposed to be in it together.” “I know that now.” You affirm, laying your head on his shoulder and snuggling further into him. “Good.” He whispers, kissing your forehead. Already, you want to reread the letters. After a few silent moments pass between you listening to the sound of quiet happiness, you lift your head from his neck to look at him. “Can I tell you something?” you wonder aloud, letting your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He looks up at you and hums, “You’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?” It pulls a smile to your lips as you nod, ensuring you have his full attention. Remembering the contents of the letters, you have to tease him as you admit, “My god you’re cheesy!” You’re now sure the sound of your mutual laughter is one of your favorites. It takes a minute for both of you to quell, settling into a pile of happiness. Once more, for good measure, you feel the urge to tell him again. Taking his cheeks in your hands again, you dip your head until your forehead rests on his and a kiss is granted to his lips. “I love you.” End.

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