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seventfics · 3 years ago

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Lionhearted

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Talking in your Sleep Relationships: Cirilla/Morvran Voorhis (+ background Emhyr/Geralt) Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: Before her future reign can begin, Cirilla has to commit to the trust exercise that is an arranged marriage. If only her sleep would be peaceful.

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* * *

“...Cirilla?”

Ciri stirs fully awake at a gentle touch over her shoulder. It is a miracle she does not lash out instinctively and break something. Her limbs feel tight, aching by how tense they’d become in sleep. The faint shadows of a nightmare still dance behind her eyes. She hears the clopping of hooves, the horses of the Wild Hunt approaching—the cold blast of winter hits her as if naked in the snow.

Pure imagination. The bedroom is warm-lit by a hearth. It is summer, and she is safe. She is more than safe.

The touch that rose her pulls her back from the lingering vision of doom. She turns to light eyes, pinched in worry.

“Sorry..." She draws the sheets closer, her wild hair a fan over her face. The room is warm, but a chill runs under her skin all the same. "Did I disturb you?”

Morvran studies her. He sits a comfortable distance away from her. The monstrously-large bed makes that easy. “Not really.”

Slowly, her muscles unwind from their tense curl. A minute passes, and she’s tired again. “Don’t let me keep you awake,” she says rolling on her side, and then, almost a whisper, “you know, you can call me Ciri.”

* * *

The final battle is over. It has been for a peaceful few years. And yet, her mind stays restless, ready for the next enemy to come tearing through her life. So far it’s only been arrogant old men with predictable ambitions, which is pitiful compared to the ageless Aen Elle that had chased her through time and space, and the world-ending White Frost waiting at the end of it all. Really, they should step up their game if they want to make her sweat.

Her dreams made of frost and blood do most of the work for them. It's inescapable. Exhausting.

Every time she wakes from snow clogging her lungs, she sees Morvran had stirred awake in the night, and she apologizes with genuine-felt guilt.

Her husband is always polite about it, which is hard for her to accept at first. Experience tells her to expect a confrontation, or a fight about affecting him with her sleeplessness. But Morvran—she discovers quickly into their spousal arrangement—is quiet company, even if sometimes he seems a little on edge himself. A soldier's nervousness lies behind his gaze. The General without a war to fight. At least she’s not the only one struggling with peacetime.

They say that marriage forges a bond between two souls. That is what her father—of all people—tells her on one of their joint-breakfast mornings.

“There is a responsibility there," Emhyr says with enviable composure. "He is the only one’s opinion you must consult and rely on with matters of state.”

Ciri nearly scoffs. “Not even yours then?”

“Not even mine. Do you not trust him?”

She thinks long after that, a little angry with his nonchalance. Of course she doesn't. Of course it's not that easy. Ask any other lady or princess what their marriage gave them and see if any one of them bring up the word trust. Her father is biased. His own marriage had been sown by destiny's hand.

And yet, after the whispers of dark dreams rouse her at night, she does trust Morvran to be near, to remind her with his presence that she is no longer a child running from great and powerful enemies anymore. She is the daughter of the Black Sun. Nothing can touch her now.

Would be nice to sleep well again on her own soon, though.

Emhyr accepts her silence and sips his tea while it is still warm. He doesn't say anything about the dark circles under her eyes, and she doesn't talk about why they're there.

Geralt visits not a day after, the first time after her marriage, and he sure won't let it go unaddressed.

“I'm fine, Geralt. Haven’t slept well is all.”

That is all she's willing to say, not wanting to bother him too much when he'd arrived so happy to greet her. But it’s Geralt. He knows her better than anyone. Better than she knows herself.

"Haven't slept? You know what that does to your clarity of mind. And are you doing anything about it? Is it the mattress? I tell you, they make them too soft in the south. You need a little firmness to stop you when you're tossing..."

His fussing calms her heart. The opposite would be just as true. If he panics, all her own worries neutralize as she remembers how to think straight for him. They are each other's pillars.

So he frets, and she waves him off, feeling a little better by the second.

Tea together in the garden is a relaxing surprise activity with him, although now that he's brought up the topic of modern furniture and poor craftsmanship, Geralt is grouching about how uncomfortable the chairs are.

“They’re meant to keep your spine straight," she says, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, and it’s crap. Doesn’t fit all of me.”

“That’s because you’re carrying fifty pounds of armor and steel. You might not want to rest all your weight on it actually.”

Geralt purposely leans back on his chair, the wood giving an alarming creak. “Are you calling me fat?”

She laughs at him so hard the Impera keeping guard from the garden's entrance twitch their heads to them. They act like a sign of joy from her is a terrifying dragon come to burn the palace down.

“I miss that,” Geralt mutters with a fake pout.

“What? My laughter?”

“Your…ease with it. I know being empress is nothing to scoff at." At the mention of her future court, Ciri touches her imperial diadem—both a symbol of her patrimony and a wedding band. Geralt tracks the gesture. The sigh he gives is heavy and long. "I mean, shit, this whole marriage thing attached to it isn’t what either of us planned for."

The metal warms under her rubbing thumb. "None of what's happened in our journey ever has been."

A witcher's path is unpredictable. One lives by the day and learns to adapt to what comes. And she's doing that still. Adapting like a witcheress. Soon, she'll have to start thinking more like an empress.

"The General," Geralt starts, and she refocuses on him and the serious set of his brow. "He’s a good man at least. A little…eccentric I think, but he is one of the better ones in Emhyr’s court.”

Now it's her turn to grumble, “I know. It’s annoying. I wish I could have a reason to hate him but he’s so…ugh, mannerly!”

This time Geralt laughs, and for a moment, Ciri is a witcher’s child in the wilds again, punting her father’s shoulder for a dumb joke he's pulled at her expense.

She stops suddenly when a familiar figure, all shoulders and dark colors to contrast his light hair, comes through the garden gates. 'Speak of the devil' might be a rude thought to have, yet it perfectly encapsulates how luck draws its cards on her this morning.

“Geralt of Rivia!” comes Morvran’s happy voice. “I thought I heard the rumble of bickering servants on the way here. Now I understand what displeased them so.”

“I’m not wearing their black-and-white cotton traps and you can’t make me.”

Ciri blinks between them. It surprises her how well Geralt gets along with him, and how openly joyous Morvran is being about his company—and yes, she would call him joyous even as his face is subtle in expressing it. Breaking courtly address would normally upset her recently-made husband no matter the suspect. And yet Geralt, who does not mean to do it intentionally, receives no such berating speeches on etiquette and formality. Actually, Morvran shakes his hand the northern way of greeting. Maybe he's good at adapting too.

“Of course not, sir witcher," Morvran says with his other hand raised in acquiescence. "There is no dire interrogation to fulfill at this hour.”

"Don't threaten me with a free clean shave again." To her, he offers a parting, “Alright. I've taken up enough of your time, I’m gonna head out.”

Her heart sinks at the cursory goodbye. This is her father in all but blood leaving her secure little bubble once more, to be a witcher without her. She is not a child anymore—he doesn't ruffle her ashen hair, though she dearly wants him to for old time's sake. It would mess up her diadem and the intricate plaiting of the braids behind her head.

She is not a child anymore, and yet she is already melancholy at the quick turn of his back.

"See you later, Geralt." Her words are a promise. We will see each other again.

As he steps into the flower path that winds back to the guards, Morvran calls out, “His imperial majesty is currently in a meeting.”

Geralt stops. He looks, for some reason, abashed. “What? Why are you telling me that?”

“I thought you would be privy to that information." Morvran shrugs in dismissal. "Va faill."

It's almost funny how fast Geralt stomps out of the garden. As Ciri observes the exchange, all her previous heartache is swept under the rug. There is something she's not picking up. Fortunately it's not all she has to talk about to her present, lingering company.

“It’s weird that you two actually get along.” At her words, Morvran turns to her with open surprise.

“Geralt of Rivia is a genial man," he says, his hands meeting behind his back as is Nilfgaardian custom in public. "I believe anyone would be glad to refresh their acquaintance with him.”

Ciri, who was not raised with said customs and is instead being tutored in them with little success, snorts. Loudly.

“You just like that you can rope him into joining a riding competition on a promise of free food.”

Under all his Nilfgaardian powder, Morvran blushes. She can see it in his ears.

She laughs at him too.

* * *

It’s another night of bad dreams. Her memories have toyed with her enough that now she is witness to futures she cannot control. Geralt alone on the Path, the Empire at war with itself from her negligence, all of her old friends, her family, broken apart and dying as she lives on.

She wakes slowly, not in a startle or a choked breath. Her body aches worse than if she had.

Morvran is already awake beside her, a frown set upon his lips.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Between waking and the dissipating fear of her nightmare, Ciri is caught completely off guard. “I...didn’t, no.”

He doesn't explain any more, choosing to give her space as he's done for previous interrupted nights. Part of her wants to ask more. She wants to hear what she had said—what nightmare had she been speaking into existence. Did he recognize anything? Did he want to ask, but simply refrain out of properness?

Whatever it is she uttered in fever sleep, she lets it go. Talking about it now would be worse, somehow. Like making her nightmares a real, concrete thing.

Sleep still fights her long into the night. It does not come a second time. Which is good, as she opens her eyes to a timely assassination.

The weapon under her pillow slides into her hand not a breath later. She always keeps something sharp and deadly there. Good habit, both her fathers would say, for different reasons.

Before the assassin can strike, Ciri blinks in between time. They are dead where they stand, frozen mid-step, collapsing the very next instant time moves for her.

In the commotion that follows, everyone wakes. The emperor looks as regal and rested as always and Ciri envies that as her hair resembles a rat’s nest, mussed from the fear-sweat of her haunted sleep. At least Morvran is just as unkempt as her. They make quite the competition for most messy bedhead, side by side. And though the hours stretch on, from private meetings to argued suspicions, Morvran looks in his element. Her element.

Put an enemy in front of them and they will beat it down until it’s rid of.

Her mind is driven to this new task. Securing entry points, questioning any guards that had slack. Her edges feels frayed—sticking to Morvran like a shadow as they move from room to room, servant to official, order to action, way past sunrise. Her angry expression turns any worried servant away from asking for her imperial majesty to eat.

The assassin had tried to kill him. And no one seems to be that concerned since her own head is still attached to her shoulders. Not even Morvran.

Things calm down well past noon. They both return tired and dry-eyed to their arranged room.

She touches his sleeve and holds his weary gaze. “If you die I won’t forgive you.”

Morvran nods, like she makes sense. “I would never plan on it. It would upset your father.”

For a second, Ciri doesn’t know which one he means, and that makes her smile stupidly, at its pure truth.

She wipes her grin off before Morvran has a chance to politely appreciate it.

* * *

“You’re antsy.”

Ciri hums, taking a bite of her deviled eggs. “I'm not antsy.”

“You are bending the good fork.”

She stares down at her hand and finds that Emhyr is right and the fork is just a little twisted at the neck.

"I'm sure someone's job is to fix it. Just, call them."

Nothing in her posture or her expression could possibly tell Emhyr what sits heavy in her head, short of him being a mindreader. And yet, somehow, he pieces everything together correctly to ask, “Would it be so terrible for you to like him?”

Ciri sighs, looking up at the ornate chandelier, begging it to crash down on her and get her out of this conversation. Because she already does like Morvran, quite a lot, and it is terrible. She would hate to admit to her father that he is right. He’ll never live it down.

Of course, she doesn't need to say anything at all. Her godsdamned mind-reading father already knows. When did he learn to read her so effortlessly?

...Has he been consulting Geralt?

However it may be, Emhyr clears his throat and straightens his fork on his side of the breakfast table. “Some people," he says as she sulks internally, "are fortunate and marry the one they love. Others find a way to make it work.”

At his following pause, Ciri straightens in her seat to meet his gaze. His silences are always weighty and grave.

“I hope that he is worth the work,” he ends.

Then the moment passes, and he's eating again. Leaving her to contemplate alone what it means that her father, the emperor, might actually want her to be happy with the man who would share her rule once she is officially crowned. It's...it's trusting. It's too much to think about so early in the morning.

Being who she is, however, Ciri returns to the source of her sulk and the many questions it created.

“So, have you spoken with Geralt?”

Emhyr drinks his tea very slowly. “Of course not. Had he anything important to relay to me?”

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “I'm sure you know he came to visit recently, but you don’t ask me what we talked about?”

“Whatever it is you two get up to does not concern me.”

She hums, sipping her own tea. “It’s funny I guess, I thought you asked of him through Morvran.”

Emhyr sets his cup down, narrowing his eyes in thought. As he studies her, she keeps on sipping her tea until it’s finished. “Just curious,” she adds before parting for the day. Give him something to puzzle over that isn't her.

* * *

'Did you know you talk in your sleep?'

Only two nights of the next seven does she stir awake. Not from bad dreams, exactly. Not from dark memories or anxious fears either. Ciri rubs her face now, frustrated, pulled from sleep again for no apparent reason.

Morvran is awake beside her, as he always is. His face is not pressed with a frown, though. She can't stop thinking on his words so casually spoken the night an assassin tried to take him from her, and settles back onto her enormous pillows.

“...What did I say this time?”

“Oh,” he blinks at her, and it’s sleepy and lazy, not at all very general-like. “Something about a swallow. That you miss it. Did you used to own a bird?”

She closes her eyes briefly, oddly at peace with her sleep talking. He had listened to her secret fears for all these nights, her haunted screams, and made them his own secrets.

If she could trust him to know that, then, it is not so difficult to trust him with the more simple things.

“No. Swallow was the name of my sword. I carried her with me everywhere.”

“Ah. Where is she now?”

“I gave her to Geralt before I came to be here. A witcher’s sword is not something I can wield from a throne.”

He touches his hand to her cheek, the first time he’s breached courtly etiquette with her. It is warm and callused.

“I am confident that sir Geralt keeps Swallow sharp and oiled so that the blade stays strong. I am...sorry,” he says with more awkwardness.

She covers his hand with her own, a little laugh escaping her when he blinks rapidly at her returned touch, like he had not expected it at all. “It's alright. I entrusted her to him.”

Marriage forges a bond between two people.

#morvran x ciri #rarepair summer bingo #tt #myfics

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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 4 years ago

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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.

#allotrope #junmyeon x reader #suho x reader #junmyeon smut #suho smut #exo fanfiction #exo smut #junmyeon angst #suho angst #junmyeon fluff #suho fluff #exo angst #exo fluff #exo x reader #junmyeon fanfic #suho fanfic #exo fanfic #junmyeon x you #suho x you

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kingreywrites · 4 years ago

Text

Before Something Breaks (that cannot be fixed)

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 6843

Summary: She can't bet Eugene's survival on her hope, Rapunzel understands with a start. It's as if time resumes its course, and suddenly she realises that Eugene is still alive, still fighting and she needs to do something.

Or Eugene doesn't bleed out quite as fast as he does in the movie. Rapunzel desperatly tries to save him.

Note: HAPPY TANGLED ANNIVERSARY!! I’ll spare you my half-coherent sappy speech, just know that I love this movie and this fandom with my whole heart and that my life wouldn’t be the same without it :’) I hope you like this story, and have a great day!!

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Her mother's yell echoes for what feels like forever. Some part of her brain whispers that she should call her Gothel, because she was never her mother, but that only makes her eyes sting with tears of pain and fear and anger. The window she had spent her childhood looking out appears dim and frightening now, and she wonders what she would see, if she looked down this time. She wonder what mother- Gothel- she wonders if she's-

Eugene, her mind screams, shaking her from her thoughts. "Eugene," she repeats out loud, turning towards him quickly, and her blood freezes when she sees him lying prone and motionless on the ground.

She doesn't think as she hosts him up in her lap - she can't think beyond the terror gripping her. Eugene is too limp, too heavy, and her ears are buzzing too loudly for her to hear herself repeat "no" over and over again, as if she can say it enough for him to listen.

His cheek is still warm when she touches it lightly, unsure of what she can even do. When Eugene coughs, the sound feeble and pained, her relief tastes like poison. He's hurt, and she can't- she can't- His head lolls to the side again, and she feels like she can't breathe.

"Look at me," she pleads, intimately aware that she's the only thing keeping his head up, that he doesn't seem able to even open his eyes. "Look at me Eugene," she repeats, "I'm right here." She brushes his hair away with her trembling hands and trembling voice, hoping he can hear her, that she can comfort him just as much he did her before he… Before he cut her hair, and doomed himself for her.

He doesn't open his eyes. Rapunzel feels like she's dying along with him, because that's the only thing that could explain the terrible pain building up in her chest.

"Don't go, stay with me Eugene," she begs him, before begging the universe to listen to her one last time.

She takes his hand in hers, ignores how cold and unresponsive it is, brings it to her hair and sings. She sings, and hopes against hope that everything will be alright, that her gift will answer to her like it did all her life. It has never been as important as today. She's falling apart at the second line, because she knows it's not working. When she sang the incantation, the warmth always built from within her, before her hair started to glow but now... Now she's cold. Empty. She keeps going against the sobs that violently try to escape, keeps going despite her hope abandoning her - but Eugene whispers her name, and she stops for him. Of course she does.

His eyes are open now, but she can see how hard he's struggling to keep it that way. He does it for her, and she knows that. Knows that once again, he's fighting his own pain and fear to be with her, to reassure her. His hand has slipped from her hair to her face, and though she's still the only thing keeping it raised, Eugene's fingers twitch as he tries to cup her cheek. Her eyes are welling up, burning with an emotion she can't admit yet, but she blinks the tears out as best as she can to look at him.

He seems tired. He seems scared. He's obviously in pain, his face too pale when she remembers it glowing warmly under the light of the lanterns.

"You were my new dream," he breathes out, and it feels like the world is crashing down around her, because her heart bursts with love and terror and sorrow, all at the same time. She wonders if this is grief. Wonders if there's anything she can do to fix this.

"And you were mine," she whispers, because that's the only thing she can say. She hopes he understands everything she's trying to tell him here; hopes he knows that the lanterns suddenly pale in comparison to the joy and love he makes her feel, and that she's never felt as strongly about anything before. She holds his hand as tightly as she dares, deathly afraid of hurting him.

Eugene smiles. Rapunzel's heart is bleeding, even if no one can see it.

He opens his mouth, trying to say something else, but a deep, rattling cough interrupts him, and he grows even paler. She didn't think it was possible. His expression twists with the pain, and Rapunzel is hit by the weight of her own inability to help him. What is she, now that she's not useful? What does her dearly desired freedom mean, faced with the loss of the man she already loves so deeply?

Eugene's hand feels heavier than her hair ever was, when she carefully lays it next to him. His breathing is laboured, and she can hear his lungs straining against the shock settling over his body. Her hands hover above his wound, and her first thought is that she should try to finish her song, that maybe- maybe-

She can't bet Eugene's survival on her hope, she understands with a start. It's as if time resumes its course, and suddenly she realises that Eugene is still alive, still fighting and she needs to do something. She can't spend that precious time wallowing. She takes another look at his wound, trying to think about what she can do now that she doesn't have any magic left. His gasps of pain break her heart a little more, and she knows she needs to think quickly.

She remembers that, when she had been drawing in the public place, a little girl had fallen, and hurt her knee. Rapunzel had touched her hair worriedly, because she had felt guilty that she couldn't help, and Eugene, who had immediately noticed, had assured her that people healed naturally. "Sure, magic is quicker," he had added jokingly, "but doctors have learned to do without it for a while now."

Doctors. She needs to find help.

Her mind is muddled, going through every of her possibilities, though the first one she rejects outright is leaving Eugene alone and hurt while she seeks help. She might be faster by herself, but if he- if he's alone when- she refuses to leave him. There's only one thing left to do, and it's taking him with her to the Kingdom - her Kingdom. She may not know much about Corona, or royalty, but she knows being the Lost Princess will mean that they'll help her.

Most importantly, that they'll help Eugene.

Looking around, she gets up quickly to grab the closest tool she finds, brushing off the tears from her eyes. She would cry later; for now, she raises her hammer and strikes as hard as she can on the chain of the manacles. Her wrists are still burning from her time being bound; she had fought, of course she had, panic and horror in her throat because it was her mother and nothing made sense anymore, but she hadn’t managed to get free. She finds a sick comfort in striking the metal over and over again now, muscles hurting and arms trembling from the adrenaline.

The chain finally breaks. Rapunzel is shivering, but she can't stop to think about it. She pats Eugene's face as tenderly as possible, and he opens his eyes to a slit - but he doesn't seem able to meet her gaze. His skin is cold and clammy, and Rapunzel feels like crying, but she doesn't have the time for that.

"This is going to hurt," she whispers, loud in the silence of her broken childhood home. "I'm sorry."

His lips twitch, but he doesn't answer - she'll probably never know what he was trying to say. She takes one of his arms and passes it around her shoulders, this motion enough to make him whimper in pain. She repeats how sorry she is, again as she makes him sit up and he cries out, again as she gets them both standing in one swift movement, again as she sees a tear slips through his tightly closed eyes.

And again. And again. And again, because Eugene can't even hold himself up, and she feels his blood flowing under the palm of her hand, and he's hurt, terribly hurt, and it's all her fault. Now look what you've down Rapunzel, she thinks bitterly as each step of the staircase she had only discovered today feels like torture. The soft moans of pain coming from Eugene are preferable to his silence, but it's a terrible kind of preference. It means that he's alive, and that he's suffering, all because she was too gullible, too naive to see beyond her mother's lies.

She stumbles, nearly makes them fall, and the wrenched noise coming from Eugene is enough to make her dissolve in excuses and void reassurances, but it's not enough. It won't be enough until she saves him - but this thought is enough to spur her into motion again.

She's breathing heavily for the last steps, and Eugene is too, for different reasons. She doesn't feel like she'll be able to survive the abominable fear within her heart, not when she can hear how laboured and pained his breaths are. If he dies-

Maximus meets her at the base of the tower, looking scared. He startles when he sees Eugene barely hanging onto her shoulder, blood starting to stain the top of his trousers, and nothing of the confident thief he had spent these last years chasing. Rapunzel takes another step, and Maximus comes closer quickly, kneeling to make it easier for her and Eugene to climb.

She helps Eugene sit down first, before moving his right leg on the other side of the saddle. She sees as he clumsily tries to help, but he's too weak, and immediately starts to fall sideways - she keeps him sitting up as best as she can, and apologises again when a too sudden move makes him cry out softly. There's not enough apologies in the world to make this better. She sits down behind him, letting him rest against her chest, his hair tickling her neck as his head lolls on her shoulder. She holds him tightly, and tries to ignore the blood on her hands, and her dress, and Max's usually stark white coat.

She hears a squeak, and turns to see Pascal climbing next to her, looking sad and worried. Just like that, her guilt grows even bigger, because she nearly forgot her best friend in her panic; but Pascal pats her hand gently, settles on her thigh, and she knows she can't focus on that right now.

Maximus stands up again, and he takes off, going more quickly than Rapunzel ever went in her life. She has never ridden a horse before, but there's no joy to be found in the wind whipping through her hair and the scenery racing past her - she doesn't even notice these things. She's too busy listening to Eugene's raspy breathing, muttering comforting words that she's not sure he can hear, and praying, praying for everything to be alright.

She wants to believe in their happy ending. She wants to believe that unfairness has an end, that there is a kindness in the world that her mother had never seen, and that she deserves it. Rapunzel is tired of sacrifices.

She holds Eugene in her arms, and knows that she can neither wait nor give up on this new dream. She thinks about the future; thinks about it as much as she can when it feels like it's slipping through her fingers; and she knows that no matter what, she wants Eugene to be a part of it. She's certain already that the feeling blooming in her heart is love, that Eugene makes her feel seen and loved, and she doesn't want to go back to an existence without him. In three days, he gave her more than she had ever expected from life; he gave her comfort, and friendship, and trust. He gave her confidence, and pushed her to see that her life didn't have to stop at the lanterns, that she deserved more than what she had. He gave her the courage to stand up for herself, to reclaim the freedom that was taken from her so long ago.

And he gave her his life, too, or tried to, and now her only wish is to give it back. So she keeps Eugene nestled against her, and begs Maximus to go faster, knowing that he can't. Max still tries.

There's an irony in her place of birth being so close to her prison, but Rapunzel doesn't notice it, too busy panicking because she thought Eugene had stopped breathing. One hand under his neck, she seeks his heartbeat, and tries not to tremble when she finds it weak and uneven.

But Eugene is still breathing. It's an obvious struggle, but he does it. "It's gonna be okay," she whispers again, adjusting her grip on him. She can't let him fall. She won't let him die. "I'll save you. I promise."

Eugene doesn't answer. She knew he wouldn't, but it hurts nonetheless, because Eugene loves to talk, and tell dramatic stories, and laugh. She wants him to be able to do it again. She wants him to talk to her again, selfishly perhaps. She wants him to tell another stupid joke, and feel a smile so big on her face that it hurts her cheeks. She wants him to look at her again like she holds the universe in her eyes, she wants- she wants-

Maximus enters the kingdom at full speed, and she hears startled screams all around her as they rush through the streets.

"Halt!" someone yells, and Rapunzel sees the golden armours of the guards from the corner of her eyes, catching the sunlight as they run to corner them. Maximus is smarter than them, however, and manages to escape their strategy easily enough.

"It's Rider!" she hears too, the surge of protectiveness and anger within her another incentive to keep going, if she even needed one. She won't let anyone hurt Eugene more.

The horse's jumps and sharp turns save their lives, but make the travel rough, and Eugene's grunts of pain feel way louder and accusatory to Rapunzel than the chaos going on around them. Her hands are trembling. Her dress clings to her left leg because of the blood that Eugene is still losing, and the sensation is enough to make her want to cry, but she can't. Not now.

Maximus comes to a stop in front of the castle's doors, and what feels like hundreds of soldiers point arrows and spears at them. Rapunzel knows she can't be afraid.

"Rider! You!" a man shouts, and she recognises him as the one who ordered the soldiers around earlier. Their Captain? He's red with anger as he looks at them. "Both of you get down from this horse, you're under arrest!"

"I need help," Rapunzel says loudly, hating the tremors she can hear in her own voice. "He's hurt, and he needs a doctor."

The Captain pauses, his eyes not leaving Eugene, before a surprised smile appears on his face. "Well, at least he's gonna be easier to arrest that way. He's condemned to death anyway."

Eugene moans. She was holding him too tight. She breathes out an apology, and hopes he can't hear how furious she is. Still on Maximus, she towers above all these men, and feels the way her short hair moves with the wind as she raises herself up even more.

"You're going to let us through, and get us a doctor," Rapunzel orders harshly, "because I am the Lost Princess."

A heavy silence follows her declaration. For the first time, the Captain stops glaring at Eugene and looks at her, truly looks at her. She sees the mirth in his eyes slowly turns into awe, as shock, horror and a multitude of emotions play on his face. Rapunzel wonders if she looks like the mother she had seen on the mosaic, royal and graceful as she held her baby, strength shining in her delicate features; she wonders if she looks like the father at her side, eyes hard as he watched over those he loved, ready to protect them at any cost.

She knows that her eyes are as green as they were back then.

Chatters erupt among the soldiers, hiding the noise from the Captain's sword hitting the ground. His voice, however, cuts through the crowd easily.

"Lower your weapons."

"What-" "Cap!" "But-"

"I gave you an order!" Rapunzel feels like her entire body is buzzing with anxiety. The weapons are lowered. "Maximus, get them to the infirmary."

Just like that, they are moving again, the guards letting them go through the door. Rapunzel hears the Captain order someone to go find the King and Queen, but she's too focused on Eugene to care right now. She doesn't notice the beautifully decorated hallways, or the flock of guards following a horse inside the castle. She hears Eugene's raspy breathing, and feels how limp and heavy he is against her, and there's nothing else but these sensations in this moment.

They arrive in front of a door and nurses start piling out, assessing the situation in one glance and giving out instructions harshly. When guards try to help her lower Eugene, Rapunzel's first instinct is to fight them; fight to protect him while he can't, like he did for her before. Panic is choking her, but she comes to her senses, and lets them take him, as hard as it is. Quickly enough, Eugene is carried to a bed, and a woman is trying to ask her questions, but Rapunzel rushes past her mindlessly.

She's not going to leave Eugene alone. She thinks she says that out loud, because people look at her worriedly, before going back to their organised chaos. They force her to stay back a few feet from Eugene, and the distance feels like a physical strain.

There are too many people moving and talking around her, so she focuses on Eugene's face, the glimpses she gets of it, and ignores the way her stomach twists with fear. They're taking off his jacket, and the patch of bright red on his white undershirt makes her want to puke.

"-kay?"

"Huh?" Rapunzel startles, meeting a young woman's concerned face.

"Are you okay?" She points at the blood on her hands and on her dress. Rapunzel feels herself shake, and wishes the courage she had found in herself earlier hadn't faded away so easily. She feels young, and very stupid, suddenly.

"It's his," she chokes out, and that's enough to garner a look of pity and compassion - but she's already looking back at Eugene. She wants to hold his hand. Wants him to know that she's here, that she got help, that everything is going to be alright. She wants to believe that too, that soon she'll feel the steady and sure beat of his heart on his wrist, his breathing calm and peaceful.

She tries to take a step towards him, dizzy and terrified, but someone stops her. She's numb as she recognizes the Captain, his eyes disbelieving and, now, full of a certain softness as he watches her. It's a far cry from the hatred he had shown earlier.

"Rider needs space, your Highness."

"Eugene," she corrects, harsher than she intended, "his name is Eugene." And I'm Rapunzel, she doesn't add, still reeling from the title. She's convinced him fully, somehow, that she was telling the truth, but she still has trouble believing it herself.

"Eugene," the Captain repeats, but doesn't seem to care all that much - he's too focused on her this time.

"He- he saved my life. I just want him to know that… that I'm here," she stutters. It’s woefully inadequate to describe what Eugene did for her, but she’s not sure if that’s something she can truly explain. Every word feels lacking.

"Where... We searched for you," the Captain says fervently, as if he's scared she doesn't believe him. She doesn't care much about that, right now. "Everywhere, every year, we sent soldiers to find you. I swear-"

"It's okay," she mumbles, before cringing and repeating it louder. Her eyes keep straying to Eugene's prone form, hidden away by the medics around him, and the more she's away, the more terrified she feels. "I just want… I just want Eugene to be fine. Then I'll be fine."

The Captain grimaces, and she remembers dizzily that he hates Eugene. Or maybe he thinks Eugene won’t be fine? Before he can try to say anything, however, a nurse starts yelling that there are too many people here, and asks everyone who isn't necessary to leave. Rapunzel's head is swimming, her feeling both overwhelming and muted, and she's trying to come up with an argument to be allowed to stay - but, before she says anything, the Captain intervenes in her favour, and as easy as that, they move her around and sit her on a chair next to Eugene's bed. He has blood on his lips, and her eyes are glued to this speck of red against his too pale skin.

Time is moving too fast and too slowly. She blinks, and suddenly she has a blanket over her shoulders, and she feels Pascal holding her hand under it, hiding so he doesn't scare anyone. Her other hand is holding Eugene's though. It's the same hand that she healed, not even one two days ago. The same hand that cut her hair, and set her free at the same time it condemned him.

His wound is now bandaged. Her eyes go to it, and she sees that it's starting to bleed through anyway, his chest rising and falling achingly slowly.

"Miss?"

"Rapunzel," she says, noticing that there are way less people around Eugene now. There's still a guard at the door, and the same young woman from earlier is looking at her again, a kind smile on her face. “Is he… How is he?”

The woman bites her lips. That’s not a good sign. Rapunzel thinks distantly that she can still count on her fingers the number of people she talked to directly in her life, and she wonders if it’s why nothing seems to make sense. Her head hurt, like it sometimes does after a good, long cry, but she hasn’t spilled a tear since she saw Eugene abandon her - though now, she knows he didn’t want to.

Will she be able to ask him what happened? Will she be able to talk to him ever again?

The nurse is talking to her, but the buzzing in Rapunzel’s ears blocks most of it out. Her voice is nice, low and soothing, talking to her like she talked to hurt animals that sometimes ended up in her tower. The nurse’s hands are cold against hers, but she helps her wash off the blood with a wet towel, and Rapunzel is frantic to get it off, letting go of Eugene’s hand for a few minutes that feel like years. The other woman tries to get a look at the chaffing on her wrists, but Rapunzel doesn't let her, instead taking Eugene's hand again, because she wants him to know she’s here. She hopes he’s not scared. He doesn’t look conscious of much right now, but there are lines of pain around his eyes, and his mouth is twisted, and she’s… She’s worried. Terrified. She doesn't even notice the nurse leaving her side; she isn't aware of anything but Eugene.

Rapunzel did everything she could, but it doesn't feel like enough. So she watches over him, and silently swears to protect him, to never let anything else happen to him if only he can wake up for her this one time.

“Please,” she whispers, leaning towards Eugene, blind to the odd looks she was getting from the people in the room. “Just do this last thing for me, and I’ll never ask anything again, I promise.”

It’s the kind of promises that Gothel would have liked. But Eugene, she remembers, fought for her happiness, and sacrificed- tried to sacrifice everything for her freedom. Gently, Rapunzel pushes his hair from his eyes, and tries to come up with better words, a better promise that Eugene would want to listen to. And she knows it’s not money, not an island, not her crown that Eugene wants; it’s not her hair either, not her devotion, not her obedience and loyalty. He's not Gothel. He's not Flynn Rider. He's sweet, selfless, courageous Eugene Fitzherbert, and she loves him.

“I don’t think I can be happy without you,” she admits to him, and to herself.

She was scared to even think about it, this possible “after Eugene” that she can barely conceive. She still is. There’s no after that seems worthwhile, and her own words make it all the more obvious to her. But she’s still holding his hand, and he’s still breathing, despite it all, and she’s certain that, more than anything, Eugene wants her happiness.

So she promises him that there’s nothing that could make her as happy as his survival, and hopes that it will be enough. It has to be.

------

Doctors and nurses keep coming in and out of the room. They check on Eugene, and refuse to meet her eyes as they leave again, looking more worried than before. Rapunzel tries not to care. She wants to ignore everything but Eugene; wants to forget about the guard still standing here, as if Eugene was ready to spring up and flee the crown; wants to forget about the murmurs surrounding her, and the word "princess" people keep muttering. There were more people in the city, but Rapunzel has never felt as crowded as now.

The door opens. There’s a gasp, that Rapunzel nearly misses, so focused as she is on ignoring everything but Eugene. But she still hears it, and curiosity makes her look up.

When she raises her head, she meets eyes that are as green as hers.

She sees, from the corner of her eyes, a nurse curtsying before leaving the room quickly. The guard leaves too, without anyone having to ask him to. But Rapunzel barely notices it - her eyes are glued on the people who just entered the room; on the woman taking an unsteady step forward, looking exactly like her, and on the tall man behind her, his face a mixture of awe and shock.

The Queen and the King.

Her mom and her dad.

Something uncurls in her chest, and as she gets up slowly, still holding Eugene’s hand, she knows this… This feels right. This feels like the key to understanding a mystery she didn’t even know was there, feels like looking into a mirror and finally seeing in her appearance something that resembles home.

Rapunzel doesn't know who took the last step, but suddenly, her- her mom is holding her tightly in her arms, and she melts. Her mom is... She’s warm. She smells like flowers, somehow. And then Rapunzel’s dad is here, a steady and strong presence enveloping her, and it’s better than all the hugs Gothel ever gave her.

She doesn't know them, but she can sense how genuine their love is in the teary laughs from her father, and the contained shaking from her mom. And deep down, she wonders if she can finally fall apart here, secure in the idea that there will be someone to pick up her pieces.

Her hand still hasn't left Eugene's. They're all standing awkwardly next to his bed, and she knows she can't let herself cry now, not yet, not when he still needs her to be strong for him. Her mom’s hand trails down from her shoulder, before hovering above Rapunzel and Eugene’s linked ones, and she’s the first one to look up from the hug so she can watch Eugene. Her eyes crease with concern, and Rapunzel lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, because they don’t seem to hate Eugene. She won’t have to defend him from their words, won’t have to hear their disappointment in her choice of friends, won’t have to fight to heal h- for them to try to heal him.

“Is this…”

“Eugene,” Rapunzel interrupts softly, before biting her lips. “I- He’s the one who… saved me.”

“And we will do anything in our power to save his life, sweetheart,” her dad says, his voice low and warm. He still has tears in his eyes when he cups her cheek softly, as if he’s scared to touch her. “Is… Is your name…?”

“I’m Rapunzel,” she answers, suddenly wondering if that’s another thing Gothel took from her, another part of her identity that was lost all those years.

She’s reassured by her mom’s warm expression. “That’s the name we choose for you. After the flower that saved your life, and mine,” she smiles, brushing Rapunzel’s hair away from her eyes. “I missed you so much.”

Rapunzel isn’t sure what to say to that. She didn’t miss them, not really, because she didn’t know there was anyone she could miss - but she had been missing them, in a way. She can’t really explain. They don’t look like they expect an explanation, anyway.

They tell her their names, Frederic and Arianna. She’s not sure if they would be okay with her calling them that - Gothel absolutely hated being called anything but mother. Thankfully, she’s saved the awkward question by a little squeak from under the blanket.

Pascal pokes his head out. The queen gasps, and Rapunzel is already preparing her excuses, ready to beg mother to let her keep him because she doesn’t think she can survive without Pascal or without Eugene and she can’t-

“Aww,” her mom smiles, booping Pascal’s head. “And who’s that little guy?”

Eugene’s hand is still heavy in her own, but for an instant, Rapunzel feels lighter. She explains who Pascal is, and wishes that there was a soft and joking voice next to her arguing that he was a frog, not a chameleon.

But Eugene stays unconscious, and despite being surrounded by new people that love her, Rapunzel feels lonely.

------

The night is cold.

Rapunzel still has the blanket they gave her earlier, but she's shivering despite it. Everything is silent, except for her breathing and Eugene's, though his is so quiet she has to strain to hear it.

"This night will be tough," the doctors had said to her parents, when they thought she was too far away and distracted to listen. "There's a chance that Mr. Fitzherbert won't make it."

Her dad (the word still felt new in her mind, because she never had a dad before, and never thought she would) had asked quietly about Eugene's odds, and she didn't hear the doctors' response, but their faces were answer enough.

She hates the hopelessness that's growing within her. She hates that she can't be strong enough to ignore the crushing panic and fear that Eugene is going to die.

She doesn't want to grieve him.

When her parents told her that she had a bedroom for the night, and that she needed to get some sleep, she said that she wanted to stay here. When they assured her that Eugene wouldn't be alone, she asked if she could be the one who looked after him, if they could be left alone. Her parents couldn't refuse her anything. (Some part of her mind whispers that it's because they think Eugene will die, and don't want to keep her away. Rapunzel is too tired to fight it.)

Her chair is close enough to the bed that she can rest her head on the pillow easily, but she's too scared of falling asleep to do it. She hadn't slept the night before already, instead walking all night with her heart in her throat and her mother- Gothel at her side as they made their way back to the tower. The exhaustion is making her jittery now, but if she closes her eyes and Eugene dies, she will never forgive herself.

Eugene coughs. It sounds like he's breathing broken glass, and Rapunzel can only stroke his cheek gently, trying to bring him comfort in the middle of this pain. She's not sure it means much, but just in case it does, she'll do it.

"It's gonna be okay," she says softly. "No matter what, Eugene, you'll be fine."

She realises halfway that this sounds like a goodbye. But Eugene is hurting, face pale and pinched as sweat makes his hair stick to his forehead. Eugene is hurting, and earlier she told him that he needed to wake up so she could be happy, but if he can't- if he dies, thinking that he was disappointing her, that he was responsible for her sadness, Rapunzel would never forgive herself.

So this is a goodbye, maybe. She doesn't want it to be.

"Thank you," she breathes, bringing her face close enough that her nose nearly touches his.

The moonlight is the only thing illuminating the room, and it's oddly reminiscent of their time in the flooding cave, the darkness revealing their softness and vulnerabilities. Eugene Fitzherbert, he had told her, a shy and awkward smile on his lips - but a genuine smile, which shone brighter than her hair ever did, and gave her the faith to keep going.

"Thank you, for everything," she repeats, her heart and her voice breaking as one. Her lips tremble. Eugene's breathing sounds slower, more difficult as time goes on. "Thank you for breaking into my tower," she laughs wetly, "and for making me meet all these wonderful people. Thank you for taking me to the lanterns and- and thank you for making me see how much more life had to offer."

Thank you for saving me, she can't bring herself to say, because she has never wished for anything more than for Eugene to have been a little bit more selfish. He should have saved himself, her mind keeps screaming, with an accusatory and angry tone she barely recognises. (“You should have saved him,” it yells even louder. Rapunzel squashes the self-hatred, knowing that it will come back with a vengeance later.)

She puts her hand above his heart softly, and feels the slow and jerky inhales of his lungs, and knows that she failed. She failed, and she lied, because she didn't save him, and he's going to- he...

Eugene is going to die.

The tears she had managed to keep at bay until now flood her eyes. She sniffles quietly, and wonders if she made a difference at all, if all of this... if it helped Eugene, or only helped her. She wonders if that was her being selfish again, hurting those she loves because she wanted more of life than what it could give her.

But she can't regret fighting for Eugene. She knows he would have fought for her too, that he wouldn't be angry with her for wanting to be free, or to save his life.

"Thank you for being my new dream," she whispers, because she doesn't think she can voice the affection and hope and love he gave her in another way. Eugene had found exactly the right words, as he always seemed to do.

She might have dreamt it, but a smile seems to appear at the corner of his lips, tiny and fleeting before she can truly look at it. Eugene sighs, a little louder than before. She's close enough to see his face relaxing unnaturally. Close enough to hear that there's nothing to hear anymore. Close enough to feel when his chest doesn't rise up as it should.

Just like that, Eugene is dead.

Gently, feeling as if her hands aren't really hers, Rapunzel touches Eugene's cheeks, her thumbs tracing faint circles under his eyes. He's still warm. The night is still cold. And Rapunzel is freezing, her heart like ice into her chest, spreading numbness in her veins with every beat.

"Flower gleam and glow," she sings, without even thinking about it. Maybe she's seeking the warmth the incantation always gave her. Maybe she's not ready to give up yet. She doesn't know. She doesn't know, doesn't think, as she rests her forehead on Eugene's, her eyes blurred by tears.

(Let your power shine)

Rapunzel keeps singing. The words she knows by heart feel different on her tongue.

(Make the clock reverse)

(Bring back what once was mine)

They're bitter.

(Heal what has been hurt)

(Change the fates design)

They're desperate.

(Save what has been lost)

(Bring back what once was mine)

It's a hope she can't help but cling to, even though it's burning her. But the song doesn't answer. The warmth of the sun has disappeared, dying with Eugene, perhaps. It would make sense. He has brought light into her life, of course it would die with him.

"What once was mine," she finishes, thinking of everything they shared, everything they should still get to share together, because Eugene didn't deserve to die like this, not this young, not this painfully, not- not because of her.

Eugene deserved... They deserved a happy ever after.

She can't stop her tears any longer. There's no need to be strong anymore, so she crumbles and sobs over him quietly. The world feels small. Muted. Like it's narrowing around herself.

And then, there's a light.

She opens her eyes in time to see the remnants of a golden flower disappear from Eugene's cheek, colour coming back to his skin. Before she can process that, his wound starts glowing under the bandages, the strands of lights like warm and bright gusts of winds around her. She's breathless, eyes wide with disbelief as they switch between Eugene's face and the flower made of light erupting from his wound.

The light disappears as quickly as it came. There's a beat, a second when Rapunzel isn't quite sure what to expect, and her hands tremble as she tries and fails to push her hair out of her face.

Eugene blinks his eyes open, and whispers her name.

"Eugene?" she asks, because she's scared of believing it's over only to be hurt again, and she can't... she doesn't understand how-

"Did I ever tell you I've got a thing for brunettes?" he smiles, and that's such a Eugene thing to say that relief explodes in her chest all at once, and she scrambles on the bed to hug him, new sobs escaping her. He hugs her back tightly, his head on her shoulder, and he feels here and alive and strong - it's the best thing she has ever felt.

She can't stop holding him, even as she raises her head back up to look at him. She sees the tears in his own eyes, and the shy, happy smile on his lips, and she can't contain the love she holds anymore. She kisses him, and nearly cries when he kisses her back, both desperate and happy and an impossible mixture of other emotions too. He's warm under her. His pulse is fast, but it's because she's kissing him, and nothing else. He shuffles to sit up more correctly, and she hugs him again, whispering his name over and over, scared that it's all a dream.

But this feels real, like nothing has ever felt. The sun is rising slowly, but Rapunzel's sees its light already in the way Eugene's eyes shine when he looks at her.

"You saved me," he whispers, his nose touching hers. She thinks of all the ways she failed to do that, or at least tries to, but he's already cupping her cheek softly, as if he knew exactly where her mind would go. "I don't remember everything but... But I know you saved me. And even before that you- I... You saved me, Rapunzel. Thank you."

"Thank you," she answers with a laugh, tears tracking down her cheeks. This isn’t a goodbye anymore, and the realisation makes her hold on him even tighter, the tears falling faster. "Thank you for saving me too."

She’s not sure if she’s talking about him cutting her hair, or him coming back to her. Maybe it’s about him, making her see that she deserved to be free, that she was so much more than what Gothel wanted of her. Maybe it’s about his smile, shining brighter than the sunlight behind him, making her life brighter too, only by existing.

She hugs him again, as tight as she can, and knows that whatever it is, her statement still holds true. Eugene is her new dream, and she’s his - she may not be sure of what her future holds, but she knows she’ll have Eugene at her side for it. And there’s nothing that could make her happier.

#tangled #tangled the series #Rapunzel #Eugene Fitzherbert #Tangled 10th Anniversary

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sinsatmidnight · 5 years ago

Text

Cream

Pairing - Irene (Bae Joohyun) x Male Reader

Words - 2293

Sins - Smut, clothed sex, mutual masturbation

So it’s probably past Irene’s birthday already in all time zones, going by KST I’m about 13-14 hours late to post this during March 29, but a belated happy birthday to Bae Joohyun anyway! So I decided to write two works of her as a birthday special. The first is here, and the second is a female reader insert with a different plot that also ties in with the birthday theme, but that one will be up later as I rushed to finish at least one ASAP. I’m of course, still working on other works as well!

Birthday gifts. They’re one of the hardest things to find in the world. At least, they are if you care about the reaction of the person receiving it. And when that person is the love of your life, you care a lot. Of course, they’re hard enough to get for most people. When your girlfriend is a businesswoman rich enough to buy damn near anything she could possibly want, it just gets harder.

Two whole months before her birthday, you started looking for gifts. Weeks of trawling online shopping websites and apps gave you nothing. And so, you went out. Went into malls and shops and listened to recommendations from people selling shoes, dresses, gems and more. Didn’t find anything that felt right. About a week before a birthday, you finally settled on something. You would have to personally make the gift for her.

Which explains why you were in the kitchen baking a red velvet cake on the morning of your girlfriend’s birthday. You knew that her favourite type of cake was red velvet and you spent a lot of timing poring over online recipes to select what would hopefully be the best one. Will she like it? You certainly hope so.

You lived together but she was out working, so you had the house to yourself. You were done by lunch, so you spent some time after lunch getting some chores done, cleaning the house and such. And then you prepared dinner and packed it up for your girlfriend, Irene. She had earlier told you that she would be working late. And that is why you packed the cake in a box and bringing along with the food for dinner, dropped by her company to surprise her.

You eventually arrive at her company, navigating your way through the offices and workspaces. You find the rest of her entirely female team working outside her office. You know them well and have met them on many occasions. You gently knock a couple times on a desk. The four young women look up from their computers.

“Oh, you’re here for Irene? She’s in her office.”

“Sorry ladies, can I borrow her for about forty-five minutes? It’s her birthday, I baked her a cake and she hasn’t had dinner.”

The four of them shoo you towards Irene’s office. “Yeah, we know. Go, we won’t disturb you for a bit, don’t worry!”

“Thanks girls.”

You walk over to Irene’s office and knock on the door.

“Is that you Joy? Come in.” You hear your girlfriend’s voice, a little muffled by the door, mistaking you for one of her subordinates outside. You open the door and walk in, closing it shut behind you. You stand at the door, looking at Irene reading some sort of document with her back to you.

You’ve always wondered you have been lucky enough to have such a wonderful woman as your girlfriend. Irene turns heads. All heads. She’s not tall but knows how to make her legs look long and the word most people use to describe her face is ‘goddess’. Large eyes, fair skin, long sharp nose, long smooth dark hair. The fact that she’s a tough as nails businesswoman who’s very sweet in private only adds to her charm.

Irene’s dressed simply today, just a simple long-sleeved white shirt and short pink skirt plus heels of the same colour today. The skirt has a slit at the side that shows you more of those smooth thighs you enjoy caressing so much, a detail which you appreciate. But she’s gorgeous no matter what she wears, and even when she’s wearing nothing at all.

“Joy, do you have the- “

Irene’s voice stops short as she realises that her boyfriend has just walked in. Her mouth opens a little in surprise, but she recovers quickly and a smile graces those incredibly kissable red lips of hers.

“What are you doing here, baby?”

You raise the bag that contains the food you prepared for her. “Hi, bae. I brought dinner.” You call her “bae” as an affectionate nickname, but mostly because it’s a play on her surname of “Bae”. You’re the only person in the world she allows to call her that. And only in private.

Irene walks over to you and glances at the large box you’re carrying. “And that?”

“It’s cake, don’t tell me you forgot it’s your birthday today!”

“Oh, where did you buy it from? There’s no branding on the box.”

You grin and pass the box into Irene’s hands. “I didn’t buy it. I baked it this morning.” Irene’s face brightens. “You baked it?” She opens the box and looks inside. “And it’s red velvet cake too.” She doesn’t say anymore, but you can tell that she’s happy.

You bring the food over to a glass coffee table at a seating area that Irene uses when hosting guests in her office. Irene follows you and sits down on a red couch as you unpack all the food. She goes for the cake first though, taking a few bites of it. As she eats, you stand behind the couch and lean over, massaging her shoulders. Irene sighs in contentment.

“Long day?”

She nods as your fingers squeeze her shoulder muscles. You can feel her relaxing under your hands.

“What about you?”

“Just baking and cooking. A bit of this and that. Nothing too bad. Nothing compared to you, I’m sure.”

“Working in the house can be tiring too. The cake’s really good, by the way. But it’s missing a little something.”

“Like what?” Feedback was good, you could take it and make something better for her next time. Irene turns her head to the side, half-facing you. “I think it could use some cream.”

You furrow your brow at this. There was already a healthy amount of cream on the surface of the cake. “But there’s already-ah.” Irene chose that moment to have one of her hands reach out to one of your hands, guide it off her shoulder and bring it to her mouth. You were completely distracted and didn’t resist, barely noticing that it happened.

And then Irene starts to slide one of your fingers in and out of her warm and wet mouth, her tongue brushing against the underside of it every time it slides in. You watch for a good thirty seconds or so before she then turns to face you fully and stands up. There is a dark glint in her eyes. You know this look. You watch her undo the top three buttons of her shirt, giving you glimpses of the lacy white bra she’s wearing today.

Oh, you know what kind of cream she wants from you now. You can feel yourself start to harden down below.

Irene wordlessly reaches out with one hand, grabs your collar and pulls you in to smash her lips against yours. Her tongue pushes past any resistance from your lips, overpowering your tongue in moments. Her kiss is sweet; the taste of the red velvet cake you baked lingers on her tongue and in her mouth.

Still joined at the mouth, you climb over the couch, stepping on it as you make your way to be on the same side as Irene. Once there, one of your hands reflexively finds its way to a butt cheek and squeezes it while you wrap your other arm around her waist. Irene moans softly into your kiss. When you finally break the kiss, Irene and you stare into each other’s eyes for a moment. And then she wraps her arms around your neck, holding onto your shoulders, hugging you close and whispers into your ear.

“Let’s make this quick; I still need to have dinner and work after this.”

“The door’s not locked.” You try to pull away to go to the door and lock it but Irene holds you back.

“I don’t care. Now.”

You nod and Irene wraps her legs around your waist as you carry her over to a mostly empty table at the side of the room. You sit her down on it and her legs release their grip on your waist. One of your hands runs up along her legs and sneaks inside her skirt between her thighs.

As your fingers caress her smooth inner thighs, Irene has one of her hands massage the growing bulge in your pants for a bit before she unzips them and has her hand slip inside your pants. Your fingers reach the lacy fabric of the G-string thong she’s wearing, her fingers find purchase on the waistband of your underwear. Irene’s always loved wearing G-string underwear, they make her feel sexy and in her own words, “she loves the feeling of something between her ass cheeks”.

You slip your fingers around the thin barrier of the thong and into Irene’s slick pussy, she shivers and bites her lower lip. Her fingers respond in kind, and they pull down the cloth that kept your erection imprisoned. Irene starts to stroke your cock with one hand, gentle and slow for now. Your thumb gently teases Irene’s clitoris and your other hands journeys into her partially unbuttoned shirt, diving beneath the bra to find a hardened nipple. You roll it between two fingers even as another two fingers bend and wriggle down below.

Irene starts increasing the speed of her handjob, stroking ever faster, urged on by your hands. On your part, you start to piston your fingers into her dripping core as best as you can within the confines of her tight skirt. Irene can’t hold back and starts to moan louder; you frantically send your hand from her breast over to cover her mouth to muffle her. Her subordinates are working just outside; you prefer to keep it quiet.

After a good minute or so of muffled moaning into your hand, Irene uses her free hand to pull yours off her mouth. She stares at you with a dark lust clouding her face. “Fuck me.”

You scramble to oblige. Your fingers leave Irene’s pussy, drawing a soft mewl of desire from her, and they grab hold of her panties to pull them down her legs. Once they reach the ankles, Irene has one heeled foot slip out of them and she leaves the underwear dangling from the other ankle. She unclasps her skirt to loosen it and make it easier to hike it up her thighs to give your cock access to her wet cunt.

You pull Irene closer to you, sitting her on the edge of the table, spread her legs as widely as you possibly can with her skirt still on, and then you slide your cock inside of her. Irene’s tight, wet pussy is a familiar feeling, but it only gets better the more you’re inside her.

Your hips start to piston and your cock pounds as deep as you can manage into Irene’s pussy. One of Irene’s most sensitive spots is her neck, so you bury your face into her neck and take in the scent of her perfume. You taste the slight bit of sweat that has formed on her skin. Your licking and nibbling has Irene loudly groaning again so your mouth kisses its way up her neck until you find her lips and muffle her mouth with yours.

You can feel your climax approaching but Irene’s comes first as she suddenly goes still, and her nails threaten to tear your shirt as her fingers clench around your shoulders. The warm rush of Irene’s juices flowing around your cock combined with her pussy walls constricting your cock sends you over the edge and you also unload a few spurts into her without warning, mixing your cum with hers.

The two of you take a few moments to recover, each peppering the other with soft kisses all over the other’s skin as you do so. When you finally pull out, Irene slides herself off the edge of the table to get on her knees and starts to clean your cock by sucking it clean of your mixed cum.

“There’s not much cream here.” Irene pouts cutely after she finishes with your shaft.

You can only chuckle at that as you slip your spent cock back into your pants. “Happy birthday, Joohyun.”

Irene flashes you a wide smile as she gets back to her feet and slips her thong back on. “Thank you, for everything that you do, baby. You should go home and rest…” She leans and breathes into your ear. “…you also owe me more cream tonight, I’m not satisfied.”

You help Irene button her shirt and give her a peck on the cheek and whisper back. “I feed you cream for skincare and food nearly every night, when will you ever be satisfied?” You step back and wave goodbye to her. “Make sure you have your dinner before you go back to work, okay? I’ll see you at home tonight.”

You turn back for a last look at Irene as you reach the door and her lips mouth the word ‘Never’ very slyly at you. You laugh and push the door open. And walk straight into all four of Irene’s subordinates standing outside the room with very flush faces. You intuitively gather that they’ve been listening in.

“Good night everyone, don’t work too late tonight. I’ll be off now.” To spare both you and the ladies awkwardness, you quickly excuse yourself and walk hurriedly to the elevator.

Once you are alone in the elevator, your thoughts turn to home. Looks like you’ll be giving Irene an additional birthday gift of cream tonight. It turns out that you didn’t need to look very far to find the perfect birthday gift for your girlfriend.

#red velvet smut #bae joohyun smut #irene smut #reader insert #male reader #red velvet irene smut

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draculiza · 4 years ago

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What less social media is doing to me

I've deleted my Instagram app a month ago and it's been amazing. I've been using that app intensly for about 4 years, which was mostly a lot of fun, but I've also had my moments where I just wanted to delete it all. There were always things that made me stay though, like keeping up with my friends and just enjoying creating content. But I finally did it, the app is gone and I feel amazing.

The second I deleted it I was so relieved. I felt like I could breathe and this big chaotic and messy IG drawer in my head was free to go into the bin. Yes, Instagram was always swirling in my mind and ever since deleting it I've noticed just how much it's been present in there.

Chapter 1 • how social media can be toxic

I would spend so much time thinking about what I could post on my feed, what would look good, what place I could arrange aesthetically so I could take a nice picture. Sometimes taking pictures would take so much time, without even taking into account how much time I spent editing the pictures, deciding on what order I could post them in and what caption to use. Oh man, the CAPTIONS. I could not for the life of me ever come up with a caption. That shit must've taken up so much time of my life and I was often so fed up with that part of it, but I felt like I had to. It was a whole thing.

Next to that I would spend my days off doing makeup, putting outfits together and taking a million pictures just for the sake of posting some on IG. I did it solely for making content, I was setting a scene that just took so much effort. I didn't have to go anywhere or do it for myself, so it didn't go naturally, you know? It's hard to describe, but I hope you get the gist.

So like I said, I would dress up just for pictures and it would always make me so tired. It's a routine I got used to, but I didn't enjoy doing it. I'd get ready, take pictures, then edit them and be super tired because I've spent hours doing it. I never did it for myself and yes, while it is fun to look back on and see those aesthetically pleasing pictures, the joy of seeing that doesn't outweigh the negative feelings and effort it took to create them.

There is nothing wrong with taking time to create pictures of course, if you enjoy doing it, all the more power to you! It's just not something I'm going to do to myself anymore. I'll still dress up, but only if I have another reason for it, then the pictures will be a fun extra!

So yea, personally for me it's just become very toxic and it took up too much of my time. Not only because of what I've talked about, but also the fact that there's friends who post pictures and stories and me wanting to keep up with those aswell. It just became a bit too much.

Chapter 2 • the positive changes

There's so many things I want to do in my free time. Like keeping up with my hobbies, go outside and walk around in forests, doing things in life and really be present while doing so. When I was active on instagram I'd constantly think about creating content and with everything I did I'd debate whether or not it'd be fun to capture it for my story. Taking that away made me be so much more present, my mind is much more focused on the things that matter and spending my time not in front of a electric rectangle device has just become so precious.

Beautiful things I see or little moments I have are just for me now, they're not tainted by taking pictures of it and taking time to upload it to a silly social platform. It's just happening in the moment and I'm there to capture it into my memories alone. It's so nice.

Here are some things I've noticed since deleting the app:

• My mind isn't super chaotic anymore

• I register more that's going on around me, I'm more present in life

• I'm not as fussy about appearance

• I'm more positive

• there's no weight constantly dragging me down

• I just generally feel better about myself

It's the little things, like not caring as much about my hair anymore. I used to be so focused on the way it looked at all times, because you know, what if I felt like taking a picture? I just made everything so complicated for myself.

Now I care so much less about my hair and it's given me the freedom to play around with it a lot. Because if it doesn't look good it doesn't matter! The thing that matters most now is comfort and me having fun with it. But the funny thing is that it actually looks better now that I'm not being so careful with it anymore, haha!

I'm also taking so much less pictures of just insignificant shit. I don't need to keep up with an IG story or constantly search for pictures that look aesthetic enough to maybe post on my feed. I don't whip out my phone for every little thing and it just feels so freeing to not have that going on in my head all the time anymore.

Chapter 3 • put time in happy things

I was afraid of missing out, but every time I log onto Twitter now I'm just like 🤷 I really don't miss anything. It's just a lot of noise and useless information that I used to consume so much, but really don't see the need of consuming anymore. My quality of life doesn't increase from it so why would I interact with it? This doesn't apply to any of my friends though, I'm still happy to see their tweets and see how they're doing. They are the only reason I'm not off of Twitter yet too.

It's just weird. I used to be SO into instagram and social media in general, but when I think about it now I'm like what's the point. It kinda feels meaningless now. And I think that shows a lot of character development! I'm becoming a better version of myself and deciding to increase my own quality of living instead of choosing to share everything on the internet. It's one of the best things I've done for myself.

One last thing I'd like to mention is that I also have more time to read now! I haven't really done so yet, but I've started reading my all time favourite book again and it is just so nice. I've just gained a lot of time I used to spend scrolling through timelines, that I can now use to pick up reading and other hobbies I enjoy!

I'm sorry if this has become a long post! If you read it all the way through; just know that I appreciate you very much and I hope that if you're struggling with your relationship with social media you'll consider taking some time off, because I assure you that it'll be very refreshing for your soul. Even deleting your apps for a week will bring loads of change in your mental health!

The best thing you can do is to put your phone away and look around you and do things in real life! Take walks, do a puzzle you never got round to doing, start drawing things, read that one book you always wanted to start but didn't. There's lots of things to do that can make your life much more valuable to yourself. Social media is so toxic and I'm so thankful to myself to have stepped away from it.

I chose to live my life more authentically and that's such a wonderful decision I made. Life is precious and I'm here to live it! 🖤

#thoughts #social media #instagram

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marlahey · 4 years ago

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(and I'm feeling like) it was only ever you

a little voice fic pairings/characters: bess/samuel, general ensemble, ella the pupper being loved the most warnings: language, excessive sexual tension episode tags: fills in some of many gaps between 1.08 sea change and 1.09 sing what I can’t say cause I got wine drunk instead of finishing this before the finale as planned. +post-finale rating/warnings: explicit. read: resolved sexual tension aka les sexy times. lyrical title courtesy of: part of me – by the coast (watch their fanvid set to this song and prepare to cry) notes: so @brilligbraelig told me there was no fluffy fic in the tag, which– sorry. we’ve been in sad time hours for WEEKS and I blame the writers for never giving bess a moment’s peace. I’ve never really been one for cavity-inducing sweetness, not because I don’t love some pure joy, but as a writer I’m always a little more interested in the messier moments that just enough longing brings. if the question is ‘how many times do bess and samuel need to share a bed?’ the answer is yes. this is for the samuel and bess protection squad on twitter (join us!) for being the coolest group of people ever throughout this wild ride, and also for @missgoalie75 and her love of colton’s bedroom eyes. p.s: sometimes I ignore capitalization rules at will because of the vibe.

bess is tired.

saint c’s is quiet tonight; al shoos her away from the bar with a stern, surprisingly fatherly firmness and hands her a tray of shots. she blinks at him. there aren’t any parties of four left. he points at samuel, prisha, and benny loitering at the back of the club until she finishes. bess doesn’t follow. al sighs. “go have one with your friends on me, okay kid? i swear, watching you stress out sometimes is gonna give me an ulcer before my next birthday.” bess stammers a thank you and walks off with the alcohol before he can change his mind. she should apologize, she thinks. he’s been nothing but kind to her despite all the ways in which bess is hardly employee of the month right now. she should start an apology tour at the table, where prisha’s head is thrown back with laughter at something benny is saying, his hands outspread. these people are too good to her and she doesn’t deserve it, sometimes. samuel notices her first (like always it seems), tracking her progress across the room. he tilts his head, a silent okay? and she moves her mouth in an approximation of a smile. his own lips quirk, like he’s trying to smother a laugh. she should be annoyed; she’s just grateful they aren’t fighting anymore— or worse yet, that it’s weird. they still haven’t talked about that night. samuel seems perfectly content to pretend it never happened, except for the way he touches her with so much more ease than before— like he no longer has to hesitate before he’s pulling her in, taking her hand, squeezing her shoulder or the bend of her elbow in a way that’s more reassuring than bess can really describe. maybe there’s a song in there somewhere. “special delivery,” she announces at the approach. “drink fast, before al regrets giving us these.” “my man, my man,” benny croons. “we love you boss!” he calls, twisting to find al rolling his eyes from behind the register. the shots clink on the tabletop. bess hesitates, just a second, before leaning in to toast prisha. samuel’s eyes meet hers again over the rim of his glass. she tosses her head back before she can overthink any of it. “anyone want another?” benny and prisha grin; samuel shakes his head. bess does the mental math back to her last meal. one more certainly wouldn’t tip her over, but she’d be a fool not to recognize her own unsettledness. she springs for second shelf tequila; al smacks her hand away from the limes she’d cut herself not two hours ago. “no reaching over, you know that.” the closing porter pours and dishes lime and salt with disinterested, immaculate practice. bess presses an extra five into his hand and gets a silent tap on the inside of her wrist in thanks. she’s not normally into the whole process of tequila, but benny enjoys it. something silly in bess hopes that the bursting sting of lime will just wash all her chaos away. by the time she’s tilted her head back down a second time, samuel’s eyes are sliding away. her throat is curiously warmer than liquor normally manages. it feels like she’s caught him at something. “earth to bess!” “hmm?” prisha looks amused, damn her. “you up for it?” “up for what?” benny’s smile is equally conspiratory. “dancing?” her first instinct is god, no. she and prisha haven’t gone dancing in what feels like years— bess still has a fake ID from the one and only time they snuck into a club at 19 years old, skipping the bar entirely for the pulsing beat of the dance floor. but she deserves this, doesn’t she? after everything? everyone’s looking at her now, probably expecting her to say no (samuel’s definitely expecting her to say no), and maybe bess needs another shot after all because, “sure.” tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. prisha and benny high five. samuel’s muted surprise is oddly delightful; bess wants to keep pulling it out of him, suddenly. “you coming too?” she asks. it’s not supposed to be a challenge but he raises one eyebrow as though bess had just asked him to duel. “well i’d be lame if I said no now, wouldn’t i?” that settled, bess excuses herself to grab her things from the back room. when she returns, benny is chatting with their night porter as he divides tips. she has to swallow an anxious lump before she can walk over. “hey.” “hey.” he returns her tentative smile and she hates herself. “ready to go?” “i’m sorry,” bess blurts. “about the other night. i was so awful to you and you were just—” “bess, hey.” benny’s hands land on her shoulders. “don’t worry about it, okay? i know you have a lot going on right now.” “that’s not an excuse,” she insists. “you’re just being a good friend and a great manager and i shouldn’t have bit your head off for...” for not letting me give up. shame locks the words in her throat. how is it that she was the first person to let go of her own dream? bess has to take a deep breath. “i’m just really sorry.” he just looks at her for a long moment. “if i forgive you,” benny begins gently, “will you forgive yourself?” the question feels like a sucker punch. “cause i do, bess.” she can’t remember the last time one of her dearest friends was so serious. “i forgive you, and you gotta forgive yourself now cause we got work to do, yeah?” good god, do not cry. “okay.” “okay.” benny pulls her into a hug, squeezing tight. “we got you girl, alright? i told you, we’re in this together.” those are familiar words. bess lets them wash over her. how had she forgotten? where had she let herself fall that her friends couldn’t pull her back into the light? “c’mon.” bess accepts her saint c’s envelope with a grateful smile and benny steers her out of the club, his arm around her shoulders. “there’s fun to be had tonight.” “let’s go, bess!” she lets prisha drag her forward, laughing despite herself and looping her arm through her best friend’s as they head out into the warm night air. “where the heck are those boys?” prisha asks at the next corner. benny and samuel of course, are following at a more sedated pace to her one track mind. bess catches samuel’s eye and he smiles in that crooked, amused sort of way she hasn’t seen in ages— not since they shot more love, it feels like. relief is such a strange feeling for the moment, but there it is. * bess isn’t tired anymore. she has no idea when she became such a homebody (though louie’s social worker may thoughts) but her exhaustion from the day seems to disappear the moment the bass finds a home behind her ribs. prisha presses a tiny glass into her hand and bess doesn’t think. the vodka sears on the way down. it makes her gasp a little, like a livewire shock to the system. bess can only look up to see samuel wave from the bar before benny’s dragging her onto the floor; she loses sight of him in the crush of bodies and the pulse of the music carries her away. samuel’s still there, some two or three songs later. just before they lock eyes, bess notices something very serious in his expression, something she can’t put into words fast enough, that draws a strange shiver from the base of her spine. then he smiles, familiar laugh lines and narrowed eyes, and it’s gone. bess remembers the way he’d so easily coaxed her into a silly dance set to their own music. have things gotten so strange between them that they could never go back there? not if she has anything to say about it. “I’m not drunk enough yet,” he objects, but his fingers close around hers even as he says it and she knows she’s won. samuel follows her so easily back to benny and prisha– like he’d follow her anywhere maybe, if she asked, and then suddenly bess is the one not quite drunk enough— and then the beat pulls them in again. it’s silly at first, just like before. at one point samuel and benny do the chicken dance to a hip-hop song and bess thinks she might die with laughter. she presses against prisha, hips and shoulders. her best friend spins her out; bess nearly stumbles but samuel is there, catching her by the elbows, drawing her in with that same teasing smile that had eased her nerves on that warm summer afternoon. she can see the memory of it reflected in his eyes. bess wants to fall into it headfirst. she steps closer just as samuel pulls her in; her hand lands on the back of his neck; his fingertips slip under the hem of her top and brush the shy skin of her hip. samuel pauses, like a silent question, until bess coaxes his body back into the swaying rhythm with her own. her head feels heady, her body overwarm almost, but bess doesn’t want to stop because there it is again, that serious look— bess wants— “dance, dance, dance is my lung—” “fuck no!” the moment—or whatever that was—grinds to a halt. samuel laughs so hard that she can feel his shoulders shaking. for several seconds they just look at each other, then over at benny who’s having the time of his life, and then bess is doubling over too. samuel leans close to be heard over the din. “drink?” his breath brushes her ear and bess tries not to shiver, nodding enthusiastically in a vain attempt to cover for herself. they’ve lost prisha and benny to the worst song ever, so samuel keeps a firm grip on her hand as they snake their way back to the bar. there must be some kind of special on shots tonight. bess can only stare at a bartender pouring no less than twelve in a perfect row for a huge group of women. one is wearing a tiara and white sash. that trying not to laugh smile tilts samuel’s mouth while they wait their turn. the sardine pack of people presses them together from hip to shoulder but he doesn’t seem to mind. the bar curves around in a skinny oval, drinks being served on either side. as servers slide back and forth, bess notices a guy looking at her from across the way. staring, more like it. the glint in his eyes makes her stomach turn. before bess can glare, turn away, or even shudder, samuel’s arm slides around her. his fingertips trace the curves of her rings on the bartop— affectionate, possessive almost. bess turns her head and samuel winks before leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. “pretend i just told you something hilarious.” his mouth hovering over hers is almost too distracting— his free hand pinches her side to help her along and giggles jump out. bess doesn’t resist when samuel tightens his grip and pulls her closer against him. he presses his mouth to her temple just above her ear. “he’s gone.” bess does shudder now, though for a different reason altogether. “thanks.” samuel just squeezes her once before releasing her. their shots arrive finally, amber liquid glowing strangely in the light. “still good?” he asks, and bess nods firmly. “still good.” she meets his eyes as she brings the shot to her mouth. samuel is still looking at her when she puts the glass back down. inside her, it seems. “c’mon.” he says. samuel looks almost fond now. bess blinks; a trick of the light? is she that tipsy already? “we’d better go find those two.” she just takes his hand and follows. * bess is... well. she’s not sober. benny had waved goodbye from an uber outside the club. they’d made it three quarters of the way to the subway station before ananya had called, quickly devolving into an impassioned conversation and prish too, vanished into a cab and promising to call when she got to her— girlfriend’s? house. “have fun you two!” and now: “i’m fine, sam.” his mouth twitches. “don’t think so, b.” yikes, she hates that. bess rolls her eyes, pointing at her station stairway. “you’re literally going in the opposite direction. it’s like...” she has to look at their cross streets and do the math. “eight stops. at the most.” samuel nods. “all about figure eights. love an even number. let’s go.” bess knows she should just let this go and stop being so stubborn. but something in her just can’t be stopped. samuel sighs, dragging her by the elbow across the sidewalk, out of the way of a clearly aggrieved businessman who disappears down the steps. “bess. just tell me something.” it’s hard to meet his eyes, intent as they are. “would you let prisha take the train home by herself tonight? if you were going... I dunno, home with me?” her stomach flips, surprising, terrifying, thrillingly pleasant. it’s all the shots. samuel’s ears go pink under the glow of the streetlight. “you know what i mean.” she’s stubbornly quiet; he ducks his head, refusing to be deterred. “bess.” “ugh, no. of course not!” “because you think she can’t take care of herself?” bess rolls her eyes. “she’s my best friend, you know that. it’s just what you do.” “right.” she hates the way samuel’s looking at her now, the way he had when he’d laid all her fears out bare in the close space of his apartment: so certain and so kind. “so why do you think i’d let you take the train home alone?” for a moment, she can only stare. maybe it’s the alcohol, but samuel has never quite looked so vulnerable. bess doesn’t have the right words (maybe there aren’t any) so she just drags him forward by the shoulders. samuel exhales sharply, a faint laugh in her ear, but he wraps both his arms tight around her— an embrace that somehow feels more intimate than their pretence from hours before. bess endeavours not to think about it too much. “c’mon bestie,” she says when she pulls back. samuel does laugh fully this time, wide enough to show his teeth. bess thinks back to the night of their first gig, the sound of his valerie chasing hers in echoes. it’s a wonder anyone’s more stubborn that she is. samuel ushers her down the stairs with a sweep of his arm and bess laughs too. * bess loves her dog. she’d convinced samuel he should probably come in for water, or tea, maybe an advil. ella had poked her head out from bess’ room and when she turns around from her perusal of the fridge, bess finds samuel fully sitting on the floor, ella laying between his legs, stroking her head. “who’s my sweetest girl?” he coos. her heart something funny inside her chest. samuel looks up, his obvious joy so bright in the dim light of the kitchen and bess is nearly choked with the possibility that she’d nearly pushed him too far away to ever see it again. “bess,” he says, his cheeks dimpling, “her ears are so soft. like, they’re the softest thing i’ve maybe ever felt in my life?” wonder of wonders. she can only nod in emphatic agreement. how many shots have they had? “you’re lucky,” samuel continues, still making ella’s night by never stopping in his affection. bess’ eyes get stuck on his hands, the motion of his fingertips and the turns of his wrists. “my parents never let us have pets and my building doesn’t allow them either.” “you know ella would love if you came over and pet her all the time.” she gets that muted surprise again, which melts into something bess isn’t sure how to name. “would you like that, el? hmm?” he leans down to kiss the top of the dog’s head. “wanna spend more time with uncle samuel?” how is it that her most loyal companion is somehow more intimate with samuel than bess is? and why on earth would she ever have a thought like that? “so,” she says, maybe a bit too high-pitched for her own liking (ella looks up at her and bess wants to glare), “we have water, tea, popsicles, half a bottle of jack.” samuel laughs and shakes his head. “i thought we were sobering up?” bess shrugs. “so, popsicle?” he laughs again and it warms her inexplicably all the way to her toes. they have water, following ella into bess’ room, toeing out of their shoes when she jumps onto the bed. the dog puts her head on samuel’s lap and stares balefully up at him until he resumes his gentle stroking. bess leans back against her wall. she’s looking at ella and pretending she can’t feel the heat of samuel’s gaze on her face. if she thinks too hard about it, bess remembers wishing she could share a moment like this with someone else. she doesn’t regret anything that lead her here, but something in her is too afraid to meet samuel’s eye, like he’d be able to read the truth of that in her face and that she’d have somehow ruined tonight, this quiet moment of warmth and contentment. she leans her head on his shoulder and he turns his cheek into her hair. when bess finally looks up, samuel’s face is vey close. is he looking at her mouth? is she leaning? “are you drunk, bess?” he asks softly. she stops. considers. “yes. you?” samuel’s smile is a little rueful. he nods. “i should go.” bess understands. it’s late. they’re tired and inebriated. he has to go all the way back to his. they almost... and yet she says, “stay.” he blinks. “what?” this might be a terrible idea. “stay.” “but—” she rolls her eyes. “what makes you think i’d let you go home alone either?” the surprise is plain now. he looks that almost-vulnerable again. bess is oddly satisfied. “are you sure?” it’s strangely hard to keep his eye even as she points out, “we’re fine, right?” he nods again, a little slower. “and it’s not like we’ve never shared a bed.” when bess finally manages it, samuel’s gaze is very soft. “true.” and just when she thinks he’s going to refuse her still, he says, “okay. thanks.” how do you tell someone out that you just don’t want to be alone out loud? thankfully samuel doesn’t make her voice it. he just smiles as bess gathers something approximating pyjamas and crosses the room. “sorry i don’t have anything that would fit you,” (he snorts and she’s warmed) “but you know, make yourself comfortable however. come get a toothbrush from under the sink.” and so that’s how they end up side-by-side in the cramped bathroom of her and prisha’s apartment, brushing their teeth. samuel makes faces at her in the mirror and it should be strange, to be t-shirt and shorts/boxers open with him. but he’s seen down into the root of who she is, so isn’t all this less? he’s humming something familiar as she washes her face, catching her surprised reflection. “it’s yours.” bess casts her mind back. “from–” “that first night, yeah.” she nearly drops her face towel. bess has never shown him that song. samuel shakes his head with a chuckle, a familiar you’re a weirdo. “it would be just like you to play something that gets eight bars stuck in my head for months and never sing it again.” “i...” bess can’t pinpoint a reason besides her own fear, like a karmic penance for one of the most humiliating nights of her life. “i can’t believe you remember.” there’s a truth in his eyes that neither of them are willing to admit they can see. “wanna work on it?” she asks impulsively, determined now to redraw a better memory, “maybe tomorrow?” samuel’s grin is so wide it’s almost hard to take in all at once. “this mean you’re gonna actually do that open mic?” bess shrugs. she needs to escape this tiny room all of a sudden. “maybe.” he doesn’t push her further and she’s grateful. samuel hesitates at the edge of her bed as bess pulls up the cover. “oh my god, just get in the bed samuel.” and he does. their knees touch. bess turns out the light but there’s still just enough to see him looking at her. drunkenness has made her warm and sleepy. “what?” “for the record,” he says, “i know what i think of you.” it feels like they’re teetering on an edge. “cool grandpa?” they laugh so hard that ella jumps from the foot of the bed. samuel looks so fond that bess doesn’t know what to do with herself. “yeah. that’s it.” “night samuel,” she whispers. “night bess.” * (she wakes up before the sun, tangled up in him. for once, rather than overthink it, bess just closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.) * bess can’t stop smiling. before she could even look at samuel after getting offstage, benny had lifted her off her feet and proceeded to all but bulldoze everyone in the club to get her in front of jeremy’s record label contact. could he tell that she’d just been kissed within an inch of her life? it feels like it’s written all over her face. bess can barely remember what she said, but his personal contact card is currently burning a whole though her purse. al buys them a round. (she finds ethan lingering in the back. what he says to her is somehow a surprise and not both at once. what she says to him, in the end, feels long overdue.) prisha insists everyone come back to their place to celebrate, and they pile into ubers. louie exalts her as a true artist the entire ride and even phil seems impressed. true to form though, he’s a roledex of weather facts as bess and prisha frantically pull out every candle or flashlight in the apartment; their lights flicker ominiously every so often as the storm beats down their windows. benny puts a playlist together and tries to order pizza. by some miracle, it actually arrives; everyone pools together for a 150% tip. so it feels like ages before bess looks up to find samuel leaning against the alcove of her living room, watching as louie begins a spirited debate on the best numbers in hamilton. bess nods her head toward the door of her bedroom. she’s expecting him to make a silly face with his eyebrows or hesitate, but samuel’s mouth just curves up on one side, like that’s all he’s allowing himself, and follows. “for the record,” he says as the sounds of the party fade a little behind them, “the answer will always be satisfied. no contest.” god, how had she never seen him before? her bedside lamp is still working. bess fishes out a pale white whale from childhood, one that changes colour as you tap. she grins at samuel, who’s leaning against her closed door and smiling like he’s not even sure what to make of her. “you’re incredible, you know that?” her face heats, pride and embarrassment both at once. “so are you. i can’t believe we got through that song.” “all you, bess.” she wants to roll her eyes, but refrains. “the electric was a great idea.” samuel’s eyes drop when he smiles; the familiar humility in it reminds bess of the reason she wanted to talk to him in the first place. “i know what you did tonight. before you showed up.” he looks up then, a little sharply. samuel’s always had a good poker face but bess can see it still, that guarded look. “what did i do, bess?” saying it out loud makes her feel like she’s in a movie. bess steps forward. “you told ethan to come. for me.” “are you upset?” “no. i just want to understand why.” samuel’s gaze is as steady as it’s ever been. “i just want you to be happy.” she feels unraveled, somehow. “then why did you...” even in the poor light, he flushes. “why did you kiss me?” samuel looks at the floor, then back at bess. her heart beats in double time. “he didn’t show, or so I thought. and I didn’t want to...” he laughs lightly, almost at himself. “throw away my shot. I guess I wasn’t really expecting you to—” try to press him into the wall? “to kiss me back, or even what that might mean, but I wanted to show you, or tell you that—” she’s close enough to touch him now. samuel’s hands cup her elbows, very gently, like he needs to ground himself. but he looks bess right in the eye. “even if you didn’t want me, i’d choose you first. every time.” her heart free-falls. “bess.” he squeezes a little, catching her eyes. how long have they been standing in this moment of after? “please say something.” “i told him we couldn’t work,” she says in a rush. “and i don’t even know if it was really because you and I—” bess stumbles but samuel hangs on, his grip on her unwavering, “but i think part of me always knew it was just...like, a fantasy? we barely even knew each other and i always hated myself a little for being that girl trying to steal someone else’s partner and i wasn’t dealing with any of my shit until—” samuel just waits. the realization feels too big, but there’s no going back now. “until i met you.” he looks almost stricken. bess lets out a strange, wondrous kind of laugh. she puts her hand on samuel’s chest. she’s the one who needs steadying, now. he draws her closer without looking away from her face, like he’s helpless to it. bess can’t remember the last time she felt so sure of anything. all those those expressions that always felt hidden in his eyes seem so plain, now: surprise, fear, hope. “i choose you, samuel. though i probably don’t even deserve to.” she can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. samuel’s hand brushes her hair back away from her face, tracking the curve of her ear. just before she’s about to freak out, he asks, “are you drunk, bess?” she nearly laughs. “no. are you drunk, samuel?” he shakes his head. she understands that serious look, now. it’s wanting. he wants her. samuel goes to pull her the rest of the way in— “bess!” louie’s voice and a loud knock on the door springs them apart. the lights go out. “bess, we’re going now. and the lights are out. do you have a source of light in there? are you coming to say goodbye?” samuel lets out a long, low “fuck.” she has to clap her hand over her mouth. his nearly silent laugh ghosts over her skin as he presses his face into the curve of her neck. (samuel kisses her there, just once, but it’s enough that her knees tremble a little and she can feel the shape of his smile too.) “i’ll be right out!” bess calls to her brother. his shadow moves away from the door. hysterical giggles shake her shoulders. samuel’s hands slide up to hold her face. “do you wanna—” “come home with me.” she can barely make out his features in the dark (except for the want) but bess’ stomach drops anyway. the irony of no electricity is funny when she feels like sparks might burst from beneath her skin. “okay.” * bess is deliriously happy. samuel puts down his guitar and barely lets the door close before he’s pressing bess against it with both hands. his palms are heavy and warm on her hipbones; bess wants to rock up against him but there’s a certain thrill in it, how strong he seems. she has no idea the last time she was kissed like this. despite how fierce it feels, samuel lets her lead. he doesn’t open his mouth until she does, touches his tongue tentatively against hers at first pass, tugs so gently on her lip with his teeth until she makes a noise like a whimper. she should tell him maybe, that samuel made her completely forget herself, back in the alcove at saint c’s. but then bess just lets her hands find their way back into his now slightly damp hair. she’ll just relive it instead. she scrapes her nails over his scalp and samuel’s breath comes up short; it returns in something that sounds like a groan, or a snarl, and oh. bess has to take deep breaths of her own when he pulls back, a wide-eyed glance to her face to make sure she’s alright. she can only nod. samuel’s fingertips squeeze her waist as some of that urgency seems to fade from his eyes. he trails his mouth slowly from her lips to her jaw; she tilts her head instinctively to give him room and samuel finds that same spot on her neck from her own bedroom. his teeth and tongue press a little harder than before; he gets a gasp for his efforts. her legs feel unsteady again. bess grabs at the open sides of his button-down until samuel shrugs out of it. it drops to their feet. he doesn’t protest when bess pushes him gently, walking backwards across the apartment with his arm tight around her. he doesn’t let go when his legs meet the edge of his bed. bess would fall into him if not for samuel keeping them upright. he drops to sit, pulling them apart, and finally bess has to take stock of herself. samuel’s face is so open, his smile so wide in a way she’s never seen before. “still good?” he asks. bess nods. “still good?” samuel laughs lightly. “i’m great, bess.” he reaches for her hand, his thumb brushing each of her rings in turn. “we can stop whenever you want.” she’s the one standing but bess feels smaller, strangely. instead of replying, bess steps out of her shoes. samuel’s eyes seem to darken as she slides her jacket from her shoulders and lets it pool on the floor. bess leans down and brings one knee to the bed, by his hip, balancing herself with one hand on his shoulder. samuel’s inhale is impossibly loud as he instinctively supports her with a sliding grip up the back of her thigh. bess’ skirt isn’t that short but she’s glad she didn’t trade it for jeans before she left. samuel’s face betrays how pleased he seems by her choice. once she’s finished effectively straddling him, bess looks down from her perch. “hi.” samuel’s knuckles stroke up and down her leg. goosebumps ripple and he smiles. “hi.” bess takes his face in both her hands and leans down as samuel tilts his chin up to meet her. she’ll never tire of kissing him. it feels like she can’t get close enough; he must have the same idea because his arms wrap around her back until bess is sitting firmly in his lap, their hips slotted together. “can i touch you?” samuel asks against her mouth. bess nods, maybe too quickly, but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed. guitar callused fingers slide beneath her top. samuel reaches the slim band of her lacy bralette. he pauses, but bess leans into his hand and then he’s tracing the curve of her breast. his thumb brushes a little roughly over her nipple; bess feels an abrupt ache between her legs. “that seems pretty,” samuel murmurs in her ear, like a casual observation. “it’s a matching set,” she replies, trying not to sound too breathless. “for luck.” he pulls back with wide eyes. bess wants to laugh but she’s too busy dealing with this rush of blood to her face. she sits up carefully so they don’t knock heads and reaches for the edges of samuel’s t shirt first; he drags it over his head in one smooth, practiced motion. shit, he’s hot. he’s staring as bess unfolds herself to stand back on the floor (her legs are still unsteady but he doesn’t need to know that) and goes to pull off her own shirt. samuel’s eyes don’t leave her face until the fabric coming over her head pulls her from view. when bess blinks him back into focus, he’s gone a little slack-jawed. she nods at his jeans and the speed at which samuel divests himself of them has her biting back a giggle. bess’ face feels hot but there’s a frisson of pride that straightens her spine. she’s not even half an arm’s length away from him. samuel touches her stomach, just above the waistband of her skirt. “can I?” bess has to swallow before she can nod. just like before, samuel stares at her face until the last half of her outfit joins the rest of their clothes in a heap. samuel’s eyes trail from her eyes to her feet and back. it takes everything in bess not to fidget. she expects to see heat in his expression but there’s only wonderment and tenderness. “fuck, you’re so beautiful.” she has no idea what to do with that. samuel tugs her into his lap this time, intent. his kiss is searing. bess rocks into him, just once, just a little. that grip on her thighs returns, tighter. bess can only gasp a laugh into his mouth when samuel stands, holding her up against him, and turns to lower her with a kind of breathtakingly slow care onto his bed. bess lands on her back, samuel now the one leaning over her. desire coils low in her stomach. he gently shifts her hips so they’re both actually parallel with the long edges of the comforter. she feels inexplicably, unbearably, fond of him. then samuel looks away. he exhales, like he’s embarrassed. bess frowns in concern. “what is it?” samuel shakes his head. “when you look at me like that, I can’t catch my breath.” oh. it feels so strange to be the steadier one. bess reaches for his cheek, drawing samuel’s eyes back to her. “guess you’ll just have to distract me, then.” he laughs, but then as he leans down, samuel’s smile fades and bess remembers. he wants her. she can feel it. his hand slides, pleasantly rough, over her skin, sliding beneath the band of her bralette. bess seizes samuel’s lip in her teeth as he strokes back over her breast. he teases her nipple and the moment bess manages to wriggle out of the garment and tosses it away, samuel’s swapped his hand with his tongue, her other breast now teased by his clever fingers. she gasps again and she can feel him smirking. samuel diverts his mouth’s attention to her other side. bess focuses on her breathing. the storm still lashes against the windows but it feels like nothing compared to the roaring in her blood. bess slides her fingers up the nape of samuel’s neck and a few things happen at once: samuel’s free hand finds the damp junction between her legs; bess pulls his hair a tiny bit harder than intended; his teeth catch her nipple with just enough firmness that bess’ back nearly arches off the bed, along with a keening noise she didn’t even realize she could make. samuel freezes immediately. he looks up and bess has no idea what her face looks like, but all she can say is, “do that again.” he leans back down, his teeth scraping over her other breast; when he tugs, bess does too, so hard that samuel hisses. “sorry,” she pants, “sorry.” he shakes his head, a firm denial. it might be the dark, the lightning, or the fact that bess is so fucking turned on, but samuel’s expression has veered far past wanting— into hunger. he practically leaps back up to her mouth, a kiss so fierce that their teeth nearly clack together. “your hands,” he says, like it enrages him almost, “in my hair, holy fuck.” oh was right. “you’re one to talk about hands,” bess retorts. “can you please just–” samuel leans back. “can i please just what?” he looks smug the bastard. it would be like them to bicker in the middle of sex, wouldn’t it? but his tone is so serious when he says, “tell me what you want, bess.” that she has to squeeze her thighs together. “please touch me.” “where?” bess is going to kill him. samuel touches her cheek with surprising gentleness, and kisses her there. “here?” he does the same to her neck. “here?” her shoulder. he marks the valley of her breasts, the slope of her navel, the jut of her pelvic bone. “samuel,” bess says. it sounds like a plea but she doesn’t care. she can only reach his shoulder now, the back of his neck. he may have shivered but she can’t tell because she’s too busy trying to keep it together. he finally finds the elastic of her underwear. “okay, bess?” this question isn’t a joke. bess makes sure to meet samuel’s eye; the mixture of that desire and care makes her dizzy. “yes. please.” when his fingers have finally slid inside her, bess says “samuel,” at a level of breathlessness she only ever gets when she sings. he touches her with the same care and confidence as he does any of their instruments, until her legs tremble; samuel finds a beat with his tongue against her clit that’s so good bess has to cover her mouth when she comes. samuel crawls back up the bed towards her. he leaves a kiss on the inside of her knee, and her shoulder, just an inch or two from where he had the first night she’d stayed here. bess feels very safe, suddenly. “still good?” samuel asks again, a more raw edge to the question this time. bess can only affirm silently as she leans up a little to kiss him. she can taste herself in his mouth, can feel the weight of his arousal against her. bess presses up and samuel groans. heat pulses again between her legs. “do you want,” bess starts, putting her hands on him, straining against his boxers. samuel’s whole body seems to twitch. he pulls her wrists away though with a bruising kiss. “i’m just dying to be inside you, if that’s cool.” her stomach flips. “very cool.” samuel smiles and goes willingly when bess rolls them over. he reaches blindly into a bedside drawer. bess catches sight of a pair of glasses and makes a mental note to ask about them when her mind’s not currently so occupied. “shit, are these even in date?” samuel squints at the packet in his hand. “god, have i not had sex in this long?” bess can’t help but laugh. they giggle their way through confirming the expiry date, getting rid of samuel’s boxers, and rolling on the condom in the dark. for a moment they just look at each other. bess hasn’t ached like this for anyone in a long time. “tell me what you want, samuel.” his adam’s apple bobs as he sits up. “c’mere.” samuel pulls her forward and bess lifts her hips to line them up. he swallows her tiny gasp as she sinks down onto him; it’s been a while for her, too. samuel anchors her with one hand splayed across her back, waiting silently until bess has adjusted to the stretch. bess rocks down experimentally and he makes an almost strangled noise in the back of his throat. a soft kiss lands on her forehead, a starkly tender inverse to nearly everything that’s happened so far, and maybe even to what they’re about to do. it settles bess and breaks her open both at once. “okay?” he asks carefully. she nods, wrapping both her arms around his neck. “you’re amazing, you know that?” samuel murmurs over her lips. his own hips swing up towards hers and wow. “bess.” she was right, before. he’s strong. they get a rhythm going quickly enough, like another harmony that comes so easy. the angle has bess’ clit pressing with beautiful pressure against samuel’s pelvis; she clenches down just as he thrusts up. he curses and it just stokes that flame hotter inside of her. after a certain point bess can’t even speak anymore. she has both her hands in samuel’s hair and he’s latched back onto the curve between her neck and shoulder, teeth and tongue and words like, fuck and tight and good and bess— “samuel i—” he looks up at her face like he wants to commit it to memory. “bess.” and she’s gone again. * when they’ve caught their breath and tidied up, bess and samuel find themselves side by side in his bathroom, a sweet reflection of that night from weeks ago. she’s glad she thought to bring her toothbrush. samuel keeps staring at her in the mirror. “what?” does she have toothpaste on her face? he just shakes his head, the way he does when he laughs to himself. “nothing. you just look better in my t-shirts than i do.” bess rolls her eyes but her face feels hot anyway. “weirdo.” it feels good not to have to wonder as they head back to his bed. samuel drags her immediately towards him beneath the covers, his cool hands greedy beneath her borrowed sleepwear as her back curves against his chest. he plants a minty kiss above her shoulder-blade where his shirt’s slipped down. bess shivers and he leaves another on the back of her neck. “sorry,” he murmurs, and bess flips around to look at him. “for what?” the storm broke finally, and amber light of the street through his windows feels just as safe and warm as it had before. but samuel is the one who seems afraid, now. “i don’t want to freak you out.” “you’re not freaking me out,” bess insists. “tell me.” samuel hesitates. bess reaches out to touch his face. “hey. i don’t scare that easy either, you know.” he exhales a faint laugh. it’s so rare to see samuel seem unsure, or fragile. it makes bess feel thrillingly off-centre. “i don’t think i’ll ever be able to stop wanting you.” she’s falling. “and not just—” samuel nods vaguely at their general closeness. “this. i mean all of it. the music, your family, everything. i know it’s probably a bad idea to start things with bandmates or whatever but i just—” bess doesn’t let him finish. she can only pour all her affection for him into a kiss, taking samuel’s huff of surprise in her mouth even as he reaches for her waist to pull her closer, then on top of him. when she pulls away he seems a little dazed. “you make the bad days okay,” bess says firmly and samuel smiles with such near-adoration that she understands it now, that loss of air. “so we’ll figure it out, okay? one day at a time.” samuel nods. “okay.” and he pulls her back down. * bess wakes up with words in her mind. samuel’s grip is so tight that at first she doesn’t think he’ll let her go. but bess manages to slide away, picking up his hand gently and lifting his arm. she looks at his sleeping face and kisses his knuckles. samuel’s lips curve a little and if she looks too hard she could be in love with him already. she knows where he keeps blank sheet paper in his production area. bess finds a pen and a coffee table book about new york parks; she sits on the edge of the bed to scrawl, humming to herself. she doesn’t realize he’s up until a familiar press of lips lands on her neck. bess will never stop shivering and samuel will apparently never stop smiling about it. “hi,” he mumbles. his voice is low and gravely with sleep. bess files that away under the list of things that does something to her. samuel hooks his chin over her shoulder and bess lifts her work to accommodate his arms sliding around her waist. “new idea?” bess nods. “thinking about what you said to me.” she’s circled can’t catch my breath at the top of the page. samuel goes very still. it feels like it could crush them, the weight of this kind of intimacy. but at least bess doesn’t have to carry it alone. “wanna write with me?” she turns her head to look at him; samuel’s surprise will never not be thrilling. “will you let me add a back beat?” he’s already reaching for his guitar. bess laughs. “i could maybe be persuaded.” the way his eyebrow lifts makes her stomach jump. “duly noted.” (they do finish the song, eventually. the morning just gets away from them first.)

#little voice #littlevoiceedit #brittany o'grady #colton ryan #bess king #mine: fic #this really got away from me like woah #but i just them so fucking much

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ibijau · 4 years ago

Text

Jin Rusong Lives / On AO3

Nie Huaisang has a conversation with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian about Lan Xichen

The very last thing that Nie Huaisang wanted in life was to deal with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. Already as individuals they could be difficult to handle, but as a unit they were simply unbearable. It wasn’t just their married bliss that was annoying (though Nie Huaisang, who’d had to give up on ever having that, certainly did find it annoying enough) but more so their tendency to support each other and bring out the worst in each other.

The best too, of course. Which, come to think of it, was even more annoying.

So Nie Huaisang did not want to go anywhere near those two, but he also knew from experience that they had no regard for boundaries and private property if they thought they were in the right. A servant was called to look after Jin Rusong while he continued drawing, and Nie Huaisang left with Nie Funyu.

“How upset do they look?” he asked his first disciple.

“Nie zongzhu, how should I know? One looked annoyed and the other was smiling, but they’re always like that.”

Nie Huaisang gritted his teeth. There were layers to Lan Wangji’s lack of expressions, and Wei Wuxian’s smiles could express anything from actual joy to murder intent. He prided himself in being able to decode at least some of that. After dealing with Jin Guangyao for so long, these two were easy to read.

“Go see if Zewu-Jun is awake,” he ordered Nie Funyu. “If he’s sleeping, let him sleep, I’ll deal with those two. If he’s awake, ask him if he wishes to see them. Make it clear he won’t have to if he doesn’t want to.”

“He’s their problem,” Nie Funyu objected. “Let them take him home and be done with it.”

“He’s my… guest,” Nie Huaisang said, unsure friend was the right word anymore, not after everything, not when Lan Xichen had called him Nie zongzhu as if they were strangers. “I’d be a poor host if I just handed him over to the first people who asked for it.”

Nie Funyu frowned, unhappy with that decision, but obeyed. Nie Huaisang went alone to the throne room, and asked for his new guests to be brought to him.

From the moment he stepped into the room, it was obvious that Lan Wangji was worried for his brother but trying to hide it. As for Wei Wuxian, who stood right next to his husband, his smile had sharp edges that Nie Huaisang did not like in the least. It was clear to him that these two were expecting the worst from him. Nie Huaisang could not exactly blame them, all things considered, but it still upset him.

“Huanguang-Jin, what a pleasure it is to have you here!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed as he went to sit on his throne. “And you brought your husband as well, how lovely! You know, normally I’d complain about guests dropping by unannounced, but I’m getting quite used to that lately.”

“Where is Zewu-Jun?” Lan Wangji inquired with a hint of impatience.

Nie Huaisang opened his fan.

"Resting I hope, or else our doctor will be very cross and probably take it out on me. He was very tired when he arrived last night."

"So you don't mind if we go check on him?" Wei Wuxian asked with a dangerous smile.

"I've sent someone to warn him," Nie Huaisang replied, fanning himself with calculated indolence. "If he wishes to see you, he will. Otherwise, he won't. It's up to him."

There was the slightest hint of a frown on Lan Wangji’s face at that answer. Nie Huaisang interpreted it as worry, and felt annoyed. He had never, at any point in the past ten years, done anything to threaten Lan Xichen. And most of what had happened in that damn temple had been entirely out of his control. It certainly wasn’t Nie Huaisang who had let Lan Xichen go confront Jin Guangyao alone, thus allowing for him to be tricked and kidnapped. The only risk Nie Huaisang had taken that night had been to cut his own leg so his brother’s corpse wouldn’t be sealed away before having obtained his revenge… and even that had been mostly calculated, because at that point Wei Wuxian had proven that he could easily handle the situation anyway.

Nie Huaisang had never purposefully done anything to cause Lan Xichen pain.

But of course, he knew too well that another had claimed the same, and caused great harm nonetheless.

“We will see him,” Lan Wangji insisted.

Nie Huaisang shivered, and glanced toward the door, hoping that Nie Funyu would soon return and save him from this. Of course, he couldn’t be so lucky.

“Hanguang-Jun, I’ll be very frank with you,” Nie Huaisang said.

“That’d be a first,” Wei Wuxian noted.

Nie Huaisang glared at him, more annoyed that it could once have been said as a joke than by his former friend’s distrust.

“Listen, you’ll be cross. I know you’ll be cross!” he sighed, fanning himself faster, letting his voice rise as if in fear. It took little effort. Lan Wangji had always scared him a little since they were young. “You’re going to be so cross at me, but I have to say it anyway, because you’ll be more cross if I don’t say anything. Hanguang-Jun, I am not a very clever man, but even I can see that your brother is unwell. Very unwell! And I am very worried of course, because he’s my friend, even if I’m not his anymore. And you have to understand… well, this is the part that will make you cross,” Nie Huaisang explained with a nervous chuckle. “But Hanguang-Jun, seeing him this unwell, seeing that he left his home in such a hurry, seeing that you’ve come here in pursuit of him… of course you understand that this doesn’t look very good, right?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed, visibly so, and Wei Wuxian dropped his smile.

“Are you accusing us of something, Nie zongzhu?”

“Of course not!” Nie Huaisang squeaked, fanning himself so hard that his wrist was starting to hurt. “All I’m saying is that it is very odd, and I don’t want to act carelessly when I have no idea what has caused his current state of health.”

“You know what caused it,” Lan Wangji retorted.

Nie Huaisang’s fan stilled, hiding his face, giving him a chance to grimace. Maybe Nie Funyu had been right to say that Lan Xichen wasn’t his problem. At the same time, he could not sit there and watch someone he cared about be in worse health than he ought to have been, and just trust that the people who were looking after him were doing the right thing.

Not after how things had turned out the last time he’d blindly trusted in people’s good will.

He didn’t think Lan Wangji would ever do anything to harm his brother, but he hadn’t thought that Jin Guangyao was capable of it either.

Thankfully, before the conversation could get worse, they were joined by Lan Xichen himself.

When he entered the throne room, Lan Xichen had to be supported by Nie Funyu, who looked as if he were eating lemons at having to help that man for whom he held little respect. Nie Huaisang made a mental note to give his first disciple a few days off. Between having Wen Ning come so often and now Lan Xichen, he had really asked a lot of Nie Funyu lately.

“Brother!” Lan Wangji exclaimed, elegantly rushing to Lan Xichen’s side so he could be the one helping him instead.

The instant he was freed, Nie Funyu brushed his arms, as if feeling dirtied. Nie Huaisang glared at him for it, for which his first disciple shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“Is Brother unwell?” Lan Wangji asked.

“A little, yes,” Lan Xichen admitted, leaning harder against him than he had with Nie Funyu. “Nie zongzhu has been taking good care of me, and had his doctor check that nothing is wrong. I’m sorry I caused you worry, Wangji. But you should have told me about A-Song.”

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian had the good taste of looking embarrassed over that, while Nie Huaisang nodded without even realising. Of course they should have told Lan Xichen. Wei Wuxian could be excused for not realising, he hadn’t been there for all this, but surely Lan Wangji ought to have known better.

“I feared the effects of the news,” Lan Wangji soberly said, his nearly toneless voice managing to convey that recent events rather proved he’d been right to be worried.

“And I wish I could have heard about it in a less abrupt manner,” Lan Xichen replied, not quite a reproach. “I understand your concerns, since I have made certain things difficult for you recently. Understand my concerns as well when people keep secrets from me.”

Lan Wangji flinched, his eyes darting toward Nie Huaisang who pretended not to notice and started fanning himself again.

“Brother knows now,” Lan Wangji said. “We can return home.”

Lan Xichen hesitated, and tried to catch Nie Huaisang’s eyes, in vain. The younger man was pretending to be fascinated by the movement of his fan.

“I actually would like to spend more time with Jin Rusong,” Lan Xichen carefully said. “If that causes no trouble.”

“Well, he can come home with us too,” Wei Wuxian suggested.

Nie Huaisang froze, the breath knocked out of him by that proposition. His grip on his fan tightened to the point he could feel the wood start cracking under his fingers.

"Absolutely not," Lan Xichen said, his voice still gentle but with a firmness that Nie Huaisang hadn't heard since the temple. "As I've already told Nie zongzhu, I came here to see Jin Rusong, not to spirit him away. It is my understanding that his cousin is satisfied with his care, and I have not seen anything to make me think A-Song should be removed from the Unclean Realm."

Again, Lan Xichen tried to meet Nie Huaisang's gaze, who pretended not to notice.

"You just said you wanted to be around Jin Rusong," Wei Wuxian complained, clearly confused. He paused a moment, and frowned. "Zewu-Jun… are you trying to ask to stay in the Unclean Realm?"

"If Nie zongzhu allows it."

This time, Nie Huaisang could no longer avoid looking at Lan Xichen. He shivered at finding those golden eyes on him. Lan Xichen still looked too frail, too tired, but right then there was something of his old calm and determination back.

"Of course I allow it," Nie Huaisang heard himself reply. Then, feeling the shocked gaze of the other men (shocked and furious in Nie Funyu's case), he quickly added, "It would make Jin Rusong so happy to have his uncle Lan here. And aside from that, Nie Zhilan would murder me if I kicked you out. You're her patient now, and I'm not quite stupid enough to cross her."

Lan Xichen stared in obvious surprise for a moment before his expression shifted into a smile so warm and earnest that Nie Huaisang had to look away again. He just couldn't bear to see Lan Xichen smile at him this way again, after everything else.

"Brother," Lan Wangji calmly objected.

He said nothing more, but when Nie Huaisang glanced ahead, he saw the Twin Jades staring at each other, locked into one of those silent conversations they had sometimes, so different from his shouting matches with Nie Mingjue and yet very similar in nature, or so Lan Xichen had told him once.

This argument ended with Lan Xichen smiling almost smugly as he still leaned against his brother who Nie Huaisang could have sworn was pouting, however slightly.

"I will gladly take Nie zongzhu's invitation," Lan Xichen announced. "Thank you for allowing me this whim. I will do my best not to be a burden on Nie zongzhu."

"Lan zongzhu, you could never be," Nie Huaisang replied. "Though I think we have made you stand long enough. Nie Zhilan will not be happy that you left your bed without her permission. Funyu, could you direct Lan zongzhu, Lan gongzi and Wei gongzi back to my room? Now that we know Lan zongzhu will be staying I will see to have a room prepared for him, but for now my room is still the best option for him to rest."

Although he did not object due to the presence of people he so clearly counted as enemies, Nie Funyu glared at his sect leader. Nie Huaisang had to hide a grimace behind his fan. There was a lecture about security and safety coming to him in the near future, and perhaps this one would be deserved.

Still, Nie Funyu asked the others to follow him, which they did. Wei Wuxian lingered a moment at the back of the group, as if he might say something, but he quickly caught up with the rest when Nie Funyu called for him. Left alone at last, Nie Huaisang closed his fan and slumped on his throne, feeling drained in a way he hadn't been since that night at the temple.

A full day of sabre practice would have been less exhausting than that.

So Nie Huaisang, always too ready to indulge himself, took a moment to recuperate from this conversation. He was half certain he would end up regretting everything he'd said, but that was such a familiar feeling that he easily ignored it. Then, when he felt ready, he put on a smile and left to find the head of staff to let her know a guest room needed to be prepared for a long stay, another for just that night, and that they'd be having guests for dinner.

Said dinner, when it arrived, was a less awful affair than Nie Huaisang would have expected. Certainly Lan Wangji was rather sullen the whole time, but Wei Wuxian made up for it by being aggressively friendly in a way that Nie Huaisang had missed. After a period of awkwardness, he found himself exchanging careful banter with the man who had once been his friend, almost as if things were back to what they had once been in Gusu.

More importantly, Lan Xichen had gotten permission from Nie Zhilan to leave his bed and eat with them as long as he did not overexert himself. It warmed Nie Huaisang's heart to see the other man so radiant, Jin Rusong sitting on his knees.

Lan Xichen hadn't stopped smiling once since the little boy had given him a painting, which he explained was a terrifying monster from a story read to him in class. Lan Xichen had received it as if it were the long lost work of a great master, and Jin Rusong had refused to be parted from his uncle Lan for even a second after that.

And Nie Huaisang, who just some months earlier might have sworn he no longer had a heart, found it beating hard in his chest at seeing those two people so dear to him look this happy together. He could not even feel jealousy when Lan Xichen had to retire early, still unwell in spite of his improved mood, only for Jin Rusong to ask to sleep with him. There was just something right about the sight of Lan Xichen holding the little boy's hand as a servant led them to Lan Xichen's room.

“You were right,” Wei Wuxian said, forcing Nie Huaisang to look away from the door and pay attention to the guests still in his company.

“I usually am, but it always surprises people,” he retorted without heat. “About what, though?”

Wei Wuxian nodded toward the door where Lan Xichen and Jin Rusong had just disappeared.

“You were right about him. Lan Zhan will need a while to admit it, so I’m saying it for both of us. You said that it would be good for Zewu-Jun to know that Jin Rusong was alive, and that he’d want to know and to be with him. You were right.”

"Hanguang-Jun was in seclusion for a lot of Jin Rusong's life, he could not have known," Nie Huaisang replied, biting back a remark that Lan Wangji had been freed from his punishment by the time the child died, and so should have witnessed his brother's grief. "And I know I am not the most trustworthy of people, especially on certain subjects."

Wei Wuxian grinned, and poured him some wine.

"Nie-xiong, you're not wrong, but I'm starting to think you might not be quite right either. Now come on, have a drink. A-Song can't denounce you to your doctor anymore, you can have some fun."

Nie Huaisang snorted, and grabbed the bowl of wine.

"Wei gongzi, you're still a bad influence, aren't you?" he mocked.

He felt a little lighter when Wei Wuxian only cackled at that, the same way he used to do when they were young.

He had missed having someone to laugh with.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin rusong #mdzs #jau writes #finally getting close to the awkward domesticity I've wanted to write about /o/#jin rusong lives

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poetic-emptiness-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

8th of May (Echoes of the Past 9: First loves)

Characters: Hande Kuura, Salma Kuura, Sargon Hakimi, Helena Kuura (mentioned), Sardar Gul (mentioned), Afsoun Gul (mentioned), Armas Vuorimaa (mentioned), Paavo Kuura (mentioned), Hugo Kuura (mentioned) & Taika Kuura (mentioned)

Content warnings: some profanities, mention of blood & death

Words: ~3 300

@arcana-echoes

[Extracts from Hande's diary – she writes alternately in Karnassian and Hongas; also letters]

17th April 828, Vesuvia

I think I'm going slightly mad... Today amme Afsoun summoned me to the shop after the post was delivered: I received a letter. Since I've only been in Vesuvia for two weeks, I was sure it was from home – not many people know I'm currently here. I don't wish everyone to know each and every move I make, so I appreciate that even Salma has kept her mouth shut. And speaking of the Devil, the letter was from her. Amme didn't want any help with the shop, so I went upstairs immediately, back to ”my” reading haunt (I just love that turquoise armchair...) to read what the Monkey had to say this time. I include the letter below:

15th April 828, Karnassos

My dearest Gorilla,

I hope you’re enjoying your time with Amme in Vesuvia. I’m still a little nettled that I got this stupid flu and couldn’t go with you - I miss Vesuvia’s marketplace and Amme. Don’t worry, I’m still happy for you; you get to see the Flower Festival and learn some awesome magic. You must show me, when you get back home!

Luckily, I no longer have a fever, but my throat is still sore and I feel tired all the time. Baba cheers me up by drawing beautiful pictures of animals and flowers - I’ve hanged the drawings on my wall! Äiti is quite busy with her clothing commissions, but in the evenings she comes to play chess with me. Otherwise I’m reading and daydreaming and listening to that music box - thank you for sending it to me! It has brought me a lot of joy!

By the way, Sargon visited here yesterday. He wanted to see you and was quite disappointed when he heard that you are visiting Amme. I bet my bottom daric he has a crush on you… ;) And don’t claim anything else, I’ve seen earlier, how he looks at you! You’d be a daft for not noticing that! He’ll be one lucky guy if you two started to date. Yeah, yeah, he’s handsome and kind and all… but we both know, which one of you is the awesome one! ;)

I’m not going to tease you anymore, I just want you to be happy, that’s all! But for now, make the most of your trip in Vesuvia! And please, write me as soon as you can.

Your oh, so darling sister,

Salma the Monkey

Yeah, she still mixes Karnassian and Hongas in one letter, but well, I find it fun – at least it'd be quite difficult for an outsider to read it. Good luck with two different alphabets, hah! But holy shit, I still can't believe that last part: Sargon has visited our home to see ME? And he was DISAPPOINTED, because I wasn't there??? Is Salma messing with me? But why would she – she may be even more mischevious than me, but she isn't mean. Oh, now I regret I told her I had fallen for a CHILDHOOD FRIEND... I'm so stupid... But what if Salma's right? What if Sargon has a crush on me? No, it can't be it... He's handsome, kind and rich... He's practically the most wanted boy of our age – many parents even try to arrange their children to get engaged with him. He's only 15, turns 16 in a couple of months... Argh, Salma, why did you make me confused?!

To be entirely honest, I still miss her. I've said it before, but I really am also nettled that she wasn't able to come with me – the carriage trip would've not been so boring if she was there keeping me company. Well, at least I got my books... Oh, speaking of books, I hope my package is delivered in time! Tomorrow is baba's birthday and I found a perfect book for him. I still hope he likes it – it's a little sad to be away during his big day, but oh well... Luckily he turns 41, so it's not anything too special... Ugh, I just can't stop thinking about Sargon, damn him! And damn me, now I hope I never get home, I'm going to be so screwed... Luckily I know a spell for invisibility so I can just avoid everyone if needed. Or I can escape to Hjalle, vaari¹ can keep me safe, heh.

Amme has already fallen asleep. I try to follow suit. Good night!

7th May 828, Karnassos

I'm really going mad! I must be imagining everything and I'll find out that I really am in a mental asylum... So much has happened after I returned back home. Äiti, baba and Salma surprised me on my birthday and brought me breakfast to bed. I also didn't have to attend agha Akhtar's lessons, he even made me a birthday card! I was really surprised he took the time – usually he just brings some sweets (and even that's so kind from him!). But that wasn't all: in the afternoon that day, Sargon came to say hi and he gave me a present! I didn't know he even remembers my birthday – he's a little absent-minded when it comes to birthdays or other important dates. He gave me a drawing set with pencils and a sketchbook with fine paper – it really felt too much... Of course the Monkey teased me THE WHOLE DAY after that so I might have hexed her... Nothing serious! She just couldn't remember where she did put her things for the rest of the day.

Yesterday wasn't any special, but today Sargon visited AGAIN. I'm a little mad at baba that he let him in... I just... Now I feel like äiti and baba also have figured out something and they have this conspiracy with Salma to try to play matchmakers for me... It feels so awkward... And now I really suspect it's just some kind of a sick joke and Sargon is plotting with them... Sargon asked me especially to go out with him – usually we go with Salma together, since they're also friends. I didn't have the courage to say no so I went. It was fun, actually: we were wondering along the bazaar, feeding stray animals and later Sargon took my to their estate to see his horse. She is beautiful, her name is Zeka – the wind. Their stablemaster even let me to ride with her. It was nice, although I was a little nervous, since I haven't ridden that much.

Well, when the sun set, Sargon walked me home (or more like offered a carriage ride – it's so strange how rich his family is, having their own carriages). When we were in front of my doorstep, he even opened the door for me! And when I said him goodbye and was going to open the door, he KISSED ME ON THE CHEEK! And he just left, without saying anything more!!! I just ran straight to my room and to my embarrassment I need to admit I screamed on one of my pillows so Salma or my parents woldn't hear me. I just can't believe it really happened... I love his smile and the way he fiddles his fingers when he's concentrated and... He can't feel the same for me, he just can't! I'm not that special (I can do magic, but that's about it)... Everyone says how Salma is the beautiful one, although she'll just turn 13 in a few days... I'm just a weirdo who happened to inherit the ”exotic” look from my äiti...

I don't think I'll get much sleep next night. Maybe I try to read or probably brew some calming potion, if I can concentrate enough... My life is a mess...

8th May 828, Karnassos

I can't believe it. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!! Me and Sargon... We are a couple now!!! I feel like I'm in a wonderful dream and at any moment I might wake up. Today, when I was at the marketplace to buy new yarns and check if our bookseller had any new additions to their collection, I met Sargon again. My hands started sweating immediately and his face just lit up and he smiled so widely after he noticed me. I thought I must overreact and that's just how a friend would react... Well, he asked me to come to their place, he was trying to find a way to catch the cool air and push the warm air out and it could be used at homes. It was really fascinating, seeing his drawings and miniatures – he understands the physics way better than I do, but I could help him with chemistry. I'm sure he's going to be an engineer when he grows up!

But yeah, he always kept touching me a little: holding my hand, putting his hand on my back, even stroking my cheek. I thought I would explode! But still, I kept on thinking that I'm just imagining and overanalyzing and that was nothing... We talked and laughed and well, I even met the mayor (he's Sargon's uncle). I was so nervous, I've never met him like this before, only Sargon's parents. He told me he had heard about me and my sister, because Sargon has talked about us a lot during these years. The mayor of Karnassos KNEW ABOUT MY EXISTENCE??? Holy shit... But back to the matter at hand (I just can't help my mind, it keeps racing...): I spent the whole day at Hakimis, I even ate dinner with them.

Then Sargon again suggested that he'd escort me on my way home. Unlike usual, our carriage trip was spent in silence. It made me a little uneasy – I feared that I had disappointed Sargon somehow and that he was mad at me... Later, about halfway through the trip he suddenly took my hand in his. Then he just said my name and then he KISSED ME. Not on the cheek, but on the LIPS!!! I thought like I was struck by a lightning and luckily I was sitting, for I'm sure my legs would've given out if I was standing... After that we just kept staring each other, until I finally mustered my courage and whispered the words I had wanted to say for a long time: ”I love you.” He answered that he loves me too... The rest of the trip he came to sit next to me and we just hugged each other. I wished that the trip would never end, but eventually it did... Sargon opened the door for me again, but before I could get home, he kissed my hand. I also felt his stare in my back, until I turned around and waved him goodbye. But well, when I finally had floated to my room, I looked out the window and he was still there! He wanted to see I got there safely – what a moron, I was at my home already. xD But yes, I still found it cute.

He loves me. He really loves me...

22nd December 828, Karnassos

My dearest Ray of light,

Words can't describe, how much I miss you right now. Still, I'm happy you get the chance to spend some time with your family from your mother's side. I actually wish we'd also celebrate Midwinter Feast, it sounds so nice. Maybe I should ask mum if we could do that too next year...

Things here are the same: baba is always working and mama tries to entertain herself with dinner parties and theatre visits. I'm working on my studies and that ”ventilation system”. I hope I get it ready soon, it would be wonderful to try to test it! How's your short story doing? I really loved the previous one, it made me laugh so much! Do you let me read your next one when you get back home?

By the way, how's your family doing? I hope they are fine and your celebrations are going like planned. Is Salma still up to mischief? Well, I can imagine you'd be her partner of crime so Hjalleans and Forestian should keep their guard up! And let's pretend I'm not interested in your antics, but please, if you make any good jokes during your stay there, you must tell me when you get back!

I'm sorry that I'm not that good at words... You're so talented with them that I get nervous when I need to answer your letters. I can't do them justice and it makes me a little sad. I still keep trying for you, I really want to make you happy by writing back to you. You have made me so happy during these months and I really miss your voice and laughter and clever remarks.

Have a great Midwinter Feast! I send you lots of hugs and kisses! Remember, that I love you more than anything!

Forever yours,

Sargon

28th December 828, Hjalle

My lovely King²,

Thank you for your last letter! You don't need to worry about your writing – your letters always bring me great joy and I'll cherish them forever! I also miss you greatly, although I'm enjoying my time in Hjalle. It's been snowing for the last few days and the view when I look out of the window is spectacular! I made a drawing about it in my sketchbook – I hope I managed to capture the atmosphere...

My family is doing fine, thank you for asking! Baba and äiti enjoy the chance to relax, and vaari as well as Paavo-eno entertain me and Salma with playing funny games and of course we've played with our cousins, too. Erkki is 12 and Marjatta is 11, but they still are fun to be with and it's also nice to see our other uncles and aunt and their children. It's a little crowded here since the whole family is here, but in a good way.

Well, my short story is still a work in progress, but I guess I can show you some parts of it when we get back to Karnassos. And hah, I won't admit anything about making mischief! How could you even think of that of us, we are just little angles (heh)? I'm also very happy for you, I'm sure you'll get your invention ready soon!

I'm sorry about your baba. It must get lonely for you and your mama if he's not home very often... I wish I could do something to help for your situation... What if I make a potion for him that makes him stay at home and you slip it into his drink or something? Well, I don't think that's really very ethical thing to do... Maybe your mama should try to talk with him? And you, as well. I know it can be hard, but maybe he'll take more time for you if he learns that both of you feel lonely...

Although I've enjoyed my time in Hjalle, I really miss you, too. To be honest, I still get a little confused sometimes, about the fact that you're really with me. It's just like from a fairytale! Well, without the wicked witch part (there are just a few magicians, and they're harmless). But yeah, I really miss your cute eyes, babbling about your inventions and our trips together... Just remember, that we come back in two weeks, so it isn't that long time anymore (although for me, it feels like eternity).

I need to stop now, Taika asked me to join the dinner. Take care, lots of hugs and kisses! I love you very much!

Forever yours,

Hande

20th June 829, Karnassos

My love,

I hope the courier delivers this to you soon. I want to warn you: stay away from the Count of Vesuvia. He's dangerous. I won't say anymore until we meet face to face, but you will hear soon, that my uncle has died. That bastard killed him, because my uncle dared to complain that he stole our city's food storages. He's going to claim that my uncle was a demon, and that's why he killed him, but I don't believe it! Well, I guess you'd have known if he was a demon for real, since you're a magician...

But please, my mama is hysterical and baba is worried as well. They fear that the Count's army is going to occupy Karnassos because of this. We don't know how the Shah reacts to this... If the Count or his soldiers are in your neighbourhood, don't go near them. I don't want to lose you, too... We're staying at home just in case, so the Count can't think we're planning an uprising...

Please, stay safe, all of you! I love you!

Forever yours,

Sargon

27th June 829, Karnassos

Salma is dead... My little sister is dead... I don't want to talk about it...

15th November 829, Karnassos

It's over. My and Sargon's story I mean. I can't believe how he can be so cruel and heartless!!! I met him today at the park. He wanted to make out, but I didn't feel like it and he started to sulk like a little brat... How can I just ignore that we were meeting at the place where me and Salma used to play together for all these years? I didn't sleep well last night, I saw nightmares again... I must've screamed, because baba came into my room and woke me up. He stayed with me until I fell asleep... But yeah, I wanted to talk about my nightmares with Sargon, but he wouldn't listen. He just told me to think of something else. Something else??? He didn't see my sister crushed under the hooves of those BEASTS and he didn't have my sister's blood on his hands AGAIN!!! IT HAUNTS ME EVERY DAY AND I GET SICK!!!

I tried to ignore it and then suggested if we walk a little. I held his hand which seemed to make him a little happier. We just walked and neither of us talked for a long time, but then Sargon opened his stupid mouth, ”Look, Hande... My love... It's been four months since Salma died. You can't be sad all the time, it's giving me the creeps. Could you give me even a little smile?” I was shocked. How dared he?! MY SISTER HAS DIED, IT WAS THAT DICKHEAD'S FAULT, ÄITI AND BABA ARE CRYING ALL THE TIME AND I HAVE NIGHTMARES AND GET ANXIETY ATTACKS EVERY FUCKING DAY, AND I SHOULD SMILE A LITTLE BECAUSE HE'S GETTING THE CREEPS??? I yanked my hand away and just stared at him. Then something snapped in my head and I started to shout at him, everything I've been keeping in my chest for all these months. I also called him a spoiled brat who doesn't know anything about real life. I don't regret saying that, he was asking for it...

Sargon got alarmed and tried to calm me down, but I didn't want him to touch me. I told him I was not his plaything and that since he couldn't even respect my grief, he didn't earn my smile. I dumped him and told him to stay away from me or I would curse him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he looked at my face and left with tail between his legs. I just ran home and started crying when I finally got here... Shit, I'm still crying... He betrayed me... I love Sargon and he betrayed me too... I thought that he would stay by my side... Well, I guess he's just like those others, who just ditched me because I didn't play their clown anymore!!! Fucking traitors... At least Azita is still my friend... If she left me, I couldn't take it anymore...

I feel like shit... I hate myself, because I wasn't good enough for anyone... Not for Salma, not for my so-called ”friends” and now, not for Sargon... Love is just a trap to make you suffer! I was stupid to give my heart to that slimy snob... Well, like agha Akhtar, amme and Hugo have always said, I ALWAYS learn from my mistakes. I will NEVER give my heart to anyone again, mark my words!!!

TRANSLATIONS:

¹ grandpa in Hongas

² the name Sargon means ”king” in Karnassian, the inside joke between Hande and Sargon

My AO3

#the #fan apprentice #Hande the Apprentice #fanfic #my writing #my work #angst #fluff #arcana eotp

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